HUNTER’S ESCAPE:

 
  
   
  
       
  
 
   

A TALE OF THE NORTH-WEST IN 1862, »

BY EDWARD §8. ELLIS,

AUTHOR OF “SETH JONES ;” “ BILL BIDDON, TRAPPER ; ;’ “THE FOREST
sPY;” “KENT, THE RANGER;” “HUNTER’S CABIN,” ETO,

 

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[ALL RIGHTS RESERVED.1 yo

 

owdow:
BEADLE & CO., 44, PATERNOSTER ROW.
APRIL, 1865.

   
 

 

 
  

 

 

 

 

THE

HUNTER’S ESCAPE.

 

CHAPTER I.

THE MISSIONARY..

Aud when the solemn Sabbath came,
EY ip san gat in the wood,
Ang lifted up our hearts in prayer
To God, the only good.
Our temples then were earth and sky, °;
None others did we know,
In the days when we were pioneers,
Fifty years ago!—W. D, GALLAGHER.
Away up.in the north-western portion of Minnesota, the
forest-arches were echoing with unwonted sound. On this
still Sabbath morning in the early autumn of 1862, the voice
of thanksgiving. and prayer rose sweetly upward from that
mighty solitude. On the spot where the stranger might have
expected the hoarse oath of the trader, the war-whoop of the
Indian, or the shriek of the wild animal, ascended those sacred
songs and holy words.

So quiet was the air on this Sabbath morning, that the 1 mu-
sic was heard a long, long distance away. On the banks of
a little stream to the northward, a band of trappers suddenly
paused in their work and listened. Ah! what recollections
were recalled to their minds by those faint words of song.
They saw again the little village church in the valley far away,
where in boyhood they had listened and joined i in the same
hymn of praise. They sat again by the side of their parents,

and heard their voices mingle with those around them, , And

when the long-meter doxology swelled out in rich, sonorous
tones, there was more than one bronzed cheek wet with tears.
It was not until the sound had died away and every thing 1
silent that they resumed their work again.

Had a person traced out the source of this music he sonia a
_ have found it came from a small clearing, in front of the “ Mis-

sion-house.” The latter was a small, square building of logs,

 

  
Ns age THE HUNTER’S ESCAPE,

erected without any regard to appearance, standing near the
western side of the clearing. Directly back of this was about
an acre of land under cultivation. Maize, potatoes, and the
usual variey of garden vegetables were here found in great
profusion, for the land was of exceeding richness and needed
but the opportunity to yield the wealth that lay in its bosom.
Rough and unsightly as was the exterior of this building,
the neat and cleanly interior showed that the hand of woman
was busy there. Her magic touch alone could give that ap-
pearance of tidiness and comfort that impressed the stranger
upon entering, and her voice alone could utter those sweet, bird-
like notes which might be heard at almost any hour of the day.
Father Richter, the missionary, was a man fully seventy
years old. For forty years he had been a laborer among the
poor, neglected red-men. At the time the religious world was i
so moved upon the subject of missions, and were nobly en- j
gaged in sending their missionaries to the far-off Pacific
islands, to India and almost every portion of the habitable
globe, young Harvey Richter became filled with a holy zeal
to do something for his great Master. He. was struck with
wonder that the most needy and most accessible field—that
which lay at their very doors—should be almost entirely over-
looked. The more he inquired and learned regarding the
Indians, the more impressed did he become with the necessity
of sending laborers among them. At his own request, he was
_ appointed missionary to the north-west. His allowance was
very meager and he was compelled every few years to make
a return journey to a frontier town to obtain it; but he made
it sufficient and never asked for an increase. A few years
later, upon one of these visits, instead of finding a stipend, he
found his recall awaiting him, with the announcement that it |
was no longer possible to sustain his mission.

But Harvey Richter, accompanied by his faithful servant, ©
Teddy, returned to his lowly cabin and field of labor, and for
over thirty years, nothing was heard of him or his wife, who
had accompanied him to his distant station. During this lapse |

eat, changes had taken place in the missionary’s —_—
years after his advent among the Indians, he |
boy beneath the sod, and fifteen years after this

 

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THE MISSIONARY. ii

behind her an image and continual remembrancer of herself in
a young infant that had only time to receive the kiss and long
farewell of its mother, ere her lips were closed in death. It
was nearly at this period that Teddy, who had accompanied
a war-party of Indians, was shot by one of the enemies, so
that Father Richter’s only white companion was his daughter,
Cora, now grown to the estate of womanhood.

Cora possessed the same self-sacrificing devotion to her
Master that had always characterized the parents, and was des-
tined to become one of the most influential workers for good
that had ever appeared among the aborigines of the Great
West,

On the Sabbath morning in question, some fifty Indians,
male and female, were squatted around the clearing in front
of the house, while the missionary, his gray locks hanging
down upon his shoulders, and his blue eyes lit up with a holy
fire, was proclaiming the word of God to them. He stood
vehind a sort of rude desk, upon which lay the open Bible.
His left hand rested upon its pages while he gesticulated with
his right. His white hair and eyebrows, his clean-shaven face,
his Roman nose, his simple, unpretending dress, gave an im-
pressive dignity to his appearance, and the words, as they fell
from his lips, struck upon willing and listening hearts. His
position was such that the shadow of a huge tree protected
him from the rays of the sun; but his hearers had no such
vail and wished for none. Like the eagle of their solitudes,
the fiercest sunlight failed to blear their vision or to distract
their attention.

There were brawny and scarred warriors, with coarse, re-

F pulsive features, their black, wiry hair falling into their laps

as they inclined their heads, as though they wished the uttered
words might descend upon them; there were frowsy squaws
scarcely less repellent than their husbands, some with short

black pipes inserted between their snaggy teeth; there were

younger and more comely maidens and children—all holding

a respectful silence while Father Richter was addressing them.

An occasional guttural ejaculation from some of the older
ones showed their appreciation of the truths that were uttered —
in their own highly figurative language; and, now and then,
a head nodded forward several times for the purpose of

 
i 12 THE HUNTER’S ESCAPE,
expressing the same sentiment. Take the audience ag a whole,
their deportment and interest would compare very fayorably
with that of any congregation in a civilized country, although
their dress and appearance would have suffered from the same
comparison.

The services continued for about an hour, when they were
concluded by prayer and the singing of the doxology. Being
then dismissed, they lounged awey from the clearing, some to
return to their wigwams, others to bask, smoke and sleep in
the sun until the day was past. All had too much regard for

. their kind “ Father” and for the truths he had uttered to hunt
or fish before the morrow.

The forty years’ residence of Father Richter among the In-
dians had given him a subtle knowledge of their character
which could not lead him astray. He had fled, years before,
with his young wife, through‘ the trackless wilderness, from
the remorseless beings who sought their blood; he had re-
turned again, and three different times, two of which. were
in the dead of winter, had his dwelling been laid in ashes,
He had seen the war-whoop transform the apparently mild
and stolid beings around him, into furious demons whose rage
could only be calmed by the offering of blood; and, cowering
like the lamb before the wolf, he had shrunk from them until
the turbulent storm of, passion passed over. But. like his di-
vine Teacher who had suffered and died before him, he could
not be diverted from the great work of his life. His unvary-
ing faithfulness, his uncomplaining suffering, the exalted consis-
tency of his life and teachings, gradually impressed the sayage
hearts, and since the birth of Cora, these periodical, simooms
of passion had left him unharmed. In their wildest and most
ungovernable moments, they never offered harm or insult to
the missionary or his daughter; and his little log-hut was like
a rock in the ocean, safe against the howling of the feat
or the beating of the storm.

- Father Richter’s extended residence among the Indians, we
say, had given him a knowledge of their character which

d not lead him astray. And, as his experienced eye swept

over them upon the Sabbath in question, he saw that their

emotions were swayed by some unusual cause. Something
out of the usual line of events had occurred, and whatever it

 

 

   

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OMENS OF TROUBLE, : . 8

| thight be, it was of an extraordinary character. He trem-
blingly hoped at first that it might be the premonitions of an
outpouring of the Holy Spirit; but a few moments conyinced

. ‘him that such could not be the case. Although the attention
paid his discourse, to an wnpracticed eye, was as respectful as
usual, yet there was a sullen scowl upon more than one brow
that boded eyil to something or some one.

\ The missionary could not repress his anxiety and appre- -

hension, when, at the conclusion of the services, he entered

his house, and Cora, as usual, seated herself beside him, lean-

ing upon his knees and looking up into his benignant face,

“ What is it that troubles you?” she asked, almost immedi
ately.
“T am troubled about these poor Indians. “I detected signs
to-day that fill me with the greatest fear.”

“ Fear of what?” t

“Fear of another outbreak. The year before you were
born, I noticed upon a Sabbath morning the same profound
éflence in my congregation, the same deep-drawn breaths,
scowling looks, and aimless movements. That night our
house was burned to the ground, and through the instrumen-
‘tality of a young unconverted Sioux—scarcely more than a
boy—our lives were saved,”

“Who was he?”

“Christian Jim—who since then has bécome a shining
light among the followers of our blessed Jesus.”

“Do you think, father, they would harm us ?”

“Tt is not that fear that gives me trouble, although I may
have a little anxiety upon your account. It is sad to think
that their wayward natures are so strong in these Indians, that
after baptism and connection for years with our church, they
sometimes in a moment relapse into their former barbarism.

5 Ihave sought all these long years to teach them to subdue, -
r and overcome this sinftl warring of the flesh against the
spirit. There are many of our members—such as Christian
Jim, or Indian Jim as he is sometimes: called, for instance>
of whom we need have no fear; and then Here are others
who cauise me much doubt and misgiving.”

“T sat. by the door as usual when you were vires:

day and could not help observing Jim—I suppose because he

paces

oy en

 

  

 
14 THE HUNTER’S ESCAPE.

sat nearest to me. His clothes were all torn and tattered, and
faded, as though he must have traveled a long distance.”

“Tt is over a month since I last saw him among my peo-
ple. »

“Was there any thing in his manner that attracted your

notice 2?”
_ “Tt was his, perhaps, that I noticed more than that of any
one else. Although his head was inclined, and he frequently
looked up into my eyes, I am sure he scarcely heard a word
I uttered. He has brought some intelligence to our people
that has caused a profound sensation among them.”

“He will assutedly inform you, will he not ?”

“T have no , ioe of it; it may be that he wishes to do it
secretly and is
out being observed by the others.”

“There is a family by the name of Brainerd a considerable
distance to the southward with whom Jim is on quite inti-
mate terms, and it may be that he has just returned—

Father Richter knitted his brows as though from a Anan
pain and lifted his hand for silence.

“J understand it all—I understand it all,” he repeated, as
if to himself. ‘“ Alas! it is as I feared.”

_ “What, father?”

“There has been an outbreak of the Indians at the Upper
Agency and some of the other missions. I remember a warn-
ing that I received some six weeks ago from that hunter ‘who
remained with us over night.”

“Here is Christian Jim to speak for himself.

Those who have done us the favor to read the little volume
entitled “ Indian Jim,” will recall this friendly Sioux, without
a detailed description of his appearance in this place. They
will recollect also that after parting from his friends a few
miles to the westward of St. Paul, he made all haste back
again for the purpose of assisting others who might need his
experienced hand and eye. Separating from the small body

cavalry, and leaving the burning houses and flying refugees _

eft, he made a détour to the north-west, and arrived at
issior of Father Richter upon the Sabbath morning in
as strongly attached to this good man and

( gh he was conscious of the great influence

 

waiting the opportunity to speak to me with-

<ininnenaainnanyge sin om

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_ of Christian Jim among them. He gave the particulars of

JNA

‘to his people.

vhesitate to let me know.what it is. You need not

     
  
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
   
  
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
   
 

CHRISTIAN JIM. ; 18

they exerted over the wild spirits around them, the Sioux —
knew too much of his own people to trust them implicitly.
He feared that this vnparalleled outbreak would sweep them
into its midst, and they would seize the avenging knife and
tomahawk.

Vague rumors had reached this branch of the Sioux of
trouble among their kindred, but their peculiar situation and
circumstances shut out all definite information until the arrival

the massacre that had then been in progress for several weeks,
counseling his brethren at the same time in the strongest
terms to refrain from joining the insurgents, as a speedy pun-
ishment was sure to be meted out to the transgressors by their
great Father at Washington.

The door of Father Richter’s house was never fastened,
and it was always open to those who chose tocome. Scarcely
an hour of the day passed without some visitor, and, on the
present occasion, the entrance of Christian Jim might have
been taken as a matter of course, had it not been for the cir-
cumstances already narrated.

“TJ welcome you, Awahnock,” said the missionary, address-
ing his visitor by his Indian name. “It is a long time since
I have seen your face among my people.” i

Skilled as was the savage in concealing his emotion, he
could not hide his agitation from those keen, searching blue
eyes that were bent upon him as he took a seat.

“Been long way off—helping white folks.”

“Who ?”

“Mr. Brainerd—oder folks wid him—Little Crow bad man,”
said the Indian, breaking off in the abrupt manner so peculiar

“TJ fear that he is ambitious and designing. He impressed
me as such during the visits he has made in the course of the
last two or three years.” ’

“Bad man—bad man.”

“There is something upon your mind, Awahnock ; _

  

presence of Cora.”
“ Kill all white folks—hurt women,
‘come here—take scalp of gak”

 
 

 

 
      
 

16 . THE HUNTERS ESCAPE. \
|
) “ Afraid they will come here, or afraid ow own people will
rise and slay us? How is it, Awahnock ?”’ asked the mission-
ary, in a voice that was startlingly loud and distinct.

‘OFraid dem,” he replied, with a significant glance toward
the open door.

“You are an Indian, Awahnock, and ought: to know your
own people; but then I have lived among them longer than
have you. I must say that I am a little uneasy, but I have
not one-half the fear that seems to possess you. Haye you
heard any thing positive ?”

“Tnjin look bad—tink good deal—don’t say much.”

“They seem to be uneasy and restless, and I should not
like to answer for the safety of any white man who should
venture among us at this time; but I doubt whether in their
‘most excited moments one of them would raise his hand
against me or mine.”

“Mugalwah bad,” repeated the Sioux, scarcely above a
whisper.

“T must own that my apprehension is regarding him.”

“And why is that, father? Is he not a Christian Indian ?”

“Tle was baptized twenty years’ago, but nature is strong in
him still. He it was who applied the torch to my dwelling,
but he also assisted in building a new one, so that we may
believe he sincerely repented of that deed; but when his
blood is aroused he is a dangerous man. He acted strangely
this. morning, during devotional exercises.”

“Mugalwah bad man—dad man,” repeated Christian Jim,
looking down to the floor and shaking his head.

It was now near noon, and Cora busied herself in preparing
the meal, while her father and their visitor continued the con-
versation. The missionary learned the particulars of the es-
cape of the Brainerd family and their friends, and gathered
an idea of the fearful nature and extent of the outbreak. His
own location was such that in case the storm burst over his
head, he could not escape by the same means that had saved
‘them. It might be said that our former friends were on the

suth-eastern border of this district of fire and blood, while

ther Richter was on the north-west. By plunging further

e forest toward the mountains, with a few faithful Chris- ~

tian Indians, as his companions, he might elude these human

*

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THE SABBATH SERVICES, 12 '

blood-hounds until their thirst was quenched. But he could
not bring himself to believe that one of his people—not even
Mugalwah—could offer him harm, and he resolved therefore
not to heed the advice of Christian Jim, but to remain where
he was.

The Sioux stayed but a comparatively short time, and then

sauntered out of the house and across the clearing. The eye
of more than one dusky warrior was fixed upon him with a
penetrating, suspicious look, and there was many a glance that
was not friendly. All knew the unswerving faithfulness of
this Indian, and now when the fires in their breasts were be- 4
ginning to flicker and fan themselves into life again, and they felt
their old natures struggling like giants within them, the sight
of his calm, unimpassioned face drove them almost to mad-
ness. There was many a heart that feared and trembled—for
they understood their own nature and realized they were walk-
ing upon the edge of a volcano.
» It was the custom with Father Richter, when the Sabbaths
were pleasant, to hold two services during the day—one in
the forenoon and one in the afternoon. On the present occa-
sion he was gratified to see all of his people come together at
the usual time; but there were more palpable manifestations
of an uneasy feeling among them,

He preached with unusual fervor that afternoon and be
sought God’s blessing upon his effort. He watched with an
anxious eye its effect upon the leading spirits in his audience.
His conclusions were such as to leave him in a more trouble-
some doubt than ever.

It was with a heavy, saddened heart that at the close of
the exercises he made his way into his house again.’ Could it
be that his forty years’ labor among the North American In-
dians was for naught? Were their natures such’ that there
Was no christianizing them? After years of profession and a
consistent life, were they to relapse in a few hours into barbar-
ism again? Had the seed that he had sown fallen upon stony
ground ?

Ah, no! good Father Richter; the seed that you have scat- x
tered shall bear its fruit in eternity, and when at the last’ great ‘
day you confront your account, you shall find a Pe a
harvest awaiting youl ‘ :
 

18 THE HUNTER’S ESCAPE.

It was this thought, as we have said before, that gave the

minister more pain than any anxiety regarding the personal
security of himself and daughter.

As he made his way to his house, he became conscious that
some one was following him. He did not turn until he was
about to step in his own door, and then, he observed, with
some surprise, that it was Mugalwah. The savage hesitated
when upon the threshold, as if in doubt whether to enter or
not, but a kind invitation decided him.

Standing in the very center of the floor, he folded his arms
and then scowled upon the two beings before him.

“You seem in trouble,” said Father Richter, in his mild,
sweet voice. “ Sit down and acquaint me with it.”

The Indian declined the proffered chair and remained stand-
ing. He refused all questions for a moment and then said, in
his own tongue:

“ Yengese traders had men—they tell lies,”

“T am sorry, Mugalwah, that such is the case; but we must
set them a better example.”

“They make treaties, promise us blankets, and beads, and
money, and powder, but they lie, they never give them to us.
They call us mighty warriors, and say the Great Father at
Washington loves us and will send us our annuities; but they
lie. When they get the Indian’s land they call him dog, and
if he asks for money or food they kick him and say he may
starve for all they care.”

The glitter of the black eye and the unconscious quicken-

ing of the breath showed that the savage was working him-

self into a passion. It was therefore the aim of the mission-
ary to pour oil upon the troubled waters.
“You remember what I told you about Jesus Christ this

_ afternoon. He had the power to kill all those who treated him
60 badly, and yet he never struck them a blow, nor ever said

‘a bad word, but they put him to death at last.”

“He was a great, good man,” said the savage, with more
calmness.

“Yes; and we should all strive to be like him.”
a Why ain’t white man like him?” he asked, with on
quickness.

Father Richter pee shook his head.

 

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ainaeinrsseaie }
cont ities

 

 

  

MUGALWAH'S THREAT. ~ 19

“He is bad, indeed, and our Great Father alone will punish

jm—”

“ And so will I,” interrupted Mugalwah, i in a voice of thun-
Cer, drawing his scalping-knife from his belt. “ Manitou will
smile upon me for punishing him. I go now to seek him.”

“Before you go,” continued the missionary,in the same
low voice, “let us kneel down and pray for his blessing upon
you.” f
The savage hesitated a moment, but he could not refuse.
A feeling partly of shame took possession of him, as he-
kneeled upon the floor, and Father Richter began his petition.
The prayer was short and fervid, and of such a nature that
it could not fail to strike reproach to the most hardened crim-
inal contemplating deeds such as had entered into the heart
of this professing Christian Indian. But when the missionary
and his daughter arose from their a and looked around
them, Mugalwah was gone. He had silently glided out while
the prayer was being offered.

CHAPTER II.’

AN INDIAN TREATY.

Tsoven they were the children of the forest, and though they left no
monuments of scu.pture, Pe inting and poesy, yet ee was their fall, and
sorrowftl is the story o their wrong.—Mi~rorp Barp

Somm time previous to the events narrated in the preced-
ing pages, there was a large gathering of Indians and white
men upon the border. Their actions showed that they had’
congregated for some important purpose.

The resistless march of civilization to the westward had
been gradually and surely absorbing that portion of Minne-
sota which, by right of treaty, belonged to the Indians. There
had been murmurings and occasional threats of resistance to
this unscrupulous innovation, which all saw would as effectu-
ally drive them from the country as if the army of the
United States had marched against them. Fish, the beaver,
and the hunt were their means of subsistence. The former

 

  
 

  
 
 

THE HUNTER’S ESCAPE,

20

  
    
   
 
    
  
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
  
 
   
   
  

were thinning out from the continuous draught the whites
made upon them; the sound of the ax and the falling trees
had frightened the beaver and the buffalo further westward
into undisturbed solitudes ; and, as it is almost impossible for
the Indians to change their nature—except in occasional in-
stances, and become farmers, like whites—their own self-
preservation compelled them to move on toward the setting
sun. |

The sagacious agents and officials of our Government be-
came aware that the territory at present belonging to the
savages was of the most productive kind, while that to which
they wished to remove them was little better than a desert.
The step to do this was a simple one. All that was neces-
sary was to make a treaty. |

Accordingly, on this morning, a large number of leading
Indians, and agents, and traders were assembled together for
the purpose of making the treaty in due form. It would have
been observed that the whites were very loquacious and assid-
uous in their efforts to make a fayorable impression upon the
savages. That “ villainous compound,” known as whisky,
was dealt out with a liberal hand, and, in spite of thé deter-
mined efforts of the older chiefs, many of the most influential
of their number became intoxicated in a beastly manner.
They had just reached that frame of mind to which the wily
officials had been assiduously assisting them, and would will-
ingly have ceded, had it been in their power, their very souls
for another draught of the fiery liquid. It being manifest
that the whisky had done its work, the officials concluded it

(Oi time to begin the ceremony.

The first important step was to assure the Indians, eitotiech
the interpreter, how unbounded was the affection entertained
toward them by their Great Father at Washington; the elo-

- quent orator informing them that it was impossible for him to

sleep 0° nights on account of his harrowing anxiety ; that he

awas becoming emaciated and worn to a skeleton ; that, after

long nights of prayer, he had concluded that their welfare de-

_ manded that they should be removed to a new country—a
_mew country that abounded with fish and all kinds of game,

where the red-men could not fail of becoming speedily the
most powerful | of ‘all the tribes that surrounded them. The

soe ie

  

bajascan are

   

ee i et ee ee)

mao me ete mea
Bia cence CTO EAA EEL te

MAKING A TREATY. a1

orator concluded by intimating that an extravagant price
would be paid for their lands.

The chief who replied to this speech, was a tall, middle-
aged Indian, of a stern and dignified appearance, who had
Carefully abstained from taking a drop of the whisky, know-
ing too well what the consequences would be if any of it
passed his lips. He made, in the first place, some pointed
references to several previous treaties to which he had been a
party, whose stipulations had never been carried out. He re-
ferred to the annuities long since due and unpaid; to the
Outrageous claims of the traders which swallowed up all their
supplies when sent out by Government; to the atrocious acts
of debauching their women and maltreating their men when
they asked for justice. He added, finally, that his people
were satisfied with the land upon which they were living, and
they were not willing to leave it for the desert-like region
further west. .

The answering speech of the white was artful. THe ex-
pressed his regret at the shortcomings of his brethren, and as-
sured the chief and his maudlin companions, upon his honor,

_ that nothing similar should be repeated. Their Great Father

at Washington had learned with sorrow of these bad acts of
his agents, and was resolved that none but good men should
be henceforth appointed, and that every right should be guar-
anteed them. He expressed a hope that the chief whom he
Was addressing would do his best to persuade his people and
brother chiefs of the wisdom of their remgving at once ; in-
Sinuating that their Great Father at Washington would greatly
dislike to compel them to go. a

* The savage had sagacity enough to understand the meanin
of this remark. The matter was, simply, the Indians must
give up their lands willingly or unwillingly, as they chose it
Should be. Still, for the purpose of securing a good price, if
for nothing else, the chief continued to hesitate, until finally
the remuneration was named. This was a liberal sum, and
if the red-men could have felt sure of receiving it, they would

 

 

have felt somewhat satisfied with the results of the treaty;

but they knew there was a gauntlet of “claims ” for it to run
which would well nigh swallow the amount itself.
However, there was no help for it, and the formula of |

 
   
 

23 THE HUNTER’S ESCAPE.
signing the treaty took place. The sober Indians made their
“mark,” while their drunken companions made a daub or
a scrawl that served as well as the most beautiful chirography.

Prominent among the whites was a long, lank-visaged,
weazen-faced personage, known by the name of Matt Larkins,
whose profession for the last ten years had been that of a
whisky trader. Where or when he obtained his supplies, no-one
knew; but he was rarely seen unless he hada small keg upon
his shoulder, which never seemed full nor empty. The liquid
jingling of the fluid could be heard as he walked, and the
ravenous appetites of a score of Indians or hunters: was un-
able to exhaust its supply.

Like the majority of speculators and adventurers, he was
from New England, and during the years of his trade upon
the border had accumulated quite a fortune. Still his insati-
ate avarice craved more, and when his scalp was in imminent
danger he did not hesitate to venture in the wilderness among
the people whom he so deeply wronged by his retailing the
destroying fluid. He never refused to trust the Indians for
any amount they wished; he knowing that he would be paid
ten-fold when the annuities arrived. He, in conjunction with
others as unprincipled as himself, had defrauded the savages
in this manner of tens of thousands of dollars,

Several times in his wanderings he had fallen into the
hands of missionaries, who had done their utmost to persuade
him to give up the terrible traffic, but all in vain. The orbit
which he described through Minnesota brought him at period-
ical times to the Clearing. The first time he arrived there,
he hid his keg in the woods, and remained a day or two in
the cabin of Father Richter, partaking of his hospitality, and
inquiring, with an air of concern, about the spiritual ~velfare
of his people, after which he passed into the woods, took his
cask to the village, and distributed it among them, receiving
an enormous profit from the Indians, who were set wild by
one taste of the liquid. The result of this act was a desper-
ate quarrel, in which two savages were killed and one maimed
for life. ,

A rather, demonstrative sort of wrath upon the part of
Father Richter‘may be excused, when, three years after, Matt
Larkins came plodding his way across the clearing in the

  
     
    

 
  
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 

 

A WHISKY TRADER. : 23,

a-¥]

direction of his house. He could scarcely believe his eyes,
until the man halted directly in front of his door, dropped his
keg carefully .to the ground, and extended his hand with a
broad smile. Without noticing his salutation, he picked up
the cask, and, raising it above his head, dashed it to pieces
upon a.stone. Then, in a voice of thunder, he commanded
the trader to depart, and never to make his appearance before
him again.

Before leaving, Matt-Larkins hinted that he should like to
be remunerated for the loss he had sustained, and remarked
also that he desired to spend a few hours in the society of
Cora. This was the spark that fired themagazine. As quick
as lightning, he was caught in the iron grasp of Father Richter,
who ran across the clearing with him, and then flung him

into the woods, as he would have thrown a deadly viper from

him.

. The next day after the conclusion of the treaty, Matt Lar-
kins sat in the back-room of a trader’s building, in confiden-
tial conversation with the short, stumpy, bullet-headed trader
himself. Though widely different 3 in physiognomy, each face
offering distinct characteristics, both bore the unmistakable
impress of avarice, cupidity, and a low, groveling nature.

The object of their lives seemed to be solely to amass wealth |

at the expense of the Indians around them. Both had glasses
standing before them, from which they took semi-occasional
draughts, each smoking a short black brier-wood as he
did so.

“That ere treaty them fellers made yisterday, is a hunky
grand thing for us who’re in the business,” remarked the
trader.

“Dunno as it'll improve my business much, as I have all
I can do now, and you see it ain’t easy to improve sich a
perfession.”

“ But the Government give a good price for them oe

didn’t they ? How them poor devils would open their eyesif

they could only lay their hands onto it. But I wonder how
much they'll feel in their claws, eh, Matt ?”
“Not a heap; I’ve some claims that must be met afore
they git a grab at it.”
“How much ?”
 

 

a

24 THE HUNTER’S ESCAPE,

“Tf any body should ax you, and you should tell ’em five
thousand dollars, you wouldn’t be very fur out of the way.”

“The deuce! How come—”

“Sh ! don’tsay nothing ; I’ve got the thing all down on paper
all straight.”

“Say, Matt,” continued the trader, with an insinuating smile,
as he edged nearer to him, “Jet's hear how you done it. My
claims, as first made out, footed up only twenty-five hundred
dollars. Me and my clerk, Billson, worked at it half the
night and managed to hist it up to four thousand; but, hang
me, we couldn’t raise it another peg. Let's hear how you
done it’?”

“Have you got-the claims handy ?”

“They're just in ’tother room.”

“Fetch ’em.”

The trader whisked into the salesroom, and in a moment
appeared, bearing a large roll of sheets pasted together, which
he unrolled before Matt Larkins. The latter ran his eye 1
idly down the long list of articles and names, and then tossed
it from him with a disdainful expression.

“ Just what I thought, Womple; you and your clerk don’t

- know much about the business. Don’t you see, all these In-
dians is alive |”

‘Womple’s face brightened.

“ Now, one-third of the names in my account belong to In-
dians that have been under the ground for the last three years.
The agents don’t know the difference, and, if they did, what’s
the odds? You know they ain’t pertickler, especially if there’s
a chance to turn an, honest penny.”

_ “I never thought of that,” repeated Womple ; “ it’s a good
idea. ‘ How much would your bills amount to, ef they was
Just right ?”

“ Five thousand dollars.”

“You know what I mean.”

“ About six or seven hundred. Strikes me too, Sam, yow re

_ mighty fraid to charge for what you've got here. These
hatchets, knives, and ammunition, ought to be a heap more.
Such things have riz amazingly since the war—then you can
say something about extra cost of transportation and—fudge !

- Womple, such a roll as that ought to foot up clean ten thousand

re -

       
   

   
 
  

  
1 a : g ; ‘
‘HOW LARKINS “FETCHES ’EM.” 25

dollars, and all I’ve got to say is that yowre a fool if you
don’t make it do that. My motto is, ‘improve your chances.’”
“Tl doo’t; I've learned a thing or two in the last ten

minutes.”
| “You'll learn a thing or two more, when you've traded
ral, with these Sioux as long as I have. Now, some folks pre-

tend to pity these miserable dogs; but, as for me, I can’t see
what there is to pity about them. They’re a dirty, greasy,
j bloodthirsty set, and it’s our Christian duty to’ make all the
money possible out of ’em. Leastways, that’s what I’ve Lie
trying to do the last-ten years.”

“ These infornal missionaries play the mischief with our
business, They git their New England notions—

13 eg “ Hold on, Womple, I’m from glorious old New England;
‘4 don’t you slander her in my presence.”

ws) “ And you're a fine specimen, too! Them missionaries git

Y : their outlandish notions in the heads of the dogs, and we

can’t do much with ’em.”

“ My beverage is purty sure to fetch ’em. They may hold
back a while, but it’s certain to jerk ’em at last. The hard-
: est place I ever got into is up north-west, where old Father
i Richter, as they call him, is stationed. The Indians had sot
their face, so strong agin me, that I came mighty near losing
my skulp when they fust got sight of me; but they couldn't ©
stand the fire-water. As soon as they got a taste of that, I
had ’em, and I made a good thing off my sales.”

“Where was the old man all this time ?”

pig “ He didn’t know nothing about it, till it was too late—he!
we © het hel he! het"
| “Have you been there since ”
“Yes; but I aida’ ’t get treated so well,” returned the trader,
With a more serious countenance. “ He busted my keg and
ji 4 then run me out of the Clearing.”
i Womple laughed heartily, and aalisit whether his Indian
friends did not come to his relief. :

“Come to my relief! No; do you suppose they cared any
thing for me? It was only the whisky they was after; and, ag
‘Lhadun’t that, I left till I could getsome more. Howsumever,
Til pay that old man off yit.”
ore eT said the agent, assuming the air of a philosopher

 

v
(@
|
|

a

 
 
 

26 THE HUNTER’S ESCAPE.

“do you know I have my doubts about Indians having
souls 2”
_ “TI dunno,” replied the trader, “indifferently, as he enjoyed
his pipe.

“Yess; well, I have. They’re lik2 monkeys—a little higher
brutes, but sometimes I think they ain’t much either. They
stand in the way of modern civilization, and I think its a
disgrace to a Christian nation that we allow ’em to live.”

“Y-a-s,” drawled Larkins, as though the subject was not
interesting tohim. “ Y-a-s; it might be a good thing for ciy-
ilization, if they was out the way, but how about the whisky
and trading business ?”

“That's so.”

“Then, you see, they’re like snakes; you may thin ’em
out as much as you please, but there will always be a few
left.”

“Womple,” called out Larkins, a8 if to direct his attention
particularly to what he was about to say, “you hain’t been on
the border as long as I have, and consequently you don’t know
ag much about these copper-skins as I do, do you?”

“T s’pose not—I hadun’t oughter, at any rate.”

“Well, I can tell you something that may be you don’t
suspect. There’s going to be an Indian war mighty soon.”

The agent started from his seat.

“What do you mean?” -

“Just what I say. I know it, Womple; but you chaps and
the other fellows Government sends out here are so thundering
blind that you’d never s’pect what was going on till you get
a whack over tie head from one of their tomahawks. ‘'There’s
Commissioner Dole and some of the others that I think smell
as much as two rats.”

_The agent looked too excited and frightened to speak, and
Larkins continued in his mild manner.

“ Y-a-s, Womple, afore we're many months older there’s
going to be such a time as neither you nor I never dreamed
of. There’s a storm coming, and we as understand the weather
can see the clouds already gathering in the sky.”

“But tell me all about it.” ‘

“You’n I have had several friendly dealings together ; and,
as you always acted the honest part, that is, helped me make

 

 

    
  

  

  

ee enn

a
te eae

THE TRADER FRIGHTENED. 27

a few thousand out of the Sioux, he! he! he! I feel disposed
to let you know, so that you may trim your sails and be ready.
Well, then, in the first place, Womple, these Sioux are getting
tearing mad. Their annuities have been due for several
months, but they don’t come. Their Great Father, Old Abe,
has got enough to do to take care of Washington, without
seeing to his dusky children. Then this treaty is going to
kick up another muss. It don’t go down very gs 2 .

“ But dare they do such a thing ?”

“Dare they do it? It’s one of two things: to be quietly
starved to death, or to raise a row and die like a true: warrior.
Which do you s’pose they’re most likely to do ?”

There was an indolent, sleepy indifference in the manner of
Matt Larkins that was in striking contrast to the excited, anx-
ious manner of the agent. The latter was continually chang-
ing his seat, moving his arms, spitting, smoking and drinking,
while the trader, with his hat thrown back, and his elbow
resting upon the table, was drawing figures with his finger, in
the spilled liquor. When he raised his eyes to those of his
friend, he did not move his head in the least, and quickly dropped —
his listless gaze to the motion of his finger.

“Yas, Womple, which be they the most likely to do?
There’s another thing that’s stirred the blood of these Sioux.
You know Government has commanded them to stop making
War against the Chippewas. That come mighty —— than
many think of kicking up a promiscuous massacre.”

“But, Larkins if this is so, hadn’t you oughter to tell the
people of it? 'There’s a good many poor women and a

that will suffer.”

“Bah! how many do you s’pose would believe you? These
stingy old farmers up through the country will keep plowing
and harvesting until they see their buildings on fire, then
they’ll begin to think something’s the matter. Take my
advice, Womple, and don’t say a word to any one about it.
What is it to you, any way? You jist take mighty good

care, of your own head, and let the others do the same.

Hist! théfe’s an Indian jist entered your store. for the.
door on a crack and listen to what he buyg.”

The agent sprung up and opened the door, and potas
through. A huge savage stood before the counter. Although

 
THE HUNTER’S ESCAPE.

a warm day, he was wrapped to his chin in a large blanket;

i His long, black, wiry hair hung down over his head and face,
and he had a sullen, treacherous look, that might well have
aroused. suspicion in a person unacquainted with hin.

“The fellow has got a gun and hatchet, of course, but see
what it is he is after,” whispered Larkins.

The first thing for which the savage asked was a knife.
After considerable dallying this was purchased and he then
wished to look at the hatchets. A large, sharp-bladed one
was selected, after which he took a quantity of percussion
caps, lead and powder. Rather singularly he paid the price
asked for them in good legal greenbacks.

“Where did he get them?” asked Larkins, when the say-
age had departed, and his clerk had informed him of the fact.
“Tt ain’t often a Sioux gets sight of a greenback, and Billson

says he had several more in his pouch.”

“Maybe some white man has been fool enough to pay him
his debts. Its just as likely, however, he’s knocked over
some person he’s found traveling atween the settlements or

, Stations, and confiscated his pocket-book

“T’ve never seen that fellow, and it’s likely he’s come from
a considerable distance. I don’t like his looks at all.”

“Did you ever see a Chippewa or Sioux that suited you
in his looks? If you have, you've seen more than I have.
You may make up your mind, Womple, there is going to be
a good many other faces that you won’t like to see afore long.”

“Larkins, you’ve made me right down oneasy. I feel like
emigrating back agin.”

“He! he! he! Fudge! just haul in your horns and lay low
till the storm blows over. When you see it coming, just
make yourself skearce fur awhile.”

“ What are you going to do?”

“Nothing pertickler. I shall take a snooze till they’re done
hacking and cutting, and then come.out and go to selling my
‘ beverage agin. When the thing is about to commence, I’ye

aa got a little matter to attend to up toward the Clearing.”
ae} “What is it? , bo ®t

f “Never mind; maybe you'll learn one of these days; if
you don’t there’s no difference. I thought I’d drop and give

you the warning. You may take it for what it’s worth.” , |

——

 

 

 
 

    
   
 
 
 
   
    
  
  
    
  
 
 
 
 
 
  
    
 
   
   
  
  
 

 

 

 

  
FATHER RICHTER AND CORA. 29

“Pye took it already. Tl warrant you I won't sleep very
sound o’ nights for some time to come.”

“Pooh! it’s very little it'll distur me. ‘Well, Womple, I
must be off.”

So saying, the whisky-trader sai out through the store-
house and disappeared. As he moved away, he muttered and
talked to himself as though there were some important scheme
revolving in his mind. It may be safely doubted, however,
whether his thoughts were more intently occupied than those of

\ the agent and trader that he had left’ behind him.
sits ei
y

 

, CHAPTER IiIt.

A VISITOR. e

We felt that we were fellows -MeEN ;
We felt we were a band
Sustained here in the wilderness
By Heaven’s upholding hand.—W. D. Ganmpcunen
; “Poor Mugalwah,” repeated the missionary, as he arose
from his feet and saw that the savage had really departed.
“Tt has been a sore struggle with him, and I much fear the
Spirit of God has not come off conqueror. Never mind,
daughter, we are all in the hands of our Father, and he will
work his good will with this Indian.” |

“ How fortunate indeed it is that there are no settlements in |
the vicinity of our little village; these warriors would not

fail to attack them this night.”

“I suspect that Little Crow, or some of the chiefs, have
sent messengers to our village, and have excited them by
harangues. They are burning to take up the tomahawk, and
z shall not be surprised if on the morrow I find nearly all the
warriors gone south to join in the dreadful work.”

“ And when they return ?”

“They will be intoxicated with the sight of blood, wa it
may be prudent, eins for us to hide in the woods for a
‘time. ” f

The girl looked for a moment in the face of her father, and

 

1

 
   
   
   
   
   
 
  
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
   
  

80 THE HUNTER’S ESCAPE.
en, drawing her chair nearer him, buried her head in his lap
t uttering a syllable. The missionary passed his hand
slow y over the golden hair, as if to soathe the troubled child,
who cowered like a frightened bird beneath his arm for pro-
tection. Instead of speaking, he began singing in a low, trem-
ulous but sweetly musical voice, a hymn that spoke of trust
a ith in the oversight of God. It was sung to the tune
of Auld Lang Syne and had always been a favorite with the
missionary.

As he sat thus, humming over those cheering words, his
eyes resting absently upon the door, the mild autumn after-
noon gradually faded into twilight which in turn deepened
into evening. Cora had fallen into slumber, and his hand
rested upon her head; still he sung, in his modulated voice,
the hymn, and the tears slowly trickled down his cheek.
Never before had Father Richter enjoyed such a close com-
munion with his Saviour as upon that night in September,

“when he sat in his own hut and ran back over the past forty
years of his life. Never before had he experienced in so tan-
gible, so palpable a form the presence of the blessed Master
whom he had served through all those long, eventful years.
He sat there and wondered whether it was possible for the
world to offer a situation for which he would exchange his
own, in spite of the cloud that was lowering over it. No, no,
a thousand times no, was the inward answer to the question.

He had sat for nearly three hours in this soothing reverie,
and he was all unconscious of the lapse of time, when he was
recalled by the sound of a footstep, and a form flitted by the
open door. He merely caught a glimpse of it, insufficient in
the dim moonlight to reveal the identity of the person.

A moment iater, the Indian reappeared, and stepping to
the door looked in. As there was no light in the room, and
the missionary was in shadow, he failed to discover who was
sitting directly in front of him.

_. “Won't you enter and sit with me awhile?” asked Father
Richter, in his mild, persuasive tones. As quick as lightning
the form drew back and whisked out of sight.

Father Richter, while the Indian was standing before him,

 

 

   

        
         
 
    

eee

2a een

Se

learnipg only that it was not Mugalwah.

had done his utmost to ascertain who it was, but had failed— __

 
    

 

|
}

si Macca
 

THE PRAYER AND HYMN. oa

Becoming sensible now of the lateness of the hour, he
gently raised the head of Cora from his lap, and closed the
door. As she gat somewhat confused and bewildered, he
struck a light. .

“Tt is quite late, daughter—time that you had retired.”

The heavy wooden-covered Bible was taken down from the
rade mantel-piece, a chapter read, and then the evening prayer
was offered up. The peculiar circumstances surrounding the
two did not make its pleading fervor any greater. It breathed
the same unshaken faith and trust, the same unwavering hope,
and was as brief as usual.

The house of the missionary was but a story and a half i in
hight—there being a rude loft produced by the shape of the
angular roof. Three rooms only were upon the floor, the
large sitting and dining-room, and the two bedrooms, occu-
pied respectively by the father and daughter. When travelers
remained over night, as they occasionally did, accommodations
were made for them in the sitting-room, or if the necessity
was great, the loft came into use.

Father Richter had constructed a sort of rude lamp, fed »
from the fat of animals, which had done him good service for
a number of years. With this he escorted his daughter to
the bedroom and there kissed her good-night. She had be-
come inspired with the same soothing trust as her father, and”
scarce a thought of danger crossed her mind, as she sunk into
a sweet, dreamless slumber upon her couch.

Meanwhile the excitement among the red-men was on the’
increase. Their village, which stood several hundred yards
from the Clearing, was the scene of earnest dispute. The
North American Indian is a strange being, with a nature
which it has puzzled many a man to understand. In this lit-
tle community, among whom Father Richter had administered
for twenty years, nearly every adult person had made a pro-
fession of Christianity; and, so long as temptation remained
away from them, their lives were consistent. But let those
infernal pests of society, the whisky-traders, make their ap-
pearance in the neighborhood, and the appetites of the men,
and some of the women, became uncontrollable. Despite the
protestations and threatenings of their teacher, they swallowed
the fiery abomination so long as they could obtain it, or as

 
  
   
   
   
   
     
   
   
       
     
 
    
     
   
   
     
   
   
     
      
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
    
   

 

THE HUNTER’S RSCAPE.

long as they were capable of holding another drop. And
then, like so many helpless brutes, they slept until the effects
of their debauch had passed away.

Then, repentant and sorrowful, they besought the forgive-
ness of God and of the aggrieved missionary for their sin.
They prostrated themselves" in the very dust, almost starved
themselves to death, and crucified their bodies in evety man-
ner as a punishment for their transgressions. Even Christian
Jim, who, beyond all question, was a sincere follower of the
Saviour, was not proof at all times against these tempta-
tions.

Then, at rare intervals, came, faintly but distinctly, the
sounds of war, and these meek Indians, whether upon the
chase, fishing, or at home in their villages, raised their heads
and listened. Assuring themselves of the meaning of the

‘

» sound, the flashing eye, the compressed lip and the quickly-
_ drawn breath showed how deep was the response of their

natures to the well-remembered call.

And thus it was, on this Sabbath morning in autumn, when,
ordinarily, they were quiet and thoughtful, that they were
talkative and excited. The messenger of Little Crow had
brought words’ that were like wind to the slumbering fire.
The majority were. in favor of starting at once to the south-
ward and joining in the work of destruction of the settlers;
but a few; among whom Christian Jim was prominent, en-
deayored to dissuade them from the step. The controversy
was long and earnest, but it effected no good.

A little before midnight a band of some twenty warriors, ©

fully armed and in their war-paint, withdrew from the village,
and stealthily entered the wood in a south-easterly direction.
A glance at their fiendish faces would have assured any one
of their intent. The leading spirit was Mugalwah, who more
than once had threatened the life of Christian Jim for oppos-
ing his advice so strenuously.

About a mile away, on thes banks of a small creek, the
party halted, and Mugalwah withdrew deeper into the woods.
Fairly away from his companions, he at once turned his face
toward the Clearing. He was not long in passing the inter-

-yening distance. Carefully avoiding his own village, he came

upon the log-house from a different direction. On the very

Cage

  

ee
 

 

  

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

eee

.

  

“1H POWER OF PRAYER, B

margin of the Clearing, he paused to contemplate, in the dim
moonlight, the scene before him.

As silent as the tomb stood the little home of the mis-
stonary. Its outlines were distinctly visible, as was also the
humble garden in its rear. The few rows of maize, the spire-
like beans, and the dense undergrowth, bespoke a tidy and in-
dustrious hand, and the impression of soothing quiet was in-
creased, if possible, a the profound silence that rested ae
every thing.

But this picture of ‘eontentitient was lost upon the erratic
being who stood in the edge of the woods. mi ineSe
daubed face was disfigured by the expression of frightful ferocity
that gleams from the Indian’s face when engaged in his inhu-
man work; and the gentle instructor to whom, for so many
years, he had looked up to with reverence, was now uae
formed into an object of implacable hate. _

As noiseless as a phantom, the savage glided across the
open space toward the building. A stranger standing upon
the edge of the Clearing, would have observed him pass around
the corner of the house, where, as he sunk upon his knees,
his form dissolved into the deeper shadow of the building it-
self. A

At the recent date of which we are writing, the lucifer
match was in use among the Indians who lived in the neigh-
borhood of the border, or who had communication with the
whites. Mugalwah was provided with a number of these
which he held in his left hand, while he gathered kindlings
With his right.

The dexterity with which he collected the twigs, brush
and dried leaves and heaped them against the house, might
have led any one to suspect that he was an experienced hand
at the business. Assuring himself that there could be no
miscarriage, he swept his eagle eye over the Clearing to make
sure that there were no interlopers, and then he carefally lis-
tened to find whether any one was stirring inside.
| All was still, and with a steady hand he drew a couple of
matches over a distended portion of his -hunting-dress. They
ignited instantly, and he appiled them to the lower portion of

‘the pile. A slight dew had fallen, and there was some delay

before the flame communicated. By carefully shading the

 
 
  

THE HUNTER’S ESCAPE.

   
 

 

84

blaze, it soon caught and the fire steadily and rapidly in
creased. Sa

The face of the Indian glowed with a demoniac ecstasy, as
he watched the serpentine flame widening and broadening,
and realized that\in a moment the house of Father Richter
must be wrapped in fire.

All at once he started. Something caught his ear. » He eh
placed his hand upon his hunting-knife and glanced around :
him. The sound came from within the building, and was
that of the missionary himself. It was low and monotonous, i

{

       
   
     
   
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
    
   
    
  
 
 
 
 

and Mugalwah needed but a moment to assure him that it
was the voice of prayer.

From some cause or other, Father Richter found it impos-
sible to sleep upon retiring some time before. Lying in his
bed for a couple of hours, he finally arose, dressed, and seated
himself in a large chair at the foot of his bed. Here, medi-

tating as was his wont, it was not unnatural for him after a
time to sink upon his knees and commune in prayer with his
Maker. All unconscious of the danger which so imminently
threatened him, the principal subject of his petition was the
very being, who, at that moment, was encompassing him and
his daughter with a horrid death.

Mugalwah heard hisname pronounced and he listened more
intently than ever. The prayer was in the Indian tongue, so’
that he understood every word. What a study the face of
that savage offered, as it was lit up by the flaming twigs in

: front of him. -His soul was stirred to its innermost depths
i. and a mighty struggle for a few seconds took place in his
: breast.

Meanwhile the blaze was increasing. Already the corners
of the dry, seasoned logs were beginning to smoke and to give
evidence of dangerous heat. Still the low voice of prayer
was heard, and still the name of Mugalwah was offered be-
fore the, Throne of Grace. The Indian bent his head still
lower and listened. Like an aroused lion he sprung to his
feet and leaping upon the burning twigs scattered them far |
and near. Pausing only long enough to assure himself that i
there was no possible danger to the building, he ran across
the Clearing at the top of his speed and plunged into the
wood and disappeared,

ite

icici cals ill

saiesanilassens

    
we

aise Sacer

Sennen scnnatnenanasied ~

THE YOUNG HUNTER, 85

It seemed as if that Clearing was to be the scene of more
than one singular occurrence upon that autumn night. It was
scarcely twenty minutes after the departure of the savage,
when another form, clothed in the dress of a white man, is-
sued from the wood at almost the same point that he had en-
tered, and strode across the Clearing in the direction of the
cabin. Reaching the door, he rapped upon it with a force
that might have been heard at a considerable distance.

Father Richter had not yet retired, and he answered the
summons almost immediately, pausing, however, long enough
to light his lamp. As he opened the door, his eyes fell upon
the smiling face of a young man attired in the garb of a hun-
ter, holding a rifle in his left hand while he extended his right
to grasp that of the missionary.

Their manner was such as to show that they had met be-
fore, but under circumstances that one might suspect were
not altogether of an agreeable nature. There was a restraint
about the young man, and his smile was forced, as though he
were in doubt about the reception that awaited him. Father
Richter took a second penetrating glance to assure himself
there was no mistake, and then he half drew back as though
to close the door. The yaung man noticed it and recoiled a
step.

“ Am I not welcome, Father Richter ?”

“Come in, for you are in more danger than you suspect;
but, Roderick, you are the last man I expected to see, and I
will not take a lie upon myself by saying that I am glad to
see you; but I turn no man from my door, much less one of
my own blood.”

It is a mournful fact regarding this fallen nature of ours,
that there are very few beings who have attained to any-
where near perfection, in a, moral point of view, without hay-
ing some particular failing ; ; or, to express our meaning by. .
figure, scarcely any man can so protect and fortify himself,
but there will be some weak spot that he has overlooked,
where the great adversary obtains almost undisputed en-
trance. ‘

A person might have lived for years with old Father Rich:
ter, and never found any thing which was not to be admired ;
and yet, between him and young Roderick Charnly, a slight

/

 
\

36 THE HUNTER’S ESCAPE.

occurrence of a few years before had placed a chasm over
‘which neither could pass. The missionary wished the man
no harm; he only asked that Providence might keep them
separated. He had no desire to see nor to hear any thing re-
garding him. “After the decided rebuff he had given him
about a year before, he made himself believe that the young
hunter would encamp anywhere in the woods rather than ap-
proach the Clearing: But on this autumn night, when, of all
others, he should have been hundreds of miles away from the
infuriated Minnesota Indians, he had made his way through
the wilderness to a spot within a hundred yards of the very
beings who would have torn him to pieces had they known
of his presence. He had made his way to this point, we say,
when he knew that, at the most, a dubious welcome only
awaited him.

“J remain with you but a short time,” said he, in answer
to the remark of the missionary; “so, Father Richter, please
make no reference to that unhappy matter which has placed
such a distance between us.”

The two seated themselves as if for a long conversation.

“And what, Roderick, may I inquire, is the cause of this
unexpected visit upon your part ?””

“T came to inform you of a dreadful danger that hangs
over your head. A massacre has broken out in Minnesota,
which, under the direction of Little Crow, Little Priest, Little
Six, White Dog, and many other leaders, is spreading through
- the different agencies—the Upper and Lower Reservation. In

short, Father Richer, the entire range of settlements west of
St. Paul are considered in danger of destruction. Fearing
that you might not be aware of | this, I have made my Way
‘from Red River to inform you.”

“Tam grateful for the interest you have thus manifested,
put did you really imagine that the ignorant people who sur-
round me, and among whom I have resided for so many years,
could ever be induced to raise their hand against me or
mine?”

“LThope not, Father Richter, but you must not forget that
other savages are in reach of you. The missionaries Riggs
and Williamson have been compelled to flee for their lives,
and if they are in danger why may not you be?”

Spo

Oe
  

   
 
 
  
  

 

A DIFFERENCE OF OPINION.

There was a lingering sarcasm in this question as if the
young man would reprove this implied assumption of superior
influence among the Indians. His words impressed the old
man very strongly. 7

“™hey have. been driven from their homes!” he repeated.
“TY hardly believed the Sioux would have sought to harm
them, exasperated as they may be against the whites.”

“These aborigines that are so landed by sentimental poets
and romance writers are a treacherous and bloody-minded
race.”

“ They are a people who have been eect wronged by
the- whites. What can you expect from them, when such
wicked agents are appointed by Government, and when such
dtshoriest traders grow rich from these poor, starving red-
men ?”

“There is truth in what you say, and I suppose it will al-
ways be so. I did not apprehend much peril to you from the
immediate people around, but there are others, many of whom
are now engaged in this devilish work, who know of you, and
may take it into their heads to pay you a visit. The capes
is not too great, Father Richter, for such a thing to occur.”

“T am aware of that, and also learned yesterday from
Awahnock, or Christian Jim, as he is more generally known,
of the outbreak. Years ago I fled through the woods to es-
cape the fury of these Indians; but I am too old to do that
now. I can labor but a few years at most and it matters lit-
tle when I am called away. My apprehension only is for
Cora.”

“Why not flee to the land of civilization and spend your
old days in comfort and quiet ?”

“No, no; I have dwelt too long in these solitudes to make
a residence endurable in the States. Should the necessity of
saving Cora’s life compel me to leave this Clearing, I shall go
deeper into the woods—further away from the abode of white
men; but it will be a regard only for the welfare of my cher-
ished daughter that can drive me to such a step,”

The young man was silent for a moment, and then he
asked : a

“Father Richter, are you aware of the fearful character of
this outbreak ?”

5 3

   

 
 
   

 
 

    

88 THE WUNTER’S ESCAPE.

 

“T can well imagine what it is. I have seen the Indian
in all moods, and understand what he is when wrong and per-
secution have aroused his fallen nature within him. Many
an innocent mother and child must fall before the tomahawk
and knife, while the truly guilty escape. Ah me, it is sad,sad.”

“The war makes such a drain upon our men that I am
afraid there will be difficulty in sending a sufficient force to
quell this insurrection which is of such considerable extent.”

“Unless Government appoints Christian or at least honest
agents, it will require a standing army to afford protection to
the emigrants who venture into the north-west. ‘Do not mis-
understand me, Roderick; this is a subject upon which I feel
deeply. I would that I could reach the ear of the authorities
for a few moments. This outbreak must be put down, as it
undoubtedly will in the course of a few weeks, but what as-
surance can you haye that the same thing will not be re-
peated?”

“ A wholesome hanging of two or three hundred of the
leading spirits, I think, would have a good effect. upon those
who are left.”

“Tt might so long as the terror inspired by such murders
tasted ; but if you think such a course could paralyze the arm
of every red-man you are as seriously mistaken as you were
in that matter a few years ago.”

The scarlet suffused the face of the young man and a sharp
reply rose to his lips; but, recalling his position, he checked
himself and sat for a, moment in silence. He felt that the
difference between himself and Father Richter was irreconcil-
able, and it became him to avoid all reference to the matter.
As if recollecting himself, the missionary said :

“You must pardon me, Roderick, that I have not asked
you to eat. You will partake of something ?”

“TJ thank you; I have no appetite, and the hour is too far
adyanced already.”

. “Did you observe any thing unusual as you approached the
Clearing ?”

“There was nothing in the immediate vicinity of your
cabin that I noticed; but I had a very narrow escape upon
the bank of the creek a mile or so away.”
ee HOW ty

    
      
  

   

ene

ne
  

   

 

|
}
|

  

A REQUEST AND A PROMISE.

“T had no thought of meeting any one, and came upon a
party of Indians that seemed upon the point of crossing. It
was almost a miracle that I did not run directly into their
clutches. It may be that I should have suffered no harm, ag
they were your people.”

“They would haye made short work with you, Roderick ;
their blood is fairly aroused, and the face of a white person,
excepting perhaps Cora and myself, would drive them: to
frenzy. If you saw a party of my people, they were on their
way to take part in the massacre. I wonder much at your
venturing here at this time.” i

“T was greatly concerned for your safety.”

The hunter saw that his words were only half believed,
and he regretted haying uttered them. He was so nettled at
the manner of his host that he rose abruptly.

“ Well, good-by, Father Richter. I hope the time may come
when you will think better of me than you do now.”

“ Roderick, I think no ill of you—God knows I think ill
of no man; but I believe that it would be better for both of
us that we should meet no more in this world. You under-
stand my feeling toward you. ‘When you leave me, let it be
with the understanding that you have made your last visit !”

“T promise*you neyer to darken your doors again.”

“But hold; yonder, I see, the day is breaking. You can_
not leave my house until to-morrow evening. You would
never get a mile beyond the Clearing.”

“T have not lived for many years in the wilderness ; but I
have lived there long enough to be able to take care of my-
self,’ replied the young hunter with a slight tinge of haughti-
ness in his manner, as he lifted his rifle from where it had re-
posed. against the side of the room, and made a motion to-
ward the door. The only reply of Father Richter was to
draw him one side and point through the small open-window.
Following the direction of his finger, Roderick Charnley dis-
covered an Indian and two squaws making their way across
the Clearing.

“The village is already astir, and you would be detected in
an, instant.”

“Tt would rot be the first time, I have been detected,” re-
plied the young map, still making as though to depart.

  
     

  
 
   
  
 
 
 
    
    
 

o

40 THE HUNTER’S ESCAPE,

“ Roderick,” commanded ‘the missionary, in his impressive
and earnest manner, as he laid his hand upon his shoulder, .
“should you depart from my house before the coming dark-
ness, your blood would be upon my head. You must obey

me. Keep yourself carefully concealed from view through
the day, and at night I shall then bid you good speed upon LL
your way. You are weary; pass into my own room, and
rest yourself until you are called.”

The hunter obeyed as if he were a child; and, as the
door was closed behind him, Father Richter seated himself in
his chair, to spend an hour in meditation and prayer.

 

 

CHAPTER IV.

THE ‘WAR-PARTY.

The white
Demon of greed, and rum, and treachery, |
Is on their heels for terror or we patch.
ILLIAM Ross WALLACE,

Tur band of Indians that left the atin and halted upon
the banks of the creek were not quite twenty in number.
Having chosen Mugalwah as their leader, they awaited his re-
turn without questioning. In the course of an hour or ed
made his appearance and they resumed their journey toward
the south-east. When the sun came up over the wilderness
they had traversed many a mile.
; Down in a valley-like depression, they made a second halt,
Be which was intended to be of but a few minutes’ duration.
They were iow getting in the neighborhood of the extreme
north-western. limit of civilization, and were liable to come
upon prey almost at any instant. Their encampment was on
a broad prairie, over which they had an extended view of
several miles. As the party seated themselves upon the grass,
Mugalwah ascended a slight elevation and looked around in
every portion of the horizon. —
| Away to the eastward, hid keen eye detected something
unusual, but the distance was so great that its precise identity
could not be ascertained, even with all his wonderful acumen:

  
     
       
   
   
   
   
     
    
      
   
   
   
        
      
   
   
   
 

 

THE RETUGEES. 4

Whatever the objects were, it was manifest they were ap-
proaching, and could soon be distinguished. - At length he
made out that they were a party of women and children pro-
gressing wearily forward. The wily Sioux more than sus-
pected that the massacre had something to do with their pres-
ence at this unusual hour upon the prairie.

Retreating into the hollow, he warned his companions by
an ejaculation that something was in the wind, and then
dropping upon his knees , he crept to the top of the hill and
pecred over the summit.

The party of refugees numbered six women and eight chil-
dren, three of whom were infants at the breast. The garments
of the parents were soiled and torn, their hair disheveled, and
their arms and ankles bleeding from their hurried flight
through the bushes and briers. The children were all bare-
headed, and considerable as was their distance, the savages
plainly heard their cries of distress.

The Sioux could have rushed over the prairie and swooped
down upon the little party, if they chose; but the American
Indian always prefers to draw his prey ato ambush, and so they
quietly awaited the approach of the refugees.

A tall column of smoke in the eastern horizon, that ascended
straight into the sky, perhaps hastened the flight of the little
party ; but it was full an hour before they approached within
a hundred yards of where the Sioux, glaring and malignant,
lay awaiting them. Here, as if wearied beyond endurance,
they sunk upon the earth, and endeavored to quiet their
children.

One little fellow, some six or eight years of age, seemed to
bear the fatigue better than the others; for, instead of resting
himself, he commenced running hither and yon, and finally
approached the hollow which concealed the gsayages. Laugh-
ing and chattering to himself, and calling to his exhausted
compgnions to join him, he suddenly halted within a dozen
feet of the Sioux. As he saw the painted, ferocious ‘faces
turned toward him, he was transfixed with terror for a mo-
ment, and then with a gasp of fear started to fly.

The crouching Mugalwah shot like a ball from the earth,
and catching the boy in one arm, bore him to the ground with
the quickness of lightning. He was feeling for his knife with

- ee

 
 

     

42 THE HUNTER’S HSCAPE.
which to dispatch him, when the mother, who had seen the
occurrence, uttered a scream of agony and rushed forward to
the protection of her offspring. This served to distract the
attention of Mugalwah, who released the struggling boy, and
he and his followers arose in a group and approached the
fugitives.

‘Now ensued a scene that almost baffles description. The
women fell upon their kneesin despair, imploring that their
children might be spared ; the latter, almost frantic with fear,

clung to their garments and refused to be quieted; ‘while the -

Indians, dark and sullen, stood calmly contemplating them.
The little fellow who had escaped the clutches of Mugalwah,
instead of remaining with his friends, continued running over
the prairie until he had gone several hundred yards, when he
sat down upon the ground and began sobbing’ as if his heart
were broken.

Beyond a doubt, the refugees would have suffered the most
barbarous outrage, and the entire party would have been put
to death, had it not been for an wunlooked-for occurrence.
More than one savage was toying with the handle of his

knife, impatient for the signal from their leader, when an ex- ~

clamation from one of their number turned all eyes to the
southward. A party of horsemen were seen approaching at
a rapid rate, as if intent on charging the savages. <A quick
motion of Mugalwah’s hand, and every one of his followers
vanished back into the hollow, and dropped upon their faces,
where, as before, they were invisible.

A rapid, searching glance of the Sioux, showed him- that
the cavalry were too numerous for his party to engage. Had
his own men been mounted, he might have been tempted to a
brush with them; but, as it was, ee could only save
them from utter annihilation.

Stepping forward so as to confront the women, Mugalwah
said, in his gruff, commanding voice :

“Git up! <Ain’t going to kill!”

The kneeling women stared as if they failed to comprehend
‘his meaning. He repeated his command in a louder yoice

than before, whereupon they arose and began thanking and -

calling down blessings upon his head. The chief checked
them peremptorily. i

 

 
   
 

4,

Hg

|
2

CONSCIENCE. 48

“Yonder come white men—soon be here—take you wid
’em—dey want to kill Sioux—know what I mean ?”

The abrupt and difficult speech of the savage, together with
the excessive fear of the fugitives, prevented their compre- -
hending his meaning. Finally one of them caught the mean-
ing of his. outstretched arm, and saw in the distance the
approach of the horsemen.

“Tell dem big lot Sioux down dere, (pointing behind nim,)
too many for white men to fight—tell dem we let you go—
no hurt you—tell dem dat ?”

“Yes, yes; we will tell them how very kind you have been.
to us.”

“Tell dem we're twenty—good many—forty down dere,
eh?”

“There are not so many of you, are there ?”

“ Nebber mind—you tell dem dat—don’t, Mugalwah toma-
hawk you!” said the Sioux, making a menacing motion with
his tomahawk.

“You must kill me then, for I can not tell a die; even to”
save my life.”

This heroic courage shot through and through the being of
Mugalwah. Like a flash of lightning, conscience sprung up _

-and demanded to be heard. He comprehended, in all its

1ength and breadth, the wicked work upon which he had
entered, and for a moment he wavered. The thought of the
vows he had taken upon himself; the earnest entreaty of
Father Richter; and, more than all, the offended God above,
who, at that moment, was gazing down upon him—he thought
of these and he wavered. But it was only a moment. With
a mighty struggle, he sent conscience, silent and COWSTAR
back to her retreat.

The danger was becoming imminent; he could but reaneee
the firmness of the suffering fugitive, in thus braving death
for the sake of truth. It is doubtful what would have been
the result of this strange state of affairs, had not one of the
other women interposed. j

“Mary, you can promise to keep silence, at least, regarding
their numbers, can you not ?”

“Yes; I suppose so,” she answered, hesitatingly, as if in
doubt whether even that would be consistent.

4

i
,

 
 

44 THE HUNTER’S ESCAPE.

“Very well, you have promised that; I will see to the
other matter, then. JI will tell them what you wish,” she ad-
ded, addressing the savage.

“Tell we're good many—big too much for dem to fight !”

“Yes, yes, of course.”

_ “Kill if don’t !”

_ Mugalwah shot backward as he spoke, and dropped flat
upon his face, beside his companions in the hollow. Bring-
iug his rifle to the front of him he peered over “the bank,
ready to shoot whichever of the fugitives. manifested treach-

ery; for, had he been certain it would have insured his own

destruction, he would haye sped the bullet at her who proved
false to him.
The party of horsemen were under the command, of Lieu-

tenant ————. They had rendered good service for the last .

few days in picking up stragglers and chastising over-venture-
some parties of savages.

The lieutenant had detected the fugitives at some distance,
but neither he nor any of his men knew the correct number
of the Indians. Consequently they approached at a cautious
~ pace. The experience of the cavalry in the great civil war

had taught them to be careful of those terrible ambuscadeg,
Accordingly, at a safe distance, they drew up and awaited the
approach of the fugitives.

The latter were not slow to avail themselves of this oppor-

tunity. They hurried over the prairie, and in a short time
were among the rough but kind-hearted soldiers, who took
the women and children upon their hoxses until all were
- safely mounted.
The first inquiry of the lieutenant, after emitting a mouth-
ful of tobacco-juice, was regarding the strength and number
of the Sioux. The women kept their agreement with Mugal-
wah, the conscientious Mary maintaining a strict silence, while
the other so exaggerated that the officer suspected her percep-
tions had been distorted by her excessive terror. As it was,
however, he concluded the best pen of procedure was to let
‘the Indians alone.
Still, he was loth to take his departure without reconnoiter-
ing and exchanging shots with them. Selecting six of his
most experienced men, he galloped out upon the prairie and

 
 

 

 

os,
»

AWAHNOCK’S ERRAND. ; 45

began describing a circuit around the sayages, keeping a sharp

eye upon their hiding-place to discern a spot where he might
send a piece of led “home,” or gather some idea of their true
number.

As the lieutenant constantly changed his position, he could
detect the moving of the tufted heads, and the black, threat-
ening muzzles of t the rifles ; and he either fancied or really did
see more than one pair of glowing eyeballs fixed upon him
and his party. The action of the Sioux said, in effect: “ You

let us alone, and we will let you alone; but, if you ee your °

finger on us, take care!”

The lieutenant did not put his finger upon thang, ‘the
principal reason for which being, that the opportunity was not
afforded him. Neither he nor any of his party were skillful
enough in the use of the rifle to pierce one of those dark
spots that occasionally flitted to view, while he knew a volle
from that hive could not fail of emptying several of his ms
dles. Completing the circle, Lieutenant returned to
his party, and, striking off to the north-west, they and the

 

fugitives finally disappeared from view.

It was not until they were moving specks in the distance,
that Mugalwah and his party arose to their feetagain. By this
time the forenoon was well advanced. The savages immedi-
ately took up their march toward the south-east. . As yet, they

~ had shed no blood, and they were burning to take part in the

fearful massacre that was then raging.

Several miles in this direction brought them to a small
grove of trees, through which ran a brook. Here they halted
for the purpose of holding a short consultation and determin-
ing their plan of proceedings. They had been here scarcely
fifteen minutes, and the chief was busy in speaking, when
some one was heard to step in the brook, and, looking up,
they all observed Christian Jim.

A frown gathered upon their faces, for they well knew the:

errand that had brought him hither. One or two grasped
their hatchets, in their excitement, but they waited to hear his
words. |

_ It would be tedious to the reader, were we to narrate the,
particulars of the interview. Awahnock came at the sugges-
tion of Father Richter, to see whether it were possible to

 
 

4 i THE HUNTERS ESCAPE.

induce Mugalwah and his party to return from their errand
of death. He had some difficulty in securing an audience,
but they finally listened and replied to him. In answer to
their harangues upon the oppressions and persecutions of the
white men, he could only reply by citing the example of the
Good Man who was upon the earth many, many long moons
ago, and who bore all manner of persecution at the hands of
his enemies without murmuring or resistance. He recalled to
them the vows they had taken upon themselves, reminding
them of their companions who had stayed at home and re-
mained faithful, and upon whom the Great Spirit smiled in
pleasure, while he frowned upon them in anger. And lastly,
he assured them that the great chief at Washington would
certainly repay them for this violation of treaty and law.

The debate for a time was stormy; but the faithful Awah-
nock was assisted by conscience, and was on the very eve of
victory, when an ally of Satan appeared upon the scene in the

shape of Matt Larkins, the whisky-trader.

“ Fyer’s yer prime stuff! The reg’lar distilled dew of the
mountains. Ill ile yer j’ints and make you limber as a rag.
Shall I stop and let you imbibe, or pass on ?”

_ He had his inevitable keg upon his shoulder, which he de-
posited upon the ground as he spoke, and folding his arms
and seating himself upon it, gazed around upon the company.

Ah! the fire-water, the fire-water! When the highest |

talent, the most lofty genius, and the most solemn vows among

Civilized people are no proof against its fearful fascinations,

what is to be expected from the poor, ignorant, degraded In-
dian? Is it any wonder that he bargains gun, tomahawk,
ammunition, clothes and food to obtain the maddening
draught ?. Is it strange that he consents to be kicked, beaten,

and subjected to all manner of abuse, for the sake of the

“enemy that steals away his brain ?”
Producing a tin-cup, the trader nearly filled it and passed
it to Mugalwah. He took it greedily and drank every drop.
“Prime stuff, that!’ remarked Larkins, as he received the
cup again. “None of yer adulterated stuff—made it myself.”
- He filled the cup again and again, and passed it around
until every one had drank except Awahnock. The wily trader

knew him well, and had purposely reserved offering him the

mec}
soy

 

i Tl en

 
 

 

  

47

MATT AND HIS “BEVERAGE.”

 

cup until the last one, feeling certain that he would not be
able to resist. the sight of the gurgling fluid. There was a
mighty struggle in the breast of the Indian. He silently
called upon his Father again and again to help him, and when
he felt certain that he had the requisite strength, the sight of
the fiery liquid made him tremble and doubt again. It wasa
sore trial, but he triumphed !

“Don’t want it!’ he replied, emphatically, with a shake of
his head.

“ You ain’t agoin’ to tell me you intend to refuse that now,
be you? ’Causeif you be, I must tell you I don’t peers you.
Come, that’s only half full.”

“ Don’t want it, I tell you,” replied Awahnock, in a ioades
voice, still Keeping his eye fixed upon the dangerous fluid.

“Just take a taste; then, if you don’t like it, you can
throw it away. That’s what I says.”

Awahnock laid his hand upon his knife, and his black eyes

- flashed fire.

“Tf you ax me agin—TI kill you.”

“Oh! all right; it don’t make no difference to me, not at
all. Do as you darn please ; that’s my motto.”

“Give some more,” commanded Mugalwah, in his gruff,
peremptory manner.

“Sartinly, sartinly ; as long as the supply don’t give out,
yowre welcome to all you can swaller, and I reckon that ain’t
a very small lot, by no means.” ;

The cup went the rounds again. When it came to Awah-
nock, Larkins did not repeat his offer, for, as the matter al-
ready stood, he did not like the glittering light of those dark
eyes fixed upon him. The truth was, Matt Larkins came
nigher his death that day, in September, 1862, than he had
ever before or since. Indian Jim more than once was on the
point of sinking his knife in his bosom, and ridding Minnesota
forever of one of its most dangerous pests; but he could not
really satisfy himself that it was his duty to take the step;
consequently he kept his knife in his belt. \

The effect of Larkins’ compound on the Indians was vari-
ous. The majority of them simply made fools of themselves,
while there were several in whom it seemed to arouse the
most malignant portion of their dark natures. They glowered

 

  

   
   
 
 
  
 
 
 
 
 
 
    
    
 
   
    
  
  
    
    
  

anal SSRIS =

THE HUNTER’S ESCAPE.

upon the whisky-trader and upon Awehnock as though medi-
tating their destruction. Sad, indeed, would have been the
fate of the hapless fugitive who at that moment fell in their
hands.

Mugalwah imbibed most freely, and was the first to come
under the influence of the demon. ‘ Want some more drink
—good!” he said, endeavoring to fix his unsteady gaze upon
the trader. .

“ All right; help yourself, my Lily of the Woods.”

Instead of taking the cup, the maudlin savage got upon his
knees and endeavored to drink from the faucet. As might
naturally be expected, he made poor work, and, in considera-
ble rage, he rose to his feet again.

“ D—n fire-water!” he exclaimed. ‘“ Good for nothin’—
smash him!’ Saying which, he brought his tomahawk witb
all the force he could summon down upon the keg. The lat-
ter was not injured in the least, while the instrument glanced
from his hand. Larkins laughed.

“Try that agin’; that ain’t the first time it?s been cracked

- over the head. Since the missionary smashed it, some years

ago up in the Clearing, I’ve had the keg covered with double
bands of iron, and ef you want to exercise your muscle, why
just slam away at it.” .

The next movement by one of the half-intoxicated Indians,
was to throw a tomahawk at the whisky-trader himself—it
narrowly missing him.

“T ain’t double-hooped!” said he, “so, I beg of you, don’t
throw them kind of missiles at me. They might do harm, you
know, and then where would you fellows get whisky from?”

Several others manifested the same dangerous, playful ten-
dency toward Larkins, so that he was constrained to withdraw
to a distance of several yards. He was used to such scenes,
however, and he knew there was no danger so long as he ex-
ercised common prudence. He feared Awahnock more than
all the others. He felt if he would only leave there, would
be no danger to himself, and nothing could prevent him from
reaping a very remunerative price, for the/ stuff he had just
furnished the Indians. There seemed no disposition upon the
part of Jim to take his departure, and the trader had recourse
to stratagem to accoinplish it,

patter
Pienaar

AWAHNOCK’S REPROOF. 49

“There don’t seem much chance for more speculation
ere,” he remarked, in a loud voice; “they are pretty well
done for, for the present, so I'll leave. I s’pose you stay,
Awahnock ?”

The Sioux deigned no reply.

“Well, good-night to you.”

With this, he lifted the keg, now nearly empty, to his
shoulder and moved away. He cast a furtive glance at Jim,
but he sat stolid and motionless, and there was no divining
his emotions or intentions, His face was as expressionless as
stone.

The trader passed outside the grove and again glanced back.
To his surprise, Awahnock stood beside him

“You bad man,” said the savage.

“Why so?” asked Larkins, who deemed it wise not to ex
cite his ire.

“Bad man—sell Injin fire-water; he go kill white folkg
now—cut dere throat.”

“Can’t help that. I don’t make ’em buy the whisky. If
they don’t like it, all they’ve got to do is to let it alone. Ain’t
that fair, Awahnock ?”

.“ Fire-water bad—Injin love him—can’t help drink him
when white man offer him.” |

“Well, that’s his look-out—not mine. The red-man boasts
a great deal of what he does; strikes me he might do enough
to master his love for fire-water, if he thinks it doesn’t do him
any good.”

“ Fire-water taste good—me like him.”

“ And that shows your sense. Now, don’t be offended,my ~
fine fellow, if I ask you to join me in a swaller. Come,
now.” ‘

“ Like to,” said the Sioux, slowly, and with hesitation, ag
the trader began pouring out the liquid; “but won’t !” he ex-
claimed, springing back a step or two and proudly bringing
his form to its full hight. “It wicked—Awahnock not touch
him.” |
“All right; just as you please, I says. -You’ve no objec-
tion to my drinking your health, I suppose? If not, es
goes.”

hi “Bee yonder,’ continued the Sioux, pointing back in tte

 

 
         
    
 
 
    
  
 
 
 
    
   
  
 
 
  
   
  
   
 
 
 
 
 
 
   

50 THE HUNTER’S ESCAPE.

grove, “see what fire-water do—dere be Mugalwah and oder is
warriors asleep—when wake up dey want more fire-water— |
can’t git ’em—what den dey take ?” jog

“ Don’t know, I’m sure.”

“ Blood—take yours if see you.” |
_ “Sorry—shouldn’t do that ; because it isn’t right. Besides,
they ought to remember Old Abe will pay ’em for such tricks.”

“And He, pay you for yours,” said the Sioux with impres-
sive solemnity, as he pointed upward.

Sad and sorrowful, he wrapped his blanket around him, and
turning his back upon his kindred, moved off to the north-
west toward the Clearing.

Waiting until he was beyond sight, the whisky-trader re-
turned on tiptoe to the revelers. They were all sound asleep,
and he moved among them with an assurance which showed
he knew well enough the effect of his potations. Taking a
blanket here, a knife there, and occasionally a handsome rifle, +”
he finally satisfied his “conscience” that he had secured a ©
reasonable compensation for his whisky ; and apparently in no
wise discommoded by his extra load, he moved out upon the
prairie, and, rather curiously, also took a direction toward. the
Clearing.

we

CHAPTER V.
THE SHOT. t

“Love wakes men once a lifetime each ;

They lift their heavy heads and look,

And lo! what one sweet page can teach
They read with joy, then shut the book ;

And some give thanks, and some blaspheme,
And most forget ; but either way,

That and the child’s unheeded dream,
Is all the light of all their day.”

On the morning succeeding the attempt of Mugalwah to +
burn the house of the missionary, the latter was seated upon .
a large flat rock, close by a spring from which he was in the ‘
habit of drawing his daily supply of water. The expression la
of the good man’s face would haye showed the most casual —
a et

MUSINGS. ; 51

observer that he was sadly troubled. It was late in the fore-
noon, and he had been seated there for more than an hour.

“T have now reached the allotted period of man’s life,” he —
mused. “Three score and ten years have bent my form and
made my step more feeble than it was when I first came to
this region. Forty years of this life have been spent among
the poor red children of America. During those forty years
I have seen many a chieftain, warrior and maid, gathered to
their long home, and how many a dying couch haye I helped
smooth! There’s comfort in that thought. I once enter-
tained the hope that the aboriginal race would become entirely .
evangelized. The ways of God are mysterious, and it does
not become me to say that such is not to be; but, ah! my
own people I fear have set the work backward for many a
long year.” :

He dropped his head for a few moments, and then his .
thoughts recurred to his visitor of the night before.

“Tt is strange that that man should call upon me. I
thought the trouble which occurred between us shut up for-
ever the door of communication. It is singular this dislike I
feel toward him, and yet it is impossible to subdue it. I should
be loth to confess to another how much I desire his departure,
Wut I really fear I shall drive him from my house when I
return.” i

Again he dropped his head in thought and again: he com-
muned with himself.

“ He tells me that it was his fear for my safety that sent
him hither at this time; but how did he learn that danger
threatened me? He belongs to the land of civilization.
When this outbreak was not anticipated by more than a moiety
of the settlers, is it reasonable to suspect that those hundreds
of miles away should have known what was coming? I fear
that was a deception of his. I have come here, because I can
not bear the sight of him. I left Cora instructions to prepare
his breakfast. I know J would starve to death before I would
accept food as he does!” added Father Richter, emphatically,
as he arose to his feet and made his way toward the Clearing.

The distance was comparatively slight, and upon entering
the cabin, he was met by Cora, with her usual smile and kiss,

“—_Sh !” admonished the misstonary, with a warning shake

‘
\

 
’

52 THE HUNTER'S ESCAPE,
of his head, “ keep a silent tongue, daughter; it would not o
for his presence to be suspected. Is he in his room ?”

“ He is gone!”

“ What ?” asked the good man in surprise, as he entered

‘and took a seat. “He has not left us 2”

“ He took his departure a few minutes after you went out.”

“T forbade him to stir out until night.”

“ He said such were your words, but your manner told him
to go instantly. He seemed much offended at something you
had said, and his last words were to the effect that you would
some day regret this.” : :

“T wonder whether he has no regrets for that matter of
several years ago. You know, daughter, that your father is
not the man to wish any one ill, but I can not help saying it is ,
a great relief to find him gone. My only trouble is that he ~

“may be seen by some of the warriors— Heaven! save us!”

The report of a zifle but a short distance away in the woods
caused this eae and both father and daughter stepped
to the door and looked around on the Clearing, as if they ex-
pected to see the explanation of the shot. Ordinarily the
report of a gun would haye occasioned no remark; but now,

, When their apprehension was excited, both connected it with
‘Roderick Charnley, and Father Richter, simultaneously with

‘the discharge of the gun, felt a sharp twinge of conscience at
the manner in which he treated the young man.

“T trust Roderick is not injured,” he said, “but he is
encompassed by perils, and should have remained here until
nightfall, as I directed. We can pray for him, at apy rate.”

The two sunk upon their knees, and it may be that Father
Richter’s petition was somewhat more fervent, because he
could not avoid the reflection that he was concerned in the
safety of the young man, who a short time before had left his
house, and gone forth in the wilderness, where many and
many a long mile intervened between him and any point in
which he could feel immunity from personal danger.

The missionary passed out in his garden and busied himself,
as was his custom, in attending to its duties, while Cora, for a-
time, occupied herself in her household obligations. These

completed, she sauntered forth across the Clearing, taking the |

same direction as that pursued by her father in the morning,

‘

    

a

  

rm
}
j
|
}
}

+
}

r

{

    
SR

A DIFFERENCE OF OPINION. 37

There was a hin sarcasm in this question as if the
young man would reprove this implied assumption of superior
influence among the Indians. His words impressed the old
man very strongly.

“They have been driven from their homes!” he repeated.
“YJ hardly believed the Sioux would have sought to harm
them, exasperated as they may be against the whites.”

“These aborigines that are so lauded by sentimental poeta
and romance writers are a treacherous and bloody-minded
race.”

“They are a people who have been grievously wronged by

the whites. What can you expect from them, when such
wicked agents are appointed by Government, and when such
dishonest traders grow rich from these poor, starving red-
men ?”

“There is truth in what ‘you say, and I suppose it. will al-
ways be so. I did not apprehend much peril to you from the

immediate people around, but there are others, many of whom -

are now engaged in this devilish work, who know of you, and
may take it into their heads to pay you a visit. The distance
is not too great, Father Richter, for such a thing to occur.”

“T am aware of that, and also learned yesterday from
Awahnock, or Christian Jim, as he is more generally known,
of the outbreak. Years ago I fled through the woods to es-
cape the fury of these Indians; but I am too old to do that
now. I can labor but a few years at most and it matters lit-
tle when I am called away. My apprehension only is for
Cora.”

“Why not flee to the land of civilization and spend your
old days in comfort and quiet ?”

“No, no; I have dwelt too long in these solitudes to make
a residence endurable in the States. Should the necessity of
saving Cora’s life compel me to leave this Clearing, I shall go
deeper into the woods—further away from the abode of white
men; but it will be a regard only for the welfare of my cher-
ished daughter that can drive me to such a step.”

The young man was silent for a moment, and then he
asked :

“Father Richter, are you aware of the fearful character of

this outbreak ?”
(3) 2

 
 
   

83 THE HUNTER’S ESCAPE.

  

“y can, . well imagine what it is. 1 ve seen the Indian
in all moods, and understand what he is when wrong and per-
secution have aroused his fallen nature within him. Many
an innocent mother and child must fall before the tomahawk
and knife, while the truly guilty escape. Ah me, it is sad,sad.”
“The war makes such a drain upon our men that I am
afraid there will be difficulty in sending a sufficient force to
quell this insurrection which is of such considerable extent.”

“Unless Government appoints Christian or at least: honest
agents, it will require a standing army to afford protection to

lh the emigrants who venture into the north-west. Do not mis-
ee! understand me, Roderick; this is a subject upon which I feel
deeply. I would that I could reach the ear of the authorities
for a few moments, This outbreak must be put down, as it
undoubtedly will in the course of a few weeks, but what as-,
surance can you have that the same thing will not be re-
peated 2”

“A wholesome hanging of two or three hundred of the
leading spirits, I think, would have a good effect upon those

_ who are left.” f

“Tt might so long as the terror inspired by such murders
tasted ; but if you think such a course could paralyze the arm
of every red-man you are as Serioualy. mistaken as you were
m that matter a few years ago.” 3

The scarlet suffused the face of the young man and a sharp

; reply rose to his lips; but, recalling his position, he checked

nS himself and sat for a moment in silence. He felt that the
difference between himself and Father Richter was irreconcil-
able, and it became him to ayoid all reference to the matter.
As if recollecting himself, the missionary said:

“You must pardon me, Roderick, that I have not asked
you to eat. You will partake of something ?”

\ “T thank you; I have no appetite, and the hour is too far
advanced already.” ~

“Did you observe any thing unusual as you approached the
Clearing ?”

“There was nothing in the immediate vicinity of your
cabin that I noticed; but I had a very narrow escape upon
the bank of the creek a mile or so away.”

“How ?”

  

| EAS

     
  
 
  
 
 
 
    
  
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
  
  
 
  
 
 
  

  
 

A REQUEST AND A PROMISE. 89

“Thad no indilght of meeting any one, and came upon a
party of Indians that seemed upon the point of crossing. It
was almost a miracle that I did not run directly into their
clutches. It may be that I should have suffered no harm, ag
they were your people.” :

“They would have made short work with you, Roderick ;
their blood is fairly aroused, and the face of a white person,
excepting perhaps Cora and myself, would drive them to
frenzy. If you saw a party of my people, they were on their
way to take part in the massacre. I wonder much at your
venturing here at this time.” ; ;

“TJ was greatly concerned for your safety.”

The hunter saw that his words were only half believed,
and he regretted haying uttered them. He was so nettled at
* the manner of his host that he rose abruptly.

“Well, good-by, Father Richter. I hope the time may come
when you will think better of me than you do now.”

“ Roderick, I think no ill of you—God knows I think il] —
of no man; but I believe that it would be better for both of
us that we should meet no more in this world. You under-
stand my feeling toward you. When you leave me, let it be
with the understanding that you have made your last visit /”

“T promise you neyer to darken your doors again.”

“But hold; yonder, I see, the day is breaking. You can
not leave my house until to-morrow evening. You would
never get a mile beyond the Clearing.”

“T have not lived for many years in the wilderness ; but I
have lived there long enough to be able to take care of my-
self,” replied the young hunter with a slight tinge of haughti-
ness in his manner, as he lifted his rifle from where it had re-
posed. against the side of the room, and made a motion to-
ward the door. The only reply of Father Richter was to
draw him one side and point through the small open window.
Following the direction of his finger, Roderick Charnley dis-
covered an Indian and two squaws making their way across
the Clearing.

“The village is already astir, and you would be detected in
an instant.”

“Tt would not be the first time, I have been detected,” re-
plied the young man, still making as though to depart.

 
  
 

40 THE HUNTER’S ESCAPE, co

“Roderick,” commanded the roissionllt in his impressive
and carnest manner, as he laid his hand upon his shoulder,
“should you depart from my house before the coming dark-
ness, your blood would be upon my head. ‘You must obey
me. Keep yourself carefully concealed from view through
the day, and at night I shall then bid you good speed upon
your way. You are weary; pass into my own room, and
rest yourself until you are called.” :

The hunter obeyed as if he were a child; and, as the
door was closed behind him, Father Richter seated himself in
his chair, to spend an hour in meditation and prayer.

CHAPTER IV.

THE WAR-PARTY,

The white’
Demon of greed, and rum, and treachery, }
Is on their heels for terror or dispatch.
. Wituram Ross WALLACE,

Tue band of Indians that left the village and halted upon
the banks of the creek were not quite twenty in number.
Having chosen Mugalwah as their leader, they awaited his re-
turn without questioning. In the course of an hour or so, he
made his appearance and they resumed their journey toward
the south-east. When the sun came up over the wilderness
they had trayersed many a mile.

Down in a valley-like depression, they made a second halt,
which was intended to be of but a few minutes’ duration.
They were now getting in the neighborhood of the extreme
north-western limit of civilization, and were liable to come
upon prey almost at any instant. Their encampment was on
a broad prairie, over which they had an extended view of
several miles. As the party seated themselves upon the grass,
Mugalwah ascended a slight elevation and looked around in
every portion of the horizon.

Away to the eastward, his keen eye detected something
unusual, but the distance was so great that its precise identity
could not be ascertained, even with all his wonderful acumen,

 

   
     
     
  
  
 
  
   
   
  
  
 
 
    
  
 
 
 
    
  
 
 

 

  
  
    

_ Vv as

  

THE RUTUGERS. “a

Whatever the oft were, it was manifest they were ap-
proaching, and could soon be distinguished. At length he
made out that they were a party of women and children pro-
gressing wearily forward. The wily Sioux more than sus-
pected that the massacre had something to do with their pres-
ence at this unusual hour upon the prairie.

Retreating into the hollow, he warned his companions by
an ejaculation that something was in the wind, and then
dropping upon his knees, he crept to the top of the hill and
peered over the summit. ;

The party of refugees numbered six women and eight chil-
dren, three of whom were infants at the breast. The garments
of the parents were soiled and torn, their hair disheveled, and
their arms and ankles bleeding from their hurried flight
through the bushes and briers. The children were all bare-
headed, and considerable as was their distance, the savages
plainly heard their cries of distress.

The Sioux could have rushed over the prairie and swooped
down upon the little party, if they chose; but the American
Indian always prefers to draw his prey into ambush, and so they
quietly awaited the approach of the refugees.

A. tall column of smoke in the eastern horizon, that ascended
straight into the sky, perhaps hastened the flight of the little
party ; but it was full an hour before they approached within
a hundred yards of where the Sioux, glaring and malignant,
lay awaiting them.’ Here, as if wearied beyond endurance,
they sunk upon the earth, dnd endeavored to quiet their
children.

One little fellow, some six or eight years of age, seemed to
bear the fatigue better than the others; for, instead of resting
himself, he commenced running hither and yon, and finally
approached the hollow which concealed the savages. Laugh-
ing and chattering to himself, and calling to his exhausted
Companions to join him, he suddenly halted within a dozen
feet of the Sioux. As he saw the painted, ferocious faces
turned toward him, he was transfixed with terror for a mo-
ment, and then with a gasp of fear started to fly.

The crouching Mugalwah shot like a ball from the easily
and catching the boy in one arm, bore him to the ground with .
the quickness of lightning. He was feeling for his knife with

 
 

 

THE HUNTERS HSCAPE.

which to dispatch him, when the mother, who had seen the
occurrence, uttered a scream of agony and rushed forward to
the protection of her offspring. This served to distract the
attention of Mugalwah, who released the struggling boy, and
he and his followers arose in a group and approached tke
fugitives.

Now ensuéd a scene that almost baffles description. The
women fell upon their knees in despair, imploring that their
children might be spared ; the latter, almost frantic with fear,
clung to their garments and refused to be quieted; while the
Indians, dark and sullen, stood calmly contemplating them.
The little fellow who had escaped the clutches of Mugalwah,
instead of remaining with his friends, continued running over
the prairie until he had gone several hundred yards, when he
sat down upon the ground and began sobbing as if his heart
were broken.

Beyond a doubt, the refugees would have suffered the most
barbarous outrage, and the entire party would have been put
to death, had it not been for an wnlooked-for occurrence.
More than one savage was toying with the handle of his
knife, impatient for the signal from their leader, when an ex-
clamation from one of their number turned all eyes to the
southward. A party of horsemen were seen approaching at
a rapid rate, as if intent on charging the savages. A quick
motion of Mugalwah’s hand, and every one of his followers
vanished back into the hollow, and dropped upon their faces,
where, as before, they were invisible.

‘ A rapid, searching glance of the Sioux, showed him that

the cavalry were too numerous for his party to engage. Had

his own men been mounted, he might have been tempted to a
brush with them; but, as it was, stratagem could only save
them from utter annihilation. 1

Stepping forward so as to confront the women, Mugalwah
said, in his gruff, commanding voice :

“Git up! <Ain’t going to kill !”

The kneeling women stared as if they failed to comprehend
his meaning. He repeated his command in a louder. voice
than before, whereupon they arose and began thanking and
calling down blessings upon his head. The chief checked
them peremptorily. —

 

1

    
   

 
 
 

|.
|
‘

   
 

CONSCIENCE. | 48

“ Yonder come Hrate men—soon be here—take you wid
’em—dey want to kill Sioux—know what I mean ?” _ '

The abrupt and difficult speech of the savage, together with
the excessive fear of the fugitives, prevented their compre-
hending his meaning. Finally.one of them caught the mean-
ing of his outstretched arm, and saw in the distance the
approach of the hofsemen.

“ Tell dem big lot Sioux down dere, (pointing behind him,)
too many for white men to fight—tell dem we let you go—
no hurt you—tell dem dat ?”

“Yes, yes; we will tell them how very kind you have been
to us.”

“Tell dem we're twenty—good mani fart down dere,
eh?”

“There are not so many of you, are there? ”

“ Nebber mind—you tell dem dat—don’t, Mugalwah toma-
hawk you!” said the Sioux, making a menacing motion with
his tomahawk. ;

“You must kill me then, for I can not tell a lie, even, to
Save my life.”

This heroic courage shot through and through the being of |
Mugalwah. Like a flash of lightning, conscience sprung up
and demanded to be heard. He comprehended, in all its
length and breadth, the wicked work upon which he had
entered, and for a moment he wavered. The thought of the
vows he had taken upon himself’; the earnest entreaty of ©
Father Richter; and, more than all, the offended God above,
who, at that moment, was gazing down upon him—he thought
of these and he wavered. But it was only a moment. With
a mighty struggle, he sent conscience, silent and cowering,
back to her retreat. a

The danger was becoming imminent; he could but respect
the firmness of the suffering fugitive, in thus braving death,
for the sake of truth. It is doubtful what would haye been
the result of this strange state of affairs, had» not ‘one of the
other women interposed.

“Mary, you can promise to keep silence, at least, seit
their numbers, can you not?”

“Yes; I suppose so,” she answered, hesitatingly, as if i in
doubt whether even that would be consistent. :

 
i “4 THE HUNTER’S ESCAPH.

“Very well, you have promised that; I will see to the
i other matter, then. I will tell them what you wish,” she ad-
ded, addressing the savage.

“Tell we're good many—hig too much for dem to fight p
| “Yes, yes, of course.”

i “ Kill if don’t !”

iW Mugalwah shot backward as he spoke, and dropped flat

i upon his face, beside his companions in the hollow. Bring-
iy jug his rifle to the front of him he peered over the bank,

|), ready to shoot whichever of the fugitives manifested treach-

iN ery; for, had he been certain it would have insured his own

H} destruction, he would have sped the bullet at her who proved

false to him.

i The party of horsemen were under the command of Lieu-
tenant They bad rendered good service for the last
few days in.picking up stragglers and chastising over-venture-
some parties of savages. :

The lieutenant had detected the fugitives at some distance,
but neither he nor any of his men knew the correct number
,of the Indians. Consequently they approached at a cautious
pace. The experience of the cavalry in the great civil war
had taught them to be careful of those terrible ambuscades.
Accordingly, at a safe distance, they drew up and awaited the
approach of the fugitives.

The latter were not slow to avail themselves of this oppor-
tunity. They hurried over the prairie, and in a short time
were among the rough but kind-hearted soldiers, who took
the women and children upon their hoxses until all were
safely mounted.

The first inquiry of the lieutenant, after emitting a mouth-
ful of tobacco-juice, was regarding the strength and number
i || of the Sioux. The women kept their sgreement with Mugal-—
| _-wah, the conscientious Mary maintaining a strict silence, while
___ the other so exaggerated that the officer suspected her percep-
| tions had been distorted by her excessive terror. As it was,
HT however, he concluded the tiie plan of procedure was to let
___ the Indians alone.

Still, he was loth to take his departure without reconnoiter-
ing and exchanging shots with them. Selecting six of his
most experienced men, he galloped out upon the prairie and

 

 

————

. Se

y

—§- =e

SUEEEREana Sieneereencera— aon 4
4 oh 4

>

ee

7
-

AWAHNOCK’S ERRAND. 45

began describing 4 circuit around the savages, keeping a sharp
eye upon’their hiding-place to discern a spot where he might
send a piece of led “home,” or gather some idea of their true
number. .

' As the lieutenant constantly changed his position, he could
detect the moving of the tufted heads, and the black, threat-
ening muzzles of the rifles ; and he either fancied or really did
see more than one pair of glowing eyeballs fixed upon him
and his party. The action of the Sioux said, in effect: “ You
let us alone, and we will let you alone; but, if you put your
finger on us, take care!”

The lieutenant did not put his finger upon them, ‘the
principal reason for which being, that the opportunity was not
afforded him. Neither he nor any of his party were skillful
enough in the use of the rifle to pierce one of those dark
spots that occasionally flittedgo view, while he knew a volley
from that hive could not fail of emptying several of his sad-
dies. Completing the circle, Lieutenant returned to
his party, and, striking off to the north-west, they and the
fugitives finally disappeared from view.

It was not until they were moving specks in. the distance,
that Mugalwah and his party arose to their feet again. By this
time the forenoon was well advanced. The savages immedi-
ately took up their march toward the south-east. As yet, they
had shed no blood, and they were burning to take part in the
fearful massacre that was then raging.

Several miles in this direction brought them to a small

 

_ grove of trees, through which ran a brook. Here they halted

for the purpose of holding a short consultation and determin-

ing their plan of proceedings. They had been here scarcely |

fifteen minutes, and the chief was busy in speaking, when
some one was heard to step in the brook, and, looking up,
they all observed Christian Jim.

A frown gathered upon their faces, for they well knew the
errand that had brought him hither. One or two grasped
their hatchets, in their ‘excitement, but they waited to hear his
words.

It would be tedious to the reader, were we to narrate the
particulars of the interview. Awahnock came at the sugges-
tion of Father Richter, to see whether it were possible to

 
THE HUNTER’S HSCAPE.

induce Mugalwah and his party to return from their errand
of death. He had some difficulty in securing an audience,
but they finally listened and replied to him. In answer to
their harangues upon the oppressions and persecutions of the
white men, he could only reply by citing the example of the
Good Man who was upon the earth many, many long moons
ago, and who bore all manner of persecution at the hands of
his enemies without murmuring or resistance. He recalled to
them the vows they had taken upon themselves, reminding
them of their companions who had stayed at home and re-
mained faithful, and upon whom the Great Spirit smiled in
pleasure, while he frowned upon them jn anger. And lastly,
he assured them that the great chief at Washington would
certainly repay them for this violation of treaty and law.

The debate for a time was stormy; but the faithful Awahb-

nock was assisted by consciencegand was on the very eve of.

victory, when an ally of Satan appeared upon the scene in the
shape of Matt Larkins, the whisky-trader.

“ Hyer’s yer prime stuff! The reg’lar distilled dew of the
mountains. Ill ile yer j’ints and make you limber as a rag.
- Shall I stop and let you imbibe, or pass on?”

He had his ineyitable keg upon his shoulder, which he de-
posited upon the ground as he spoke, and folding his arms
and seating himself upon it, gazed around upon the company.

Ah! the fire-water, the fire-water! When the highest
talent, the most lofty genius, and the most solemn vows among
civilized people are no proof against its fearful fascinations,
what is to be expected from .the poor, ignorant, degraded In-
dian? Is it any wonder that he bargains gun, tomahawk,

_ammunition, clothes and food to obtain the maddening
draught? Is it strange that he consents to be kicked, beaten,
and subjected to all manner of abuse, for the sake of the
“enemy that steals away his brain ?”

- Producing a tin-cup, the trader nearly filled it and iusbed
it to Mugalwah. He took it grecdily and drank every drop.

“Prime stuff, that !” remarked Larkins, as he received the
cup again. “None of yer adulterated stuff—-made it myself.”

- He filled the cup again and again, and passed it around
until every one had drank except Awahnock. The wily trader
knew him well, and had purposely reserved offering him the

\

    

 

  
a

Sinai

.

MATT AND HIS.“ BEVERAGE.” 47

cup until the last one, feeling certain that he would not be
able to resist the sight of the gurgling fluid. There was a
mighty struggle in the breast of the Indian. He silently
called upon his Father again and again to help him, and when ~
he felt certain that he had the requisite strength, the sight of
the fiery liquid made‘him tremble and doubt again. It was a

sore trial, but he triumphed |

“Don’t want it!’ he replied, emphatically, with a shake of
his head.

“ You ain’t agoin’ to tell me you intend to refuse that now,
be you? ’Causeif you be, I must tell you I don’t believe you.
Come, that’s only half full. ¥

“Don’t want it, I tell you,” replied Awahnock, in a louder
voice, still keeping his eye fixed upon the dangerous fluid.

“Just take a taste; then, if you don’t like it, you can
throw it away. That's what I says.”

Awahnock laid his i upon his knife, and his black eyes
flashed fire.

“Tf you ax me dancer’ kill you.”

“Oh! all right; it don’t make no difference to me, not at
all. Do as you darn please ; that’s my motto.”

“ Give some more,” commanded Mugalwah, in his gruff,
peremptory manner.

“Sartinly, sartinly ; as long as the supply don't give out,

‘you're welcome to all you can swaller, and I reckon that ain’t

a very small lot, by no means.” ;

The cup went the rounds again. When it came to Awah-
nock, Larkins did not repeat lis offer, for, as the matter al-
ready stood, he did not like the glittering light of those dark
eyes fixed upon him. The truth was, Matt Larkins came
nigher his death that day, in September, 1862, than he had
ever before or since. Indian Jim more than once was on the
point of sinking his knife in his bosom, and ridding Minnesota
forever of one of its most dangerous pests; but he could not
really satisfy himself that it was his duty to take the step;
consequently he kept his knife in his belt.

The effect of Larkins’ compound on the Indians was vari-
ous. The majority of them simply made fools of themselves,

while there were several in whom it seemed to arouse the
most malignant portion of their dark natures. They glowered

 
THE HUNTER’S ESCAPE.

upon the whisky-trader and upon Awahnock as though medi-
tating their destruction. Sad, indeed, would have been the
fate of the hapless peta who at that moment fell in their
hands.

Mugalwah imbibed most freely, and was the first to come
under the influence of the demon. “ Want some more drink
—good!” he said, endeavoring to fix his unsteady gaze upon
the trader.

“All right; help yourself, my Lily of the Woods.”

Instead of taking the cup, the maudlin savage got upon his
knees and endeavored to drink from the faucet. As might
naturally be expected, he made poor work, and, in considera-
ble rage, he rose to his feet again.

“D—n_ fire-water!? he exclaimed. “Good for nothin’—
smash him!” Saying which, he brought his tomahawk witb
all the force he could summon down upon the keg. The lat-
ter was not injured in the least, while the instrument glanced
from his hand. Larkins laughed. *

“Try that agin’; that ain’t the first time it’s been cracked
over the head. Since the missionary smashed it, some years
ago up in the Clearing, I’ve had the keg covered with double
bands of iron, and ef you want to exercise your muséle, why
just slam away at it.”

The next movement by one of the half-intoxicated Indians,
was to throw a tomahawk at the whisky-trader himself—it
narrowly missing him.

“T ain’t double-hooped!” said he, “so, I beg of you, don’t
throw them kind of missiles at me. They might.do harm, you
know, and then where would you fellows get whisky from ?”

Several others manifested the same dangerous, playful ten«
dency toward Larkins, so that he was constrained to withdraw

to a distance of several yards. He was used to such scenes, —

however, and he knew there was no danger so long as he ex-
ercised common prudence. He feared Awahnock more than
all the others. He felt if he would only leave there wouid
be no danger to himself, and nothing could prevent him from
reaping @ very remunerative price for the stuff he had just
furnished the Indians. There seemed no disposition upon the
part of Jim to take his departure, and the trader had recourse
to stratagem to accowplish it.

   
 

 

 

 

 

 
   
Ca
AWAHNOCK’S REPROOF. 49

“There don’t seem much chance for more speculation
mere,” he remarked, in a loud voice; “they are pretty woll
done for, for the present, so T'll leave. I s’pose you stay,
Awahnock ?” ‘

The Sioux deigned no reply.

“Well, good-night to you.”

With this, he lifted the keg, now nearly reonl to his
shoulder and moved away. He cast a furtive glance at Jim,
but he sat stolid and motionless, and there was no divining
his emotions or intentions, His face was as expressionless as
stone. :

The trader passed outside the grove and again glanced back.
To his surprise, Awahnock stood beside him

“You bad man,” said the savage.

“ Why so?” asked Larkins, who deemed it wise not to ex
cite his ire.

“Bad man—sell Injin fire-water; he go kill white folks
now—cut dere throat.”

“ Can’t help that. I don’t make ’em buy the whisky. If
they don’t like it, all they’ve got to do is to let it alone. Ain't
that fair, Awahnock ?”

“ Fire-water bad—Injin love him—can’t help drink him
when white man offer him.”

“ Well, that’s his look-out—not mine. The red-man boasts
a great deal of what he does; strikes me he might do enough
to master his love for fire-water, if he thinks it doesn’t do him
any good.”

“ Fire-water taste good—me like him.”

“ And that shows your sense. Now, don’t be offended, my
fine fellow, if I ask you to join me in a swaller. Oome,
now.”

“ Like to,” said the Sioux, slowly, and with hesitation, as
the trader began pouring out the liquid; “ but won’t!” he ex-
claimed, springing back a step or two and proudly bringing
his form to its full hight. “It wicked—Awahnock not touch
him.” f

“ All right; just as you please, I says. You’ve no objec-
tion ta my drinking your health, I suppose? If not, ae

: “See yonder,” continued the Sioux, soliton back in tho.

 
 

 

aa ee

: :
50 THE HUNTHR’S ESCAPE.

 

, grove, “see what fire-water do—dere be Mugalwah and oder
warriors asleep—when wake up dey want more fire-water—
can’t git ’em—what den dey take ?”

“Don’t know, I’m sure.”

“ Blood—take yours if see you.”

“Sorry—shouldn’t do that; because it isn’t right. Besides,
they ought to remember Old Abe will pay ’em for such tricks.”

“And He pay you for yours,” said the Sioux with impres- '
sive solemnity, as he pointed upward. c

Sad and sorrowful, he wrapped his blanket around him, and

r turning his back upon his kindred, moved off to the north-

ii west toward the Clearing.

i: Waiting until he was beyond sight, the whisky-trader re-

turned on’ tiptoe to the revelers. They were all sound asleep,

and he moved among them with an assurance which showed

he knew well enough the effect of his potations. Taking a

blanket here, a knife there, and occasionally a handsome rifle, | ~~

he finally satisfied his “conscience” that he had secured a

reasonable compensation for his whisky ; and apparently in no

wise discommoded by his extra load, he moved out upon the
prairie, and, rather curiously, also took a direction toward the

Clearing.

 

 

 

CHAPTERY. }
THE SHOT.

 

‘Love wakes men once a lifetime each ;
They lift their heavy heads and look, _
And lo! what one sweet page can teach,
They read with joy, then shut the book ;
And some give thanks, and some blaspheme,
And most forget; but either way,
That and the child’s unheeded dream,
Is all the light of all their day.”

ty
i
Hf
;

On the morning succeeding the attempt of Mugalwah to
h . burn the house of the missionary, the latter was seated upon
EF. a large flat rock, close by a spring from which he was in the
i habit of drawing his daily supply of water. The expression.
HY of the good man’s face would have showed the most casual

ag Pitino {nice

 

 
 
 

  

 
   
 
  
   
  
  

MUSINGS. Bl

observer that he was sadly troubled. It was late in the fore-
noon, and: be had been seated there for more than an hour.

“T have now reached the allotted period of man’s life,” he
mused, ‘Three score and ten years have bent my form and
made my step more feeble than it was when I first came to
this region. Forty years of this life have been spent_among
the poor red children of America. During those forty years
I have seen many a chieftain, warrior and maid, gathered to
their long home, and how many a dying couch have I helped
smooth! There’s comfort in that thought. I once enter-
tained the hope that the aboriginal race would become entirely
evangelized. The ways of God are mysterious, and it does
not become me to say that such is not to be; but, ah! my
own people I fear have set the work backward for many a
long year.”

He dropped his head for a few moments, and then his
thoughts recurred to his visitor of the night before.

“Tt is strange that that man should call upon me. I
thought the trouble which occurred between us shut up for-
ever the door of communication. It is singular this dislike I
feel toward him, and yet it is impossible to subdue it. . I should
be loth to confess to another how much I desire his departure,
but I really fear I shall drive him from my house when I
return.”

Again he dropped his head in thought and again he com-
muned with himself.

“ He tells me that it was his fear for my safety that sent
him hither at this time; but how did he learn that danger
threatened me? He belongs to the land of civilization.
When this outbreak was not anticipated by more than a moiety
of the settlers, is it reasonable to suspect that those hundreds
of miles away should haye known what was coming? I fear
that was a deception of his. I have come here, because I can
not bear the sight of him. I left Cora instructions to prepare
his breakfast. I know J would starve to death before I would
accept food as he does!” added Father Richter, emphatically,
as he arose to his feet and made his way toward the Clearing.

The distance was comparatively slight, and upon entering
the cabin, he was met by Cora, with her usual smile and kiss,

“Sh !” admonished the missionary, with a warning shake

 
i
|
i
|

 

 

52 THE HUNTHR’S ESCAPE.

of his head, “ keep a silent tongue, daughter; it would not &o

for his presence to be suspected. Is he in his room ?”

“He is gone!”

“What?” asked the good man in surprise, a8 he entered
and took a seat. “He has not left us?” |

“He took his departure a few minutes after you went out. 2

“J forbade him to stir out until night.” ;

“He said such were your words, but your manner told him
to go instantly. He seemed much offended at something you
had said, and his last words were to the effect that you would
some day regret this.”

“T wonder whether he has no regrets for that matter of
several years ago. You know, daughter, that your father is
not the man to wish any one ill, but I can not help saying it is
a great relief to find him gone. My only trouble is that he
may be seen by some of the warriors— Heaven! save us!”

The report of a rifle but a short distance away in the woods
caused this exclamation, and both father and daughter stepped
to the door and looked around on the Clearing, as if they ex-
pected to see the explanation of the shot. Ordinarily the
report of a gun would have occasioned no remark; but now,
when their apprehension was excited, both connected it with
Roderick Charnley, and Father Richter, simultaneously with
the discharge of the gun, felt a sharp twinge of conscience at
the manner in which he treated the young man.

“T trust Roderick is not injured,’ he said, “but he is
encompassed by perils, and should have remained here until
nightfall, as I directed. We can pray for him, at any rate.”

; The two sunk upon their knees, and it may be that Father
Richter’s petition was somewhat more fervent, because he
could not avoid the reflection that he was concerned in the
safety of the young man, who a short time before had left his
house, and gone forth in the wilderness, where many and
many a long mile intervened between him and any point in
which he could feel immunity from personal danger.

The missionary passed out in his garden and busied himself,
as was his custom, in attending to its duties, while Cora, for a
time, occupied herself in her household obligations. These
completed, she sauntered forth across the Clearing, taking the
same direction as that pursued by her father in the morning.

-

 

 

 
 

|
}
1}

,
|

FRENCH LEAVE. 69
almost as distinct, under the bright moon,.as if it was mid-
day. He had little fear of any one stirring at that hour, and
strode boldly across the open space into the shadow of the
wood beyond.

As he glanced back, he was confident he saw some one
enter the door of the cabin he had. just left; but, reflecting
that it could have nothing to do with his welfare, he moved on.

Not until this moment had he called to mind the course he
was to pursue after leaving the Clearing. He had a settled
determination of bidding farewell to the missionary and his
daughter, and of never returning again; but, where was he

. to go? The first answer to this question naturally was,

“Home!” But the young man could not bring himself to
that point. Strong as was his resolve to sweep from his -
memory the fair vision that had crossed it, still it was a diffi-
cult matter to determine to return to civilization and remain
there. He had dohe that already, and found it insupportable.

At the time the rifle of the Sioux had brought him low,
there was a question upon his lips—a question to Cora which
he would fain have answered before yielding her up; but cir-
cumstances had prevented. Was his resolution of that nature
that he could answer it for himself in an unfavorable manner ?
Had he not really overestimated the strength of his own
character ?

These and similar thoughts made his steps tardy and doubt-
ful. He debated with himself a long time, and finally re-
solved that he should have a decisive answer from Cora Rich-
ter which should determine his course. Since he had taken
this means of departure, he could not now return, nor would
he dare to present himself before the missionary without-some
plausible excuse other than the true one.

The unsettled condition of the country lying between him

- and civilization was an ample pretext for deferring his passage

- through it. He had no liking toward remaining in: this vicin-
ity through the winter, which in this elevated region, would be
excessively severe. He had never yet attempted to brave its
fury alone, and it was too great a task for him to attempt, es-
pecially when he could not feel an absolute certainty regard-
ing the result of his unhealed wound. -

He now decided to go directly to the Selkirk settlement
5 3

‘

 
  

 
  
 

 

T

70. THE HUNTER’S ESCAPE.

upon Red river and remain until spring opened, when he
would manage to have a meeting with the missionary’s daugh-
ter. This course fully determined, he experienced considerable
relief, as any one does when he has solved some perplexing
anxiety.

-The hunter deemed it best to make directly for the river,
which was but a few niiles away. Following this in its course
to the north into the British Possessions, he could not fail to
reach the Red river settlement, where he might domicil jin-
self among friends for as long a period as he chose. “ His
present purpose was simply to reach the bank and remain
there until daylight before pursuing his journey further.

The roar of the stream was audible during the night-hours
at the Clearing, and the hunter reached it sooner than he an-
ticipated. _He judged it to be well toward morning; but, in
reality, he had sadly miscalculated the time, for it was not a
half-hour beyond midnight. ~

The Red river, at the particular point where he struck it,
was quite broad and deep. As he reached its border, he
gazed up and down the bank and across the stream in quest
of a suitable camping-place. The time, the condition of his
mind and the surroundings were such as to induce the most

Impressive meditation. The sky filled with fleecy clouds,

that flitted over the face of the moon and made weird phan-
toms upon stream and wood, the hollow, monotonous roar of
the river, the solemn sound of the night-wind through the

. forest, and the excessive loneliness of the scene—all these

conspired to arrest the thoughts of the young hunter, to im-
press him with a sense of vastness and sublimity, and to turn

his heart to the sleepless Being above whose eye alone at that
moment was fixed upon him.

Standing in this abstract manner, almost unconscious of
his surroundings, his eye was arrested by some object a few
feet above him, and upon examining it more critically he was
astonished to observe that it was an Indian canoe, pulled jut
far epough up on the bank to prevent its being carried away
by the current. ‘

It was singular that with the discovery of this, there came
a feeling of insecurity ; and, instead of encamping, he resolved
to press on without delay. As yet he was no great ways

 
 

    
    
  
 
     
       
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
    
  
 
  

  
 

THE ISLAND. ae

from the Clearing, and it might possibly be that some vind.o-
tive Sioux would be on his trail at daylight.

Why not take possession of the canoe? The thought was
no sooner presented than it was acted upon. The paddle was
resting within it, as if the owner had left with the expecta-
tion of returning yery shortly. Roderick cast a quick, search-
ing glance about him as he stepped into it and pushed out in the
stream. The current he found more rapid than he had anti-
cipated, and it required all of his skill “Oo manage the egg-like
concern,

In the center of the river, the cano- became unmanageable,
and in spite of all the hunter could +), he ran upon an island
near the center, where, in absolute rar of his own safety, he
sprung out, and without thinking auowed the boat to float off
down-stream. When he noticed this blunder it was too late
to prevent it, and, somewhat crestfallen, he turned to see what
could be done in the way of an encampment until morning.

The island proved more favorable than could be expected.
It was of the usual oval shape, some dozen rods in length and
from a few inches to fifteen or twenty feet in breadth. There
was no vegetation upon it—in fact nothing but a large quan-
tity of drift-wood, that had been accumulating in all probabil-
ity for years. In some places, it was as dry as tinder for a
depth of a foot or more. By making a sort of trough-like
hollow, and spreading his blanket in it, he secured quite a
comfortable resting-place for the night.

Just in the border land of unconsciousness—neither baie
nor awake—was it fancy or reality that sounded, as if some
body had struck the solid portion of the island? Was it fancy
or reality that appeared as if a person or animal was walking -
backward and forward? And could it be fancy, too, that
bore such a marvelous resemblance to human voices?

The hunter listened for a moment, and then stealthily raised
his head. . There was a canoe resting upon the upper end of
the island, and two men were walking slowly along the edge
of the water. One of them a something upon his back,
that resembled a cask or keg. : mae

 
ee intenmamnntipan tina ti

3

THE HUNTER'S ESCAPE,

CHAPTER VII.

AN ORIGINAL IDEA.

Oh, Time and Death! with certain pace,
Though still unequal, hurrying on, _
O’erturning, in your awful’ race,
The cot, the palace, and the throne.—Sanps,

A sEconD glance assured the hunter that the two strangers
ey - ‘were white men, and consequently friends. There could be
| no mistaking the rear man who bore the keg upon his shoul-
der.
| “Ts that you, Matt Larkins ?”

Af : The man addressed paused and looked around him.

} “Didn’t some’ne call me, Jim ?”

“Yes; I heard it, but where did it come from, I say ?”

At this juncture, Roderick Charnley arose to his feet. Both
Hf saw him instantly. ae
a “That’s you, Larkins, isn’t it?” he tepeated, still standing .
where he had arisen.

“That's the name I generally go by in Minnesota, but who
might be you?”

“Yam Roderick Charnley; I have met you at Fort Ride:
i ley, and New Ulm during the past summer.”

i “TJ recollect; how do you do? how do you do? If that
rh ain’t what they call a providence, then I should like to know
what it is. Here is Jim Wilkins with me, who has been
searching for you for the last three weeks, and hasn’t been da:
able‘so much as to see a person that had heerd tell of you;

and just when we’d made up our mind Little Crow, Little

Six, or some of the other chiefs had disposed of you, here we

gets track of you down in the Clearing.” lk

“When were you there ?”

““Tt occurred to me that there might be some attractions
for you-in that place, and consequently we struck a line for
it, [humbly endeavoring to pay my expenses by selling whisky
along the Way. When we knocked up the old man, he was
kind of backward at first, and wouldn’t say much till we told
H ° him our errand, and he became satisfied we wan’t trying to

 

 

 

 

ep

 

 
 

nnncccmrgaspeees

7

IMPORTANT BUSINESS, %3

hoodwink him. He finally said you had been hurt bad, and
he was nursing you; you was getting along pretty rapid-like,
howsomever; so he thought it might do for us to see you.
He struck a light, and went into a little room, and it would
have done you good if you could have seen him, when he
found you wasn’t there. He didn’t know what to say for a
while, but he looked terribly frightened. He told us at last
that you had gone, he knew not where. As our business was
very important, we didn’t stay till morning as he invited us
to do, but came on across the Clearing toward the Red river ;
and, as luck would have it, or perhaps providence, we have
struck the very island where you had hung up for the night.
This is Jim Wilkins with me?

During this narration, the young hunter had been filled
with the utmost amazement. What possible business these
two men could have with him passed his comprehension ;
yet their manner showed that it was of the last impor-
tance.

“What is the business that has sent you upon such a long
hunt after me 2” he inquired.

“Boo! it’s chilly! Lets have a fire before we talk upon
business. It'll take some time to finish.”

“But will it be safe?” queried Charnley. “There is noth-—
ing to prevent it being seen a long way, and I have reason to.
suspect that there are Sioux in the neighborhood. ¥,

“ How so?”

“T found one of their canoes on the bank and crossed to
this island in it.”

“T didn’t notice the boat ; hese | is it?”

“T was foolish enough to ‘et it float away after ieiitlbe A
fire built here would be very conspicuous.”

» “Fudge! not a bit of danger. This is just the stuff to
make a right down pleasant fire to sit and talk by.”

» A spot was brushed away and a heap of dry drift-wood
speedily gathered. In a few moments this was ignited and
burning cheerily. The cold night-wind blowing down the
river rendered the air keen and cutting, and the warmth of the
fire was very grateful. The depth of the drift-wood rendered.
it necessary to make a sort of hollow, such as would natur-

ally be formed in building a fire in the snow. By reclining ,

 
 

 

 

*

sen
4a

 

74 THE ‘HUNTER’S ESCAPE.

upon the ground, all of the person, except the head, was pro-
tected from the wind.

Important as the business of the two men might be, they
hesitated a great while about communicating it. Jim Wil-
kins was a tall, thin-visaged man, very reticent. Indeed, as
yet, he had not spoken a single word, and the hunter more
than once glanced at him, half suspecting he was deaf and
dumb’; but the emission of several very audible grunts placed
the matter beyond question.

“ Before telling you exactly what our business is,” said the
whisky-trader, “I want to ask you several questions, which
I hope you'll answer, won’t you ?”

“Tf they are proper I certainly shall.”

“Tn the first place, it’s quite cold, and let’s all three take a
swallow of something to warm us inside.”

The hunter declined, but the two imbibed quite freely.

e Now," said Larkins, as he proceeded to light his pipe,
“you’ye hearn tell of these meee that have been goin’ on
for the last month or so, of course.”

“Yes, I went to the yehisnan and warned Father Richter
of his danger.”

“You did? I thought all the time that it was something
else that called you there. Wal, the row is pretty well stopped
for the present. Judge Flandreau gave Little Crow a taste of
powder down at New Ulm, and the detachments of United

States forces in different places are beginning tomove. There’s

trouble yet, and if you intend to go down toward the Agency,
Td advise you to keep a mighty sharp look-out for Sioux.
But that ain’t exactly what I’m coming at. I want to ax oop
which party you think most to blame ?”

The suddeness of this question rather took the hunter aback,
and he made no reply until it was repeated.

“Both parties are in fault; the Indians unquestionably
have been wrongly used by Government agents and traders,
and their suffering has goaded them to this outbreak.”

“You think so, do you 2?” asked the trader, with a curious
expression, giving at the same time @ sharp, inquiring look
into the. face of Charnley.

“Those are my views, precisely.”
« Wal, I’m sorry, that’s all.”

   

is a j

  
 

|

THE MYSTERIOUS PACKET. 6

“And why are you sorry ?”

“Because, if you were all right—that is—but hold on—
you know I’ve been in the whisky-trading business for a num-
ber of year, and I have—well—done pretty well.”

“T have no doubt of it.”

“ Are you ’quainted with the way the Indian agents out
here manage affairs—in short, the way they make their pile ?”

“Tve no doubt there is a good deal of cheating about it,
for their salaries certainly are not sufficient to make them rich
very speedily.” ’

“T was once a conductor on a railroad in Connecticut. 1
was new at the business, he! he! he! and went too’ bungling-
like at it. As soon as I understood the ropes, I began to get
rich a little too fast. The employers noticed it, and let me
slide. I ought to’ve held in till I got enough to retire on, but
I did not think of that. But an Indian. agent don’t have to_
be so careful. ‘You see it’s generally considered we've the
tight to shave these poor coppery rascals when we've the
chance; but you don’t seem to take to that way of thinking ?”

4 Most assuredly I do not.”

“You don’t believe after you'd been at it a year, you might
begin to like the idee of getting rich faster than the heads of
government intend? Are you right sure no such idee would

- ever enter your head ?”

The hunter was not only puzzled but indignant at the pre-

_ sumptuous manner of these insulting questions. He demanded

the meaning of this course of procedure. Wilkins grunted
and the trader laughed.

“You know what my idee of these Indians—especially the
Sioux—is. The only thing they’re fit for is to afford us tha
means of making a decent living.”

“What is your business with me ?” demanded Charnley.

“Fetch it out, Jim,” said Larkins, with a meaning look.

The long-bodied, reticent man arose to a sitting position,
and reaching his right arm under his left, drew forth a large
folded paper with a heavy seal upon it. The seal was un-
broken, and the hunter saw his own name written in large
characters upon it. He stretched forth his hand to take it.
The man, in the very act of handing it, drew it back wii
a wild clutch, and fell forward, stone-dead, ere his two

 
 

 

 

 

  

companions were fairly conscious that a couple of rifles had,
been discharged from the shore.
. Perfect silence for a moment succeeded this terrible inter-
ruption. Then, as the survivors.appreciated what had really
occurred, the hunter whispered :

“The Indians have come! We must get out of this place,
if we wish to escape fzs fate.”

“Sh! don’t move!” admonished the trader, rising on his
hands and peering over the drift-wood. He gazed yery in-
tently for a moment, and then added, as he lowered himself
on his-face again:

“TJ don’t see any thing of them, and it must be there are
only two, and we've no reason to fear them. Don’t raise your
head, for the fire will show it, and them villains know how
to use their guns.”

A few moments later, the rippling of water was heard.
‘The trader raised his head again.

“They're coming, a whole pack of ’em, sure ica.
We've got to leave, now. ’Sh! don’t rise to your feet. Crawl
a ways, and then run.”

They had, taken but a step or two, when Larkins uttered an
exclamation of dismay.

“The canoe is gone; we must make a swim for it.”

_ In the bright moonlight the two men were visible to the
Sioux, who commenced discharging their pieces. This flus-
tered both. Reaching the lower end of the island, the whisky-
trader sprung in the chilling waters and swam down-stream
with all his might. ‘

Charnley still ran to and fro at a loss what to do. He had
rushed into the water, but before he got beyond his depth, he
recalled that he was unable to swim, and in a despatele despait
he retreated to land again.

The canoe by this time had passed half the space inter-
vening between the island and shore, although, what was
rather singular, considering it was propelled by Indians, it
moved very slowly. . They had ceased discharging their guns,

manifestly from an absolute certainty of capturing both of the |

men.
The tormenting anxiety of the hunter was to escape ais
theisland. He felt as though there was a chance for life, if

 

 

 

  

 
 
 

 

 

  

A SWIM FOR LIFE.’ F V7

he could only secure a foothold somewhere else; but, on this
narrow, circumscribed space, it was nothing less than being
in a prison.

Why not float away by means of a piece of drift-wood?
The thought flashed like lightning upon him. He did not
stay to reflect that with the canoe at their command, he was
quite as much if not more at their mercy, in the water as out
of it; but, catching up a small tree-trunk that was as dry as
tinder, he made his way out in the river, and in a moment
was borne rapidly downward by the current.

Although mindful of the flight of both of these men, the
canoe still headed toward the island, as if more desirous of
reaching that than of capturing them. Landing upon this,
some six or eight in number, they proceeded to the camp-fire,
where they made two discoyeries that brought shouts of ex-
ultation from each throat. The first was the dead body of
Wilkins, lying upon its face, and the second, the keg of
whisky. When they snuffed at the latter and ascertained that:
it really contained ardent spirits, their delight seemed un-
bounded. ‘They danced and shouted, pushed the body of the

‘poor, unconscious Wilkins hither and thither, and finally

rolled it into the river. Having finished this extemporized
demonstration, they turned their attention to the “ fire-water.”

In the mean time Larkins had made his way down-stream,
swimming with all the power he could command. He con-
stantly glanced backward to ascertain whether he was pur-
sued, until he suddenly became conscious that his strength
had so failed him that he could not keep afloat five minutes
longer.

At this critical moment, when the dreadful thought that
his last moment had come almost paralyzed him, one of his
feet struck bottom, and, to his inexpressible joy, he found he
was in four-feet water. At the same time, he descried di-
rectly abead of him, an island almost precisely similar to the
one he had just left. He was so exhausted that he felt he’
must have rest, if he were certain the Sioux would be upon
him in ten minutes. Carefully approaching the shore, pant-
ing and tremulous, he seated himself and looked up-stream.

The figures of the Indians were dimly discernible as they
passed back and forth before the fire, and their Ddoisterous:

 

  
   
 
 

8 THE HUNTHR’S ESCAPE.

hilarity proved to Larkins the discovery of the keg. “That
same cask has helped me more than once,” he muttered, “and
it may be it’s going to do mea turn now. There’s enough
in it to set them all crazy—hello! is that you, Charnley?
Drop your feet and come in to shore.”

The piece of wood upon which the hunter was floating

was drifting past, when the trader called to him in a cautious .
undertone. Obeying his injunction, he made his way without

much difficulty to his side. ;

“ Why didn’t you foller me? Is’posed, of course, you
were right behind me.”

“JT did follow you for a few steps, when I recollected I
wasn’t able to swim, and I had to go back again.”

“Whew! that was it, eh? You ought to have learned to
swim when you was a boy, the same as I did; though I
can’t say as I am any thing extra at swimming, for I give out
afore I got to this spot. Just hear ’em yell! They’ve got
hold of the keg, sure, and ’ll be on the rampage in a few
minutes.”

“Your friend is done for, poor fellow!” |

“Yes; he didn’t draw five breaths after that bullet passed”

through his head. I spose I was somewhat to blame for

kindling that fire, though, if he hadn’t riz up to hand you
that paper— There! that reminds me, for the first time,

we've left that paper behind us !”

“Sure enough! so we have; and you said it was important
to me.”

“Tmportant to you? It is of the greatest importance in-
deed.” «

“While we are resting here, explain this matter to me.”

The trader shook his head.

“Tf you'd have talked different I’d have told you all about
it, and opened a good chance fora spec; but you didn’t take.”

“What of that? Let me hear what it is.”

“ There’s no use 0’ talking; I shan’t tell youa thing. If
you can find that paper yowll arn for yourself; if you don’t
find it, go down-to St. Paul, and ee you'll hear something
of it. me

The hunter looked fixedly at the man beside him. Although
both had just escaped death almost together, he could but

  
 
 
 
 
    
  
 
    
  
 
 
 
 
   
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
   

ee See
\ A BRIEF RESPITE. oOo
feel the utmost loathing toward him. His words for the last
half- “hour had convinced him that he was one of those men -
that are a curse to the aboriginal race—that he was one of
the prime causes of this terrible outbreak among the Indians
of the North-west. The tendency of imminent danger is to
bring persons into closer intimacy, and to make friends of
enemies ; but it was just the opposite in this case. Could he
be assured of immunity from danger among the savages, he
would prefer their society infinitely above his; and although
many selfish motives united to urge him to remain, still he
resolved, upon the first opportunity of separating honorably,
that is, without the appearance of deserting him in his extre-
mity, to embrace it, and bid him farewell forever.

But what possibly could be the meaning of the “ business”
to which he'had niade so frequent reference, and which he
professed to have been the actuating cause in bringing him
and Wilkins into this corner of Minnesota, at a time, too,
when it was the very region of death? Why did he so per-
sistently refuse to reveal it? Could the plea that he enter-
tained wrong views regarding the moral aspect of the Indian
question be the genuine one? What remote result could
Roderick Charnley’s private opinion bear to that ?

Such and similar were the unanswered questions proposed
by the young hunter to himself. Happen what might, he had
made up his mind to say nothing further regarding it to the
man beside him. But, both were excessively weary, and al-
though, under the present circumstances, their first thought
should have been to escape from the island to the land, yet,
both made their condition as bearable as it was possible to
make it, by nestling down in the driftwood in quest of slumber.

Their wet, chilling clothes for a time drove away all sleep,
and the Sioux upon the island above began to become up-
roarious in their revelry. Exhausted nature finally gave way,
and almost at the same moment, the two passed off into the
land of dreams.

The hunter was the first to awaken, his disturbance arising

from a foreign cause. He was nearer to the upper end of the ~~

island, and for this reason was aroused by a dull thump, fol-
lowed by a rippling sound. Raising his head, he observed
that day was breaking, and that the keg of Matt Larkins had

 
 

   

    

floated down and lodged upon the upper end of the island.
S6me whim prompted Charnley to arise and bring it out of
reach of the current. As he did so, he observed the trader
was astir. ‘
“ Well, Charnley, this is the infernlent piece of nonsense

we have ever been guilty of.”
~ “To what do you refer ?”

_ “Why, our cuddling down upon this spot, when we might
have got ashore, and been miles away by this time. Hello!

you've saved my whisky-keg—I’m glad of that. Any thing

in it?”

“ Nothing, although it feels heavy enough to be full.”

“That’s the iron hoops around it. It’s made splendid, and
I'm glad to git it agin, if they did steal the contents. I hope
it’s made’em all dead drunk; no, Pll be hanged if it has;
yender’s two, three, moving around this minute, and I wouldn’t
be afeard to take my oath one of ’em is Little Crow. Down
with you !—they haven’t noticed us yet.”

' Both made themselves, to all intents and purposes, invisible,
each, however, keeping up an unremitting watch upon the
movements of their enemies above. Three of the latter
walked to the beach with such steadiness as tg certify that

none of the effects of the “ fire-water” lingered in their brains.

Their next move was to push off the canoe and start down-
stream, one of the Indians standing erect, the better to guide
the frail vessel.

The two whites upon the island were now ‘certain that an
attempt was to be made to take them, and they were in no
little anxiety about it. The whisky-trader still having his
gun with him, possessed enough dry powder to make it serv-
iceable; but the hunter’s piece was in the bottom of Red
river. When he ventured forth with the log of wood, he
took it with him, but it was missing’ when he reached the
island, and he judged it had fallen during his frantic struggles
to keep afloat. He still had his revolver—one of those yalu-
able weapons that can be carried beneath the water without
having their charges affected; so, after all, perhaps he was
better armed, than his companion:

“Keep cool!” admonished the latter, giving evidence, at
the same time, that he was by far the most frightened:

 
  

 

 

 

 

 

THE WHIZ OF A BULLET 81
i “Beye
“Maybe they haven’t seen us, after all; but if they intend
to land here there'll be a row. ‘You haven't got your gun?”
“No, it is lost; but my six-shooter will be handy in a
pinch.”
“Don’t fire it unless they come right upon us.”

' “Tt might be a good thing, Larkins, if you should be a

little more chary in = advice. I shall always act as I
deem. best.” ' :

In the mean time, the canoe with -its three inmates came
dancing swiftly downward. Whether the three Sioux sus-
pected the presence of the men upon the island or not, they
soon saw every thing was not right, and the one holding the
paddle (whom the trader affirmed to be no other than Little
Crow) sheered the boat off to the right, so as to avoid the

“exact point where they noted the suspicious signs.

As they passed about twenty feet distant from the island,
their grim, paint-bedaubed faces and glowing eyes were fixed
upon the spot where the two men were crouching, with such
intense fixedness that neither durst raise his head. The rip-
pling of the paddle revealed where they had passed, and the
trader carefully raised his head a few inches, to obtain a
glimpse. It seemed his head had scarcely ascended an inch,
when a rifle was discharged from the canoe, and the whisky-
trader’s head dropped with such suddenness that fora few
seconds the hunter believed he had been shot. But, twisting
his neck around, so as to make his countenance visible, he
gaye one of those forced grins that told more plainly than a
wail or groan the intense suffering of the soul. :

“Tt passed so close it made me blink, and I can hear the
whiz yet.”

' “Where are they ?”-

“ Look for yourself.”

Charnley did so, and saw that the canoe had passed far be-
low the island, and was making for the shore. Two of the
Sioux were so seated that they faced him, and consequently
were enabled to observe every movement of his or the trader’s.
He disclosed his head and shoulders to learn whether they
would discharge their guns at that distance. He saw one of
them raise his piece, and, after holding it aloft a moment,
_ lower it, as though he judged the aim too uncertain.

 

  
82". | THE HUNTER’S ESCAPE,

Observing his immunity, the trader again raised his head,
although it was with considerable trepidation. He saw the
canoe strike the bank, the three Sioux step out and seat them-
selves upon a large, flat rock.

“Do you understand the meaning of that?” asia Larkins,
With the same displeasing grin.

“T don’t attach any particular meaning at all to it.”

“Tf you look up above you on the island, you'll see the
heads and arms of the rest of them Sioux. They’re done
for until to-night. Them three have managed to keep pretty

sober, and they’ve gone and sot down there, and are going to
wait for us to come into their hands, the same as you or I
would sit down beside a wood-chuck’s hole till he came
out.”

Such, beyond a doubt, was the intention of the Indians,
and ‘Roderick felt that he would be safe in the assertion that
no two men had been as foolish as he and the trader had
been the night before, and no two poor, unfortunate individu-
als had had their enemies take more complete advantage of
them.

“J must examine that whisky-keg,” said Larkins, picking it

up, and seating himself upon the ground with it in his lap. -

“J hope there’s a drop or two in it with which I may solace
myself; no, Ill be shot if it isn’t all gone! ‘Wal, I might
as well throw it out in the sea, for it isn’t any more use to
me,”’

About an hour later, the same keg might have been seen
floating down the river. The Sioux were still seated like
Stoics upon the shore, and could not fail to observe it. One
of them pointed it out to his companions, and sent a bullet
through it, more for amusement than any thing else.

The cask went, on drifting down-stream, until a bend in the
river hid it from view, when it began gradually to edge in to
shore. When still some distance from the land, it suddenly
was lifted out of the water by the shoulders of a man, who
had begun to walk on the bottom. It was then shoved still
further upward, and revealed the face of Matt Larkins, the
whisky-trader, who looked furtively about him a moment, and
then sat down with a genuine smile upon his face.

“Bless tho old keg, it has done me more than one good

 

 
  

|
|.
|
1
|

 
|
|
|

  

 
   

83

 

LARKINS DEPARTURE.

turn,” he muttered. “ When I knocked both ends out and
used it for a hat, [ was doubtful whether it would do or not ;
but it has brought me through safe, for all that bullet passed
nearly as close to my head as the other one did!”

CHAPTER VIII.
A SINGULAR ESCAPE.

Speed, Malise, speed! such cause of haste
ine active sinews never braced.—_Scorr.

Tun idea of eluding the watchfulness of the Indians . by
means of the cask first occurred to the young hunter. It was
greedily seized upon by Matt Larkins, who had begun to give
way to despair. After great difficulty they managed to stave
in both ends, when the trader ventured into’the stream with
it. He was shrewd enough to keep the island bétween him-
self and the vigilant Sioux until he was fairly out in the river,
when he turned his whole attention to the matter of keeping
afloat, knowing well enough the current would absolutely
carry him beyond all danger.

The first impulse of Larkins was to make his escape known
to the Indians. He had formed such a dislike to the hunter
since he had ascertained he was really an upright and honor-
able man, that he would have rejoiced at his capture ; but, he
did not see how this could be accomplished without compro-
mising his own safety. One of these fleet-footed savages
could run him down in a twinkling, and no doubt would
gladly do it. He was reluctantly compelled to give over the
plan, and, still thoughtful and scheming, he made his way
deeper into the woods.

Charnley had witnessed the departure of this man with a
feeling of relief. The fact that while the preparations for
departure were going on, he neyer once referred to the escape
of the hunter, caring nothing when, how, or, in fact, whether
it was accomplished at all, filled him with more intense dislike
than ever toward him, Could he have been assured of a safe

*

   

  
 

|
1
FE
iF
i!

 

 

84° {HE HUNTER’S BSCAPH.

passage down the river by forcing his head into the cask be-
side him, he would have drawn back as from'a serpent.
No; he rejoiced a thousand times that he had seen the last of
him.

Still the hunter could but watch the progress of the cask
with-considerable interest. He started when one of the Sioux
discharged his gun, and he was certain the ruse was discovered ;
put, as it kept the quiet tenor of its way, he rather rejoiced
than otherwise that the trader had escaped. the bullet, and
that he finally disappeared around the bend in the river.

Realizing that he was now really alone, he turned his atten-

tion to his own circumstances. Singular as it may seem, the
uppermost thought in his mind was regarding the paper,
which had been left with the dead Wilkins upon the island,
Had he known that the body had been cast into the river, it
is probable he would have given over all hopes of obtaining
it; but he had formed the resolve to secure it, if there were
any possible means of doing so.

_ How to accomplish this was the all-irhportant question.
The Indians upon the island above were still in a beastly
stupor, and for some time to come would be no better than
so many dead men. Consequently, in making his calculations,
it would be safe to leave them out altogether.

But, there sat the three sleepless Sioux, with their lynx-
eyed vision centered upon the island ; and, so long as daylight
lasted, very little could be attempted with any degree of
safety. Their failure to make an open attack was simply be-

- cause they deemed it inexpedient. They numbered but three,

while they supposed their expected prey to consist of two
fully-armed whites. Before night the remaining Sioux would
be in a condition to lend assistance. They could afford to
wait, if they should hold out until nightfall.

-~~ More than once it occurred to the hunter that the water

interyening between the two islands might possibly be ford-
able. If such were really the case, he felt confident of both
securing the coveted paper, and of making his final escape.
The Sioux not suspecting any such moye, and they being
some distance away, it would be no difficult matter to keep
his body so concealed as to elude them altogether, in cast
the depth admitted snch a journey. :

pe ee

 
‘

AN ATTEMPT AND A FAILURE. 86

A few minutes’ consideration ended in a conclusion to make
the attempt. Creeping forth on his hands and knees, he en-
tered the water, and swam in the fashion generally adopted by
young school-boys, that is, by placing the hands upon the bot-
tom, so as to support the body, and using the legs. As thé
increasing depth forbade this, he took a stooping position.
‘When he judged half the distance was passed, the water was BZ.
only to his arm-pits. A rod increased it to his neck, and he
now began to move with extreme caution, for the rapid cur-
rent made it a work of great difficulty to keep upon his feet.

The heart of the hunter was already throbbing with the
sanguine hope of accomplishing his purpose, when he ob-
served. one of the Indians ahead of him rise to a sitting:
position and gaze stupidly around. - It was utterly out of the
question for the savage to take note of any thing around, and
iA he almost immediately lay down again, in as profound a stu-

“ por as before.

Charaiey, however, under the fear of catching his eye, in-
stantly lowered his head. At the game time he was carried
entirely off his feet, and barely saved himself from drowning..
When he recovered control of his movements, he had been
forced almost back to the lower island. Somewhat discom-
fited. at the result of the experiment, he made his way back
to the very spot he had left a few moments before. Here he
sat down to meditate upon the best course to adopt.

There was manifestly but two things to be attempted, and
one of these had already proved itself almost as good as
hopeless. He might strive to reach the island, always bearing
: in mind that there was nothing at all to fear from those upon
Os it. Could this be safely reached, after securing the paper it

$ ' would be no difficult matter to conceal himself until the de-

i. parture of the entire party. Not suspecting his presence in

} _this place, it was not likely that a search would be made.

a. _After all, the wisest course seemed to order a repetition of |
his experiments, and he again stepped into the water. As
he did so, he glanced back and saw that the three Sioux had
embarked in the canoe, and were coming up-stream. It need
_ scarcely be said the hunter lost no time in getting back into
Ge , the hollow which he had left, and that he watched this de-
7 wmonstration with no little anxiety.

‘ “*

; <q
, we le ;
> “ » s “ ‘ =

 

 

 

 

 
 

 
 

86 THR HUNTER’S ESCAPE.

This proceeding looked very much as though they had be-
gun to suspect some ruse had been played upon them; and
such, indeed, was the case. They had a fear that the whisky-
keg had assisted both to safety, and this voyage up-stream was
for the purpose of reconnoitering and ascertaining the facts in
the case. :

Skillful as were these aborigines in the use of the paddle,
the current of the Red river, at this portion of its course,
was so rapid that their progress was difficult and tardy.
However, if they came slowly it was surely, and in due time
they were abreast of the island. The hindmost Sioux now
took charge of the canoe, while the other two, with their
rifles in hand, surveyed the spot where they knew a couple
of white men had been. He who was there carefully kept his
head out of sight, seeking to judge of the exact location of
his enemies by the sound of the paddle. He noted its pro-
gress as it ascended foot by foot, and finally rounded the
upper end. Here they maintained a stationary position for
some time, and Charnley was convinced they meditated a
“charge” upon his defenses. Under these circumstances he
had resort to a stratagem that was eminently successful.

He first managed to gain a tolerably correct idea of their
location without exposing himself. Then placing his re-
volver over the edge of the hollow, he discharged one barrel,
and instantly shifting his hand a few inches to the left, fired
the other barrel. This satisfied the Indians that two men
with guns were still nestled there, although it did not give
them a very exalted idea of their marksmanship, as neither of
the three was injured. Their reconnoissance they judged to
be successful, and returned down-stream to their old posi-
tion.

Matters had now assumed such a phase that Charnley be-
gan to realize his imminent personal danger, and he concen-
trated his thoughts upon the one single idea of effecting his
escape. However desirable it might be to obtain possession
of the paper, this one project must now take precedence of
all cthers. , :

The hunter did not fail to ask the assistance of his merciful
Father. Then for twenty minutes he devoted himself to the
mos: intense exercise of his mind. At the end of that time,

 

  

 

  
 

 

    

 
   

A BRILLIANT THOUGHT, 87

he struck his hand upon his knee, and his face flushed up
with. a joyful expression. ,

“T have it! and it’s.a good idea, if it did originate with me.”

The excitement produced by the discovery of the plan was
such that he was unable for some time to act with coolness
and decision. He was certain there couid be no miscarriage,
and it took time and effort for him to tone himself down.

The island, as we have already intimated, was literally
covered with drift-wood, most of which was dry as tinder.
The hunter’s first movement was to search among this until
he found a small, straight stick with large pith init. He
was very particular in this respect, and when he had suc-
ceeded, he then cut the ends square off, making it about a foot
and a half in length. His next step was to fashion a rod
with which he forced the pith from the inside. He drove
this rod backward and forward, and blew through the open-
ing until not a vestige of the pith remained. As if to make
assurance doubly sure, he inhaled his breath through it, and
drew up a swallow or two of water; then, perfectly satisfied,
he laid it carefully down, his joyous countenance testifying how
sanguine he was of the result.

The next proceeding was to secure some six or eight large
limbs, each of sufficient size of itself to float him in the water.
Selecting one that suited his fancy, he set it apart, and began
operations with the others.

The largest was tossed into the water so that it would float
clear of the island. It had gone scarcely a rod when it
caught the eye of the Sioux, and two of them at once put
out from the shore to intercept it. They approached the sus-
picious object with great caution, paddling around it several
times; but they finally pounced upon it, and discovered no-
thing upon which to hang the shadow of a suspicion.

Roderick smiled grimly as he noted these movements.
His mental programme was being carried out to the letter.

The canoe remained in the current awhile, and then passed
in to shore again. It had but just reached there,when a second
log was descried upon the surface. As before the canoe shot
out, and it was pushed hither and yon by the paddle of the
Sioux until they,were convinced there was no attempt at de-
cepticp, when they slowly made their way back again.

 
 

   

THE HUNTERS ESCAPE,

mus far there was no break in the programme !

Some ten minutes’ respite were allowed the savages,when a
third object, similar to the other two, made its appearance.
They watched it a short time, and thon made their way out
into the stream; but it would not have required an experi-
enced eye to discover that there was much less eagerness in
their movements than at first. They approached it, and
merely striking it wifh the paddle, made their retreat again.

“Thus far,’ muttered the exultant hunter, “ Te thing
goes ‘ swimmingly.’ %

Quite “an interval elapsed before the fourth 168 was
launched, but it did not fail to attract notice, and receive a
reluctant visit.

All of which was what Charnley had confidently couanee
upon in perfecting his scheme.

The fifth log passed the lower end of the island when the
sun was in the meridian. The Sioux had disembarked, and

- ‘were seated upon the shore. They could not fail to observe

it, but they made no move toward intercepting it.

_ “Thank God!” exclaimed the hunter, from his very soul.

During the intervals elapsing between the starting of these
several pieces, the hunter had employed himself in a manner
that would have seemed strange to a casual observer. The
reed which he had whittled and hollowed out he managed to
secure to one of the large limbs, the end upon one side pro-
jecting only a few inches beyond, while it extended nearly a
foot upon the other. With this he had passed out in the
water several times and experimented, matters after a while
assuming a most satisfactory aspect.

The time for trial had now come. Dragging the limb in
question a rod or two above the island, he passed out toward
shore so as to avoid striking it in his passage down-stream.

Then placing the end of the reed in his mouth, he sunk
carefully down beneath the water, holding on to the lower
part of the limb with both hands, and gave himself to the
control of the current.

The Sioux, sitting upon the shore, aesotiea atiother dick

floating dow)-stream and one of them passed out in the ©

canoe to examine it. While still a few rods away, he ob-
served it to be the same as the others, save Ait that it’

    

 

 
 

 

 

 

THE HUNTER’S STRATAGEM, 89
’
seemed a little water-soaked, and floated quite low in the
water. That, however, was a very natural occurrence, and
he returned to his companions, wondering, perhaps, why it was
that the whites had resorted to the singular practice of shoy-
ing the drift-wood off the’island.

In the mean time, Roderick was making fine progress be-
neath the surface of the river. The limb to which he had
intrusted his fortune was of cedar wood, and had been origi-
nally coyered with numerous small branches, the stumps cf
which were grasped by his hands, while he allowed his feet
to float of themselves. When abreast of the upper portion
of the island, the water became so shallow that his back
grazed the bottom, and he feared he should be checked alto-
gether ; but he soon swung into deeper te and progressed
as before.

The hunter soon became sensible of a mee oversight upon.
his part. He had intended to fill his ears and nostrils with
bits of his clothes, to keep out the water; but the matter had
been entirely forgotten until he was disagreeably reminded of
it beneath the surface. The rushing in his ears, and the
effort it required to avoid drawing the water through the nose,
were so disagreeable that he dropped his feet with the inten-
tion of returning and remedying the matter. To his surprise
he failed to reach bottom, and, drawing his feet up, went on.

A person under the water has a very poor opportunity of
judging of the progress and passage of time; but Charley
had fortified himself against the mistake of rising too soon.
He held the reed firmly between his teeth, drawing deep and
regular breaths of air, and calculatifig, as neat as possible,
when he was opposite the Sioux. When he judged he had
reached this point, he looked to the right and left. The
water appeared of a dull yellow color, and-he discovered no-
thing. This fluid is such a good conductor of sound that he
did really hear the dip-of the paddle, and thus assured him-
self very nearly of the locality of his enemies.

. Some ten minutes later his situation became so unpleasant
that he was meditating upon brmging his head to the surface,

_ ‘when he struck the river bottom with such force that the reed
was forced from his mouth, and he was obliged to rise to keep
himself from strangling,

 
  

90 THE HUNTER’S ESCAPE,

Had the attention of the Sioux been turned in the direc.
tion, they could not have failed to observe the head as it shot
upward ; but, fortunately, they had dismissed all thoughts of
the floating objects from their mind, and were lazily casting
their eyes, at intervals, toward the island, to see that no strat-
agem of the whites should be allowed to hoodwink them.
They were meditating moying up abreast of it to detect any
such movement; but, as this was attended with some disad-
yantage to’ themselves, they still remained in their’ old posi-
tion. Were they to station themselves opposite the island, it,
was barely possible that a skillful swimmer might make his
way to the other shore, his only care being to keep the island
itself between him and his enemies. As it was now, they
could detect Any such movement at once. Larkins and
Charnley had baffled them, by proceeding directly up the
river, thus securing themselves from observation, until the
water, reached their armpits, when they launched forth
boldly.

The hunter kept as low in the water as possible, so that no
furtive glance of the Sioux should discover him, until he had
passed the same bend in the river that concealed the whisky-
trader’s advent upon the land. He then struck out vigorously
for the shore, and reached it at a point about two hundred
yards below where his predecessor had landed.

In such a high latitude as Minnesota, the cold, during the
winter months, it is well known, is exceedingly severe. When
the winter sets in its fierceness is terrible ; but, its summers are
among the most delightful of any climate. It was fortunate
for the two individuals of whom we have been writing that
the mildness continued so far into September, else their seve-
ral immersions in the Red River of the North might have
proved almost as uncomfortable to them as the well-aimed
bullets of the Sioux.

As it was, the submersive passage of Charnley was a much
finer thing to read about than to make. The chilling clasp

- of the water, the cold rush of the current, the oppressive hum

that seemed to penetrate his very brain, the hurried breathing,
the painful smarting of the eyes, and the stinging - feeling in
the nose, together with a sensation as if he was really dying
after all, more terrible in itself than all the others combined:

 
   
 

       
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
    
   
   
  
 
 
 
    
  
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 

 

 
   
   
 

 

es

THE SIOUX OUTWITTED. 91
/
these were some of the accomplishments of that never-to-be-
forgotten journey.

As for the whisky-trader, we doubt whether any of our
readers have the least concern about his emotions, and there-
fore we shall not take the space to narrate them.

The sensation of the hunter was any thing but comfortable
when he stepped upon dry land. He was compelled to hop
about awhile on each foot, to get the water from his ears, the
liquid, in the mean time, flying from his garments, in much
the same manner as from a dog when shaking himself; then,
there was that feeling in the nose more unpleasant than all,
which required time alone to displace.

He looked pitifully down at his draggling clothes, cata
asked himself what was best to do. He always carried a
match-safe with him, and it would have required but a short
time to start a fire; but it would have taken a much longer
time to dry his garments; and during that precious interval

_ the Sioux upon the upper island might recover from their de-

bauch, and dissipate all chance of obtaining the paper.

In addition to- this he was becoming ravenously hungry,
and a troublesome pain manifested itself in his wound. A
strong will, however, could stave off this, and make the other
bearable for a long time. But did he forget his first resolve
in regard to the document? No; he resolved the paper must
be secured before the bodily wants were heeded.

There was but one course for him to pursue, and that was
to go to a point above the unconscious Sioux, and then, by
the aid of some float, make his way out into the stream, and
land upon the upper portion of the island, after which his
action was to be dictated by circumstances.

He had hardly decided upon this, when he became sensible
of a peculiar smell in the air, resembling burning wood. For
a time, he was unable to locate it, but at last detected a faint
smoke arising from behind a rock, The thought that there
were Indians so near him made him exceedingly careful in
his movements. He was standing exposed to any that
might be in the vicinity; but, feeling pretty positive that he
had not been seen, he set out to discover who had kindled
the fire.

First assuring himself that his revolver was ready for an

«

 
 

co
92 THE HUNTER’? ESCAPE.

emergency, and holding it in his hand so as to be ready at an i
instant’s warning, he approached the rock. By going around
either end of this, he might be brought face to face with the
Indians, and thus make a collision unavoidable. It was
hardly probable that any of them was star-gazing at this time
of day, or even lying upon the ground; he accordingly con-
cluded to crawl stealthily along the surface, and peer down
upon them.

The contour of the rock favored such a proceeding, and

_ he lost no time in putting it in execution.

On his hands and knees then, one hand still grasping the
revolver, he crawled over the rock, and, removing his hat
from’ his head, he slowly shoved his forehead forward, until
the eyes projected beyond the line of the rock. There was
little need of this caution. The only person he saw was Matt
Larkiis, stretched flat upon his back, sound asleep. At his
feet a small fire was burning, or rather smoldering, for it
was evident it had not been replenished for fully an hour.
Near by it was a heap of sticks, which had been collected for
fuel, and a little further away was the whisky-keg, or rather
that which remained of it after head and bottom were re-
moved. ‘The trader’s limbs were outstretched, as if he had

i

 

been flung upon the ground, and remained in the position. in
which he struck. His hat was off, and his mouth-was open. ;
The hunter watched him for several moments with a feel- I
ing of contempt and pity—contempt for one ‘whose nature i
was so degraded as to engage in such a-disgraceftl calling,
and pity for the death-bed remorse, and final damnation of
“soul he was assuredly. laying up for himself. Ah! Matt ty
Larkins, there is assuredly a time coming when you shall y
i

 

 

bemoan your misspent life, for “ what profiteth it a man if he
gain the whole world and lose his own soul?”

}
“Though the mills of God grind slowly,. q
Yet they grind exceeding small; Wie
Though with patience he stands w Jaiting, i
With exactness grinds he all.’’ aN

|

While still looking down upon the form of the trader, his _
eyes suddenly opened to their widest extent, with a wild,-
startled expression, as if he had suddenly become aware of at
some great peril impending over him. . For a few seconds he ‘i
gazed. fixedly at the face looking down upon him, as if unable
THE LAST OF THE WHISKY-TRADER. 93

to identify it, and then the look of terror gradually faded from
his own. ;

“Why, Charnley, is that you?. How you scart me. Did
you wake me? Come down here.”

“Remain where you are; there is no occasion for my com-
ing down.”

“How did you get away ?”

“What was the matter contained in oe paper of Wil-
kins ?” ;

“Git out! I teld youl wouldn’t tell you, and I won’t. If
you'd have talked a little different I might. But say! how in
the name of common sense did you give them Sioux the slip ?
I never expected to see you off there.”

“You answer no question of mine and I answer none of
yours.”

“All right! but for all that we've had quite an 1 adventures
something we can boast of to our children, eh ?”

“Tf I deserted a comrade, when death was upon him, it
strikes me I would say as little as possible about it.”

“You could have gone off with me as well as not; ’m
sure I didn’t hinder you.”

“There is no need of talking about the matter; we look
differently at every thing.”

The trader had risen to his feet and now passed around the
rock. The hunter, at the same time, took his position upon,
the ground, and the two thus stood face to face. j

“Charnley, you're alittle crusty. We're a good ways up in
the north-west, where we’ve got a confounded sight more of
enemies than of friends. Since I’ve lost Wilkins I was afraid
I should have to go north into Selkirk settlement to get out of |
this scrape, and I’m a little skeery about things any way. IT
was doubting my seeing you again, but ’m mighty glad you've —
come. We can now stick together and make the trip back in
safety, can’t we, old boy ?”
best Roderick turned upon his heel without a word, and walked —

deliberately away. Since then he has never seen Matt Larkins,
roy whisky-trader,

 

 
   

THE HUNTER’S ESCAPE,

Gea eben: Lexy

SUCCESS AND FAILURE,

He could not rest, he could not Stay
Within his tent to wait for, day
, - But walked him forth along the’ strand,
Where thousand sleepers strewed the sand,
SIEGE OF CORINTH.

Tue hunter had landed upon the same side with the Sioux,
and consequently was obliged to pass them in ascending to
the proper point in the river. By keeping well back from
the shore there was no necessity of incurring any risk in doing
so. The afternoon was now well advanced and time was

‘precious. If he tarried upon land until the savages recovered
from their debauch the chances for obtaining the paper were
well-nigh hopeless, for at such times the American Indian, like
his pale-faced brother, is morose and more dangerous when
disturbed than at other times.

After leaving the whisky-trader, Charnley made his way as
rapidly as possible up-stream, for he began to fear that he had

deferred the attempt already too long. When opposite the —

island, he came down to the shore and surveyed it. The

Sioux still lay there, in all manner of positions, like men shot

dead while making an assault, and were apparently as lost to
- all outward things, as if the breath of life had i in reality de-
parted from their bodies.

The contour of the shores was such that his view of both
for a considerable distance was perfect. Casting his eye down-
stream, he was somewhat startled to find the three Sioux were
invisible. Their canoe could be dimly discerned, lying in
close to the bank, but the owners had departed.

This wore a suspicious look to the hunter. Not once,
while he was crouching upon the island, had all of the three
been invisible at the same time. The proverbial patience of
the aborigine is such as to forbid the supposition that
they had become wearied with watching. It seemed more
probable that they had withdrawn from sight in the hope of
luring their prey forth, and had divided and ascended the

    

 

}
1
if

j

=

lt

ee
THE CRACKLE OF A TWIG. 95

hea

{\/ bank in order to maintain a more critical watch upon their
1} movements.

i} Roderick was debating the matter in his mind, when he
\ caught the crackle of a twig as if made by the passage of
i some person. With a throb of alarm he turned around.
¥ Nothing was to be seen, yet he was positive there was some

—

living thing in close proximity. . His own position was such
that he was equally certain, wherever or whatever it was, that
he had been séen. His supposition was that one of the Indians
had come up upon this side of the river while another had
ascended upon the opposite side, and the third had maintained his
original station, save that he had withdrawn further from shore.

As it was, he felt exceedingly uneasy, knowing that he was
a target for any stray bullet, and he came to the conclusion
that the best thing to be done under the circumstances was to
get out of the neighborhood as quickly as possible. Glancing

‘hither and yon to ascertain the point from which the danger ,
threatened, he fixed upon a short stumpy tree, as the shield of
the Indian. It was of sufficient diameter to afford an admirable
cover to his body, and the fact that there was a bush but a
few feet away, satisfied the hunter that death lurked behind
that identical tree.

Charnley started to move away, keeping his eye fixed ‘due
the tree. He had not taken three steps when he saw a black
eye and slit of painted face slip to view, whil® at the same
time a rifle-barrel was leveled straight at him and discharged.
He was not struck, but the bullet could have come no closer
without slaying him. ~

The effect of this shot upon the hunter was to enragé him.
No other word but rage will express his emotion when this
deliberate attempt at taking his life was made. ‘The first
question he asked himself was, what reason had this Indian
to fire at him? He had never sought to harm him, but, on
the contrary, had ever been the steadfast friend of the red-
man; and now this ungrateful dog had just done his best to
send ‘him out of the world.

He jerked his revolver from his waist and rushed toward
the tree, determined to discharge the whole five barrels into
the body of the Sioux, when, lo! the savage turned upon his
heel and fled!

Naty

——

1

 

er

 
96 ; THE HUNTER’S ESCAPE.

This, if possible, rendered Charnley more infuriate than
ever.

“Hold on! you cowardly dog!” he shouted. — “ Hold on a
bit, and Pll give you your full of that kind of game.”

But the Indian disregarded the peremptory summons, and
continued his flight with all his might, while the hunter pur-
sued, firmg his revolver until every barrel was emptied with-
out inflicting a scratch. The Sioux possessed by far the most
fleetness, and rapidly gained upon the hunter. The latter
finding he had done no injury, caught up a large-sized stone,
and hurled it with such skill and force that it gave the fugi-
tive quite a respectable thump in his back. The latter ut-
tered a terrified yell and sprung a foot or two in the air, doubt-
less thinking he had received his death-wound. He now went
like the wind, nevertheless, and seeing how matters were go-
ing, the hunter gave up the chase in disgust.

When Charnley had time for reflection, he looked upon this
occurrence as exceedingly dangerous—that is, dangerous in the
- eonsequences it was likely to bring upon himself. His great
desire had been to keep the fact of his escape from the island
from becoming known to the Sioux, so that, in carrying out
his scheme, he should not be obliged to maneuver against
them. Now that they had learned or would shortly learn
that he was upon shore, it was more than probable that they
would turn their whole attention toward capturing him, and
thus little opportunity would be given for him to secure the
document.

He began to ask himself whether, after all, it would not be
best to let the paper go, and free himself from the network of
danger that was beginning to encompass him. If the matter
was of much importance he would assuredly hear of it in the
course of time. If it were only some project that had origi-
nated in the the head of the whisky-trader, it were perhaps
as well unknown as known. Be what it might, almost any

person would have pronounced it foolhardy to attempt to dis-

cover under the present aspect of circumstances.

If he gave up the project, whet should he do? ‘Wander
hither and thither through the wilderness, like some aimless
adventurer? The distaste for this, added most likely to that
curiosity which is inherent in all our natures, decided him to

    

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

    
 

Seba apotees

 

   
  
 
 
 
 
 
 
 

  

THE DOCUMENT SECURED.

make-the attempt immediately, let the consequences be what
they might. He, therefore, resumed his ascension of the
river, keeping well under cover as he did so, and pausing at
intervals to assure himself that he was not followed. In this
manner he progressed fully a quarter of a mile above the up-
per island, at which point he decided to venture out in the
river, and if not “cross the Rubicon,” cross very nearly the
Red river.

The hunter being incapable of swimming, * became neces-

“sary to secure something upon which to float. This proved

a more difficult matter than he supposed, but he finally suc-
ceeded, his safeguard this time being much the same as he had
used on the previous occasion.

On the yery point of embarking, he discerned the canoe
ascending the stream, keeping close in to shore’ as if seeking
to escape observation. He drew back and watched its move-
ments with anxious interest. Nearly abreast of the island it
headed toward it, and a few seconds later the figures of two
Indians could be seen moving to and fro, As they shortly
disappeared from view, he judged they had seated themselves
upon the ground by their companions.

The afternoon was now so far advanced, that Charnley con- -
cluded to defer his embarkation until nightfall. His approach
to the. island during the darkness it is obvious would be at-
tended with far less peril than during the daytime, although
it was by no means improbable that by that time he would
have the whole band of Sioux to operate against.

It was hardly dark, when he cautiously “waded out in the
stream, as far as its depths would permit, and set out upon
his perilous undertaking. It required great effort to make his
way far enough ott to land upon the upper end; but he suc- *
ceeded, and with a beating heart began creeping toward the
smoldering camp-fire.

Every yard, the young man paused and looked around and
listened. He could discern nothing suspicious, and in a few
moments he was within a few feet of one of the Indians. He
progressed now, it may be said, inch by inch, until he was di-
rectly among the sleepers.. Then he halted, and as well as
the gloom would permit, peered around. Of course he saw
nothing of the body of Wilkins, but his heart gave a gréat

 

  
 

i
i
a
i
i
|

98 THE HUNTER’S ESCAPE.

bound, when he discerned something glistening in the dim
light that he was sure was the precious missive for which he
was searching. Working his way a short distance further, he
placed his hand upon it. Ay! it was the document, thus
strangely preserved, and Charnley clutched it with a nervous
hand.

He was endeavoring carefully to extricate himself from this
network of danger, when an iron grasp was laid upon his
shoulder and a low voice muttered :

“How do, brudder? Much glad to see you.”

The young hunter glanced up and saw the three Sioux
standing behind him.

CHAPTER X.

CONCLUSION,

Weave me the woof. The thread is spun.
The web is wove. The work is done.—Gray.

Iv is said the ruling passion is strong in death. When
Roderick was seized by the Sioux his first act was to open
the document and attempt to read it; but the darkness would
not permit, and he placed it in his bosom, until a better
opportunity should offer.

The captors, who were the Sioux that had not partaken of
liquor, manifested no vindictive or cruel disposition. They
were in fact members of Father Richter’s people, who were
out hunting and who had no intention of shedding the blood

- of innocent persons. It was not they who had shot Wilkins,

but having discovered the white men in their vicinity, they
resolved on capturing them if possible, and we have narrated,
at length, the efforts put forth to do so, and shown also, that
they deserved no credit that our hero, after all, fell into their
hands.
Now that they had secured him, the first thing they did
was to remove him from the island, for it would never haye
done for a white man to have fallen into the hands of those
upon the island, They resolved to take the hunter back: to

gr

ieee

 

 

PIP
 

“DHE NEW INDIAN AGENT. 99

their own people, perhaps to hold him awhile, and then release
him as their whim dictated. :

It was with rather novel feelings that Roderick Charnley,
the next morning, found himself again crossing the Clearing
in the direction of the village. He was hopeful that they
might pass the cabin without being discovered by the mission-
ary, but, at that critical moment, he came forth and greeted
them. <A few words explained all. Father Richter com-
manded them to release him, and they did so without protest.

At this juncture, it occurred to Charnley that he had not
yet examined the paper in his possession. He now drew it
from his breast and opened it. It was simply his appointment
as Indian agent. Matt Larkins and his friend had represented
that they could the most speedily reach the young hunter, and,
consequently, had been intrusted with its delivery from a cer-
tain point. Their intention in doing this was to extract a
pledge from him in regard to themselves before acquainting |
him with his appointment. Failing in this, they cared not -
whether he received the document at all.

Charnley handed the paper to the missionary. As the lat-
ter perused it, his face lit up with a smile.

“Why, how is this, Roderick 2”

“T do not know. I never solicited such an appointment. ie

“Some of your friends then have done it for yon Come
in the house, and let us talk of this.”

“Do you know you have treated mein see a strange
manner?” said Father Richter, when they had seated them-
selves.

“Tt would have been much more strange had I remained
with you after the rebuffs I have received at your hands.”

“ When wounded you were my guest; when you were well
there could be no occasion for remaining, but until then I ex-
pected you to remain.” '

“Why is it, Father Richter, that you have treated me
thus ?”

“Place yourself in my position, Roderick, and then ask
whether you would not do the same.”

As has been remarked in another place, it had been the
missionary’s custom to make at long intervals a visit to the
frontier. One of these journeys was undertaken three years

 
”
100 THE HUNTER’S BSCAPE.

1
previous, and his daughter Cora accompanied him. Tt was at
this time that they encountered Roderick Charnley, who im-
agined himself in love with the fair blossom of the wilderness
at first sight. With a foolish want of discretion, he went im-
mediately to her father and asked permission to sue for her
hand. Had he approached the matter in a proper way, it is
_ very probable that he would have succeeded. But the idea
of yielding up his cherished daughter, his only companion in
his distant home, was one that could not be entertained ;
consequently the lover received a most emphatic refusal,
with the command never to speak to either again. When,
therefore, the young hunter made his appearance at the Clear-
ing, some time afterward, it was natural that Harvey Richter
should question his motives and wish for his absence, and it
was characteristic of the good man that he should tell him so.
~ “¥ can only complain,” said Charnley, in anwer to the last
remark, “ that you would not listen and hear me through.
My position in your household has been such, that the sub-
ject could not be referred to; but if you would only consent
to hear, and then, if you choose to refuse, I will havo nothing
to say.”

“T will now listen.”

“You know then, Father Richter, that I have long enter-
tained the hope of calling your daughter my wife. I can ap-
preciate your feelings when you judged that by doing so you
gave her to me to take hundreds of miles away from you,
but on that point you are mistaken. It has always been my
intention to settle down near you, so that you could have
your daughter as much as ever. Now that Iam Indian agent,
I shall do so under any circumstances. You have been carry-
ing on a good work among these people, and can not I now
join hands with you, in my new position ?” ;

“T have thought a great deal of this during the last day or
two, and painful as it has been to me, I had resolved, that if
my daughter's happiness demanded it, to give her to you, even
if you left me alone, I should do so. Now, that you declare
your purpose of remaining by me,I can offer no objection.
It lies vith you and her.”

“Tt is settled then, I think,” arnilea the hunter.

OR FINI.