The Scouts of the Valley [79]
in his heart. The silent and brave man meant to act.
"Henry," he said, "see these tracks here in the soft spot by the creek."
The young leader read the forest page, and it told him exactly the same tale that it had told Tom Ross.
"About a day old, I think," he said.
"Just about," said Tom; "an' I reckon, Henry, you know what's in my mind."
"I think I do," said Henry, " and we ought to overtake them by to-morrow night. You tell the others, Tom."
Tom informed Shif'less Sol, Paul, and Long Jim in a few words, receiving from everyone a glad assent, and then the five followed fast on the trail. They knew that the Indians could not go very fast, as their speed must be that of the slowest, namely, that of the children, and it seemed likely that Henry's prediction of overtaking them on the following night would come true.
It was an easy trail. Here and there were tiny fragments of cloth, caught by a bush from the dress of a captive. In one place they saw a fragment of a child's shoe that had been dropped off and abandoned. Paul picked up the worn piece of leather and examined it.
"I think it was worn by a girl," he said, "and, judging from its size, she could not have been more than eight years old. Think of a child like that being made to walk five or six hundred miles through these woods!"
"Younger ones still have had to do it," said Shif'less Sol gravely, "an' them that couldn't-well, the tomahawk."
The trail was leading them toward the Seneca country, and they had no doubt that the Indians were Senecas, who had been more numerous than any others of the Six Nations at the Wyoming battle. They came that afternoon to a camp fire beside which the warriors and captives had slept the night before.
"They ate bar meat an' wild turkey," said Long Jim, looking at some bones on the ground.
"An' here," said Tom Ross, "on this pile uv bushes is whar the women an' children slept, an' on the other side uv the fire is whar the warriors lay anywhars. You can still see how the bodies uv some uv 'cm crushed down the grass an' little bushes."
"An' I'm thinkin'," said Shif'less Sol, as he looked at the trail that led away from the camp fire, "that some o' them little ones wuz gittin' pow'ful tired. Look how these here little trails are wobblin' about."
"Hope we kin come up afore the Injuns begin to draw thar tomahawks," said Tom Ross.
The others were silent, but they knew the dreadful significance of Tom's remark, and Henry glanced at them all, one by one.
"It's the greatest danger to be feared," he said, "and we must overtake them in the night when they are not suspecting. If we attack by day they will tomahawk the captives the very first thing."
"Shorely,', said the shiftless one.
"Then," said Henry, " we don't need to hurry. "We'll go on until about midnight, and then sleep until sunrise."
They continued at a fair pace along a trail that frontiersmen far less skillful than they could have followed. But a silent dread was in the heart of every one of them. As they saw the path of the small feet staggering more and more they feared to behold some terrible object beside the path.
"The trail of the littlest child is gone," suddenly announced Paul.
"Yes," said Henry, "but the mother has picked it up and is carrying it. See how her trail has suddenly grown more uneven."
"Poor woman," said Paul. "Henry, we're just bound to overtake that band."
"We'll do it," said Henry.
At the appointed time they sank down among the thickest bushes that they could find, and slept until the first upshot of dawn. Then they resumed the trail, haunted always by that fear of finding something terrible beside it. But it was a trail that continually grew slower. The Indians themselves were tired, or, feeling safe from pursuit, saw no need of hurry. By and by the trail of the smallest child reappeared.
"It feels a lot better now," said Tom Ross. "So do I."
They came to another camp fire, at which the ashes were not yet cold. Feathers were scattered about, indicating that the
"Henry," he said, "see these tracks here in the soft spot by the creek."
The young leader read the forest page, and it told him exactly the same tale that it had told Tom Ross.
"About a day old, I think," he said.
"Just about," said Tom; "an' I reckon, Henry, you know what's in my mind."
"I think I do," said Henry, " and we ought to overtake them by to-morrow night. You tell the others, Tom."
Tom informed Shif'less Sol, Paul, and Long Jim in a few words, receiving from everyone a glad assent, and then the five followed fast on the trail. They knew that the Indians could not go very fast, as their speed must be that of the slowest, namely, that of the children, and it seemed likely that Henry's prediction of overtaking them on the following night would come true.
It was an easy trail. Here and there were tiny fragments of cloth, caught by a bush from the dress of a captive. In one place they saw a fragment of a child's shoe that had been dropped off and abandoned. Paul picked up the worn piece of leather and examined it.
"I think it was worn by a girl," he said, "and, judging from its size, she could not have been more than eight years old. Think of a child like that being made to walk five or six hundred miles through these woods!"
"Younger ones still have had to do it," said Shif'less Sol gravely, "an' them that couldn't-well, the tomahawk."
The trail was leading them toward the Seneca country, and they had no doubt that the Indians were Senecas, who had been more numerous than any others of the Six Nations at the Wyoming battle. They came that afternoon to a camp fire beside which the warriors and captives had slept the night before.
"They ate bar meat an' wild turkey," said Long Jim, looking at some bones on the ground.
"An' here," said Tom Ross, "on this pile uv bushes is whar the women an' children slept, an' on the other side uv the fire is whar the warriors lay anywhars. You can still see how the bodies uv some uv 'cm crushed down the grass an' little bushes."
"An' I'm thinkin'," said Shif'less Sol, as he looked at the trail that led away from the camp fire, "that some o' them little ones wuz gittin' pow'ful tired. Look how these here little trails are wobblin' about."
"Hope we kin come up afore the Injuns begin to draw thar tomahawks," said Tom Ross.
The others were silent, but they knew the dreadful significance of Tom's remark, and Henry glanced at them all, one by one.
"It's the greatest danger to be feared," he said, "and we must overtake them in the night when they are not suspecting. If we attack by day they will tomahawk the captives the very first thing."
"Shorely,', said the shiftless one.
"Then," said Henry, " we don't need to hurry. "We'll go on until about midnight, and then sleep until sunrise."
They continued at a fair pace along a trail that frontiersmen far less skillful than they could have followed. But a silent dread was in the heart of every one of them. As they saw the path of the small feet staggering more and more they feared to behold some terrible object beside the path.
"The trail of the littlest child is gone," suddenly announced Paul.
"Yes," said Henry, "but the mother has picked it up and is carrying it. See how her trail has suddenly grown more uneven."
"Poor woman," said Paul. "Henry, we're just bound to overtake that band."
"We'll do it," said Henry.
At the appointed time they sank down among the thickest bushes that they could find, and slept until the first upshot of dawn. Then they resumed the trail, haunted always by that fear of finding something terrible beside it. But it was a trail that continually grew slower. The Indians themselves were tired, or, feeling safe from pursuit, saw no need of hurry. By and by the trail of the smallest child reappeared.
"It feels a lot better now," said Tom Ross. "So do I."
They came to another camp fire, at which the ashes were not yet cold. Feathers were scattered about, indicating that the