Help me, gentlemen!
In Sheep’s Clothing
The warriors crept to the edge of the wood and gazed at the little party around the fire. They measured the distance with eager eyes, but it was too great. A rifle ball would not reach from the trees to the camp, and they must resort to some other method than a volley from ambush. Nor would they try a rush, for they knew that the white hunters never wholly relaxed their vigilance, even when they ate and told tales to one another; the bullets of their enemy might meet them before they could cross half the space.
In the dense thicket and canebrake, browning already under the breath of autumn winds, the warriors were safe, for the present, from the notice of the white men.
No eye at a hundred yards could penetrate that screen of leaves and twigs into the brown of which the brown of their own bodies blended. Hidden there they could hear the laughter and talk, and the crisp odors of the broiling venison and buffalo steaks came to their nostrils. The hunters were four in number, one young, three middle-aged; all strong and wiry, clad in tanned and fringed deerskin, beaded and ornamented in the intricate way which tells of forest vanities. They had taken the precaution to build their fire beyond gunshot of the forest, and every one held his rifle in the hollow of one arm while he ate and talked. Even in the relaxation of the camp fire, after the day’s hunt was over, they did not forget to be wary, and the leader of the hidden band saw that he, too, must use the utmost caution if he would triumph over them without loss.
The chief made a sign presently, and all the warriors retreated farther into the forest, their footsteps making no sound on the earth, the bushes failing to rustle as they passed. Then he announced the plan of action, and put the burden of it upon Palliser, the renegade.
“You will go to them, for you are a white man such as they,” he said to Palliser, “and make a great rejoicing, because you find them. Tell them what tale you please about your capture by the Shawnees, your escape, and your long wanderings in the woods. Tell them no Shawnee war parties are now in Kaintuckee, and there is no danger near them. Take away their suspicions. Make them believe a good watch is not needed, and wait for us.”
This was no new duty for a white renegade among the Indians, since they often served as decoys to lure the people of their own race into an ambush of the savages, though it was the first time that Palliser, who was a comparatively new man, had been chosen to do such work. But he began it with ardor, wishing to rise high in the esteem of the red men, his new people.
He scratched his face with briars until blood flowed from breaks in his skin, tore his clothing into rags, and cut great holes in his moccasins. Then he handed his weapons to the chief, who looked on approvingly at the sheep’s clothing of the wolf of his tribe, and uttering a loud shout of joy rushed noisily through the bushes and canebrake toward the camp fire, repeating his cry as he ran and varying it with a wild and incoherent laugh.
The hunters sprang to their feet, rifles in hand, and looked curiously at the wretched being who approached them. Boyd, the youngest of the four, was sure that never before in his life had he seen so forlorn a specimen of humanity.
The man’s long black hair hung in strings over his torn and bleeding face, and he limped painfully, stopping at times to rub his bruised feet. His rags but half covered his body, and he shouted incessantly to the hunters to help him, to save him. His whole aspect was that of a being crushed by pain of mind and body.
“A white man, and unarmed in these wilds! What has happened to him!” exclaimed Boyd, starting forward.
“Wait,” said Hawkins, who was the oldest, and the leader of the four, putting a restraining hand upon Boyd’s arm. “Let him come to us!”
Sutcliffe and Hines, like the other two, stood at attention with their rifles in their hands, and Palliser staggered toward them, sometimes begging for help and then joining his hands and thanking God that, at last, he saw white faces like his own. But as he came near his strength seemed to fail him.
“Help me, gentlemen! For the love of heaven, help me!” he cried. “You are white men, and I am too! I am starving, dying, help me!”
The agony upon his face was so real, so lifelike that Boyd could be restrained no longer. He rushed forward, took Palliser by the arm, and helped the bruised and battered lump of humanity to the camp fire. Palliser collapsed on a fallen log and groaned.
“Here, give him a little of this!” said Hawkins, who, despite his age and years of hard life in the wilderness, was moved by the man’s sufferings.
He drew a small flask, and, holding him erect, with one arm around the shoulders, poured part of the contents down Palliser’s throat. The man straightened himself up, gasped a little, and the color began to come back to his face. His frame gathered more vigor, and, dashing the strings of hair out of his eyes, he looked curiously at the hunters.
“Who are you?” asked Hawkins.
“Watson—Thomas Watson; at least, that’s what I used to be when I had any name,” replied the man.
“How long ago was that?”
“A year or more; but I can’t remember exactly; it may have been two years.”
“We’ll wait for the rest,” said Hawkins with sympathy. “What you need just now is something to eat and you shall have it. Sutcliffe, broil strips off a hunch of fresh venison and spread them on the coals.”
Palliser looked longingly at the broiling venison. He had not eaten since morning, and his hunger was not counterfeit.
The hunters thought they could see starvation in his eyes, and they felt pity.
Palliser was pleased with himself, though not showing it. He admired his own skill in the part. He believed that the chief, if he saw, would approve, and he trusted that he saw. His strength increased wonderfully. His back straightened, and his eyes became steady.
Boyd contemplated his work with pride.
“Good food will do a lot for a broken-down man,” he said.
Palliser began to arrange his rags, as if returning strength brought with it a sense of pride and decency. Hawkins produced an extra pair of moccasins from his small hunter’s pack and offered them. Palliser thanked him with tears in his eyes, and put on the new moccasins, throwing away the torn and ruined old ones.
“Now begin your story,” said the old hunter kindly.
Palliser told how he had been taken by the Shawnees more than a year, or perhaps two years, before, for he could not remember well, he had suffered so much, and how they had forced him to run the gauntlet, beating him almost to death with sticks and switches. Then they had kept him as a slave, torturing him at times. At last he escaped from their village, beyond the Ohio, and, swimming the great river, had come into the wilderness of Kaintuckee. Here he had wandered about for weeks, not knowing which way to go. He was without weapons, and he had lived scantily on roots and wild fruit, sleeping under the trees.
“And, oh, gentlemen,” he said in conclusion, “I was afraid I would never look upon a face of my own race again! When I came through the bushes yonder and saw you sitting by the camp fire, I thought I would fall dead with joy.”
The tears rose in Boyd’s eyes, though the wilderness hunters, even the youngest of them, were not much given to such weaknesses.
“You are safe now,” said Hawkins, “and a rest of two or three days will make you as good as ever. We’ll keep this camp for a week, I guess, and what we have is yours.”
Palliser thanked them again with many tears in his eyes. Then the cautious Hawkins asked him about the Indians; had he noticed any signs of them? Were their war parties south of the Ohio? No, he had seen no trace of Indians, Palliser said, and he felt sure that no war bands were in Kaintuckee, for it had been said in the village before he fled that the warriors were reserving their forces for an expected conflict with the tribes in the Northwest.
Hawkins said he was glad of it, and looked around at the great woods rolling away for interminable miles. To him, and all his like who had wild blood in them, it would have been a happy hunting ground without a single thorn had it not been for the savages who infested it. The game had been found nowhere else in America in greater profusion and quality, and the geniality of the climate made outdoor life a continual joy.
The air had the tang of autumn crispness, and Palliser made himself comfortable by the fire, his back still against the upthrust bough, the ruddy blaze shining on his face, to which the strengthening food had brought back the good color. The hunters, too, lounged by the coals, though as usual the instinct of caution made each keep one hand upon his rifle. The patch of wood from which Palliser had come shone in the spangled glory of autumn, the reds and yellows and browns alternating. A light wind was blowing and brought with it the spicy smell of the forest.
“It’s fine to be here,” said Palliser, spreading his fingers before the blaze, and, for the moment, he felt the ease and peace of the wilderness. He too had wild blood in him.
Hawkins nodded an emphatic assent, while Hines and Sutcliffe looked around with an air of content. Palliser glanced toward the thicket in which the warriors lay hidden. He had keen eyes, but he could see no trace of them, though he knew they were watching every movement of his new comrades and himself. His lip curled a little with pride as he thought again how well he was playing his part.
The men had returned early from the hunt, and the sun was high when Palliser appeared among them. But it was sliding down toward the earth’s rim now, and over the forest the shadows were coming.
“It will be cool to-night,” said Hawkins, “and we’ll let the fire burn. I’d have put it out, but since you say there are no Indians in these parts, I won’t.”
Then he spoke of their plans, after the week’s stay in the present camp should he over. They would push on, hunting by the way, until they reached the Mississippi and when they had stood upon the banks of the greatest river, they would turn back, and make a vast curve to the south, going far down into the warmer regions near the gulf for the winter, hunting, roaming or resting as they chose.
“We’ll be a year on this trip maybe,” said Hawkins, “but it’ll be a year that any man should be glad to have in his life.”
“So it would,” said Palliser, and, for a moment, his mind thrilled at the freedom and adventure of such a great and careless journey.
The red globe of the sun hung on the horizon’s rim, the darkness crept over the forest, and, in the open, the twilight was advancing.
The thicket in which the still warriors lay grew misty, and Palliser could see there only a dim bank of dusk, though he knew his comrades were waiting with the patience such as they always showed in pursuit of prey. He glanced more than once at the white men to see if any suspicion appeared on their faces, but they seemed to be without care or a thought of danger and continually showed their sympathy for him. Boyd in particular was anxious for his welfare. Boyd was a fine, frank fellow not more than twenty and he had been much moved by the sufferings of the man who had wandered into their camp for help.
The sun went, the night came, and all the forest was in darkness. Hawkins arranged the night watch which they always kept, even when no danger was expected. It was Boyd’s turn, he said, to stand guard first and the youth told Palliser to take his blanket and wrap himself in It. Palliser did as he was bid, without hesitating, but he had a slight feeling of repugnance. He did not like to accept his bed from the man whom he was about to deliver to a sure death at the hands of the savages. Then, Boyd was such a boy!
Boyd put his rifle across his shoulder, sat on the fallen log and tried to look into the darkness. The others wrapped themselves in their blankets, and their prolonged and steady breathing soon told that they were sound asleep.
Palliser did not close his eyes, though he lay quite still and listened intently. The night was dark, which suited his purpose, but he could hear nothing save the usual noises of the wilderness. Still, it was much too early. The savages, most likely, would wait until near midnight. So Palliser watched and listened. The leaves rustled musically before the touch of the wind. From afar came a faint cry like the shriek of a woman, but it was the voice of a panther. The fire blazed up and cast light around it, touching with red the motionless figures of the sleeping men. The reflection of the flame ran along Boyd’s rifle barrel making a line of scarlet. The boy arose and walked in a wide circle around the camp fire looking into the darkness and seeing nothing. He came back to the fire and saw that Palliser’s eyes were open.
“Not asleep yet? Aren’t you comfortable?” he asked sympathetically.
“I couldn’t be better fixed,” replied Palliser. “But I can’t sleep just yet. My nerves haven’t calmed down enough.”
“If I’d passed through as much as you have I guess I’d be feeling that way too,” said Boyd.
Palliser looked at him with a certain liking. For a moment he was sorry that the boy made one of the party, but the feeling passed. Boyd must take his chances with the others.
The boy walked about a little more, and then sat down on the far end of the log, just beyond the circle of the firelight.
The night was slow and remained dark, clouds hiding the moon. Boyd rose presently and, making another circle around the camp, came back to the fire.
“What! Not asleep yet!” he said to Palliser.
“Yes, I slept for quite a while,” said Palliiser, “but I woke a few minutes ago. I am wondering just now what you men will do with me when you leave your camp?”
“That is a question,” said Boyd, dropping the stock of his rifle upon the ground and leaning contemplatively upon the muzzle. “You can’t go all the way to Virginia unarmed. What a pity you haven’t a rifle of your own!”
“What a pity!” echoed Palliser.
“I’ll tell you what to do,” said Boyd energetically, as if he had received a sudden inspiration. “Go with us!”
The boy’s eager eyes shone in the firelight.
“Yes,” he said, “go with us! Be one of us! Five are stronger than four. We’ll find you a rifle somehow and somewhere, if we have to take it from the Indians themselves. I tell you, Mr. Watson, it will be worth your while! There is no life like this life of ours and we will make the grandest hunting trip that ever men undertook! I like you, and so do my comrades there, the best and trustiest comrades that ever a man had. You will never have such a chance again! Come with us!”
The wild blood in Palliser’s veins responded, and he knew that his eyes sparkled. This boy had put the invitation temptingly and he half returned his liking. But he recalled his mind to the work in hand.
“No, I can’t go; I wish I could and I thank you.” he said, “but I must return to Virginia if I can find the way there.”
Boyd was thoughtful. He made another trip around the fire and came back.
Perhaps you had enough of wild life when you were a captive among the Indians?“ he said.
“I had enough of life as a captive; but of wild life, no. I like it.” replied Palliser and the last statement was true.
“And yet,” said Boyd, “I hear that there are white men who have deliberately chosen a life among the Indians, and help to make war on their own people.”
Palliser started and looked suspiciously at Boyd. But the boy’s innocent face convinced him that it was a mere chance, these words about renegades.
“Yes, there are renegades among the Indians,” he said. “I heard of them, and in fact I saw two or three.”
“What could have made them take to such a life?”
“Sufficient causes I suppose, but oftenest I have no doubt, it was crime committed in hot blood, perhaps the death of a man struck down in sudden anger, or maybe self-defense, and repented of many times afterward.”
“You are probably right about that,” said the boy “Some of them are to be pitied.” The darkness did not let him see the cloud that had come over Palliser’s face, or the sudden softening of his look, when the boy said that some renegades were to be pitied. Palliser turned his face away from the fire and was silent.
Boyd spoke again of their great expedition into the Southwest, and the glorious hunting and exploring they would have.
“Change your mind and go with us; you will never be sorry for It.” he said.
Palliser shook his head, though the wild blood in him was leaping.
“What a pity you can’t,” said the boy, and his words were full of sincerity. “Good-night. You ought to sleep and I ought to be on guard.”
Shouldering his rifle, he began his customary circles around the camp fire. When he had made the trip three or four times, he sat down on the far end of the log. He was motionless there, and his figure was indistinct to Palliser.
The night had not lightened, and Palliser judged that the time was at hand. The boy could see but a short way into the darkness and his watch moreover was perfunctory. He seemed to be nearer sleep than wakefulness.
Palliser raised his head a little, but with care in order that he might make no noise, and tried to look into the darkness beyond the boy. He knew that his red friends who had watched all his movements would never mistake him for the white man, and he felt no alarm on his own account.
He could see nothing, but he let his head drop back until his ear rested on the earth, and presently he heard a faint, sliding sound that made his blood quiver; he knew its cause; it was the slightest rustle; only a man creeping on the ground made that noise. Palliser looked at the sentinel who was still motionless. But it was impossible for one who did not have his ear to the earth to hear the rustling; nor was Boyd likely to hear it, even when the sound grew louder.
Palliser was sorry that Boyd was on watch. Something in the boy’s manner and his strong sympathy had appealed to him. There was no hope for him, as they would be sure to kill the sentinel first. Were Boyd one of the sleepers, he might be taken prisoner, and perhaps Palliser would have influence enough to save him at last and make him a member of the tribe, a renegade like himself. There had been such cases.
The rustling increased and became so distinct that Palliser, with his ear to the earth, could tell that it proceeded from the thicket in which the warriors had lain hidden, and was coming directly toward the dozing sentinel. The sound was that of a long body drawn slowly over the earth. Palliser looked at the older men. Their faces were fixed and they slept soundly, drawing long and regular breaths. They would not waken until the shouts or blows of the warriors aroused them. Palliser turned over two or three times and came a little nearer to Boyd, where he could see better. He made no noise and the sleeping men slept on as peacefully as ever. A straggling moonbeam fell on Boyd’s face and showed his drooping eyelids. He was at least half asleep and the vigilance that he might have preserved through habit seemed lost in some memory that made his lips curve into a smile. Palliser felt sorry more than ever for the boy.
He could hear the sound of the sliding body now, without placing his ear to the ground, and presently he saw a darker line upon the surface of the earth. The creeping warrior was coming near, and Palliser felt sure it was the chief, himself, for he would wish the honor of striking down the sentinel.
The warrior crept nearer and he could see that it was, in truth, the chief, ready with his knife to slay the dreaming boy. Surely Boyd would awake and make a fight for his life!
Surely he would hear the leaves and grass rustling behind him! But he did not stir, though the moonbeam played over his face, as if it would warn him. Palliser trembled under the tension of his drawn nerves. The boy ought to have a chance He rolled over again, and purposely kicked one of the burning pieces of wood. It fell with a plunk into the ashes, but neither the sleepers by the fire nor the boy heard, only the warrior.
Palliser could see the eyes of the savage gleaming in the dusk, as he stopped and crouched down at the noise. Then, when it was not repeated, the chief crept on again, until he lay on the ground just behind Boyd and within striking distance.
Palliser gave up hope. The boy would never hear now. The chief rose to his feet with his ready knife, and Palliser could see upon his face the malignant play of his passions.
“How easily I could prevent this if I wished to do so,” thought Palliser. “I would have only to reach my hand toward the rifle of one of these hunters.”
As proof of the thought the hand moved toward the rifle. The chief stood erect, towering over the sitting boy. and after the manner of his race prolonged his enjoyment, looking down at the unconscious figure.
Rising impatience and anger filled the mind of Palliser. He was seized with a great repugnance for this Indian habit of gloating over a victim. He had never before seen the chief look so evil. His hand touched the rifle and the cold steel of the barrel felt good. Mechanically, his fingers crept toward the hammer and trigger. The chief raised the knife, and Pallister’s fingers closed around the rifle.
Higher went the knife. The moonbeam that had played over the boy’s face deserted him and shone on its blade. It was about to strike, but a rifle was fired, echoing in the night, and the chief fell, shot through the brain.
“Up, men, up!” shouted Palliser, in a wild delirium of excitement. “It’s an Indian attack, but I’ve killed the leader, and we can beat ’em off!”
The savages rushed from the bush, but, disheartened by the fall of their chief, and surprised when they expected to inflict surprise, they were quickly beaten off and fled in the darkness.
The battle over, Palliser leaned against a tree, pale and trembling.
“Here are the rifle and ammunition that you needed,” said Boyd, handing him the equipment of a fallen warrior. “You’re a brave man and you’ve saved all our lives. We ask you again to go with us.”
“Do you really want me?” asked Palliser.
“Yes,” said all.
“Then let us go,” said Palliser, his eyes shining as the firelight played upon them. The five took up their light packs and, walking in Indian file, one close behind another, disappeared in the great Southwestern forest.