A long Drive, and a long Walk.—The wild Woods.—An Encampment.—The blazing Fire.—Lo! the poor Indian.—The Wolf and the Watch-dog.— The Spring of the Wild Beast.—Solomon to the Rescue.—A Fight, and a Flight.
AFTER a drive of about twenty miles, they came to a place where the road turned off towards the east. They had been heading thus far in a northerly direction, and at this turning-off place a path went from the road in the same northerly direction in which it had gone. At this place they got out of the wagon, and prepared to follow their guide into the woods. Each one took the load which he had already made up for himself, and the wagon then returned.

They did not care to burden themselves too greatly upon this expedition, and so the load which each one took was as light as possible. Bart, Phil, and Pat had each a basket slung from the neck, and a fishing-rod. In each basket was a parcel of ham sandwiches, which they had procured at the inn, with the intention of using them as a kind of relish, in addition to their ordinary wood fare, Solomon contented himself with a basket only. His fishing apparatus he carried in his pocket. He wasn’t gwine to bodder his ole head, he said, with dem poles—he could cut one in the woods when he wanted one, and throw it away when he got tired of it. Solomon’s years seemed to be adverse to his taking part in an expedition like this, but in spite of this he waddled along quite as fast as any of them. One precaution he had taken which none of the rest had considered necessary, and that was, to bring with him a check shawl, which Bart had lent him. This he did for fear of his ever watchful enemy, the rheumatiz.

The path was at first very well beaten; but after about a mile or so, it gradually faded away, and the track that they followed after this was so faint as to be scarcely discernible. The woods consisted chiefly of pine trees, with birch and maple intermixed. None of these trees were very large, and they did not see any of those forest giants which had met their view in other places. In some places the underbrush was very dense, but in other places there was scarcely any. Sometimes the ground was quite bare and slippery with the accumulation of pine spires that had fallen there; again, they came to immense growths of fern; and yet again to the young growth of the forest trees, springing in wild luxuriance, all tangled and matted together.

At length even the faint outline of a path which they had been traversing for some time faded away, and they walked on after the guide, without following any path at all. The land was quite level. They found no hills, and no rocks even. Sometimes a fallen tree lay in front of them, but it was never of sufficient size to create any obstacle. The chief irregularities in the ground were caused by an occasional mound, that seemed to mark the place where a tree had once been. Frequently they came to little brooks that babbled along beneath the trees, their borders overgrown with moss; and often they came to bogs and swamps, in some of which they got wet enough to acquire a very good foretaste of the experiences that now lay before them. But this was a trifle beneath their consideration, and the ease with which they advanced filled them all with the greatest delight.

At length they came to a stop.

It was in the midst of a pine forest. Overhead, the trees interlaced their branches. Beneath, the ground was dry, and covered with slippery pine spires. It was a slight declivity, and at the bottom a brook ran along. No better place could be wished than this for a night’s rest.

“Good place dis,” said Sam; “him dry—sleepum safe—wakum all well.”

The boys were all very well pleased to find their march at an end. They had been on the steady tramp for at least two hours, and had penetrated far into the forest. Already the sky above was overcast, and the forest shades were deepening.

All things betokened the approach of evening and of night.

They flung down their baskets and poles, and then flung themselves down too, and stretched their weary limbs upon the ground. Solomon took off his basket, and put it down in a more leisurely fashion, and took up more time in depositing his own aged frame upon the ground.

“Well, boys,” said Bart, after a short time of rest, in which he had stretched himself and yawned to his heart’s content, “it’s all very well to sit down and rest, but it’s rather dark here under the trees, and it’s going to be darker, and we can’t-ex-pect to get to sleep for at least a couple of hours. How can we manage to exist, sitting here in the dark? I’m sure I can’t for one; so let’s make a fire.”

The proposal was at once adopted with the utmost eagerness. They had all felt a certain degree of cheerlessness, and did not know exactly what the cause was; but now they saw that it was the darkness, and they knew that any friendly firelight, however small, would make all the difference in the world.

They now distributed themselves in different directions for the sake of procuring fuel. Under that pine forest it was not very easy to find any. At length, by dint of careful search and unwearying industry, they succeeded in gathering a very respectable amount, which they deposited in a heap near the place where they had first sat down. The wood which they thus gathered was not very promising. What was dry was rotten twigs, and what was sound was green wood; but they did not complain. In order to find a fuel that was midway between these two extremes, they went off after pine branches. These they cut from the smaller trees with their pocket knives. Then they gathered some pine cones and bits of dry bark, and with these succeeded in kindling a fire. Over this they put the dry twigs, then the pine branches, and last of all the green wood. The fire thus carefully prepared was quite a success; the flames rose up merrily, and soon the friendly blaze illumined the gathering gloom.

Around this they now sat, and partook of their evening repast. The repast consisted of ham sandwiches, and their drink was water from the neighboring brook.

While they were seated round the fire they noticed that their guide drew forth a black junk bottle, and began to take large and frequent draughts from it. The smell showed them plainly that it was spirits, and this discovery filled them all with uneasiness. They were afraid that their guide would make himself drunk at the very outset of their expedition; and if so, what could they do with a drunken Indian? Sam had probably procured the villanous “fire-water” when he crossed with them to Chatham, before starting, and had brought it here with the express purpose of swallowing the whole of it that night.

The effects of the intoxicating liquor were soon only too apparent. He began to talk with such volubility that his broken English was scarcely intelligible. As far as they could make out, he was trying to tell them about the best places there were for fishing and shooting, and illustrating his remarks with incoherent anecdotes about various parties which he had accompanied through these forests.

But as he went on he grew more and more excited, and at length gave up broken English, and spoke to them in his own language. Of course this made him totally unintelligible. There was now something that seemed to them uncanny in the sight of this man, as he sat there, half out of his senses, talking at them vociferously and volubly in his unintelligible jargon. It put an end to all their own conversation, and to all their pleasure. It was bad enough to be here; but to be here with a drunken Indian, a crazy savage, was too much.

But the Indian kept on. He still applied the bottle to his lips at short intervals, and continued his wild gabble as before. At first, he had been speaking to them, and now he seemed to be addressing his remarks to space; for his eyes were not any longer turned towards them, but were rolling in all directions,—sometimes resting on the trees, sometimes on the fire. He grew more and more excited. Holding the bottle in one hand, he swung it around, and with the other he made energetic gestures, which he used to give emphasis to his statements. His voice also gradually changed. At first it was natural; and so long as he spoke English, there had been nothing in it to excite particular attention; but when he broke forth in his native language, it grew deeper and more guttural, and stranger and more barbaric.

The long Indian monotone and drawl became intensified by him, and was developed into something that sounded like a strange, unearthly chant; and this fierce sing-song chant only served to increase the wild and savage effect of the whole.

Here, then, were the boys, in the midst of the lonely forest, face to face with a drunken Indian. The fire was flaming up, and its blaze shone upon the Indian, and threw a baleful glow upon his dusky face. He sat opposite to them, his long hair tangled and matted, his brows contracted, his bright, black eyes rolling restlessly in their orbits, the deep-wrinkled face revealed with startling distinctness against the dark background of the forest, and showing all the incessant working of its muscles, and the rapid play of its features. With his bottle clutched in one hand, and the other hand making fierce gesticulations, all the time he kept howling out unintelligible sounds in a whining guttural—a monotonous, but furious sing-song chant. Such was the scene before them; and it was no wonder that it excited some uneasiness.

What could they do?

They did not know.

What would this Indian do?

This also they could not know.

There was nothing in his appearance that could reassure them. Every moment he grew worse and worse. If this sort of thing went on much longer, he might grow violent enough to make an attack upon them. Already he looked far more like a wild beast than a human being. The maddening fumes of the liquor might excite the natural ferocity of his race, and urge him on to deeds of horror. They had no security whatever against such a suspicion, and no means whatever of defending themselves from any sudden attack.

As for Solomon, he had been watching the Indian most attentively all this time, and the sight of this wild associate had produced upon him quite as strong an effect as upon the boys, though of a totally different kind. Had the boys not been so fascinated by the Indian as to be unable to withdraw their gaze, and had they looked at Solomon, they would have been astonished at the change that had suddenly come over him.

He had been seated a little in the background, in a lazy, reclining posture, when his attention was aroused by the conduct of the Indian. He started up and sat erect for a time. Then, as the Indian grew worse, he became more excited. He rose up on his knees, and remained in that position—watchful and eager. At length, as the Indian grew more furious, the excitement of Solomon increased to a proportionate degree. He rose gradually to his feet, and stood there, eager, attentive, vigilant; every nerve on the stretch; his body advanced, his arms bent, his fists clinched, his brows contracted, his lips compressed, his eyes kindling with a dull glow; and as the flames illumined his dusky face and figure, they revealed a sight which was quite as impressive as that other spectacle upon which the eyes of the boys were fastened.

The old man was transformed. He was no longer the shambling, free and easy, indolent, gabbling, ridiculous, affectionate, rheumatic, pottering, and apparently feeble old Solomon, whom the boys had known and loved. He was changed. He was another being. As the feeble woman is roused to frenzy, and becomes transformed at the approach of danger to her child, so Solomon, at the suspicion of possible danger to his boys, his “chickens,” his “chil’en,” whom he loved with all the strength and devotion of his faithful and affectionate old heart, dropped his old self altogether. He became changed into the fierce, watchful, vigilant champion and defender of those whom he loved. Perhaps there was also some of the savagery of his African blood, and the natural ferocity of his race, which, long slumbering, had burst forth at that moment, at the impulse of his brother savage. But as it is difficult to imagine any taint of savagery, however faint, in one like Solomon, his present attitude may best be accounted for on the ground of his living watchfulness over the boys.

At any rate, there he stood, firm as a rock, and rigid as steel,—like a watch-dog awaiting the onset of the wolf. His “rheumatiz” was forgot in the excitement of that tremendous moment, just as the soldier, in the ardor of battle, is unconscious of dangerous wounds.

At length a crisis approached.

The Indian had gone on as before, growing more and more furious every moment. His eyes rolled fearfully. He had drunk most of the contents of the bottle, and his brain was on fire. His voice grew hoarser and hoarser, his gestures more violent, and his manner more threatening; his utterances were still of that sing-song character already mentioned, but they had now become almost unearthly in their intonations. What mad thoughts there might be in his mind at that time could not be known; nor could they imagine the exciting visions that were wrought in his distracted brain. Whatever they were, they at length passed away; and his eyes, that had been rolling at vacancy, now steadied themselves, and suddenly fastened themselves upon the boys with a look of concentrated hate and fury that was terrible.

So terrible was that look, that the boys all shrank back in horror. Then they started up to their feet, and stood close together, in silence, each nerving his young heart for the coming struggle, which now seemed imminent. As they thus stood, they were on a line with Solomon; but their attention was so occupied with the Indian that they neither thought of him nor saw him.

“Let’s stick together,” said Bart at length in hurried tones—“it’s our only chance.”

“Stick it is,” said Pat, who had recovered his coolness, “through thick and thin.”

Phil said nothing, but stood his ground with the others, and waited.

The movements of the boys had excited the Indian still more. A furious cry escaped him. He looked at them for a moment, and then moved to the right, and flung his bottle into the fire. The spirits poured out, and the blaze threw a bluish, ghastly glare over the scene. Then the madman gave a terrible yell, and rushed towards the boys.

The boys saw him coming. They stood firm. They gathered up all their strength.

But suddenly a dark shadow darted forward, and a dark figure flung itself against the Indian. It was Solomon. Watchful, eager, fierce, he had waited for the onset, and as the Indian advanced he made his spring. Rushing upon him, he struck him on the side, and the onset was so unexpected that the Indian had not time to guard against it. He fell to the ground. In a moment Solomon was upon him. He twined his legs around him. He grasped the savage by the throat. To that throat he clung with a death like tenacity, never relaxing that iron grasp, that convulsive grip, but clinging, holding, tightening his clutch all the more as his enemy strove to shake him off.

The boys stood there looking on in speechless amazement. They recognized Solomon, but could scarcely believe their own eyes. Where had Solomon gained that bounding activity, that tremendous strength and energy, which now availed him even against the madman’s fury? Could this be Solomon—the one who was afraid of his own superstitious fancies—the one who had just been in miserable thraldom to a drunken wife? It seemed incredible. Yet that this was Solomon himself they saw plainly.

The struggle was most violent. The Indian gasped, and groaned, and writhed, and sought to free himself from the grasp of his assailant. But Solomon’s grip could not be shaken off. He devoted all his strength to that one thing, and did not waste any of his energies in any useless efforts. The Indian’s struggles grew weaker. He was suffocating from that grasp on his throat. Had he been younger, he might have overpowered Solomon; but he was an old man himself, perhaps quite as old as Solomon, and therefore he was not so superior in strength as might be supposed.

And now a mighty feeling of triumph swelled through Solomon’s heart, and chased away the furious impulse that had animated him to this assault. The fainting efforts and the relaxing limbs of his enemy showed that the victory was his. A softer feeling now came over him, mingling with his triumph—he thought of the boys whom he had saved.

He turned his head and raised himself slightly.

“Nebber you fear, chil’en,” he said—“he do you no harm now.”

Suddenly the Indian made one last convulsive effort. Had Solomon not been speaking to the boys he could have resisted even this last throe of despair; but as it was, his attention was for the moment distracted, and he was taken by surprise. The Indian tore himself loose from Solomon’s grasp, jerked himself up by a mighty effort upon one knee, and threw himself free from his assailant. Both were now on their feet, facing one another, panting heavily. Once more the fury of the fight raged in Solomon’s heart. He stood poised—he prepared for a spring. The Indian’s strength lay in his madness; the strength of Solomon lay in his devotion to the boys—in the frenzy of his love and anxiety for their safety.

The boys came forward. This time they would not let Solomon fight their battle. They would assist him, and lend all their united strength to crush their savage assailant. It was one common impulse, part of self-preservation, part of regard for Solomon, that animated them, and they sprang to his side and waited.

All this was the work of a moment.

Another moment and Solomon would once more have made his tiger-spring, and flung himself upon the madman.

But that moment had sufficed for the Indian to take breath, and to receive a new impulse. This, time it was not hate or destructive fury. It was terror. The terrible struggle from which he had escaped with such difficulty had given a new turn to his frenzied thoughts. Fear overmastered him. A stifled exclamation escaped him. He started back.

Then he turned and ran.

He ran for his life; and in a few moments he had passed out of sight, and was lost amid the gloom of the forest and the night.

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