Transcriber’s Note:

The cover image was created by the transcriber and is placed in the public domain.

THE TRAIL OF

BLACK HAWK

By EVERETT T. TOMLINSON

SCOUTING ON THE OLD FRONTIER

STORIES OF THE AMERICAN REVOLUTION

SCOUTING WITH MAD ANTHONY

THE MYSTERIOUS RIFLEMAN

SCOUTING ON THE BORDER

THE PURSUIT OF THE APACHE CHIEF

THE TRAIL OF THE MOHAWK CHIEF

YOUNG PEOPLE’S HISTORY OF THE AMERICAN REVOLUTION

PLACES YOUNG AMERICANS WANT TO KNOW

FIGHTERS YOUNG AMERICANS WANT TO KNOW

THE STORY OF GENERAL PERSHING

“‘The kind of a horse I’ve always wanted to own’ ... he thought.”
[Page [152]]

GREAT INDIAN CHIEFS SERIES

THE TRAIL OF BLACK HAWK

BY

PAUL G. TOMLINSON

Author of “To the Land of the Caribou,” “In Camp on Bass Island,” etc.

ILLUSTRATED

NEW YORK AND LONDON

D. APPLETON AND COMPANY

1924

Copyright, 1915,

By D. APPLETON AND COMPANY

Printed in the United States of America

PREFACE

The adventures and experiences of the hardy settlers on the continually advancing frontier have provided a fascinating but comparatively unknown chapter in the history of our country. Romance, bitter prejudice, distorted tales, and traditions more or less trustworthy, have combined to create a strong interest in the Indians. So much, however, has been written of a sensational and improbable nature that the result has not always been desirable. Just as there were “good” Indians and “bad” Indians, so the stories of Indians have ofttimes created impressions that were erroneous or even false.

The appeal of Indian life and of Indian wars, however, is perpetually strong. Who these early inhabitants of America were, what they did, how they lived and how they fought their battles, why they were engaged in conflicts with the early settlers and our troops, are essential parts of our history. The names of King Philip, Massasoit, Brandt, Tecumseh, Pontiac, Red Jacket, Black Hawk, Keokuk, Ouray, Sitting Bull and others are perhaps well known, but just what is behind the names is not so commonly understood.

And yet all this is a legitimate part of our history, which every American, and particularly every young American ought to know and wants to know. Even if it is impossible for him properly to understand the vanishing race he ought not to be ignorant of, nor forget, the struggle of those early days.

Black Hawk’s War occurred in 1832. Against the encroachments of the whites and their undeniable injustice, the Indians opposed their own methods of making war. The extermination of families, the lack of mercy, even the blood-thirstiness of the redmen were among their customary methods of making war and were universally recognized as such by their enemies of their own color. Black Hawk assuredly was a patriot, courageously fighting the battles of his own people. This story is an attempt to follow facts and events of that struggle as they occurred.

The author has followed the suggestions of many librarians and teachers and has cast his narrative into the form of a story. In the main part the story is true and the aim of its writer has been to present a picture of the struggle of the settlers with the Indians, the work of our army and the daring of Black Hawk and his braves. The justice or injustice of the conflict will be understood by those who may follow the fortunes of the courageous chieftain. At all events the young readers ought to appreciate more fully the value and the cost of the land, the privileges and the homes they now possess.

The character of Black Hawk is unique. He was a natural leader, overcoming opposition in the tribes he led, as well as bravely facing his foes.

The events incorporated in this tale are based upon facts. The license of a storyteller has been freely used, but the basis of the book is true. The final defeat of Black Hawk, his visit at the capital of the nation and in some of the largest cites, the impression upon the old warrior in his receptions by the whites of the East, all are elements in his life which must be known in order to appreciate correctly the character of this famous Indian chief.

To those who are interested the following bibliography may be suggestive:

Armstrong, The Sauks and the Black Hawk War, 1887.

Beckwith, H. W., Illinois and Indiana Indians, 1884.

Blanchard, Rufus, History of Illinois.

Carpenter, R. V., The Indian Statue, near Oregon, Illinois.

Chetlain, A. L., The Black Hawk War of 1832.

Davison, Alexander & Stuve, B., Black Hawk War.

Goodrich, S. I., Lives of Celebrated American Indians.

McIntosh, John, Speech of Black Hawk when he surrendered himself to the agent at Prairie Du Chien.

Moses, John, Black Hawk War.

Parrish, Randall, The Struggle with Black Hawk.

Paterson, J. B., Autobiography of Black Hawk.

Snyder, J. F., The Burial and Resurrection of Black Hawk.

Stevens, F. E., The Black Hawk War, including a Review of Black Hawk’s Life.

Steward, J. F., Sac and Fox Trail.

Thwaites, R. G., The Black Hawk War.

If his young readers shall be sufficiently interested in this story of Black Hawk to follow the struggles by which America was won as they are recorded in our historical works, the writer will feel that his purpose in part at least has been accomplished.

Paul G. Tomlinson.

Elizabeth, New Jersey.

CONTENTS

THE TRAIL OF BLACK HAWK

CHAPTER I
BLACK HAWK TAKES THE TRAIL

“Black Hawk is on the trail again.”

Joseph Hall was the speaker. With his parents, two sisters and a brother he lived on the American frontier in Illinois. In these days a reference to that part of the country as “the frontier” would cause a smile to appear on the faces of those who might hear such a statement, but in the year 1832, when the scene of this story is laid, Illinois was very far west. On Indian Creek, near its junction with Fox River, in a little clearing in the forest, the Hall family dwelt and made a hard living from the soil and from the game they might secure with the rifle.

Ten years before this time they had forced their way westward from eastern Pennsylvania and had hewn a home for themselves out of the wilderness. At that time Joseph and his younger brother Robert were only nine and seven years old, respectively. Brought up in the woods and on the prairies they had learned the wisdom of the forest, the secrets of the trees, the flowers and the streams; they knew the habits of the wild animals and the favorite pools of the fish. Thorough woodsmen they were both of them, sound in mind and strong in body. Fatigue was almost unknown to these boys, and to endure hardships was a part of their everyday life.

It was now spring. The sun was warm and the trees were bursting with new life as the days grew longer and summer approached. The time had come when the crops must be planted and it was in this occupation that the two boys were engaged when Joseph made his remark concerning Black Hawk. A space several acres in extent, had been cleared in the heart of the forest and here it was that the Hall family eked out a scanty existence.

At one end of the clearing stood their home. A rough log cabin was all it was, but it was home and consequently was very dear to the Halls. In the rear the clearing ran down to the edge of the woods and as much as possible of this land was under cultivation. Year by year the clearing had been enlarged until now it occupied a considerable extent. Joseph and Robert were busy at the opposite end from the place where their home stood.

“Black Hawk on the trail again!” exclaimed Robert in response to his brother’s remark.

“Exactly.”

“Who told you?”

“Deerfoot. I saw him early this morning down by the river.”

Deerfoot was a Pottowattomie Indian, friendly to the white settlers and to the Halls in particular. He had taught Joseph and Robert much of what they knew of woodcraft and that he was a skillful teacher was attested by the prowess the two boys had acquired.

“Is it serious?” demanded Robert anxiously. He had been removing weeds from the newly sprouted cornfield and he leaned on his hoe as he waited for his brother’s reply.

“Deerfoot says it is,” replied Joseph. “He says that Black Hawk is very angry and means business this time.”

“But what’s it all about?” Robert insisted.

“The same old trouble. Black Hawk doesn’t want to leave this side of the Mississippi and doesn’t intend to either, if he can help it.”

“He signed a treaty nearly thirty years ago saying he would go, didn’t he?”

“I know it,” said Joseph. “According to Deerfoot, though, Black Hawk thinks he was deceived at that time and that the treaty doesn’t bind him. I think that if he had been made to leave at the time he signed that treaty down at St. Louis, everything would have been all right. They told him, however, that he could stay on until this country was thrown open for settlement and now that they want him to go he refuses. At least that’s what father thinks.”

“Is he going to fight?” exclaimed Robert.

“Deerfoot says so. He told me we’d better get to some safe place, too.”

“Did you tell father that?”

“I did, but he laughed at me. You know how he is; he said he wasn’t afraid of all the Indians in North America.”

“That’s foolish, I think.”

“So do I,” agreed Joseph. “Black Hawk and his warriors may be right around here now as far as we know. They’ll start by making war on the settlers, too; you know they always do that. They blame the settlers for taking their land away from them.”

“How about Keokuk?” demanded Robert. “He is the head of the Sac tribe, while Black Hawk is only a smaller chief. What is Keokuk going to do?”

“He is already across the Mississippi, I understand. He evidently was willing to go, or at least he thought that would be the wisest thing to do. He is not a fighter like Black Hawk.”

“I should say not,” exclaimed Robert. “Old Black Hawk has been fighting nearly all his life, I guess.”

“Ever since he was fifteen years old, so Deerfoot told me this morning. He is about sixty-five now, so you see he has been on the warpath off and on for fifty years. He must be a great old warrior if all Deerfoot told me is true.”

“What did he tell you?”

“Well,” continued Joseph, “he said that when Black Hawk was only fifteen he started fighting and that before he was seventeen he led a war party against an Osage camp and brought back several scalps. When he was nineteen he led another fight against the Osages and killed six people with his own hands. A few years later in another battle he killed nine men single-handed. In the war of 1812 he sided with the British and was a terror along the border settlements. He’s a real old warrior, from all accounts.”

“He must be,” exclaimed Robert. “He doesn’t think for a minute that he can whip the United States, though, does he? How many warriors has he, anyway?”

“About five hundred or more, according to Deerfoot. He expects, however, that the Winnebagos, Pottowattomies, and Kickapoos will go in with him, and if they do they can make it pretty hot for a while around here.”

“Deerfoot won’t fight, will he?”

“No, indeed,” said Joseph. “At least he said he wouldn’t fight with Black Hawk. He doesn’t think that those other three tribes will join him, either. He thinks Black Hawk will find only his own men with him when the time comes.”

“When is the time coming?”

“It has already come. Black Hawk is on the trail with a party now, and is going to make war on the settlers. He expects it will take the Whites some time to organize and by that time he himself will have large reinforcements from the other tribes.”

“Well,” said Robert, “if he intends to make war on the settlers what is there to prevent him from picking out the Hall family to start with?”

“Nothing in the world. That’s just what I said to father, but he told me to pay no attention to such nonsense. I thought we ought to have guns out in the field here, but he said not. Just the same, I sneaked both yours and mine out of the house and hid them in that bush over there. Maybe father isn’t worried, but I am.”

“Well, I’m worried, too,” agreed Robert. “I don’t think I’m a coward by any means, but it seems to me it is a silly thing to do to stay right on here as if there was no danger at all, when at any moment we may be attacked by a band of hostile Indians.”

“Still,” said Joseph, “we have no special reason for thinking that we are to be the first ones attacked. Perhaps if some other family is murdered, father may realize that it is serious and move on to some safe place for a while.”

“Yes, and he may wait too long.”

“You can’t tell father there is any danger, though.”

“I know it,” agreed Robert. “He holds all Indians in contempt and thinks they’re all bad. Why, he hardly treats even Deerfoot like a human being.”

“Deerfoot knows it, too. I don’t think he likes father, and if it wasn’t for the rest of us he wouldn’t be half so friendly.”

“He likes us all right, and he’s been awfully good to you and me.”

“He certainly has,” exclaimed Joseph eagerly. “Personally, I think he’d warn us if he knew that Black Hawk and his band were coming this way.”

“But he might not know it.”

“I know,” protested Robert, “but you must remember that in this case it is Indian against Indian. The Sac tribe is just as clever as the Pottowattomie, and old Black Hawk is no fool. You don’t suppose he’d go around telling everybody just where he intended to strike first, do you?”

“Perhaps not.”

“Perhaps not,” exclaimed Robert. “You mean certainly not, I guess. If I intended to attack you, you don’t think for an instant that I’d go around telling everybody, do you? If I did, some one would be sure to tell you, and what chance then would I have of being successful?”

“You’d make a great chief, Bob,” said Joseph laughingly.

“Not at all,” protested Robert. “I’m just stating what seems to me to be common-sense.”

“You’re right, of course,” agreed Joseph quickly, becoming serious once more. “I think we’re in a dangerous position and I wish we were out of it.”

“Does mother know?”

“Father wouldn’t let me tell her. He said it would only worry her and the girls, and there was no use in it.”

“We’ll talk to him tonight, both of us.”

“It won’t do any good, I’m afraid. You know how stubborn he is. He thinks there’s no danger, and no one can change his mind by talking to him.”

“Well,” said Robert, “I hope he’s right. But if he’s wrong I hope he’ll find it out and change his mind before it is too late.”

“Anyway,” exclaimed Joseph, “it won’t do us any good to stand here and talk about it and it won’t help the corn to grow, either. Let’s forget it, if we can.”

The two young pioneers lapsed into silence and soon the only sound heard in the cornfield was the click of their hoes as they dug the weeds out of the soil and cleared a space for the tender shoots to gain the light and air. The thought uppermost in the mind of each boy, however, was of Black Hawk and his band of marauding warriors.

It is hard for us to understand in these days what a peril and a menace to frontier life these hostile Indians were. Every little while word would come of some family wiped out by the uprising of a nearby tribe and no one could tell at just what moment these onslaughts might come.

Everyone went armed, not only for the sake of the game which provided much of the food on which the pioneers lived, but also as a guard against any surprise attack of warlike redmen. It is needless to state the country abounded in “crack shots,” as the most skillful in the use of the rifle were termed. Ammunition was scarce and no one could afford to waste powder or bullets. Consequently they made every shot count and it was wonderful to see the skill some of our early settlers acquired with the rifle. In this sport, or rather in this serious business, no one in the region surpassed Joseph Hall and his brother Robert.

Through the warm spring afternoon the two brothers toiled on in the cornfield. Their hands were busy with the hoe and their minds with thoughts of Black Hawk and his warriors. The shadows grew longer, and when at last dusk crept over the land they made ready to cease work for the day. As they were preparing to stop, the call of a quail sounded from the woods close to the place where the two boys were standing. Both boys were immediately alert. A moment later the call was repeated.

“Deerfoot,” exclaimed Joseph in a low voice.

The two brothers hastened in the direction from which the call had been heard and a moment later discovered their Indian friend hiding behind a thick bush, waiting for them. He was nearly exhausted and had evidently traveled far and fast.

“What is it, Deerfoot?” exclaimed Joseph eagerly. “What is the trouble?”

The Indian was panting and a brief time elapsed before he could speak. Finally he regained his breath.

“Black Hawk, he come!” gasped Deerfoot, and he pointed toward the opposite end of the clearing.

Hardly had he uttered these words when from the direction of the Hall’s cabin came the blood-curdling sound of the Indian war whoop.

CHAPTER II
PURSUED

Both boys immediately darted toward the bush where their rifles were hidden. Silently and swiftly they ran and then at their highest speed returned to the spot where Deerfoot lay crouched upon the ground. The air now resounded with the terrible war cry of the marauding Indians and shots rang out through the evening air.

“Come on, Bob,” exclaimed Joseph, as he swiftly started forward.

He had taken only a few steps, however, when he felt himself gripped strongly by his arm and held back.

“No be a fool,” muttered Deerfoot. “Black Hawk have fifty braves. You be killed unless stay here.”

“But my family, my mother and sisters,” pleaded Joseph. “They will be killed unless I go to help them.”

“They be killed anyway,” said Deerfoot stoically. “No use you be killed, too.”

With one hand he held Joseph in a grip of iron, while with the other he maintained a firm hold on Robert. Both boys struggled to free themselves but to no avail. Their Indian ally held them fast, while all the time in a low voice he talked to his young friends.

“Black Hawk come with big band,” he explained. “Me run ten mile to warn Halls. Black Hawk say he kill your father. He say your father bad to Indian. No use you be killed, too. Soon they look for you. You better run. Deerfoot take you away safe.”

“No! No!” protested Joseph and Robert in one breath.

“Let go of me, Deerfoot!” exclaimed Joseph. “Do you think I can leave, while my family are being murdered? Let me go, I say!”

“Deerfoot no let go,” replied the Indian calmly.

The air now was resounding with the cries of the bloodthirsty redmen. If the wild shouts provided a just basis by which to estimate the numbers in the attacking party then it must be as large as Deerfoot had declared it to be, the boys concluded. In their hearts both boys were already convinced that whatever they might do would be of no avail. At the same time it is not easy to watch an attack upon one’s family, and both boys would rather have lost their own lives than to sit quietly by without making an effort to aid.

Every time the war whoop sounded a shudder ran through them and they begged Deerfoot for a chance to try to protect or avenge their father, mother and sisters. Both boys knew well that when an Indian makes war he spares no one from the head of the family down to the baby in the cradle. They already were convinced that soon they would be the only survivors in what had but recently been a family of six.

Suddenly Robert wrenched himself free from Deerfoot’s hold and sprang to his feet. Night was rapidly coming on and objects at a distance were hard to distinguish. Through the gathering dusk he could see his home in the distance. It had been set on fire and around and around it the red marauders were dancing, sending forth their fiendish shouts of victory. Undoubtedly everyone in the house was now dead and soon only the charred remains of what had once been their home would remain.

An ungovernable feeling of rage surged up in Robert’s breast and he vowed vengeance. He raised his rifle to his shoulder and took careful aim. Never in his life had he been more self-controlled in his actions than he was at that moment. The roof of the cabin suddenly burst into flame and lighted up the awful scene being enacted nearby. As he pulled the trigger one of the Indians suddenly leaped high into the air and fell headlong upon his face and lay still. Robert’s aim had been true.

As if by magic the war dance of Black Hawk’s band abruptly ceased. Comrades rushed to the side of the fallen brave and tried to lift him to his feet. Their efforts, however, were without avail; the warrior was dead. As soon as the others became aware of the fall of their comrade they immediately turned to see from which direction the fatal shot had come.

As often happens at sundown there was no breeze stirring. Rising among the trees over the spot where Robert and his two companions were standing, appeared the smoke from the young frontiersman’s gun. The sharp-eyed Sac Indians immediately spied this and with a shout of rage a score or more of them started at full speed in the direction of the tell-tale smoke.

When Robert had fired his rifle, Deerfoot realized that their position was now disclosed and he instantly released his hold on Joseph. There was no advantage to be gained by any further attempt to hide. Joseph gained his feet just as the hostile Indians spied the smoke from his brother’s gun, and hastily taking aim he fired at the approaching warriors. The fact that one of them stopped suddenly and clutched his shoulder proved that Joseph as well as Robert was skillful in the use of a rifle.

“Fools!” exclaimed Deerfoot in the ears of the two boys.

“But, Deerfoot—” began Robert, at the same time hastening to reload his gun.

“Come!” exclaimed Deerfoot, breaking in upon him. “Come, if you no wish to die.”

Without a word he turned and sped into the forest, the two boys closely following him. Less than a quarter of a mile behind them they could hear the war cry of the enraged redmen, hot upon their trail. This was no time to think of family or anything else except self preservation. Both boys realized that this was to be a race with a prize of life or death at the finish, and this knowledge provided them with additional strength.

With Deerfoot in the lead, they fled silently and swiftly through the fast gathering darkness of the forest. If they could outstrip their pursuers and keep out of their way until darkness fell, then their chances of escape would be redoubled. They were fully aware of this fact and they knew also that the foes at their heels knew it, too. Deerfoot set a heart-breaking pace and if the two brothers had not been in excellent condition they never could have hoped to maintain the speed with which they were running.

Neither boy had any idea of the direction in which they were fleeing. They followed their leader blindly, trusting implicitly in him to save them. Their entire attention was centered in Deerfoot and they paid no attention to any task other than that of doing their utmost to keep pace with their leader.

Behind them resounded the shouts of their pursuers and the fugitives seemed to acquire renewed speed every time they heard the blood-curdling cries.

At length, however, they began to weaken. No one was able to maintain such a pace very much farther. At least that is what both Robert and Joseph were thinking. They still had their rifles, and they were determined to hold them at any cost. The guns were heavy, however, and undoubtedly prevented the boys from maintaining their speed.

The darkness increased and Deerfoot began steadily to draw away from his two young friends. Born and reared in the woods, and lightly dressed, he proved more than a match for the fast tiring brothers. They struggled desperately to keep up but they both realized that before long they would be compelled to stop. And ever nearer sounded the war whoop of the Sacs.

“I can’t go much farther, Deerfoot,” panted Joseph.

“Nor I,” gasped Robert.

At the word the flying Indian slackened his pace and waited for the boys to catch up.

“Only little more,” he exclaimed, “no stop now. All die if stop now.”

“But where are you taking us?” exclaimed Joseph.

“Follow Deerfoot, he show you,” and once again the fleet-footed Indian sped down the darkening aisles of the forest. Night was now so near at hand that it was with difficulty that the two boys kept their guide in sight. They made one last effort, however, and exerting all the strength and will power they possessed they managed to follow where Deerfoot led.

Suddenly the Indian stopped.

“Black Hawk no see trail now,” he exclaimed. “We hide here.”

He darted behind a huge tree as he spoke, the boys instantly following his example.

“Where are we going to hide?” demanded Joseph.

“Follow Deerfoot,” and as he spoke the Indian began to climb the nearest tree. Seemingly he went directly up the side of the tree and there were no branches to which he might cling for a considerable distance above the ground.

“Steps in tree,” announced Deerfoot, stopping when he had gone a few feet. “You find ’um easy. Follow Deerfoot.”

Standing where Deerfoot had stood Joseph ran his hands over the hark of the huge oak tree. Sure enough, steps large enough and deep enough to render climbing comparatively safe had been cut into the side of the tree. They were just about as far apart as the rungs of a ladder and having once started on the strange stairway it was very easy to continue. Joseph and Robert speedily discovered this condition and soon were following Deerfoot as he directed them and were moving nearly as rapidly as the Indian himself.

In a very brief time all three had reached the first huge branches of the oak. Here a small platform had been built, consisting of only two or three planks, but they were so arranged that when the three fugitives lay down there was sufficient room for them all. These planks had been cunningly concealed by branches and moss, though naturally the boys did not know this in the darkness. It was about all they could do to make out the indistinct outlines of the nearby trees.

The description of their activities required more time than Deerfoot and his two companions consumed in their efforts to gain this place of refuge. In a very short time they were lying prone on the platform and peering eagerly down into the depths of the forest. They had moved cautiously and silently and well it was that they had made no noise. Scarcely were they settled in the place before shadowy forms began to flit past them in the dim light below.

No war whoops now were heard. The redmen were on the trail to avenge their dead comrade and the one who had been wounded, and now that night had fallen they had no desire to disclose their position. Joseph and Robert could not repress an involuntary shudder as they watched their pursuers speed past them. At the same time they had a feeling of satisfaction as they thought that they had thus far outwitted their foes and for the present at least were comparatively safe.—

Twenty-seven warriors passed beneath the platform in the old oak tree, according to Joseph’s count. Certainly there were enough of them to overcome any resistance the three fugitives could furnish. Night came on, but not for a moment was the vigilance of any one on the platform relaxed. Hour after hour dragged by and soon the dawn would appear. Robert understood as well as Joseph and Deerfoot, that when morning came their position would no longer be safe. With the coming of the morning light the hostile Indians would surely discover their trail and follow it to the base of the large oak tree. If they were to escape, now was the time to do so.

“Come,” said Deerfoot in a low voice.

He cautiously arose and started to make his way down the strange stairway. Joseph and Robert followed closely behind. Slowly and as quietly as possible they descended the tree and soon their feet were on solid ground once more. There they stood for a moment, and then, with Deerfoot in the lead, they started to retrace their course of the night before.

They had covered a hundred yards or more when suddenly from a bush almost directly in front of them came the sharp bark of a rifle. A bullet whistled over their heads.

CHAPTER III
A DEVASTATED HOME

All three immediately dropped on their hands and knees. Rifles in hand they scurried for the nearest shelter and awaited developments. A puff of smoke floated upward from the bush whence the shot had come, as the three fugitives stretched themselves prone behind the trunk of a large fallen tree. After many moments of waiting Deerfoot cautiously raised his head.

He dropped back again quickly, however, as a rifle ball splintered the bark scarcely ten inches from him. Evidently their enemy was keeping a sharp lookout. Apparently there was only one Indian in the bush, but neither of the two young pioneers nor their red ally cared to take any chances with him. For some moments there was absolute silence in that part of the forest where this little drama was being enacted.

Suddenly Deerfoot stirred. He evidently had some scheme he wished to put into execution.

“Give Deerfoot hat,” he whispered to Joseph, who lay next to him.

Without hesitation Joseph did as he was told. Deerfoot pulled a strip of bark from the fallen tree and placed the hat upon one end of it, while he held to the other. Cautiously and slowly he raised the hat until it showed above their shelter. Immediately it was fired upon.

Deerfoot turned to his young friends and smiled grimly.

“I do that again,” he whispered. “When he fire, white boys jump to feet and fire too. We take him by surprise.”

“A fine idea,” exclaimed Joseph eagerly. “Are you all ready, Bob?”

“All ready,” replied Robert quietly. “Just give me the signal.”

The two boys crouched, guns in hand, ready to spring to their feet instantly. Deerfoot also prepared to do his part. He lay on his back and slowly raised the hat; it was a nervous moment for the three people behind the fallen tree trunk. They did not know whether or not their foe would be deceived by their strategy and they could not be sure that only one hostile redman lurked in the nearby bush. Day had now come, however, and it was high time for them to move on. In a short time that portion of Black Hawk’s band which had pursued them the night before might once more appear and then their escape would be hopeless.

So gradually did Deerfoot raise the hat that it scarcely seemed to move. Little by little, however, it was elevated on the stick until it showed above the fallen log. Joseph and Robert waited with every muscle tense, ready to spring to their feet the instant their enemy should fire. If Deerfoot’s strategy succeeded and if there was only one Indian who barred their way the three fugitives would soon be able to resume their journey.

After what seemed to the two young pioneers to be a very long time the hat appeared above the log. Now was the important moment, and of the three persons hiding behind the fallen tree, two of them at least were very nervous. The success or failure of their scheme would now be determined in a very short time.

When at least two inches of the hat was exposed to view, Deerfoot waited. Nothing happened, however. He raised the hat a bit higher. Still there was no result. Perhaps their foe suspected a plot and was determined not to be caught. That such could be the case seemed most improbable, however. Deerfoot raised the hat still a little higher and moved it slightly to one side, as if its owner was trying to conceal himself behind something.

Bang! A shot suddenly struck the hat squarely in the center and splintered the stick, tearing it from Deerfoot’s hand.

“Now, Bob,” exclaimed Joseph, springing to his feet.

Both boys immediately jumped up and taking quick aim fired into the bush whence the bullets had come. Then they once more dodged behind the sheltering log. A shrill cry at that moment startled them, however, and looking up they saw Deerfoot, knife in hand, charging the spot where their enemy was located. He uttered the war whoop of the Pottowattomies and it was this that the boys had heard.

“We mustn’t let him go alone,” cried Robert, and as he spoke the two young woodsmen dashed forward to lend what assistance they could to their ally.

There was nothing for them to do, however, when they reached the bush. Stretched upon the ground lay the Indian who had so nearly succeeded in shooting and perhaps killing one of the three. Hideous he looked in his gaudy war paint, smeared as he was with it from head to foot. One glance was sufficient to convince the two brothers that their foe was dead, and it was hard for them to repress a shudder, as they looked at the cruel face on the ground before them, and realized what might have been their fate had they fallen into the hands of such an enemy.

“Deerfoot, you mustn’t do that!” exclaimed Joseph suddenly.

Knife in hand Deerfoot was busily engaged in scalping his fallen foe. As Joseph spoke, their Indian ally muttered something, but did not stop the work in which he was engaged.

“Deerfoot—” began Joseph again, when Robert interrupted him.

“Let him alone, Joe,” he cautioned in a low voice. “It is his custom to do that and he won’t like it if we stop him.”

“I guess you’re right,” agreed Joseph. “I can’t look at him, though,” and he turned his back on the revolting scene being enacted on the ground at his feet. The two young pioneers withdrew a short distance and waited for Deerfoot to join them.

“That was a lucky shot that one of us made,” remarked Joseph.

“I should say so,” agreed Robert, who was busily engaged in reloading his gun. “I wonder which one of us hit him.”

“I know I didn’t see him when I fired,” said Joseph. “I just aimed at the bush and trusted to luck.”

“The same thing I did,” exclaimed Joseph.

“Well, as long as we were successful it doesn’t make much difference who it was that hit him, I guess,” said Robert.

At this moment Deerfoot came to the place where the boys were standing. Joseph could not help noticing the fresh scalp dangling at the belt of the Indian and he felt a chill run up and down his spine at the sight. As Robert had said, however, Deerfoot had only done what was customary with his people and as he knew no better, he was not to be blamed.

“Come,” said Deerfoot. “Black Hawk soon find trail. Maybe he hear shots too. We better go.”

“Where are we going?” demanded Joseph.

“Follow Deerfoot,” replied the Indian calmly.

“I want to go home,” exclaimed Joseph.

“So do I,” echoed Robert. “I want to know what has happened to our family.”

“No go home,” protested Deerfoot. “All family dead. You know that.”

“That may be true,” said Joseph, “but I want to see with my own eyes. Do you think I could just go away now and never know for sure that all my family were dead? Even if they have been killed, and I’m afraid that’s what has happened, I want to go back. I want to give them a decent burial at least.”

“That’s just the way I feel,” exclaimed Robert.

“You may be killed, too,” protested Deerfoot.

“I’ll take that chance,” insisted Joseph. “You don’t have to go with us if you don’t want to, you know. At any rate I think that would be the last place they would think of looking for us. They won’t think that we’ll dare go back there.”

“That’s right, Joe,” exclaimed his brother. “Are you going with us, Deerfoot?”

“Deerfoot go where you go,” said the Indian shortly.

Without another word they set out. Deerfoot led the way as usual, with the two brothers following close behind him. Extreme caution was used, as they did not know when the hostile band of Indians might suddenly loom up in their path. They had covered not more than a mile when Deerfoot suddenly held up his hand and the boys instantly came to a full stop.

“There house,” said Deerfoot, pointing ahead of him as he spoke.

Sure enough. Through the trees the young brothers could see a clearing which they immediately recognized as theirs. They saw no house, however. Steadily they crept nearer to the edge of the forest and a heart-rending scene lay spread before their eyes. What had once been a sturdy little cabin was now a mass of blackened embers from which a thin spiral of smoke was still curling.

“Do you suppose it’s safe to go closer?” asked Robert in a sorrow-stricken voice. “Out into the clearing, I mean.”

“I don’t know whether it is or not,” replied Joseph. “But I do know that I am going anyway.”

The two brothers stepped out from the shelter of the trees and approached their ruined home. They held their guns ready for immediate use, however, and they were alert to any danger which might arise. Deerfoot walked at their side.

“Me keep guard,” he said. “No stay long though, please.”

“No, not long, Deerfoot,” promised Joseph. The Indian took up his post in the tiny orchard that the Hall family had nursed so carefully, while the two boys went forward to examine the ruins.

The devastation had been complete. The smouldering pile of charred ruins alone bore witness to the fact that a house had once stood on the site. The two young brothers were too completely overcome to speak for several moments. All they could do was to stand and look sorrowfully at the ruins of what had once been their home.

“We can’t do much here, I guess,” said Joseph at length.

“No,” replied Robert, choking back a sob. “It looks as though Black Hawk and his band have made a good job of it.”

“In those ruins,” went on Joseph bitterly, “undoubtedly lie the bodies of our father and mother and our two sisters. Just think of it; at this time yesterday they were alive and happy. Now they are all dead, burned up by the flames of their own home and no doubt their scalps have been taken, just as Deerfoot took the scalp of that Indian in the woods this morning.”

“Well,” exclaimed Robert, “one thing is sure and that is that I shall never rest until I have avenged their deaths. From now on I swear enmity to Black Hawk and all his tribe. I’ll have revenge or die in the attempt. That much I’m certain of.”

“Look there!” said Joseph. “They didn’t even spare Shep.”

A few feet away lay the body of a collie dog, a bullet through his brain. Shep, the playmate and faithful friend of the Hall family, one that had shared their fortunes uncomplainingly, whether they were good or bad, had also fallen a victim to the blood lust of the hostile redmen.

“We’ll avenge Shep too,” exclaimed Robert earnestly. “Come on, Joe! We can’t do any good here and we are probably in danger too. Let’s find Deerfoot and get out of here as fast as we can.”

“Where are we going to go?”

“I haven’t an idea. I haven’t thought that far. All I know is I want to get away from here. The other settlers ought to be warned too before the same thing happens to them that has happened to our family.”

“All right,” agreed Joseph. “Let’s find Deerfoot and go somewhere. I don’t care much where it is either.”

When he saw the two brothers approaching to meet him Deerfoot hastened toward them.

“Must hurry,” he exclaimed. “I think Black Hawk come soon.”

Not even asking where he intended to go, Joseph and Robert followed Deerfoot and in a half-dazed condition walked beside him. To be made orphans as suddenly and as unexpectedly as these two boys had been, would be a shock to anyone and both young frontiersmen felt their loss keenly.

They made their way across the clearing and were just about to enter the woods when from behind them came the sharp bark of a rifle. A bullet sang above their heads and buried itself in a nearby tree.

CHAPTER IV
A HIDDEN RETREAT

Neither Joseph nor Robert nor Deerfoot stopped to see who it was that had fired at them. Without a word they plunged quickly in among the trees and once again started on a race for their lives. From behind them came the faint sounds of the war whoops, which only served to increase the speed of the three fugitives.

They had baffled and eluded their pursuers the night previous, but could they do it again? That was the thought uppermost in the minds of the three hunted men who were once more closely pressed by their enemies. Certainly they intended to do their utmost.

No sounds reached them from behind now, but this did not mean that their foes had given up the chase. The two brothers and their Indian friend realized that this time it was to be a race to a finish. Black Hawk and his band had been foiled once and consequently it would be all the harder to escape them the second time. The three fugitives knew that their enemies would keep up the pursuit until the race was definitely settled.

On and on Deerfoot led the way until they emerged from the woods onto the open prairie. There was an open space, at least a mile wide here, bordered on both sides by the forest and directly out upon this Deerfoot sped.

“They’ll see us here surely, Deerfoot,” panted Joseph. “We’ll be in plain sight and they can easily shoot us down.”

“Follow Deerfoot,” came the short, sharp reply, and neither Joseph nor his brother offered any more objections.

Deerfoot did not go far from the shelter of the trees, however. He ran perhaps twenty-five or thirty yards from the border of the forest and then turned abruptly to his left. The ground was hard here and the trail as a consequence difficult to follow. Deerfoot kept on in this new course perhaps fifty yards more and then made another sharp turn to his left. This brought them back toward the woods once more.

Both boys now saw Deerfoot’s plan. He was doubling on his tracks. The ground on the prairie was hard and along the surface of the earth ran a vein of solid rock. It would be almost impossible to follow a trail there, at least with any degree of speed, and Deerfoot had counted upon that as an aid. He hoped to gain a few precious moments by his strategy.

Safe within the shelter of the forest, once more the wily Pottowattomie called a halt. The three fugitives crouched behind the shelter of a bush and gazed eagerly out across the prairie. They were all out of wind and a chance to regain their lost breath was heartily welcomed.

“Think we’ve thrown them off the trail?” whispered Joseph.

“No for long,” replied Deerfoot quietly.

As he spoke an Indian bounded out of the woods, closely followed by several more. They all stopped and looked about them in a puzzled manner, and as more of their companions at that time joined them, a hasty consultation was held. They gesticulated and pointed in all directions, evidently at a loss what to do next. One of them pointed to the woods beyond the prairie, but evidently the others did not think their quarry could have gained enough ground to have reached that shelter.

“Come,” said Deerfoot, slinking away. “They find our trail soon.”

“No. Let’s not waste any time,” agreed Robert, and once more the flight was resumed. Soon they came to a brook. Into this Deerfoot plunged without any hesitation and began making his way down stream as fast as he was able. The two brothers followed closely behind, and, imitating their guide, they jumped from rock to rock when such a course was possible, and at other times they waded in the shallow waters of the stream. This was another trick to throw their pursuers off the trail. Evidently Deerfoot was using all his skill and cunning.

Down the stream they went for at least a third of a mile before Deerfoot decided to try the solid earth again. At a small rocky beach they left the brook and struck out through the woods once more. A short time later he once more entered the brook and went ashore on the opposite side. He was doubling on their tracks continually, and certainly no one but a skilled Indian could follow the course he was leading.

After a further flight they came to Fox River. Along its shores were marshes overhung with willows. From underneath one of these Deerfoot drew a canoe, skillfully hidden in the rushes, and a few moments later the three fugitives were seated in this frail craft, paddling swiftly down the stream.

“We fool them, I think,” said Deerfoot grimly. “We fool Black Hawk, all right. He no catch us now.”

“I hope you’re right,” exclaimed Joseph fervently. “I know I should hate to have him catch us.”

“I’ve gotten so I don’t much care what happens,” said Robert, speaking with difficulty.

“Why, what’s the matter?” inquired his brother.

“I’m so tired and so hungry, I feel as if it didn’t make much difference what becomes of us. Our family is all gone and what’s the use?”

“Don’t talk like that,” protested Joseph. “Weren’t you the one who was swearing vengeance only a couple of hours ago?”

“I know it,” admitted Robert mournfully. “Just think, though, we didn’t have any sleep last night and we have had no food since yesterday sometime. I can’t keep this up much longer.”

“Deerfoot know where food is,” exclaimed the Indian. “We be there soon. Also can sleep too.”

He had but little sympathy with Robert’s complaints. It was a part of his training, and was bred in the blood of every Indian youth, to endure what came and not grumble. Whether he encountered good or bad fortune his attitude was the same and he always looked with contempt at what he considered the weakness of the white people if they complained of their sufferings or misfortunes. He was intensely fond of both Joseph and Robert, however, and he did not hold them personally responsible for what he regarded as a grave fault. In his heart he blamed their race.

“Thank goodness,” ejaculated Robert in response to Deerfoot’s statement. “Food and sleep are the two things I want most of all right now.”

“I need them too,” said Joseph. “I think, however, that our hardships have just begun. That is, if we meant what we said this morning about avenging our family. I know I meant it anyway.”

“So did I,” exclaimed Robert. “I didn’t mean to be a baby just now and it won’t happen again. Here, Deerfoot, let me paddle.”

“No. Deerfoot paddle,” replied the Indian quietly.

His manner immediately changed toward Robert, however, as he saw a revival of spirit in the boy. It was never his custom openly to rebuke either of his young friends. He set an example and took it for granted that the brothers would follow it. He was immensely proud of his young pupils, for it was in this light that he regarded them, and stoical as he was he could not always hide his feelings.

Down the narrow stream they went about two miles. Here the channel became lost in a huge swamp, a place that had always been a mystery and an attraction to the two brothers. They had never explored the swamp to any extent, however, for they invariably lost their bearings when they entered it and experienced difficulty in finding their way out. The channel of Fox River was easily discerned and not hard to follow, but Deerfoot soon left the channel and bore off to his left.

The reeds and rushes grew high in the swamp. Great overhanging trees shut out the sun and made the place dark and gloomy. Here and there muskrat houses appeared and more than once these ratlike denizens of the marshes could be seen hastening to cover at the approach of the canoe. Everything was so still that it had a pronounced effect on the three men in the canoe, as they wound their way in and out along the narrow waterways.

Deerfoot seemed perfectly sure of his course and did not once hesitate as he skillfully maneuvered the frail craft through the swamp. In absolute silence they progressed, the hoarse croak of a heron disturbed by their approach being the only sound to break the stillness.

The narrow channel suddenly turned sharply to the right and a small lagoon appeared before the eyes of the three fugitives. In the center of the little lake was an island about a hundred feet square and heavily wooded.

“There place,” said Deerfoot calmly.

“Can we land there?” questioned Robert doubtfully. “It looks pretty swampy to me.”

“No swamp in middle,” replied the Indian.

A few powerful strokes of the paddle brought them to the shore of the tiny island. Beneath the low hanging branches of a great willow tree they glided and a moment later stepped ashore. Deerfoot carefully drew the canoe out of the water and concealed it behind the screen of a heavy growth of bushes.

The ground was wet and marshy near the shore, but a few yards farther inland it rose abruptly, affording a firm, dry footing. Robert and Joseph followed Deerfoot as he led the way to the very center of the island. Here was a log hut, only a few feet high and carefully hidden by vines which had grown until they entirely covered the building. A narrow window afforded fresh air and a scanty supply of light.

The Indian stooped and unfastened the low door. Then on his hands and knees he crawled inside, closely followed by the two young pioneers. To say they were surprised to find this retreat would be stating the case mildly. Never a word had Deerfoot ever spoken of this island or the hut upon it and neither of the boys had ever suspected that such a place was located within only a few miles of their own home.

“Just think how many times we have passed this place and yet we’ve never known a thing about it,” remarked Joseph.

“Well, I should say so,” exclaimed Robert. They were seated on the hard earthen floor of the tiny house, interestedly examining every detail of their shelter and hiding place. Robert’s fatigue and hunger had entirely given way to his interest in his new surroundings. When Deerfoot produced dried venison and corn from a stone closet in one corner, however, these two feelings soon returned.

“Food,” said the Indian shortly, offering the provender to the two young brothers. “Then sleep.”

No second invitation was needed. The two boys grasped the food like starving men and soon ate all that had been given them. Deerfoot offered them no more and they both knew better than to ask for it. If the Indian had wished them to have more he would have given it to them. A moment later, the food gone, they stretched themselves at full length on the ground, and immediately fell fast asleep.

CHAPTER V
A NEEDED REST

How long he slept neither boy knew. Robert was the first to awaken and for some moments he could not remember where he was. The last two days had been so crowded with events that it had all seemed a confused and horrible dream to the young frontiersman. He rubbed his eyes and sat up, bewildered by his strange surroundings.

For some time he sat still, trying to recall where he was and what had brought him to this place. He looked about him and the sight of his brother Joseph stretched upon the ground by his side suddenly brought a remembrance of his recent experiences to his mind. He stretched himself and yawned audibly. At the sound Joseph stirred and opened his eyes.

“Hello, Bob,” he said drowsily. “Where are we?”

“That’s just what I was trying to think a moment ago,” replied Robert. “I know now though. We’re on Deerfoot’s island in the middle of the swamp.”

“Sure enough,” exclaimed Joseph, sitting up. “Where’s Deerfoot?”

“I’ve no idea. I just woke up.”

“What time is it?”

“I don’t know. It’s broad daylight outside though.”

“It must be afternoon then,” said Joseph. “We arrived here sometime in the forenoon, I think.”

“Yes, I know we did. I don’t think it’s afternoon though.”

“Why not?”

“Because I feel very much rested. I think it must be tomorrow morning, if you understand what I mean by that remark.”