 | CHAPTER IV. The wigwam and the cabin |  |
4. CHAPTER IV.
“Will you believe me! there were no Indians, no young woman,
no fire! I stood up in the very place where I had seen the
blaze and the smoke, and there was nothing! I looked for'ad
and about me—there was no sign of fire any where. Where I
stood was covered with dry leaves, the same as the rest of the
forest. I was stupefied. I was like a man roused out of sleep
by a strange dream, and seeing nothing. All was dark and silent.
The stars were overhead, but that was all the light I had. I was
more scared than ever, and, as it's a good rule when a man feels
that he can do nothing himself, to look to the great God who can
do every thing, I kneeled down and said my prayers—the second
time that night that I had done the same thing, and the second
time, I reckon, that I had ever done so in the woods. After that
I felt stronger. I felt sure that this sign hadn't been shown to me
for nothing; and while I was turning about, looking and thinking
to turn on the back track for home, Clinch began to prick up his
ears and waken up. I clapped him on his back, and got my
knife ready. It might be a painter that stirred him, for he could
scent that beast a great distance. But, as he showed no fright,
only a sort of quickening, I knew there was nothing to fear. In
a moment he started off, and went boldly ahead. I followed him,
but hadn't gone twenty steps down the hill and into the hollow,
when I heard something like a groan. This quickened me, and
keeping up with the dog, he led me to the foot of the hollow,
where was a sort of pond. Clinch ran right for it, and another
groan set me in the same direction. When I got up to the dog,
he was on the butt-end of an old tree that had fallen, I reckon,
before my time, and was half buried in the water. I jumped on
it, and walked a few steps for'ad, when, what should I see but a
human, half across the log, with his legs hanging in the water,
and his head down. I called Clinch back out of my way, and
went to the spot. The groans were pretty constant. I stooped
knew it was an Indian. The head was clammy with blood, so
that my fingers stuck, and when I attempted to turn it, to look at
the face, the groan was deeper than ever; but 'twarn't a time
to suck one's fingers. I took him up, clapped my shoulders to it,
and, fixing my feet firmly on the old tree, which was rather slippery,
I brought the poor fellow out without much trouble. Though
tall, he was not heavy, and was only a boy of fourteen or fifteen.
The wonder was how a lad like that should get into such a fix.
Well, I brought him out and laid him on the dry leaves. His
groans stopped, and I thought he was dead, but I felt his heart,
and it was still warm, and I thought, though I couldn't be sure,
there was a beat under my fingers. What to do was the next
question. It was now pretty late in the night. I had been all
day a-foot, and, though still willing to go, yet the thought of such
a weight on my shoulders made me stagger. But 'twouldn't do
to leave him where he was to perish. I thought, if so be I had a
son in such a fix, what would I think of the stranger who should
go home and wait till daylight to give him help! No, darn my
splinters, said I,—though I had just done my prayers,—if I leave
the lad—and, tightening my girth, I give my whole soul to it, and
hoisted him on my shoulders. My cabin, I reckoned, was good
three miles off. You can guess what trouble I had, and what a
tire under my load, before I got home and laid the poor fellow
down by the fire. I then called up Betsy, and we both set to
work to see if we could stir up the life that was in him. She cut
away his hair, and I washed the blood from his head, which was
chopped to the bone, either with a knife or hatchet. It was a God's
blessing it hadn't gone into his brain, for it was fairly enough
aimed for it, jest above the ear. When we come to open his
clothes, we found another wound in his side. This was done
with a knife, and, I suppose, was pretty deep. He had lost blood
enough, for all his clothes were stiff with it. We knew nothing
much of doctoring, but we had some rum in the cabin, and after
washing his wounds clean with it, and pouring some down his
throat, he began to groan more freely, and by that we knew he
was coming to a nateral feeling. We rubbed his body down with
warm cloths, and after a little while, seeing that he made some
to do him good, and having done every thing that we thought could
help him, we wrapped him up warmly before the fire, and I
stretched myself off beside him. 'Twould be a long story to tell,
step by step, how he got on. It's enough to say that he didn't
die that bout. We got him on his legs in a short time, doing little
or nothing for him more than we did at first. The lad was a
good lad, though, at first, when he first came to his senses, he was
mighty shy, wouldn't look steadily in our faces, and, I do believe,
if he could have got out of the cabin, would have done so as soon
as he could stagger. But he was too weak to try that, and, meanwhile,
when he saw our kindness, he was softened. By little and
little, he got to play with my little Lucy, who was not quite six
years old; and, after a while, he seemed to be never better pleased
than when they played together. The child, too, after her
first fright, leaned to the lad, and was jest as willing to play with
him as if he had been a cl`ar white like herself. He could say
a few words of English from the beginning, and learnt quickly;
but, though he talked tolerable free for an Indian, yet I could
never get him to tell me how he was wounded, or by whom. His
brow blackened when I spoke of it, and his lips would be shut together,
as if he was ready to fight sooner than to speak. Well,
I didn't push him to know, for I was pretty sure the head of the
truth will be sure to come some time or other, if you once have
it by the tail, provided you don't jerk it off by straining too hard
upon it.
| CHAPTER IV. The wigwam and the cabin | |