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Read Ebook: On the Border with Andrew Jackson by McIntyre John T John Thomas Anderson Frederic A Illustrator
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Ebook has 667 lines and 67031 words, and 14 pages
Jack nodded.
"We slid through this whole Creek region as quietly as you please," said he. "Never had to stop for anything except to kill a bit of meat now and then, and get a little sleep."
"Well, now that we have run into a lot of reds," said Frank, "I can't help blaming myself for dragging you away down here and getting you into danger."
Jack, as he polished a bone to which some scraps of meat still clung, grinned good-humoredly.
"Danger!" said he. "Why, the Injuns haven't seen us; and a sight of the smoke from their camp-fire won't do us any harm."
The young Virginian also grinned at this; but he resumed, soberly enough:
"Our coming on this band so unexpectedly has made me think. Here we are, away in the heart of this wilderness; there's possibly not a white man nearer than Fort Mims, and that's fifty miles away. Of course, we're armed and our horses are good ones; but, if we were attacked by a party of Creeks of any size, we'd stand a poor chance."
"We're taking the regular chance of the border," said Jack. "No more, no less."
"I know that; and as it's a kind of a desperate one, now that I get to thinking about it, it worries me. Not that I care very much for myself," hastily. "It's not that; for it's my affair, and it's only right that I should meet any of the dangers connected with it. But neither you nor Running Elk are concerned, except through friendly interest in me; and, still, your danger is as great as mine."
Jack listened to this with attention; but that he did not regard the situation with the same seriousness as his friend was evident by the twinkle in his gray eye.
"Well, seeing that this little expedition of yours is not any different from the hunting trips which Running Elk and myself take now and then, we're not as ready as you are for the things that are likely to pop out on us suddenly. Richmond's not like this border-land of ours; and the inconveniences, such as hostile redskins, panthers and other such varmints, are not so big to us as they might look to some one not used to them." He wiped his mouth upon the sleeve of his hunting shirt and sat comfortably back against a tree. "So don't worry about us, old boy; this is nothing new to Running Elk and me; just the day's work, you might say; and if we weren't down here with you, we'd be somewhere else, just as dangerous, on our own account."
"Well," said Frank, "it's very good of you to look at it that way, Jack, and I hope we'll come through the trip without any great danger. But just the same I don't mind admitting that I'll be pretty well satisfied when it's over."
"As such things go," said Jack, "you ought to be somewhere near the neighborhood of that old French land grant you're looking for. If my calculations are right, inside a day or so you ought to have it located."
"Let us hope so," said Frank, fervently. "Then my trouble will be over."
But in the dim glow of the masked camp-fire Jack's face looked somewhat dubious.
"Fact is," said he, "I think your father made a little mistake when he took that old French grant in payment for a big debt."
"I hope not," said Frank, anxiously. "For it's about all he has now; if it doesn't turn out fortunately, things will go very badly with him."
"It's not so much that I doubt the value of the grant," said Jack. "But the Creeks claim this whole region; and it would be a hard thing to make good a claim of white ownership, no matter how small the tract. The whole tribe'd be down on you like a landslide before you'd know it."
"But the government would back me up. The grant is a perfectly honest one; the land was once purchased from the Indians by the French government, which granted it to the man who transferred it to my father. Upon the United States purchasing the control of this territory from Napoleon a few years ago, our government recognized all legitimate claims of this sort; so there should be no real trouble."
"Maybe not in the courts; but, as I said before, the Creeks will be sure to have a word or two to say."
As the young Tennesseean spoke, Running Elk, who was reclining upon the ground beside the fire, lifted his head. From across the stillness of the night there came a dull, throbbing sound.
"War drum!" said the Cherokee; and the hands of all three reached for their weapons.
THE COMING OF TECUMSEH
The three youths stood there, at their lonely camp-fire, in the heart of the Muscogee wilderness, with darkness all about them, listening to the steady, monotonous beat of the drum.
"That's kind of a new thing to me," said Jack Davis. "Sounding a war drum must be a new fashion, eh, Running Elk?"
"Heap big medicine!" replied the young Cherokee. "Big war! Much pow-wow!"
Jack kicked apart the embers which made their small fire; then he trod them out after the manner of an experienced woodsman.
Frank Lawrence, after a space of listening, said:
"There is something unusual in that sound, then, is there, Jack? Out of the ordinary?"
"Never heard it before except in an Indian village when some kind of a ceremony was going on."
"Before I left Richmond," said Frank, and there was some concern in his voice, "the newspapers were full of Indian news; reports of all sorts were going about; it seems that the savages had finally put their heads together, and were planning a league of tribes to resist the advance of the white man."
"Yes; we've had the leaders of that thing down here," said Jack. "But the movement was not among the tribes here on the southwestern border."
"Ugh!" said Running Elk; and there was that about his exclamation which said he was not quite sure upon the point in question.
"Suppose," said Frank, "we leave our horses tied here, and move a little nearer to the Indian camp. There may be something going on that will be worth knowing."
"All right," agreed Jack, willingly enough. "I'm always curious to learn what the reds are up to myself."
So the boys saw to their mounts, and the pack animal; then with their long rifles in the hollows of their arms, and Running Elk with his bow ready strung and his quiver of arrows handy for use, they moved quietly forward in the direction of the now intermittent sound.
There was no moon that night; the sky was without stars; nevertheless there came a soft coppery glow through the low hanging clouds which enabled them to make their way along without any great difficulty. But finally the beat of the drum ceased.
"We'll locate them by the camp-fire," whispered Jack Davis to Frank. "See, there it is, ahead among the trees."
Softly their moccasined feet padded the earth; carefully, noiselessly they advanced, flitting from tree to tree, from bush to bush. Because they were in the heart of their own country, the Creeks evidently had no fear of attack; therefore they had placed no sentinels about the camp. And because of this the boys found it possible to approach near enough to get a good view of the encampment through the open places in the tangle of brush.
In a circle sat a score of savages, each wearing a highly ornamental head-dress of colored feathers; their faces were streaked with paints of various colors and they passed a long stemmed, ornamented pipe from one to the other.
"Hello," breathed Jack, his accustomed eye taking in the unusual features of the scene at a glance. "What does this mean?"
One splendid looking savage, by features evidently a half-breed, attracted the attention of Frank Lawrence.
"That looks like a chief," said he, in the same low tone as his comrade.
"Heap much chief," spoke Running Elk. "Him Weatherford."
This name, dreaded along the entire border, caused a thrill to run through Jack Davis.
"The Red Warrior!" He stared at the famous leader of the Creeks, who sat like a grimly carven statue within the fire-lit circle. "What in the world can he be doing here?"
Frank's eyes left Weatherford and curiously roved over the remainder of the band; two who sat side by side, and whose commanding personality and different head-dress made them stand out from the others, now claimed his notice.
"They must be out of the ordinary, too," said he. "They look different, somehow."
Jack's eyes went to the two.
"They are not Creeks," said he, for he was well acquainted with the head-dress of that tribe. "They are strangers."
"Shawnee," spoke Running Elk. "One great chief. Other much medicine."
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