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Read Ebook: Black Hawk's Warpath by Risteen Herbert L Schaare C R Christian Richard Illustrator
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Ebook has 1494 lines and 60125 words, and 30 pages
The young savage was a big, raw-boned, ugly-looking Indian, with a sinister, bloated face. He had a striped kerchief of silk wrapped around his long black hair. Otherwise, he was naked to the waist. A pair of soiled skin leggings completed his dress.
"It'll be murder!" groaned Tom. "Prairie Wolf looks strong as a bull."
"He'll be a wicked opponent," agreed Ben, with a solemn shake of the head.
Crude flags had been stuck in the sand roundabout, marking out an arena; and gruff Indian guards now cleared this ring. Heading these guards, and likewise acting as seconds, were the great chiefs, Chepoi and Blue Jacket. A little outside the ring, all alone, was the dusky Indian princess. She stood erect and motionless, with arms akimbo, seemingly indifferent to the fierce combat soon to ensue.
Preparations were now complete, and the two duelists headed their horses to opposite ends of the arena. Each youth had a long, sharp-pointed spear under his right arm, while on his left he carried a shield which appeared to be made of some sort of hide or skin.
"Those shields don't look like much protection," observed Tom dubiously. "Whew! see the keen points on those spears!"
"You're wrong, boy," asserted a grizzled trader, who stood at his side. "Them shields is so tough that lots o' times they'll turn back a musket ball. They're made o' buffalo sinews j'ined together."
It was a nervous sight to behold the two resolute Indian youths, sitting erect in their saddles with muscles tensed, while their fractious little ponies neighed and pawed the ground in impatience.
Finally, however, a stalwart redskin uttered a piercing yell that rolled out across the flat like thunder.
"The starting signal!" cried Tom Gordon, his voice fairly throbbing with excitement.
A wild, barbaric shout arose from the crowd as he spoke. The spears of the rival duelists were at once leveled. Their moccasined heels dug sharply into the ponies' flanks, and the high-strung little animals darted forward like arrows from the bow.
"They're off!" Ben yelled hoarsely.
Across the hard, sandy flat came the flying hoofs, the fleet ponies traveling at express speed. The intrepid young warriors were rushing upon each other at full gallop. The intervening space narrowed with lightning swiftness, and in a trice the pair met full-tilt in the middle of the ring with a shock the sound of which was plainly heard in the distant village.
Crash! the two contestants were violently dismounted by the fearful impact.
"They're both done for!" said Tom, in a low, tense whisper.
"No!" Ben shook his head in quick denial. "Look! one is getting up! he seems unhurt!"
"It's Bright Star!" arose the cry among the straining onlookers.
True enough! young Bright Star sprang briskly to his feet, untouched by the deadly lance. The hulking Prairie Wolf, however, lay inert among the sand and dry leaves, knocked senseless by the fall, and with a spear wound in his shoulder.
The doughty young victor now whistled to his pony, leaped gracefully to the animal's back, and then swooped down toward the Indian girl who still stood like a statue, at the outskirts of the circle of spectators. As the boy chief neared the maiden, he leaned from the saddle with practiced skill, passed his sinewy arm around the girl's waist, and deftly lifted her to a place on the pony's back before him. Then, with a fling of his arm and a last, exultant whoop toward the onlookers, he shot away across the barren plain toward the wigwams of his tribesmen.
Bill Brown, Border Scout
After the finish of the Indian duel, Tom and Ben Gordon started back toward the village by the fort. The fresh, perfumed air of early spring was blowing out of the west, sweeping in from the hundreds of miles of wide, clean prairie lands that stretched away to the distant Mississippi and beyond. Redbud trees were putting forth their first pink blossoms, and the butter-colored dandelions were here and there beginning to fleck the grass. A sunset of an extraordinary brilliance made the western sky glorious.
"Well, if it ain't my young friends, the twins!" suddenly boomed a cheery voice from behind them.
The two boys turned abruptly. What with the soft earth path they were following, they had not noticed the approach of anyone, but now they quickly saw that the newcomer was the tall frontiersman whom they had talked with briefly at the Indian council that morning.
They beheld a man not only of six-foot height, but also uncommonly big of bone and evidently very powerful. He had brown, curly hair, rosy cheeks and a superb set of even, white teeth. His dress was all of deerskin, except that on his head was a raccoon skin cap, with the short tail hanging down behind. A knife was in his belt and he was plainly a man of resolute character, but he had a smile of such wonderful friendliness, and his tone of voice was so cordial, that the hearts of the two eastern lads warmed to him at once.
"An' what did you think o' the Injun duel?" he continued.
"Quite a fight," acknowledged Ben.
"And the right fellow came out on top," added Tom, with evident satisfaction.
"I kinda think so," the frontiersman agreed. "From what I hear, that Prairie Wolf is a nasty one, 'bout the wust young ruffian in the hull Sac tribe."
"Do you suppose this duel will make bad blood between the Sacs and Pottawattomees?" questioned Ben.
"It no doubt will, as they is pizen enemies to start with. The tribal lands o' the two touch each other, an' ther's alus a ruckus goin' on over who's gittin' on whose territory."
"Bright Star will have to watch his step," Tom observed sagely. "The Wolf looks like the type who will plot his vengeance."
"I wouldn't put it past him to knife the Pottawattomee in the back, some dark night," Ben put in.
"Well, jest 'member, lads, that ther wouldn't be anythin' wrong with that, 'cordin' to Injun law. They believe strickly in an eye fer an eye, an' a tooth fer a tooth. The white man's code is beyond the understandin' of a feathered savage."
"Do you think,--err--?" Tom began.
"Oh, I'm beggin' yer pardon," broke in the frontiersman genially. "I'm Bill Brown, an' I came 'rig'nally from Kentucky, but I've been a hunter an' trapper an' scout up this way fer the last ten years."
"Well, I'm Tom Gordon," responded Tom, "and my brother's name is Ben."
"Tom and Ben, h-m! Good short, honest names, an' easy like to 'member."
"We're glad you like them," went on Tom smiling. "But as I started to ask, do you think there'll ever be any trouble again, between the Injuns and the whites in these parts?"
"You mean the fightin' kind o' trouble, I s'pose," answered Bill Brown slowly. "Well, yer askin' me a straight question, an' I'm givin' you a straight answer. I reckon ther'll be more bloodshed betwixt the reds an' whites, an' mebbe soon."
"And maybe soon, you say, Mr. Brown?" exclaimed Ben, his eyes kindling with excitement.
Bill Brown suddenly stopped and frowned.
"What did you call me?" he asked.
"Why, Mr. Brown, of course."
"Now listen, lad, I'm Mr. Brown only to them as don't like me, an' that I don't like. But I was sorta figgerin' that we was goin' to be friends."
"We'll surely be friends, Bill," chorused the two boys, with one voice.
"That's good. That's heap good, as an Injun would put it. But to git on with yer question. You've heard, small doubt, o' the famous old redman, Black Hawk?"
"The great Sac chief?"
"Yep, that's the feller."
"What about him, Bill?"
"Jest this. I'm back from a scoutin' trip, 'cross the Mississippi River, an' I'm comin' out flat-footed an' statin' that the big chief is gittin' purty nigh ready to hit the war trail."
"Black Hawk! Across the Mississippi?" questioned Tom, in a puzzled way. "Why, I thought Black Hawk and his Sacs lived here in Illinois."
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