Frank in the Mountains. Castlemon Harry
a minit. But you b'long to the chief, an' I don't reckon he would see harm come to you."
"To the chief!" repeated Frank, drawing a long breath as if a heavy load had been removed from his shoulders. It was a great satisfaction to him to know that this man could not do as he pleased with him.
"That's what I said," replied the visitor.
"But what does he want to do with me? What is his object in taking me prisoner?" asked Frank.
"He's goin' to make an Injun of you."
"What! I – you don't mean – "
"Sartin I do. It's a fact. He's goin' to take you into the tribe an' make an Injun of you," said the outlaw, in a louder tone.
"And never let me go home again, but keep me here always?" demanded Frank, growing more and more astonished.
"Exactly!"
"Well, he can't do it – he shan't. I don't want to be adopted into the tribe, and I won't be, either."
"I don't reckon you can help yourself, can you?" said the outlaw, with a grin. "You see, the chief used to have a son just about your age – an' a smart, lively young Injun he was, too; but he was killed a little while ago in a scrimmage with the Blackfeet, an' the chief wants another. You're an amazin' chap fur runnin' an' wrastlin' fur one of your years, an' that's the reason he picked you out."
"I don't care if it is; he sha'n't have me. I won't stay here and be his son. Why, I never heard of such a thing. Why don't he select some Indian boy?"
"That's his business, an' not mine. But if you only knowed it, youngster, it's lucky fur you that the chief tuk sich a monstrous fancy fur you, 'cause if you had stayed at the fort, you would have been massacreed with the rest."
"Massacred!" echoed Frank. "Killed!"
"Yes; killed an' scalped. You'll hear of some fun at that tradin'-post afore you are two days older, an' then, if you go down thar, you won't see nothin' but the ashes of it. It would have been done last night if that ar fur trader had kept away from thar. We had to send off arter more help. I don't mind tellin' you this, 'cause 'taint no ways likely that you'll ever have a chance to blab it. But I come in here to ax you about Adam Brent. Where does he sleep?"
Frank did not reply; indeed, he scarcely heard the question, his mind was so busy with what the outlaw had said to him. He knew now where all those Indians came from, and why they were there. The information he had received almost paralyzed him, and he shuddered when he pictured to himself the scenes of horror that would be enacted in that quiet valley, if the savages were permitted to carry out their designs. What would become of his cousin, of the trappers, of Captain Porter, and of himself? Of course his friends would all be included in the massacre, and he, having no one to look to for help, would be compelled to drag out a miserable existence among those savages. But Frank determined that the massacre should not take place. At the risk of his own life he would do something to stop it. His courage always increased in proportion to the number of obstacles he found in his way, and the danger he was in, and now he was thoroughly reckless and determined.
"I axed you do you know where Adam Brent sleeps?" said the outlaw, who had grown tired of waiting for an answer to his question.
"He sleeps in the house, of course," replied Frank.
"Wal, I reckon I knowed that much afore you told me; but what part of the house?"
"I can't tell. I haven't taken the trouble to inquire into Mr. Brent's family matters."
"I'll allow that you tell the truth thar; 'cause if you had axed any questions, you would know that Brent is my own brother, an' that Adam is my nephew. Aint I a nice lookin' uncle?"
"I don't believe a word of it. What do you want with Adam?
"I reckon that's my business, aint it? I only axed you where he sleeps 'cause I've got something to say to him to-night, an' I shouldn't care to have his father hear me blunderin' about the house. I've got a leetle business with ole Bob Kelly, too."
"If you will take my advice you will let him alone," said Frank. "Dick Lewis is his chum now."
"That don't make no sort of difference to me. I'm half hoss an' half buffaler, with a leetle sprinklin' of catamounts, grizzly bars, an' sich like varmints throwed in. I'm one of them kind of fellers as don't stand no nonsense from nobody; an' I'm the wust man in a rough-an'-tumble this side of the States. I aint afeered of Dick Lewis."
Having said this, the outlaw took his departure, and Frank, who had gone through this interview like one in a dream, again seated himself on the buffalo robes to think over what he had heard, and to determine upon some course of action. He had little imagined that he would ever be placed in a situation like this, and he did not wonder now at the hatred which Dick and old Bob cherished toward the Indians. Here they were, awaiting the arrival of reinforcements, and preparing for a descent on the fort; and there were his friends in the valley, all unconscious of the danger hanging over them. There had been no Indian depredations in that section for a long time, and the officers of the fort and the settlers had been lulled into a feeling of security that promised to be fatal to them. They did not dream of such a thing as an attack; the fortifications had not been kept in a state of defense; and unless they were warned of their danger, the success of the Indians would be complete.
"Oh, if they only knew what is going on here!" cried Frank, springing to his feet, and pacing restlessly up and down the lodge. "If I could see them for just one minute, wouldn't these savages meet with a warm reception when they make the attack on the fort? But how will they find it out unless I carry them the information; and how can I effect my escape, surrounded as I am by enemies?"
This thought made Frank almost beside himself. It rendered him desperate; and he resolved that if he could see the least chance for escape, he would make the attempt at once – that very moment. There was not a single instant to be lost, for there was no telling when the Indians would be ready to make the attack. He rushed to the door, tore it open, and looked out. The first object that met his gaze was a warrior standing close beside the lodge, leaning on his spear. He was undoubtedly a sentry, and had been placed there to watch the prisoner. Frank took one glance at him, and then dropped the door to its place, and hurrying to the other side of the lodge pulled up the skins and looked under them. He saw now what he had not noticed before – that the lodge in which he was confined was in the very center of the village. The nearest wigwams were pitched about fifty yards from it, leaving a clear space on each side that was devoted to the holding of councils and dances. Frank knew that he could never cross that space in broad daylight without being discovered and recaptured, and with a look of disappointment on his face, he dropped the skins and crawled back to his seat on the buffalo robes.
CHAPTER IV
THE TRAPPER A PRISONER
If Frank was disappointed in one respect, he was greatly encouraged in another. He had discovered something that went a long way toward strengthening his hopes of escape, and that was that the Indians were not watching him very closely. The guard at the door had not noticed him when he looked out, and this induced the belief that the chief had placed him there simply to keep Frank from roaming about the village, and not because he feared that his prisoner might attempt to escape. That idea had probably never occurred to him. But the chief did not know much about boys, especially such boys as Frank Nelson. He had yet to learn that the young hunter possessed a goodly share of courage and determination, as well as speed and activity.
Frank lay there on the pile of buffalo robes until dark, and then the door opened, and an old Indian woman came in with a small camp-kettle, which she placed upon the ground in the middle of the lodge, and went out again. The contents of the kettle were smoking hot, and the odor that filled the lodge reminded Frank that he had not lost his appetite, and that he was as hungry as a wolf, in spite of all the excitements of the afternoon. An examination of the kettle showed that it contained buffalo meat. Taking his knife from his pocket, Frank seated himself on the ground and began his supper. It was not quite as good as some he had eaten at his quiet little home on the banks of Glen's Creek, but the buffalo meat was nourishing, and when the last vestige of it had disappeared, Frank arose to his feet, put his knife into his pocket, and declared that he