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raft. The warriors closed in around the brothers; two grasping each by the
arms, and the remaining Indian taking care of the horse. The captives were
then led ashore, where Silvertip awaited them.
When the horse was clear of the raft, which task necessitated considerable
labor on the part of the Indians, the chief seized the grapevine, that was now
plainly in sight, and severed it with one blow of his tomahawk. The raft
dashed forward with a lurch and drifted downstream.
In the clear water Joe could see the cunning trap which had caused the death
of Bill, and insured the captivity of himself and his brother. The crafty
savages had trimmed a six-inch sapling and anchored it under the water. They
weighted the heavy end, leaving the other pointing upstream. To this last had
been tied the grapevine. When the drifting raft reached the sapling, the
Indians concealed in the willows pulled hard on the improvised rope; the end
of the sapling stuck up like a hook, and the aft was caught and held. The
killing of the helmsman showed the Indians' foresight; even had the raft
drifted on downstream the brothers would have been helpless on a craft they
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could not manage. After all, Joe thought, he had not been so far wrong when he
half fancied that an Indian lay behind Shawnee Rock, and he marveled at this
clever trick which had so easily effected their capture.
But he had little time to look around at the scene of action. There was a
moment only in which to study the river to learn if the unfortunate raftsman's
body had appeared. It was not to be seen. The river ran swiftly and hid all
evidence of the tragedy under its smooth surface. When the brave who had gone
back to the raft for the goods joined his companion the two hurried Joe up the
bank after the others.
Once upon level ground Joe saw before him an open forest. On the border of
this the Indians stopped long enough to bind the prisoners' wrists with thongs
of deerhide. While two of the braves performed this office, Silvertip leaned
against a tree and took no notice of the brothers. When they were thus
securely tied one of their captors addressed the chief, who at once led the
way westward through the forest. The savages followed in single file, with Joe
and Jim in the middle of the line. The last Indian tried to mount Lance; but
the thoroughbred would have none of him, and after several efforts the savage
was compelled to desist. Mose trotted reluctantly along behind the horse.
Although the chief preserved a dignified mien, his braves were disposed to
be gay. They were in high glee over their feat of capturing the palefaces, and
kept up an incessant jabbering. One Indian, who walked directly behind Joe,
continually prodded him with the stock of a rifle; and whenever Joe turned,
the brawny redskin grinned as he grunted, "Ugh!" Joe observed that this huge
savage had a broad face of rather a lighter shade of red than his companions.
Perhaps he intended those rifle-prods in friendliness, for although they
certainly amused him, he would allow no one else to touch Joe; but it would
have been more pleasing had he shown his friendship in a gentle manner. This
Indian carried Joe's pack, much to his own delight, especially as his
companions evinced an envious curiosity. The big fellow would not, however,
allow them to touch it.
"He's a cheerful brute," remarked Joe to Jim.
"Ugh!" grunted the big Indian, jamming Joe with his rifle-stock.
Joe took heed to the warning and spoke no more. He gave all his attention to
the course over which he was being taken. Here was his first opportunity to
learn something of Indians and their woodcraft. It occurred to him that his
captors would not have been so gay and careless had they not believed
themselves safe from pursuit, and he concluded they were leisurely conducting
him to one of the Indian towns. He watched the supple figure before him,
wondering at the quick step, light as the fall of a leaf, and tried to walk as
softly. He found, however, that where the Indian readily avoided the sticks
and brush, he was unable to move without snapping twigs. Now and then he would
look up and study the lay of the land ahead; and as he came nearer to certain
rocks and trees he scrutinized them closely, in order to remember their shape
and general appearance. He believed he was blazing out in his mind this
woodland trail, so that should fortune favor him and he contrive to escape, he
would be able to find his way back to the river. Also, he was enjoying the
wild scenery.
This forest would have appeared beautiful, even to one indifferent to such
charms, and Joe was far from that. Every moment he felt steal stronger over
him a subtle influence which he could not define. Half unconsciously he tried
to analyze it, but it baffled him. He could no more explain what fascinated
him than he could understand what caused the melancholy quiet which hung over
the glades and hollows. He had pictured a real forest so differently from
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this. Here was a long lane paved with springy moss and fenced by bright-green
sassafras; there a secluded dale, dotted with pale-blue blossoms, over which
the giant cottonwoods leaned their heads, jealously guarding the delicate
flowers from the sun. Beech trees, growing close in clanny groups, spread
their straight limbs gracefully; the white birches gleamed like silver
wherever a stray sunbeam stole through the foliage, and the oaks, monarchs of
the forest, rose over all, dark, rugged, and kingly.
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