Read Ebook: Deerfoot in The Mountains by Ellis Edward Sylvester Davis John Steeple Illustrator

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Ebook has 1255 lines and 71706 words, and 26 pages

-- En ole ollenkaan huolissani h?nen kasvatuksestaan, sanoi kapteeni iloisesti naurahdellen ja taputellen Saaran k?tt?, jota h?n piti omassaan. -- Vaikeampaa on est?? h?nt? oppimasta liian pian ja liian paljon. H?nell? on tapana istua pikku nen? kirjassa kiinni. H?n ei lue kirjoja, neiti Minchin, h?n nielaisee ne, ik??n kuin h?n olisi susi eik? pieni tytt?. Aina h?n haluaa uusia kirjoja niell?kseen, h?n lukee aikuistenkin kirjoja -- suuria paksuja nidoksia, historiaa, luonnontieteit?, runoja ja kaikenlaista muuta. Koettakaa saada h?net irti kirjoista, jos h?n lukee liian paljon. L?hett?k?? h?net puistoon ratsastamaan ponillaan tai ostamaan uutta nukkea. H?nen pit?isi leikki? enemm?n.

-- Mutta is?, huomautti Saara, -- jos min? yht? mittaa k?yn ostamassa uusia nukkeja, niit? tulee minulle niin paljon, etten voi pit?? niist? kaikista. Nukkien t?ytyy olla hyvi? yst?vi?. Emilyst? tulee minun hyv? yst?v?ni.

Kapteeni Crewe katsoi neiti Minchiniin ja Minchin katsoi kapteeniin.

-- Kuka Emily on? kysyi neiti Minchin.

-- Kerro se h?nelle, Saara! kehoitti kapteeni hymyillen.

Saaran vihre?nharmaisiin silmiin tuli hyvin juhlallinen ja hell? ilme, kun h?n vastasi:

-- Se on nukke, jota en ole viel? saanut. Se on nukke, jonka is? ostaa minulle. Me l?hdemme yhdess? ulos etsim??n sit?. Min? olen antanut sille nimeksi Emily. Siit? tulee minun yst?v?ni, kun is? on matkustanut pois. Tahdon jutella sen kanssa is?st?.

Neiti Minchinin leve? mielistelev? hymy n?kyi muuttuvan aivan ihailevaksi.

-- Miten merkillinen lapsi! Millainen armas, suloinen pienokainen!

-- Niin, virkkoi kapteeni Crewe vet?en Saaraa puoleensa. -- H?n on pieni suloinen olento. Pit?k?? hyv?? huolta h?nest? poissaollessani, neiti Minchin!

Saara asui muutamia p?ivi? is?ns? luona hotellissa ja oli h?nen seurassaan, kunnes h?n matkusti.

He meniv?t yhdess? kaupungille ja k?viv?t useissa suurissa kaupoissa, joista he ostivat kaikenlaista tavaraa. Ep?ilem?tt? he ostivat paljon enemm?n kuin Saara tarvitsi, mutta kapteeni Crewe oli viel? nuoriive it to you.

"Mr. Mul-tal-la, you didn't say much at the time I was explaining that little matter to George, but I saw the grin on your face, and I knew you were thinking a good deal more than you had any right to think. You need to be taught better manners.

"As for you, Mr. Deerfoot, you are the worst of all. I can't forget the scandalous tricks you have played on me. It will take a long time to even matters between us, but I'm going to make a good start to-day."

Knowing how lightly the Shawanoe slept, Victor picked his way with great skill until he had taken a dozen or more steps. The down-like carpet enabled him to do this absolutely without noise, a fact which explains why Deerfoot did not awake.

Victor now stooped and began silently manufacturing snowballs. He packed the soft substance as hard as he could while circling it about in his palms and rounding it into shape. When the missile suggested a 12-pound shot he laid it at his feet, with the whispered words:

"That's for you, Master George Shelton."

The second sphere was compressed and modeled with the same pains and placed beside the first.

"That's for you, Mr. Mul-tal-la, and you're going to get it good! As for you, Mr. Deerfoot, you shall have a double dose."

Crooking his left arm at the elbow, Victor laid three of the nicely molded snowballs in the hollow, which served as a quiver serves for arrows. The fourth missile was grasped in his right hand, and he drew it slowly back and sighted carefully at his brother. Victor was a fine thrower, and when the ball flashed from his hand it landed on the top of George's cap and burst into fragments. The sleeper was in the midst of a dream in which Zigzag played a leading part, and the youth's first impression was that he had received the full force of a kick on his crown.

Paying no further attention to him, Victor quickly let fly at Mul-tal-la, and the throw was as good as the first.

The disturbance, slight as it was, roused Deerfoot, who flung the blanket off his face and raised his head. He was just in time to receive the compact sphere between the eyes, and before he could dodge the second it landed on his ear, packed the passage full of snow and plastered the side of his face with the snowy particles.

"I meant those for you and here's another!" shouted Victor, who, having exhausted his ammunition, snatched up a handful of snow and began hastily molding a new missile.

The reason why the lad ceased his remarks so abruptly was because a snowball, fired as if from a cannon, crashed into his mouth that instant and half strangled him. Before he could pull himself together he knew his nose was flattened by another missile and Deerfoot was on the point of launching a third shot. This was more than Victor had bargained for, and, wheeling, he "ran for life," yelling at the top of his voice for George and Mul-tal-la to come to his help.

"Soak him, George! Give it to him, Mul-tal-la; don't you see he's killing me?"

Now, there was no reason why the two thus appealed to should heed the prayer, since each had suffered at the hands of the youth who was in extremity. Nevertheless, Mul-tal-la and George attacked Deerfoot, observing which, Victor was unprincipled enough to turn back and join the assailants. Thus the Shawanoe was forced to defend himself against three, every one of whom was a good thrower. Right bravely did the dusky youth do his work--never yielding an inch, but driving his missiles right and left, with the merciless accuracy and the power of an arrow from his bow, or a bullet from his rifle. So lightning-like were his throws that neither the man nor the boys were able to dodge them, unless they widened the space between themselves and their master. Deerfoot's last missile cracked like a pistol when the ball impinged against the side of Mul-tal-la's head, and the latter gave up the contest.

This left only the boys. The Shawanoe hastily fashioned a couple of balls, and with one in either hand started for the brothers, who called out, "Enough!" and flung their own ammunition to the ground in token of surrender. He looked from one to the other and said:

"Let us not stop; Deerfoot is beginning to like it."

"That's the trouble," replied George; "you like it too much; I don't want any more; maybe Victor does."

"I'll do my own talking," replied the latter; "didn't you see me throw down my snowball? What do you 'spose I did that for?"

"Didn't you throw it at Deerfoot?" asked the Shawanoe. "The shot came as near hitting him as some of those you threw."

"We'll take up the fight again some time," was the vague promise of Victor, panting from his exertion.

"Deerfoot hopes you will do so."

But the good-natured contest was never renewed. Not again could the lads expect to have such a golden opportunity, and their defeat was so decisive that they knew better than to repeat it.

The labor of the return grew heavier as they progressed, and the time came when it was so hard to make headway against the powerful current that the effort was given up. The last few miles became a real portage, though when our friends were descending the river the passage could not have been easier.

And so in due time the four reached the Nez Perce village, where they had left their horses and some of their property. Henceforth the journey to the Blackfoot country was to be made by land. The former task had proved one of the severest of their lives, and glad indeed were all when it was over.

LOST, STRAYED OR STOLEN.

You have already learned something of the Nez Perces, who in our times have produced one of the greatest Indian leaders of the past century. He was Chief Joseph, who gave the United States regulars such a brilliant campaign as to excite their admiration. Perhaps you saw the aged chief on his visit to the East a short time since. He was chivalrous, high-minded and a loyal friend of the whites, and showed this when he handed his rifle to Colonel Miles and said: "From where the sun stands in yonder heavens, I fight the white man no more."

You will recall that the Nez Perces are large, fine-looking men, of dark complexion, and that the women have attractive features. A century ago they had a rough time of it. They were forced to work hard during the summer and autumn in gathering salmon and their winter supply of edible roots. In winter they hunted deer on snow shoes, and, as spring advanced, crossed the mountains to the headwaters of the Missouri to traffic in buffalo robes. You will see, therefore, that they were kept unusually busy, and red men have never shown a fondness for manual labor. But, beside this, they had numerous fights with enemies from the west, often losing some of their warriors and many of their horses.

At the time of the visit by our friends, Amokeat was principal chief of the Nez Perces. He and Mul-tal-la the Blackfoot were attached to each other, and the confidence of the latter in the dusky leader was complete. Had he not been so warm in his expressions of this faith in Amokeat, Deerfoot would never have left the stallion Whirlwind in his care while the explorers were pressing their way down the Columbia to tidewater.

As it was, the Shawanoe was troubled by misgivings from the hour he parted company with his matchless steed. As the distance between him and the Nez Perce village lessened, it was hard for the dusky youth to suppress his nervousness. He was reserved, speaking only now and then when necessary, and unconsciously hurrying his footsteps, until the brothers were ready to drop from exhaustion. Had the village been a mile farther off they would have been obliged to beg for rest.

The arrival of the party caused less excitement than would be supposed. The majority of the men and women were away, assisting in the harvesting of salmon, while fully a score of the ablest warriors were off somewhere in the mountains, either hunting or scouting, preparatory to some movement the Nez Perces as a tribe had in view. There were enough on hand, however, to give our friends due attention and to welcome them back.

The first inquiry of Deerfoot was as to the horses. To the south of the main village stretched an expanse of undergrowth, bushes, succulent grass and herbage, where the animals of the tribe were turned loose to roam at will when not needed by their owners. The Nez Perces, with gestures and the few words that were understood by Mul-tal-la, said the horses of their visitors would be found at the place described. It was not far off, and Deerfoot broke into a lope, his friends at his heels.

It required but a few minutes to reach the tract, which covered a number of acres. At different points glimpses were caught of horses cropping the grass and herbage. The first animal recognized was Zigzag, who was so near that the moment the party debouched into the space he raised his head, looked at them and gave a neigh of recognition. Then he resumed his grazing, as if he felt that he had done all the honors due from him.

"Yonder is Prince!" exclaimed Victor, running forward to greet his horse, while George Shelton began searching hither and yon for Jack. Mul-tal-la did not see Bug, and showed more interest in Deerfoot's search than in his own animal.

The Shawanoe had halted on the edge of the pasturage ground, glanced quickly over his field of vision, and then, placing a thumb and forefinger between his teeth, he emitted a blast like that of a steam whistle. It was a signal he had taught the stallion, and he knew that if the horse was within a mile he would come toward him on a full gallop. Deerfoot repeated the call twice and then waited and looked and listened. None of the horses so much as raised his head, and the heart of the youth became like lead.

"Whirlwind is not here," he said sadly to the Blackfoot. George and Victor hurried back, drawn by the signal whose meaning they understood. In truth, when they left his side it had been more for the purpose of hunting for the stallion than for their own animals. Their hearts ached for Deerfoot, whose face was the picture of disappointment and grief.

"Call to him again," suggested George.

"It can do no good. If he is near he would have heard Deerfoot; he is gone."

"He may have wandered beyond reach of your signal," said Victor. "You know he never felt friendly toward other horses and always kept by himself."

With a weak hope that his friend was right, Deerfoot walked a hundred yards to where an uprooted tree lay on its side, climbed upon the trunk, and, facing the different points of the compass in turn, whistled so shrilly that in the afternoon stillness the sound awoke the echoes for miles in every direction. Then he stood in the attitude of intense attention. Certain that the stallion had not gone far of his own accord, he knew these calls would bring him dashing to the spot, provided no person had had a hand in his disappearance.

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