Chapter 11: A Sudden Meeting

Paul and queer, long Jim Hart spent a week together on the island, and they were pleasant days to the boy. He was sure that Henry, Ross, and Sol could take care of themselves, and he felt little anxiety about them. He and Hart stayed well in the woods in the day, and they fished and hunted at night. Hart killed another deer, this time swimming in the water, but they easily made salvage of the body and took it to land. They also shot a bear in the edge of the woods, near the south end of the lake, and Hart quickly tanned both deerskins and the bearskin in a rude fashion. He said they would need them as covers at night, and as the weather turned a little colder, Paul found that he could use one of the skins quite comfortably.

They built of sticks and brushwood a crude sort of lean-to against one of the stony sides that enclosed the cove, and when a rain came they were able to keep quite dry within its shelter. They also found rabbits on the island, some of which they killed, and thus added further to their larder. These labors of house-building and housekeeping kept them busy, and Paul was surprised to find how well content he had become. Hart did all the cooking, but Paul made amends in other directions, and at night, when they were not fishing or hunting, they would sit by the little fire and talk. Once about the noon hour they saw a smoke far to the south, and both regarded it speculatively.

“Think likely it’s an Injun huntin’ party,” said Jim Hart, “an’ they don’t dream o’ any white men bein’ about. That’s why they are so careless about their fire, because the different tribes o’ these parts are all at peace with one another.”

“How far away would you say that smoke is?” asked Paul.

“Three or four miles, anyway, an’ I’m pow’ful glad this is a haunted islan’, so they won’t come over here.”

“So am I,” said Paul devoutly.

He lay on his back on the soft turf, and watched the smoke rising away in a thin spire into the heavens. He could picture to himself the savage party as it sat about the fire, and it gave him a remarkable feeling of comfort and safety to know that he was so well protected by the ghosts that haunted the little island.

The smoke rose there all the morning, but Paul ceased by and by to pay any attention to it, although he and Jim Hart kept well within the cove, busying themselves with additions to their lean-to. Paul had found great strips of bark shed by the trees, and he used these to patch the roof. More pieces were used for the floor, and, with the bearskin spread over them, it was quite dry and snug. Then he stood off and regarded it with a critical and approving eye.

“You haven’t seen a better house than that lately, have you, Jim?” he said, in a tone of pride.

“Considerin’ the fact that I ain’t seen any other uv any kind in a long time, I kin truthfully say I haven’t,” replied Jim Hart sardonically.

“You lack appreciation, Jim,” said Paul. “Besides, your imagination is deficient. Why don’t you look at this hut of ours and imagine that it is a magnificent stone castle?”

Jim Hart gazed wonderingly at the boy.

“Paul,” he said, “you always wuz a puzzle to me. I can’t see no magnificent stone castle, jest a bark an’ brush hut.”

Paul shook his head reprovingly.

“I am sorry for you, Jim,” he said. “I not only see a magnificent stone castle, but I see a splendid town over there on the mainland.”

“You talk plumb foolish, Paul,” said Jim Hart.

“They are all coming,” said Paul.

But Jim Hart continued to see only the bark and brush hut on the island, and the vast and unbroken wilderness on the mainland. His eyes roved back, from the mainland to the hut.

“Now, ef I had an ax an’ a saw,” he said regretfully, “I could make that look like somethin’. I’m a good cook, ef I do say it, Paul, but I’d like to be a fust-class carpenter. Thar ain’t no chance, though, out here, whar thar ain’t nothin’ much but cabins, an’ every man builds his own hisself.”

“Never mind, Jim,” said Paul, “your time will come; and if it doesn’t come to you, it will come to your sons.”

“Paul, you’re talkin’ foolisher than ever,” said Jim indignantly. “You know that I ain’t a married man, an’ that I ain’t got no sons.”

Paul only smiled. Again he was dreaming, looking far into the future.

The spire of smoke was still on the horizon line when the twilight came, but the next morning it was gone, and they did not see it again. Several days more passed in peace and contentment, and, desiring to secure more game, Paul and Hart took out the canoe one evening and rowed to the mainland.

They watched a while about the mouth of the brook, the favorite drinking place of the wild animals, but they saw nothing. It seemed likely to Paul that a warning had been sent to all the tenants of the forest not to drink there any more, as it was a dangerous place, and he expressed a desire to go farther into the forest.

“All right, Paul,” said Jim Hart, “but you kain’t be too keerful. Don’t git lost out thar in the woods, an’ don’t furgit your way back to this spot. I’ll wait right here in the boat and watch fur a deer. One may come yet.”

Paul took his rifle and entered the woods. It was his idea that he might find game farther up the little stream, and he followed its course, taking care to make no noise. It was a fine moonlight night, and, keeping well within the shadow of the trees, he carefully watched the brook. He was so much absorbed in his task that he forgot the passage of time, and did not notice how far he had gone.

Paul had acquired much skill as a hunter, and he was learning to observe the signs of the forest; but he did not hear a light step behind him, although he did feel himself seized in a powerful grasp. This particular warrior was a Miami, and he may have been impelled by pride, that is, a desire to take a white youth alive, or at least hold him until his comrades, who were near, could come and secure him. To this circumstance, and to a fortunate slip of the savage, the boy undoubtedly owed his life.

Paul was strong, and the grasp of the Indian was like the touch of fire to him. He made a sudden convulsive effort, far greater than his natural physical powers, and the arms of the warrior were torn loose. Both staggered, each away from the other, and while they were yet too close for Paul to use his rifle, he did, under impulse, what the white man often does, the red man never. His clenched fist shot out like lightning, and caught the savage on the point of the jaw.

The Miami hit the earth with a thud, and lay there stunned. Paul turned and ran with all his might, and as he ran he heard the war cry behind him, and then the pattering of feet. But he heard no shots. He judged that the distance and the darkness kept the savages from firing, and he thanked God for the night.

He had sufficient presence of mind to remember the stream, and he kept closely to its course as he ran back swiftly toward the canoe.

“Up, Jim, up! The warriors have come!” he shouted, as he ran.

But Jim Hart, an awkward bean pole of a lion-hearted man, was already coming to meet him, and fired past him at a dusky, dancing figure that pursued. The death yell followed, the pursuit wavered for a moment, and then Jim Hart, turning, ran with Paul to the canoe, into which both leaped at the same time. But Hart promptly undoubled himself, seized the paddle, and with one mighty shove sent the boat out into the lake. Paul grasped the other paddle, and bent to the same task. Their rifles lay at their feet.

“Bend low, Paul,” said Jim Hart. “We’re still within range of the shore.”

Paul almost lay down in the canoe, but he never ceased to make long, frantic sweeps with the paddle, and he was glad to see the water flashing behind him. Then he heard a great yell of rage and the crackle of rifles, and bullets spattered the surface of the lake about them. One chipped a splinter from the edge of the canoe and whistled by Paul’s ear, singing, as it passed, “Look out! Look out!” But Paul’s only reply was to use his paddle faster, and yet faster.

The boy did not notice that Jim Hart had turned the course of the canoe, and that they were running northward, about midway between the island and the mainland; but the rifle fire ceased presently, and Jim Hart said to him:

“You can take it easier now, Paul. We’re out uv range, though not uv sight.”

Paul straightened up, laid his paddle in the boat, and gasped for breath.

“Look over thar, Paul, ef you want to see a pleasant scene,” said Jim Hart calmly.

Paul’s gaze followed the long man’s pointing finger, and he saw at least twenty warriors gathered on the bank, and regarding them now in dead silence.

“Mad!” said Jim Hart. “Mad clean through!”

“They’ve chased us on land, and now they are chasing us on water. I wonder where they will chase us next,” said Paul.

“Not through the air, ‘cause they can’t fly, nor kin we,” said Jim Hart sagely.

Paul looked back again at the ferocious band gathered on the shore, and, while he could not see their faces at the distance, he could imagine the evil passions pictured there. As he gazed the band broke up, and many of them came running along the shore. Then Paul noticed that the prow of their canoe was not turned toward the island, but was bearing steadily toward the north end of the lake, leaving the island well to the left. He glanced at Jim Hart, and the long man laughed low, but with deep satisfaction.