Chapter 17: Picking Up the Strands

Henry sat down in the underbrush, and Shif’less Sol sat down close to him. Their figures were hidden by the darkness and the bushes.

“Do your best, Henry,” said the shiftless one.

Henry opened his mouth and emitted a long, mournful cry, so like that of the owl that Shif’less Sol, at a little distance, could not have told the difference. After a silence of a few seconds he repeated the cry, to show that they were two.

“Don’t see why you can’t let a tired and sick man sleep, ‘specially when he needs it so bad,” said a voice so near them that both started up in astonishment.

It was the voice of Tom Ross, as they knew when the very first words were uttered, and they saw him standing erect in a little clump of trees and looking reproachfully at them. It was night, and Tom was fifty yards away, but they would have known his figure and attitude anywhere. They rushed to him, each seized a hand and shook it.

“Don’t shake too hard,” said Tom. “Jest gittin’ well uv a pow’ful bad headache.”

They saw that a rude bandage encircled his head, and was tied tightly.

“Injun bullet hit my skull,” said Tom briefly. “Couldn’t git in, so it went ‘round an’ come out on the other side. Made my head ache most a week. Been campin’ here till you’d come.”

“Where have you been camping?” asked Henry.

“Over thar in the bushes,” replied Tom, and he led the way to a very thick clump at the side of a huge, up-thrust root of an oak. Sheltered partly by the bushes and partly by the big root had been the lair of some wild animal that Tom had dispossessed. But he had relined it first with dry leaves and little boughs, turning it into a man’s nest.

“Found it the night I dropped out,” said Tom. “Couldn’t be partickler then. Had to lay down somewhar. Remember, after I’d been here an hour or two, some big yeller animal with yellerish-green eyes come starin’ in at me through the bushes, angry and reproachful-like. Said to me plain as day: ‘You’ve took my house. Git out.’ Felt like a robber, I did, slippin’ into another man’s bed while he wuz away, an’ takin’ up all the room. But I jest had to hold on, me feelin’ pow’ful bad. I p’inted my rifle at him, looked down the sights and said: ‘Git.’ He must have knowed what a rifle meant, ‘cause git he did, an’ he ain’t ever come back to claim his mansion. Then, jest havin’ strength enough left to bind up my head, I fell over into a sleep, an’ I reckon I slep’ ‘bout three days an’ three nights, ‘cause I ain’t got any idea how much time hez passed sence I left you that night, Henry.

“But I felt better after my long sleep, though still weak an’ wobbly. I’d hev made myself some herb tea, but I wuz beginnin’ to git tre-men-jeous-ly hungry. Managed to watch at a spring not far from here until a deer came down to drink one night, an’ I shot him. Been livin’ on deer meat since then, an’ waitin’ fur my headache to go away. Expected you an’ Sol or one uv you would come fur me.”

Tom stopped abruptly and took a mighty breath. He did not make so long a speech more than once a year, and he felt mentally exhausted.

“Well, we’ve found you, Tom,” said Henry joyfully.

“Ef you hadn’t come, I’d have started myself in a day or two to find you,” said Ross.

“I don’t wonder that Injun bullet turned aside, when it run ag’in Tom Ross’ skull,” said the shiftless one. “That shorely wuz a smart bullet. It knowed it wuzn’t worth while to beat its head ag’in a rock.”

“Don’t be impydent, Sol,” said Tom with a quiet chuckle. “Now that we three are together ag’in, I s’pose the next thing fur us to do is to track Jim Hart to his hidin’ place.”

“That comes next,” said Henry.

It did not occur to any of the three that Long Jim might have been slain. Their belief in their own skill, endurance, and good fortune, was so great that they did not reckon on anything more than a wound, fever, and exhaustion.

“I believe we’d better stop here to-night,” said Shif’less Sol. “Tom can widen his den, and all three of us kin sleep in it.”

Henry and Tom agreed. Silent Tom, although he said little, was greatly rejoiced over the coming of his comrades, and he brought from the fork of a tree his store of deer meat, of which they ate. Then, in accord with the shiftless one’s suggestion, they widened the den, and the three slept there, turns being taken at the watch.

Henry had the last turn, and it was about two o’clock in the morning when he was awakened for it. Shif’less Sol, who had awakened him, instantly fell asleep, and Henry sat at the edge of the lair, his rifle across his knees, and his eyes turned up to the great stars, which were twinkling in a magnificent blue sky.

Henry had imbibed much of the Indian lore and belief. It was inevitable where human beings were so few, and the skies and the forest were so immense, that he should feel the greatness of nature and draw his symbols from it. He wondered in a vague sort of way on which of the bright stars Manitou dwelt, and if on all of them there were hunting grounds like those in which he and his comrades roved.

He watched with his ears, that is, he listened for the sound of anything that might be moving in the forest, but he kept his eyes on the high heavens. His thoughts were solemn, but not at all sad. He could see much in the Indian belief of the happy hunting grounds in which strong, brave warriors would roam forever. It appealed to him as a very wise and wholesome belief, and he asked no better hereafter than to roam such forests himself through eternity with those who were dear to him.

Some clouds gathered in the southwest, and a faint, far rumble came to his ears. “Baimwana (thunder),” he murmured, speaking almost unconsciously in Iroquois, a little of which he had learned long ago. He was sorry. Rain would not be pleasant, particularly for the two who were not yet fully recovered from their wounds. But the thunder did not come again, the clouds passed, and he knew there would be no rain.

A wind, gentle and musical, began to blow. “Wabun (the East Wind),” he murmured. He personified the winds, because it was in his nature to do so, and because the Indians with whom he had dwelt did it. It was this gift of his, based on a powerful imagination, that now made him hear the human voice once more in the wind. It was a low voice, but penetrating, thrilling him in every nerve, and its note was hope. He had heard it before at crises of his life, and its prophecy had not failed to come true. Nor did he believe that it would do so now.

The wind shifted. “Kabibanokka (the North Wind),” he murmured. But the note was unchanged. It was still a voice that brought courage. They would find Jim and Paul, and the fleet and the fort alike would triumph.

He heard, soon, light sounds in the bush, but they were not the footsteps of enemies. He knew it because he had heard them all before. A tawny beast came down through the grass, but halted at a respectful distance. Henry caught a glimpse of one yellow eye, and he felt a sort of amused sorrow for the panther. The rightful owner of this house had been driven out, as Tom Ross confessed, and he was there not far away looking reproachfully at the robbers. Well, he should have his house back on the next night, and perhaps he could then keep it all the rest of his life.

The yellow eye disappeared. The sorrowful and reproachful panther had gone away. The wind shifted, and its odor was fresh with the dawn, which would soon be whitening the east. A troop of deer, led by a splendid stag, passed so close that Henry could see their forms in the dusk. The wind was taking the odor of himself and his comrades away from them, and he watched the dusky file as it passed. Even had the country been clear of Indians, he would not have taken a shot at them, because he had no desire to slay merely for the sake of slaying.

The deer passed. Light sprang up in the east. The white turned to red, the red to gold, and the gold at last became blue. An eagle, in an early search for food, sailed far above Henry’s head, outlined--wing, beak and talon--against the blue. The whole world, grass and leaves wet with dew, basked in the morning light, wonderfully fresh and beautiful.

Henry awoke his comrades, who instantly sat up, every trained faculty thoroughly alive.

“All been quiet, Henry?” asked Shif’less Sol.

“Nothing happened,” replied the boy, “except that the owner of this house looked in once, called Tom Ross here an infamous robber, and then went away, saying he would have revenge if he had to live a hundred years to get it.”

“Ef he’s ez dang’rous ez that,” said Shif’less Sol, lightly, “I say let’s move on right now, an’ give him back his gor-gee-yous mansion.”

The sense of humor and joy of life had fully returned to the shiftless one. Another night’s rest had added wonderfully to his strength, and the coming of Henry and the finding of Tom contributed so much to the uplift of his spirits that he considered himself as good, physically, as ever.

“I’m ready for anything now, from a fight to a foot-race,” he said, “but ef choosin’ is to be mine, I’d rather hev breakfast. Tom, bring out that deer meat o’ yourn.”

They quickly disposed of their food and resumed the reverse journey in the path of their former flight. They passed through woods and tiny prairies, crossed little brooks, and kept a sharp watch for landmarks. Henry said at last that they had come to the place where Jim Hart had been forced to turn aside.

“Do you reckon that Jim wuz hit hard?” asked Shif’less Sol.

“I hope not,” replied Henry earnestly, “and the chances are all in his favor. Stray bullets in the dark don’t often kill.”

“I figger,” said Tom Ross, “that he waded up this little creek that comes down here, and turns off to the south. It would be the thing that any man would naterally do to hide his trail.”

“We’ll jest go along it,” said Shif’less Sol, “rememberin’ that Jim is pow’ful long legged an’ ef he took a notion would step out o’ the water an’ up a cliff ten feet high.”

They followed the creek nearly a mile, but did not see any place at which a man would be likely to emerge. It was a swift stream coming down from a mass of high hills, the blue outline of which they saw three or four miles ahead of them.

“It’s my belief,” said Henry, pointing to the blue hills, “that Jim’s in there.”

“It’s pow’ful likely,” said Shif’less Sol. “Injuns tryin’ to take a fort an’ a fleet ain’t likely to bother about a pile o’ hills layin’ out o’ their path. They go fur what they want.”

“Best place fur him,” said Tom Ross.

They now left the bed of the stream and advanced swiftly toward the hills, which turned from blue to green as they came nearer. They were high and stony, but clothed densely in dark forest. The shiftless one had truly said that Indians on the war path, seeking the greatest prizes that had ever come within their reach, would not bother about a patch of such isolated and difficult country.

It was a long walk through the forest, but the day was come, and the air made for briskness and elasticity. They searched occasionally by the side of the brook for a footstep preserved in mud, or any other sign that Long Jim had passed, but they found nothing. Nevertheless, they still felt sure of their original opinion. Jim would have lain in the bush through the night, and to make for the hills when he saw them in the morning was the most natural thing to do.

When they came finally to the hills, they found them exceedingly steep, jagged masses, thrown together in the wildest fashion.

“Ef we don’t find Long Jim in here,” said Shif’less Sol, “then I’m a mighty bad guesser.”

They sought everywhere for a trail but found none, and at last, crossing a sharp crest of rock, they saw before them a little valley completely hidden by cliff and forest from any but the closest observer. They began the descent of the slope, passing among trees and thick bushes, and Henry, who was in the lead, suddenly stopped and, smiling broadly, pointed straight ahead.

“If that isn’t the stamp and seal of Long Jim, then I’m blind,” he said.

They saw a small snare for rabbits, made by bending over a stout bush, to which was attached a cord of strong deerskin, cut perhaps from Long Jim’s clothing. This cord was fastened around a little circle of sticks set in the ground. A little wooden trigger in the center of the circle was baited with the leaves which rabbits love. When Mr. Foolish Rabbit reached over for his favorite food, he sprang the trigger, the noose slipped, caught him around the neck, the released bush flew back with a jerk, and he was quickly choked to death.

“That’s Long Jim all over,” said Shif’less Sol admiringly. “I kin see him in that buckskin cord, them sticks, an’ that noose. Too weak to go huntin’, he sets a trap. Oh, he’s smart, he is! An’ he’s been ketchin’ somethin’, too. See this bit o’ rabbit fur.”

“Trust Long Jim to get something to eat,” said Henry, “and to cook it the best way that ever could be found. We must be coming pretty close to him now.”

“Yes, here are signs of his trail,” said Tom Ross. “I’d bet my scalp that he’s got a dozen uv these snares scattered around through the valley, an’ that he’s livin’ on the fat uv the land without ever firin’ a shot. Stop, do you smell that?”

They stopped and sniffed the air inquiringly. A faint, delicate aroma tickled the nostrils of all three. It was soothing and pleasant, and they sniffed again.

“Now, that is Long Jim an’ no mistake,” whispered Shif’less Sol. “It’s shorely his sign.”

“Seems to me you’re right,” Henry whispered back, “but we mustn’t make any mistake.”

They crept down the slope, among the bushes, with such care that neither could hear either of the other two moving. All the while that enchanting aroma grew stronger. Shif’less Sol, despite his caution, was obliged to raise his nose and take another sniff.

“It’s Long Jim! It must be Long Jim! It can’t be anything else but Long Jim at work!” he murmured.

After ten minutes of creeping and crawling down the slope, Henry softly pulled aside a thick bush and pointed with a long forefinger.

In a little dip, almost a pit, a long-legged, long-bodied man sat before a rude oven built of stones evidently gathered from the surrounding slopes. Within the oven smoldered coals which gave out so little smoke that it was not discernible above the bushes. On the flat top of the oven strips of rabbit steak were broiling, and from them came the aroma which had been so potent a charm in the nostrils of the three.

The long-legged man sat in Turkish fashion, and his eyes were intent upon his oven and steaks. One hand rested in a rude sling, but the other held a stick with which he now and then poked up the coals. It was obvious that he was interested and absorbed as no other task in the world could interest and absorb him. The soul of an artist was poured into his work. He lingered over every detail, and saw that it was right.

“Now, ain’t that old Long Jim through an’ through?” whispered Shif’less Sol to Henry. “Did you ever see a feller love cookin’ ez he does? It’s his gift. He’s done clean furgot all about Injuns, the fort, the fleet, us, an’ everything except them thar rabbit steaks. Lemme call him back to the world, that good, old, ornery, long-legged, contrary Jim Hart, the best cook on this here roun’ rollin’ earth o’ ours.”

“Go ahead,” said Henry.

Shif’less Sol raised his rifle and took a long, deliberate aim at Long Jim. Then he called out in a sharp voice:

“Give ‘em up!”

Long Jim sprang to his feet in astonishment, and uttered the involuntary question:

“Give up what?”

“Them rabbit steaks,” replied the shiftless one, emerging from the bushes, but still covering Long Jim with his rifle. “An’ don’t you be slow about it, either. What right hev you, Jim Hart, to tickle my nose with sech smells, an’ then refuse to give to me the cause o’ it? That would be cruelty to animals, it would.”

“Sol Hyde! and Henry Ware! and Tom Ross!” exclaimed Long Jim joyfully. “So you hev come at last! But you’re late.”

They grasped his hand, one by one, and shook his good arm heartily.

“Was that where you caught the bullet?” asked Henry, looking at the bad arm.

Long Jim nodded.

“Broke?”

Long Jim shook his head.

“Thought so at first,” he replied, “but it ain’t. Bruised more’n anything else, but it’s been terrible sore. Gittin’ better now, though. I’ll hev the use uv it back all right in a week.”

“It seems that you haven’t been faring so badly,” said Henry.

Long Jim looked around the little valley and grinned in appreciation.

“I knowed I couldn’t do anything about the fort with this bad arm,” he said. “Weakened ez I wuz, I wuzn’t shore I could swim the river with one arm, an’ even ef I ever reached the fort I’d be more likely to be a hindrance than a help. So I found this place, an’ here I’ve stayed, restin’ an’ recuperatin’ an’ waitin’ fur you fellers to come back. I didn’t want to shoot, ‘cause them that I didn’t want to hear might hear it, an’ ‘cause, too, I knowed how to set traps an’ snares.”

“We saw one of them as we came along,” said Henry.

“They’ve worked bee-yu-tiful,” said Long Jim, an ecstatic look coming over his face. “I’ve caught rabbits an’ a ‘possum. Then I set to work and built this oven, an’ I’ve learned a new way to broil rabbit steaks on the hot stones. It’s shorely somethin’ wonderful. It keeps all the juice in ‘em, an’ they’re so tender they jest melt in your mouth, an’ they’re so light you could eat a hundred without ever knowin’ that you had ‘em.”

“That’s what I’m thinkin’,” said Shif’less Sol, reaching for his rifle. “Gimme about twenty o’ them steaks quicker’n you kin wink an eye, Jim Hart, or I’ll let you hev it.”

Long Jim, the soul of an artist still aflame within him, willingly produced the steaks, and all ate, finding that they were what he had claimed them to be. But he waited eagerly for the verdict, his head bent forward and his eyes expectant.

“Best I ever tasted,” said Henry.

Long Jim’s eyes flashed.

“Finer than silk,” said Shif’less Sol.

Sparks leaped from Long Jim’s eyes.

“Could eat ‘em forever without stoppin’,” said Tom Ross.

Long Jim’s eyes blazed.

“I couldn’t ‘a’ stood it ef you fellers hadn’t liked my finest ‘chievement,” he said. “Shows you’ve got more sense than I thought you had.”