Chapter 6: Pupils Of The Bear

When Robert and Tayoga returned to the camp and told Willet what they had done the hunter laughed a little.

“Garay doesn’t want to face St. Luc,” he said, “but he will do it anyhow. He won’t dare to come back on the trail in face of bullets, and now we’re sure to deliver his letter in ample time.”

“Should we go direct to Albany?” asked Robert.

The hunter cupped his chin in his hand and meditated.

“I’m all for Colonel Johnson,” he replied at last. “He understands the French and Indians and has more vigor than the authorities at Albany. It seems likely to me that he will still be at the head of Lake George where we left him, perhaps building the fort of which they were talking before we left there.”

“His wound did not give promise of getting well so very early,” said Robert, “and he would not move while he was in a weakened condition.”

“Then it’s almost sure that he’s at the head of the lake and we’ll turn our course toward that point. What do you say, Tayoga?”

“Waraiyageh is the man to have the letter, Great Bear. If it becomes necessary for him to march to the defense of Albany he will do it.”

“Then the three of us are in unanimity and Lake George it is instead of Albany.”

They started in an hour, and changing their course somewhat, began a journey across the maze of mountains toward Andiatarocte, the lake that men now call George, and Robert’s heart throbbed at the thought that he would soon see it again in all its splendor and beauty. He had passed so much of his life near them that his fortunes seemed to him to be interwoven inseparably with George and Champlain.

They thought they would reach the lake in a few days, but in a wilderness and in war the plans of men often come to naught. Before the close of the day they came upon traces of a numerous band traveling on the great trail between east and west, and they also found among them footprints that turned out. These Willet and Tayoga examined with the greatest care and interest and they lingered longest over a pair uncommonly long and slender.

“I think they’re his,” the hunter finally said.

“So do I,” said the Onondaga.

“Those long, slim feet could belong to nobody but the Owl.”

“It can be only the Owl.”

“Now, who under the sun is the Owl?” asked Robert, mystified.

“The Owl is, in truth, a most dangerous man,” replied the hunter. “His name, which the Indians have given him, indicates he works by night, though he’s no sloth in the day, either. But he has another name, also, the one by which he was christened. It’s Charles Langlade, a young Frenchman who was a trader before the war. I’ve seen him more than once. He’s mighty shrewd and alert, uncommon popular among the western Indians, who consider him as one of them because he married a good looking young Indian woman at Green Bay, and a great forester and wilderness fighter. It’s wonderful how the French adapt themselves to the ways of the Indians and how they take wives among them. I suppose the marriage tie is one of their greatest sources of strength with the tribes. Now, Tayoga, why do you think the Owl is here so far to the eastward of his usual range?”

“He and his warriors are looking for scalps, Great Bear, and it may be that they have seen St. Luc. They were traveling fast and they are now between us and Andiatarocte. I like it but little.”

“Not any less than I do. It upsets our plans. We must leave the trail, or like as not we’ll run squarely into a big band. What a pity our troops didn’t press on after the victory at the lake. Instead of driving the French and Indians out of the whole northern wilderness we’ve left it entirely to them.”

They turned from the trail with reluctance, because, strong and enduring as they were, incessant hardships, long traveling and battle were beginning to tell upon all three, and they were unwilling to be climbing again among the high mountains. But there was no choice and night found them on a lofty ridge in a dense thicket. The hunter and the Onondaga were disturbed visibly over the advent of Langlade, and their uneasiness was soon communicated to the sympathetic mind of Robert.

The night being very clear, sown with shining stars, they saw rings of smoke rising toward the east, and outlined sharply against the dusky blue.

“That’s Langlade sending up signals,” said the hunter, anxiously, “and he wouldn’t do it unless he had something to talk about.”

“When one man speaks another man answers,” said Tayoga. “Now from what point will come the reply?”

Robert felt excitement. These rings of smoke in the blue were full of significance for them, and the reply to the first signal would be vital. “Ah!” he exclaimed suddenly. The answer came from the west, directly behind them.

“I think they’ve discovered our trail,” said Willet. “They didn’t learn it from Garay, because Langlade passed before we sent him back, but they might have heard from St. Luc or Tandakora that we were somewhere in the forest. It’s bad. If it weren’t for the letter we could turn sharply to the north and stay in the woods till Christmas, if need be.”

“We may have to do so, whether we wish it or not,” said Tayoga. “The shortest way is not always the best.”

Before morning they saw other smoke signals in the south, and it became quite evident then that the passage could not be tried, except at a risk perhaps too great to take.

“There’s nothing for it but the north,” said Willet, “and we’ll trust to luck to get the letter to Waraiyageh in time. Perhaps we can find Rogers. He must be roaming with his rangers somewhere near Champlain.”

At dawn they were up and away, but all through the forenoon they saw rings of smoke rising from the peaks and ridges, and the last lingering hope that they were not followed disappeared. It became quite evident to their trained observation and the powers of inference from circumstances which had become almost a sixth sense with them that there was a vigorous pursuit, closing in from three points of the compass, south, east and west. They slept again the next night in the forest without fire and arose the following morning cold, stiff and out of temper. While they eased their muscles and prepared for the day’s flight they resolved upon a desperate expedient.

It was vital now to carry the letter to Johnson and then to Albany, which they considered more important than their own escape, and they could not afford to be driven farther and farther into the recesses of the north, while St. Luc might be marching with a formidable force on Albany itself.

“With us it’s unite to fight and divide for flight,” said Robert, divining what was in the mind of the others.

“The decision is forced upon us,” said Willet, regretfully.

Tayoga nodded.

“We’ll read the letter again several times, until all of us know it by heart,” said the hunter.

The precious document was produced, and they went over it until each could repeat it from memory. Then Willet said:

“I’m the oldest and I’ll take the letter and go south past their bands. One can slip through where three can’t.”

He spoke with such decision that the others, although Tayoga wanted the task of risk and honor, said nothing.

“And do you, Robert and Tayoga,” resumed the hunter, “continue your flight to the northward. You can keep ahead of these bands, and, when you discover the chase has stopped, curve back for Lake George. If by any chance I should fall by the way, though it’s not likely, you can repeat the letter to Colonel Johnson, and let’s hope you’ll be in time. Now good-by, and God bless you both.”

Willet never displayed emotion, but his feeling was very deep as he wrung the outstretched hand of each. Then he turned at an angle to the east and south and disappeared in the undergrowth.

“He has been more than a father to me,” said Robert.

“The Great Bear is a man, a man who is pleasing to Areskoui himself,” said Tayoga with emphasis.

“Do you think he will get safely through?”

“There is no warrior, not even of the Clan of the Bear, of the Nation Onondaga, of the great League of the Hodenosaunee, who can surpass the Great Bear in forest skill and cunning. In the night he will creep by Tandakora himself, with such stealth, that not a leaf will stir, and there will be not the slightest whisper in the grass. His step, too, will be so light that his trail will be no more than a bird’s in the air.”

Robert laughed and felt better.

“You don’t stint the praise of a friend, Tayoga,” he said, “but I know that at least three-fourths of what you say is true. Now, I take it that you and I are to play the hare to Langlade’s hounds, and that in doing so we’ll be of great help to Dave.”

“Aye,” agreed the Onondaga, and they swung into their gait. Robert had received Garay’s pistol which, being of the same bore as his own, was now loaded with bullet and powder, instead of bullet and paper, and it swung at his belt, while Tayoga carried the intermediary’s rifle, a fine piece. It made an extra burden, but they had been unwilling to throw it away--a rifle was far too valuable on the border to be abandoned.

They maintained a good pace until noon, and, as they heard no sound behind them, less experienced foresters than they might have thought the pursuit had ceased, but they knew better. It had merely settled into that tenacious kind which was a characteristic of the Indian mind, and unless they could hide their trail it would continue in the same determined manner for days. At noon, they paused a half hour in a dense grove and ate bear and deer meat, sauced with some fine, black wild grapes, the vines hanging thick on one of the trees.

“Think of those splendid banquets we enjoyed when Garay was sitting looking at us, though not sharing with us,” said Robert.

Tayoga smiled at the memory and said:

“If he had been able to hold out a little longer he would have had plenty of food, and we would not have had the letter. The Great Bear would never have starved him.”

“I know that now, Tayoga, and I learn from it that we’re to hold out too, long after we think we’re lost, if we’re to be the victors.”

They came in the afternoon to a creek, flowing in their chosen course, and despite the coldness of its waters, which rose almost to their knees, they waded a long time in its bed. When they went out on the bank they took off their leggings and moccasins, wrung or beat out of them as much of the water as they could, and then let them dry for a space in the sun, while they rubbed vigorously their ankles and feet to create warmth. They knew that Langlade’s men would follow on either side of the creek until they picked up the trail again, but their maneuver would create a long delay, and give them a rest needed badly.

“Have you anything in mind, Tayoga?” asked Robert. “You know that the farther north and higher we go the colder it will become, and our flight may take us again into the very heart of a great snow storm.”

“It is so, Dagaeoga, but it is also so that I do have a plan. I think I know the country into which we are coming, and that tells me what to do. The people of my race, living from the beginning of the world in the great forest, have not been too proud to learn from the animals, and of all the animals we know perhaps the wisest is the bear.”

“The bear is scarcely an animal, Tayoga. He is almost a human being. He has as good a sense of humor as we have, and he is more careful about minding his own business, and letting alone that of other people.”

“Dagaeoga is not without wisdom. We will even learn from the bear. A hundred miles to the north of us there is a vast rocky region containing many caves, where the bears go in great numbers to sleep the long winters through. It is not much disturbed, because it is a dangerous country, lying between the Hodenosaunee and the Indian nations to the north, with which we have been at war for centuries. There we will go.”

“And hole up until our peril passes! Your plan appeals to me, Tayoga! I will imitate the bear! I will even be a bear!”

“We will take the home of one of them before he comes for it himself, and we will do him no injustice, because the wise bear can always find another somewhere else.”

“They’re fine caves, of course!” exclaimed Robert, buoyantly, his imagination, which was such a powerful asset with him, flaming up as usual. “Dry and clean, with plenty of leaves for beds, and with nice little natural shelves for food, and a pleasant little brook just outside the door. It will be pleasant to lie in our own cave, the best one of course, and hear the snow and sleet storms whistle by, while we’re warm and comfortable. If we only had complete assurance that Dave was through with the letter I’d be willing to stay there until spring.”

Tayoga smiled indulgently.

“Dagaeoga is always dreaming,” he said, “but bright dreams hurt nobody.”

When night came, they were many more miles on their way, but it was a very cold darkness that fell upon them and they shivered in their blankets. Robert made no complaint, but he longed for the caves, of which he was making such splendid pictures. Shortly before morning, a light snow fell and the dawn was chill and discouraging, so much so that Tayoga risked a fire for the sake of brightness and warmth.

“Langlade’s men will come upon the coals we leave,” he said, “but since we have not shaken them off it will make no difference. How much food have we left, Dagaeoga?”

“Not more than enough for three days.”

“Then it is for us to find more soon. It is another risk that we must take. I wish I had with me now my bow and arrows which I left at the lake, instead of Garay’s rifle. But Areskoui will provide.”

The day turned much colder, and the streams to which they came were frozen over. By night, the ice was thick enough to sustain their weight and they traveled on it for a long time, their thick moosehide moccasins keeping their feet warm, and saving them from falling. Before they returned to the land it began to snow again, and Tayoga rejoiced openly.

“Now a white blanket will lie over the trail we have left on the ice,” he said, “hiding it from the keenest eyes that ever were in a man’s head.”

Then they crossed a ridge and came upon a lake, by the side of which they saw through the snow and darkness a large fire burning. Creeping nearer, they discerned dusky forms before the flames and made out a band of at least twenty warriors, many of them sound asleep, wrapped to the eyes in their blankets.

“Have they passed ahead of us and are they here meaning to guard the way against us?” whispered Robert.

“No, it is not one of the bands that has been following us,” replied the Onondaga. “This is a war party going south, and not much stained as yet by time and travel. They are Montagnais, come from Montreal. They seek scalps, but not ours, because they do not know of us.”

Robert shuddered. These savages, like as not, would fall at midnight upon some lone settlement, and his intense imagination depicted the hideous scenes to follow.

“Come away,” he whispered. “Since they don’t know anything about us we’ll keep them in ignorance. I’m longing more than ever for my warm bear cave.”