CAPTURED
When Klitonda left his lodge on that warm summer morning, he plunged at once into the forest, and struck a course straight for a mountain peak far away in the distance, towering high above its fellows. At its base lay a placid lake, abounding in fish, where he believed many of the Indians were encamped. Here he expected to find the young hunters upon whom his hopes were fixed.
A rough, crooked trail wound through the wilderness, and along this he travelled. Occasionally he paused and listened, for he knew that on his right, and not far away, the Chilcats were lying in ambush. He suspected that a number of the band would be scouring the forest for game, and it would, therefore, be necessary for him to advance with the greatest caution. Hardly a sound did he make as he glided stealthily among the trees, his eyes and ears keenly alert to every object and noise. Open wild meadows at times stretched out before him, and these he skirted, keeping well within the sheltering shadows of the friendly borders.
He was thinking deeply as he proceeded, for much was at stake, and he knew that in order to win out against the Coast tribe strategy rather than physical force would be necessary. Klitonda was no mere machine speeding through the forest, but a stern vital reality, whose breast throbbed with mingled emotions of hatred toward the Chilcats, and an intense love for his only child, and the welfare of his people.
After clearing what he believed to be the extreme outward limits of danger, he no longer paused to listen. The Chilcats would not be so far afield, so he imagined. He felt secure now, and in this sense of security lay his immediate danger. He became less cautious, and gave himself up to various plans for the overcoming of his enemies. But Klitonda might have known that he was never safe when the Coast dogs were anywhere within the borders of the country. He did not know that several of the hated tribe had been sent out to ascertain the whereabouts of the various Ayana bands. They had been travelling for some time, and coming to a little stream which purled gently through the forest, had stopped to drink, and to rest beneath the shade of a large fir tree.
All unconscious of the presence of his enemies, Klitonda was hurrying on his way. For weary miles his course took him through a region where not a drop of water could be obtained. Here the ground was parched and dry. The few trees, and what scanty vegetation there was, were stunted, and maintained a precarious existence. Fires had swept over the land years before, and large trunks stood out gaunt and lifeless amid this scene of desolation. Klitonda longed for water to cool his parched lips. The heat was almost unbearable, stifling in its intensity, with not a breath of air to give a moment's respite. In addition to this there were innumerable swarms of flies. They were persistent creatures, surrounding the traveller, and attacking him with the utmost ferocity. At times they almost blinded him as he hurried onward. He had been accustomed to these pests from infancy, but never had he known them to be as bad as they were on this day. He remembered how his parents had often built smudge fires, around which men, women, and children would crowd, preferring the blinding smoke to the torture of the insects.
Klitonda now looked eagerly forward to the little stream, which he knew was not far off. There he could stop, slake his burning thirst, and eat some of the dried moose meat he had brought with him. He had thrown aside all precaution, and with bent head speeded down the slope toward the water, which ere long he heard rippling through the forest. Reaching the bank he threw himself down upon several stones, and in this prostrate position drank eagerly of the sparkling brook. The murmuring sounds around him deadened his ears to any other noise, so he did not hear the soft footsteps of six robust Chilcats as like tigers they glided upon their prey.
Klitonda had satisfied his thirst, and had lifted his head, and was about to regain his feet, when in an instant his enemies were upon him. With a gurgling roar of rage Klitonda recoiled at the attack like some mountain grizzly suddenly startled in its den. With a terrific backward bound he bore the clinging Chilcats with him, and for one brief minute it seemed as if this giant of the forest would free himself from his adversaries. His rage was like that of a madman, and his strength appeared almost superhuman. He tossed the Chilcats about like so many playthings, and could he have laid his hand upon his axe, firmly secured in his belt, he would soon have made an end of the whole six opponents. But his arms, legs, and body were so enmeshed by merciless arms that he found it impossible to shake himself free. He staggered to his feet, but could not stand in an upright position for any length of time, and ere long he was forced to the ground, with five Chilcats seated upon his body, while the sixth securely bound his feet, and fastened his hands behind his back with strong moose-hide thongs.
When Klitonda realised that all further resistance would be in vain, he remained very quiet, and watched his captors with an air of apparent indifference. When it was possible to fight he did so with all the strength at his command. But when once overcome, and helpless, he could show his enemies how an Ayana chief could bear defeat.
The Chilcats having firmly bound their captive drew aside, and conversed together in low tones. What they said Klitonda could not tell, but presently they returned, unbound his feet, and commanded him to rise. This he did without an instant's hesitation and stood before them awaiting their further orders. Not a shadow of uneasiness marked his face, as drawn to his full height, he confronted the Chilcats. His eyes alone betrayed the tumultuous emotions which were stirring within his breast. They glowed like two living coals of fire, and well it was for the Coast braves that the chief's hands were tied. In fact so powerful did he seem standing there that the Chilcats placed another thong about his wrists for greater security. They could not well afford to lose so valuable a prisoner who had luckily fallen into their hands. Then for the first time a sarcastic smile played about Klitonda's mouth.
"The Chilcats are cowards," he said. "They are six to one. They sneak up like dogs. They are afraid to fight. They know the strength of the chief of the Ayana, and fear him when bound. They tremble as they look upon him. Their hearts are the same as jack-rabbits. Bah!"
"Let Klitonda talk," replied one. "The Chilcats care not what he says. He will do more than talk when he is taken before the chief's son. He will not sneer then. He calls the Chilcats dogs, but remember dogs can bite. But, come, it's time to be on the way, for a long trail lies ahead."
Klitonda's bow, hunting-axe, and sharp knife were taken from him. He was not surprised at this, for it was only natural that they should disarm such a noted antagonist. Only about the token arrows did he feel anxious. He had dropped them by his side as he stooped to drink, and in the struggle and excitement which ensued the Chilcats had not noticed them. If they remained there the Ayana Indians might find them, and come to his assistance. There was only a very slight possibility of their being found by the right persons. It was his only hope, however, and he felt somewhat relieved when at last they left the place and the arrows remained undisturbed where they had been dropped.
The Chilcats took special care that their prisoner should not escape. They were armed with guns, which had been supplied by the white traders along the coast. They were proud of these weapons, and by means of them they believed they were almost more than a match for the Interior Indians. In all their unscrupulous barter with the Ayana they would never trade a musket for any price no matter how tempting. It was their policy to confine the defeated people strictly to their primitive weapons, as less formidable in case of an uprising.
Klitonda walked in advance, and even if his hands had been free he would have had no chance whatsoever of evading the watchfulness of his captors. The Chilcats wished to take their prisoner back to camp alive. But rather than lose him they would not have hesitated to shoot him down. And this Klitonda well knew. The Chilcats had a number of old scores to settle with him, and shooting would be too easy a death. They had other choice punishments in reserve for this Ayana chieftain. Klitonda made no effort to escape. He walked more like a conqueror than a bound prisoner. Proudly he carried his head like some monarch of the forest. They might curb his body, but not his defiant spirit. He strode along at such a rapid pace that his captors found it difficult at times to keep up with him. He did not seem to mind the heat nor the flies now, for he had other things of a more serious nature to trouble him. He was thinking of the wreck of all his plans, and what would become of the white men, and his own people. That the former could hold out for any length of time against the overwhelming numbers of Chilcats he could scarcely believe. Their Post would be destroyed, and they themselves most likely killed. And what would become of Owindia? Who would protect her? There was little wonder that at such thoughts Klitonda should fiercely strain at the gripping thongs. Oh, to be free once more! With hands unloosed he would face the whole Chilcat horde. He did not fear death, if he could meet it in the midst of his enemies, with hunting axe in hand. But to be bound like a cur, and to endure all the insults which would be heaped upon him, with an ignominious death in the end, were like gall and wormwood to the proud chief.
Thus all through that hot afternoon they sped on their way. The sun sank low in the west, and at length disappeared behind the trees. The air became cooler, and the innumerable flies ceased their pitiless torture. The trailing light of day hung lingeringly over the land until night at length rose slowly up from forest and valley, and folded her in its diaphanous mantle. The narrow trail became lost in the deepening gloom, and the wayfarers were forced to depend upon the sense of touch rather than sight to guide them forward. Their progress became slower, and the Chilcats crowded closer to their prisoner, fearful lest they should lose him in the darkness. No stars were visible, for thick clouds had drifted in from the coast, and a plaintive wind began to moan among the trees. But steadily they pressed onward, until at length a light pierced the murky gloom straight ahead. Then the Chilcats paused, while one of them lifted up his voice, and gave a succession of short shrill calls. Soon an answer came speeding back, so without further hesitation they hurried onward out of the night toward the cheerful fire.
To Klitonda the place seemed alive with Indians crowding around the genial blaze, for the night was now chilly. They were evidently preparing to leave, for their guns were lying near, while their hunting axes and sharp knives were in their places. They were a hardy, formidable band of warriors which met Klitonda's gaze. One glance was sufficient for him to interpret the purpose of their preparations. The Post was the object of their attack, and the dark night would stand them in good stead. For themselves they had no fear. The Ayana Indians they held in such contempt, that they did not think them worthy of consideration. Instead of prowling about the Chilcat camp they believed that they were hurrying off to their mountain fastnesses. As for the white men they were not so sure. They, accordingly, had several braves lying in ambush watching the Post, who would hurry back with the news should the white traders sally forth for a night attack. The Chilcats, therefore, felt no immediate danger, and were laughing and chatting about the fire as Klitonda drew near.
At once considerable excitement ensued at the presence of the outcast chief. Forgotten for a time was the contemplated raid upon the Post, and all turned their attention to the prisoner standing in their midst.
Klitonda uttered not a word, but gazed calmly upon his enemies. He noted their leader, the chief's son, and a slight curl of contempt flickered about the corners of his mouth as he watched him. He was smaller than the ordinary Chilcat, fat, and possessed of a weak, sensual face. Stupidity and arrogance were plainly stamped upon his features. So this was the creature who made war upon the Ayana, and demanded Owindia for his wife. Better, so Klitonda thought, that his daughter should be dead than to live with such a brute. He was surprised, too, at the deference paid to him by his men, and how implicitly those around the fire obeyed his slightest word. This leader was evidently fond of pow-wows, when he could give vent to his oratorical powers.
"Bamba is pleased to see Klitonda, chief of the Ayana," he began, turning to the captive. "But where is his daughter? Why is she not here too?"
"Dog of a Chilcat," was the low growl-like response. "Why speak such soft words? Klitonda knows their worth. Owindia will never be the wife of such a cur as Bamba. The Chilcats are squaws. They are afraid of Klitonda. He stands here in their midst. Unfasten these thongs. With all his warriors about him, does he fear one Ayana brave?"
"Why does Klitonda say such things?" was the sharp reply. "Does he not know that he is in the hands of the Chilcats? Does not his heart tell him that soft words will come better from his lips?"
"Bah! Klitonda is not a jack-rabbit. He has said that the Chilcats are squaws, but no he was wrong, they are papooses."
During this conversation Klitonda was standing close to the fire, while the Coast Indians were gathered near, surrounding their leader. As the word of contempt fell from the captive's lips, Bamba turned and pointed to a tree standing in the shadows several rods away.
"Take the Ayana chief, and fasten him there," he commanded. "Bamba would talk to the Chilcat warriors. Make the dog safe, neck, body, and feet. Quick."
Klitonda was immediately seized, and hurried across the open. With his back placed against the tree he was bound as Bamba had directed. And there he was left alone facing his captors, who were now gathered about the fire in eager consultation. Klitonda knew that escape from such a situation was impossible. The thong about his neck was alone sufficient to bind him, apart from the others around his body and ankles. It drew his head back against the tree in a cramped position, forcing him to look upwards, and only with extreme difficulty could he observe the warriors sitting near the fire. The wind swayed the trees, and the cold air drifted into his face. But though his body was bound, his indomitable spirit was free. Thongs, and the power of the Chilcats could not curb that. He knew what to expect from his merciless enemies. What the outcome of their consultation would be he had not the slightest doubt. But no matter what they might do he would be Klitonda, the Ayana chief, to the bitter end.