Camp-fire and Wigwam

by Edward Sylvester Ellis

It would have been difficult for Jack Carleton to describe his varied emotions when forced to admit the fact that he was an actual prisoner among a band of wandering Indians. The memorable journey from Kentucky into Louisiana had been attended by many stirring experiences, and more than once every avenue of escape seemed to be closed, but, now for the first time, he found himself a captive within a few miles of his own home.

Whither would these red men take him? Did they mean to hold him a permanent captive, or, as is often the case with their race, would they put him to torture and finally to death? The settlements of Kentucky and Ohio were crimsoned with the deeds of the red men, and, though some tribes were less warlike than others, it was not to be supposed that any of them were distinguished for mercy and forbearance.

"If Colonel Martin only knew this," thought Jack, while tramping forward, "it wouldn't take him long to gather the men together, and they would come down on these folks like a whirlwind; but Otto and I may be gone for weeks before any one will suspect we are in trouble. Even then they won't know what to do. No, sir," added Jack, compressing his lips, "whatever is done must be done by myself, and, with the help of heaven, I shall part company with these red men just as soon as the chance presents itself."

Any one in the situation of Jack Carleton cannot lack for themes on which to employ his brain. It is safe to assert that the boy did more thinking while on that eventful march than he had done in the same space of time for years.

It may be said that while the party were on the march, and the warriors were together, it was utterly out of the question for Jack to leave against their will. Three strode along in front, while two were in the rear. Every one was fleeter of foot than he, and they had six rifles in their possession, while he had none at all. Could he secure several hundred yards' start, they would have no difficulty in trailing and running him down, for the sky was clear, the sun bright, and the footprints of the boy would show as distinctly to the keen eyes of the red men as though made in the dust of the highway.

No, he must wait for the darkness of the night, when a few yards between him and his enemies would prove like a stone wall; when insidious sleep would seal the eyes of the dusky barbarians, and he could steal out in the gloom, leaving them to wait for hours before taking up his trail.

One person was continually in the thoughts of Jack Carleton—Deerfoot. "Where is he? Is he days' journey to the south? Is there any hope of him playing the part of a friend for Otto and me?"

These and similar questions were asked again and again while the youth was tramping through the wood in the company of his captors, and his heart sank when his own good sense obliged him to answer each one in the most unsatisfactory manner.

He recalled that Deerfoot parted with them only a few days before in a manner which implied that considerable time must pass before they would see each other again. The young Shawanoe could not suspect that when his friends reached home, they would immediately proceed to get into trouble, as they had just done.

"No," added Jack, with a sigh, "from what I know and have heard of Deerfoot, he has a wonderful way of turning up when wanted, but it's no use to look for him in this case."