Camp-fire and Wigwam

by Edward Sylvester Ellis

CHAPTER X.

WAITING AND HOPING.

It would be hard to measure the effect of the little achievement of Jack Carleton upon the Indians who held him captive. He had pronounced the name of the chieftain with such clearness that every one recognized it. After all it was no great exploit, and it may have been the red men feigned a goodly portion of the astonishment they seemed to feel.

Jack did not make any more essays in that direction, and a few minutes later the vagabonds gave their principal attention to their pipes. One of them gathered an armful of brush and flung it on the fire; and another, rising to his feet, turned his back toward the blaze with his hands together behind him, as though the warmth was very pleasant. While he stood thus, he held the stem of his pipe in his mouth and looked absently at the boy, who could not see the face of the red man with much distinctness, as it was in shadow.

The fuel just thrown on the flames increased the warmth to such a degree that those who were the nearest shifted their position. The warrior who was on his feet stepped forward a single pace, and was still standing in his idle fashion with his hands half folded behind him, when a spark flew outward with a snap, and dropped down the neck of the unsuspicious red man. When he felt the burn, like the thrust of a big needle, he sprang several feet in the air, and began frantically clutching at the tormenting substance. The second or third attempt secured the spark, which clung to his hand, burning his fingers to that extent that he emitted a rasping exclamation, bounded upward, and by a particularly vigorous flirt of his hand freed it of the spark, which then expired of itself.

As I have said, no man has less humor in his composition than the North American Indian, and yet it is not by any means lacking in him. It assumes odd forms at times, and too often seems based on the physical suffering of some person or animal; but in the instance of which I am speaking, every one of the spectators was filled with mirth. The laughter shook them from head to foot, though with all its vigor it could not have been heard fifty feet away.

Jack Carleton had been so long depressed that something like a reaction came over him. He threw his head back and the woods rang with his hearty mirth as they never rang before. If there was any one else within half a mile, he must have wondered what all the uproar meant.

The cause of this amusement conducted himself very much like a civilized being. When he had rubbed the blistered spot on the back of his neck with the scorched hand, he glared angrily at the others, as if he saw no adequate cause for the unusual mirth; then when it broke out afresh, he made a weak attempt to join in, but failing to do so, he sullenly seated himself on the ground and looked as glum as a man meditating some wicked deed.

All at once, he turned toward Jack Carleton with such a fierce scowl that the boy was sobered. He believed with reason that the Indian was ready to leap upon him with his knife, punishing him in that dreadful manner for the provocation he felt toward the rest.

"I guess I have laughed enough," was the prudent thought of the boy, who straightway tried to look as if he sympathized with the red man for his slight misfortune.