Camp-fire and Wigwam

by Edward Sylvester Ellis

TWO ACQUAINTANCES AND FRIENDS.

The question was settled. Nothing short of positive knowledge could have led Deerfoot to change his mind as to the right course to pursue.

Stooping over, he picked up his hunting knife, thrust it in his girdle, and strode down the slope in the direction of the camp, which he knew was deserted early that morning. It was a long way to travel, but it was nothing to the lissome warrior, who would have broken into a run could he have felt any assurance of gaining any benefit by doing so.

Climbing around the boulders and rocks, leaping over chasms, pushing through matted undergrowth, and turning aside only when forced to do so, Deerfoot pressed to the southwest until three-fourths of the distance was passed. Most of that time the shadowy vapor had been beyond sight, for he did not take the trouble to look for it when the intervening vegetation interfered. He could not make any mistake as to the right course, and it was therefore unnecessary for him to take his bearings; but now, when he knew he could not be far from his destination, he came to the surface, as it may be said of a diver in an emerald sea, and indulged in a deliberate survey of his surroundings.

The first glance at the camp caused his eyes to sparkle, for it conveyed an interesting fact: instead of the smoke being so thin that it was scarcely visible, it was much denser and more plenteous. That simply showed that the camp was no longer a deserted one. Whoever had gone away in the morning had returned, and was at that moment on the ground. More than likely there were several of them, and, as the day was half gone, they were preparing their noontide meal.

At any rate the Shawanoe was sure to find some one there, and he hastened his footsteps, though he could feel but slight hope that whatever he saw or learned would have a bearing on the business in which his whole soul was engaged.

Deerfoot approached the camp with his usual caution, his supposition being that a company of Indians were resting there for a brief time. If they were Osages, or, indeed, any other tribe, except Hurons or Wyandots, he would not hesitate to go forward and greet them, for there ought to be no danger incurred in doing so. The same would be the case with the whites, though some care might be necessary to convince them no treachery was intended.

The first glimpse showed the Indian that only a single white man was present. He was preparing dinner, the preliminary step being a stirring of the smoldering camp-fire, which gave forth the tell-tale smoke. He was a striking individual, though a stranger to Deerfoot.

The fire itself was small, and was burning in an open space where the whole neighborhood served as a chimney. Several feet off was a half-decayed log, on which the man was sitting, his elbows on his knees, and a long stick held loosely in his hands. This he used as a poker, and it served his purpose well. A close approach to the fire was apt to be unpleasant on account of the heat, so he sat a short distance off, and managed things in a comfortable fashion. Now and then he poked the embers until the end of the vegetable poker broke into a blaze, when he withdrew it and whipped it on the ground till the flame was put out. His rifle leaned against an adjoining tree within easy distance, and the short clay pipe in his mouth, from which he sent out an occasional puff, added to his apparently peaceful frame of mind.

The striking point about the hunter was his magnificent physical manhood. He was more than six feet high, with immense shoulders and chest, an enormous beard of a coal black color, which grew almost to his keen black eyes, and descended over his chest in a silken, wavy mass. He was attired in the ordinary hunting costume of the border, and looked as if he might be one of those men who had spent their lives in the Louisiana wilderness, hunting and trapping animals for their peltries, which were sold at some of the advanced posts of civilization.