Footprints in the Forest

by Edward Sylvester Ellis

Such was the plan also of Deerfoot, but when Hay-uta proposed that the Pawnee should be soused into the water and held under the surface until on the point of drowning, the Shawanoe shook his head.

Deerfoot showed a far-seeing mind in the course which he adopted, and to which Hay-uta assented without fathoming its full purpose. The youth felt that the circumstances were such that it was more important for the Sauk to figure as a merciful captor than for himself to play that part.

Deerfoot, it may be said, had proved his ability to take care of himself, where it was possible for a human being to do so. The Sauk was skillful, but in the perilous times close at hand, he was likely to stand in greater need of a friend "at court" than was the Shawanoe. It was this motive which actuated the latter in what he now did.

"Deerfoot will make ready to slay the Pawnee," said he, "and then Hay-uta will stay his hand."

The Sauk nodded to signify he understood the arrangement.

"Let my brother wait till all is ready; let him stand still till the Pawnee has no hope: when Deerfoot raises his tomahawk, then shall my brother forbid."

There was something touching in the dignity of the Pawnee, when he felt that no hope remained to him. He had no blanket, and all his weapons had been removed. He stood perhaps twenty feet, or slightly less, from Deerfoot, in plain sight, though the twilight had given place to that of the moon, which was partly full and shining from a sky in which were a number of drifting clouds. He was only a step or two from the woods, which it would seem offered a temptation too great to be resisted.

Doubtless some such thought entered his mind, but the Shawanoe never turned his face, and maintained such unremitting watch, that the captive must have felt he was shut in on every side.

Deerfoot had laid aside his bow and rifle and grasped his tomahawk—that weapon which in his hands was as unerring for a short distance as was the arrow from his bow. On the first motion of his captive toward flight, no matter how quickly made, the tomahawk would split the skull as if it were a rotten apple.

The Pawnee made no such attempt. He remained with his fine figure drawn to its full height. The weight of his body supported mainly on his right foot, while the left rested lightly a few inches in front, the posture similar to that which a trained athlete would assume when about to leap over a slight obstruction.