The village of the Mohawks was at a considerable distance from the spot where had once stood the home of the woodman—and encumbered as they were with plunder, their progress was necessarily slow; besides, knowing full well that pursuit would be useless upon the part of the whites, there was no occasion to hasten their steps. When, however, Seth Jones’ unceremonious entrance among them, together with the escape of his new companion, and the subsequent report of the smaller party with Ina, was made known, the old chief began to have some misgiving about his fancied security. It occurred to him that there might be a large party of whites upon the trail, and in such a case, his greatest skill was required to retain the captives. And here was the trouble. If he was pursued—and upon that point there could be no doubt—his progress must be hastened. His pursuers would follow with the swiftness of vengeance. With the plunder in their possession, the thing was impossible, and he saw, at length, that stratagem must be resorted to.
He selected six of his bravest and fleetest warriors—two of whom had been Graham’s most troublesome enemies in his fearful chase—and placed Ina in their charge, with instructions to make all haste to the Indian village. Before starting, it occurred to him that the best plan would be to send the white man also with them. Were he to remain with the larger party in case of attack, his presence, he had reason to fear, would be their own destruction, while six savages surely armed and ever vigilant, could surely guard an unarmed idiot and a woman.
The chief as stated, was well satisfied that he was pursued. Hence, if he could throw his pursuers off the scent, their discomfiture would be certain. He believed this could be done. How well he succeeded, has already been shown. The six savages with their charge parted from the larger company, and struck off rapidly in a direction diverging to the north. Their trail was so concealed as to give the impression that there were but three of them, and this deception we have seen misled the hunter. A piece of Ina’s dress was purposely lodged upon a bush, in the rear of the larger party; and promiscuously and hopefully, the chief leisurely continued his way with his dusky followers.
After the parties had parted company, the smaller one hastened rapidly forward. Ina, in charge of a stalwart, athletic Indian was kept to the front, the more effectually to conceal her trail, while Seth kept his position near the centre of the file. He was allowed the free use of his hands, though, as has been remarked, he was deprived of his weapons. As they journeyed hastily forward, he made it a point to enlighten them as much as possible by his conversation, and certainly original remarks.
“If you have no objection, I wouldn’t mind knowing your idea in thus leaving the other Injins, eh?” he remarked, quizzically of the savage in front. No reply being given, he continued:
“I s’pose you’re thinking about that house you burnt down, and feeling bad—Oh, you ain’t, eh?” suddenly remarked Seth, as the Indian glared fiercely at him.
“It was a bad trick, I allow,” he continued, “enough to make a feller mad, I swow. That house, I shouldn’t wonder now, took that Haverland a week to finish; ’twas an ugly piece of business—yes, sir.”
At intervals, the savages exchanged a word with each other, and once or twice, one of them took the back trail, evidently to ascertain whether they had any pursuers. Finding they had not, they slackened their speed somewhat, as Ina had given signs of fatigue, and they believed there was really no occasion for hastening. But the weariness which the fair captive had endured, so increased, that long before the sun had reached its meridian, they halted for a half-hour’s rest. This was at the crossing of a small, sparkling stream. As the sun was now quite hot, and the atmosphere thick and heavy, the rest in the cool shadows of the trees was doubly refreshing. Ina seated herself upon the cool moist earth, her captors preserving, singularly enough, a far more vigilant watch over her than over Seth Jones; but, for that matter, the latter was allowed no very special freedom. A couple of Indians again took the back-trail for prudent reasons, but met with nothing to excite their apprehensions.
In the mean time, Seth continued tumbling over the ground, occasionally giving vent to snatches of song, and now and then a sage remark. Without being noticed, he picked a small chalky pebble from the margin of the brook, and working his way to a large flat stone, executed, with many flourishes, the writing to which we referred in a preceding chapter. Although cleverly done, this latter act did not escape the eyes of the suspicious savages. One immediately arose, and walking to him, pointed down and gruffly asked:
“What, that?”