The Boy Miners; Or, The Enchanted Island, A Tale of the Yellowstone Country

by Edward Sylvester Ellis

Casting one glance over his shoulder, he observed the two aborigines after him, although neither of them gave utterance to the “yell,” which, with the proverbial “ugh,” seems to be about the only language which ever emerges from the lips of the North American Indian, if the authority of story writers is to be taken.

In a race of this kind, we could not dare risk our reputation in saying that the little fellow was anything like a match for his lithe pursuers. He hadn’t been in training as long as they, and it was impossible that the cowardly Mohaves should not gain upon him with sad certainty.

All of which he expected, and he therefore turned all his energies toward finding some place in which he could conceal himself. Bounding over and among the rough and rugged rocks, he turned at right angles to the course he had been following, darted a few rods ahead, and then, to his dismay, found himself on the banks of a small, rapid stream.

But there was no time for hesitation. He ran along the shore a little way, and then rapidly climbed a small tree, dragging his rifle as best he could after him. Here he crouched among the branches, and, panting and trembling, awaited the result.

As yet, he had not heard a sound, but he did not dare hope that his pursuers were off the scent. He had read certain wonderful tales of the miraculous prowess of the “red men of the woods,” and had every reason to believe that they were perfect bloodhounds in such matters.

Nor was he mistaken; for he had not been in his elevated position five minutes, when, through the interstices of the leaves, he saw one of them walking along the edge of the stream, carefully examining the ground, occasionally pausing and looking about him, and now and then making a curious, gyrating motion with his hand over his head, which the boy did not understand, but which we suspect was a signal for his companion.

It would have been the easiest thing in the world for Edwin Inwood to load his gun, and shoot the Mohave who was stealing so cautiously upon him; but he hesitated. It is no light thing to take a human life, even if it belong to an Indian, and he did not wish to commit such a deed, unless his own self preservation demanded it. Whether it did or not was the question which the boy considered, and upon which he was hardly able to decide.

Suppose he did slay the red man, his companion remained, against whom he could do nothing, and who would be sure to visit a cruel punishment upon him. No; he decided that the time had not yet come for him to do such a thing.

In the meantime, the Mohave was close at hand. Not once did he raise his head, but walked slowly along, examining the ground, and looking across the stream as though he expected to see the fugitive. The heart of the latter gave a throb as he saw him pass beyond the tree which contained himself; but the temporary hope thus awakened was speedily dispelled by observing the red man suddenly halt, look around him as though he failed, for the moment, exactly to comprehend things, and then he raised his head and saw the youngster cowering among the branches.

The Mohave surveyed him quietly a moment, and then motioned for him to descend. The boy could not refuse, as he was entirely in his power, and he obeyed without delay. The captor looked into his face with a curious expression, but still uttered no exclamation or word. Finally, he took him by the arm, led him a short distance down the stream of the brook, and then motioned for him to fall behind and follow.