The Wilderness Fugitives

by Edward Sylvester Ellis

"They cannot cross the big brook," continued one who seemed to be the first speaker. "When the sun comes to light up the forest, then we will take their trail and hunt them to their holes, and before the sun goes down there shall not be a scalp left but on the head of the Flower of the Woods."

"And the traitor Lena-Wingo, what shall be done with him?"

"His scalp shall be torn from his head and flung in his face. Then he shall be taken to the towns of the Iroquois and tied to a tree, and left till the birds pick out his eyes. The Iroquois women and children shall dance around him, and laugh till his eyes are gone."

This was interesting information to the individual referred to, but it affected him little. He had heard too many such threats before.

"Lena-Wingo is cunning as the serpent that crawls in the grass," continued the Iroquois, who were dissecting him in his own hearing.

"You do not hear him move when he comes for his prey, or steals away from the warriors that are hunting him."

"But Brandt, the great chieftain, has sworn to take the scalp of Lena-Wingo, and he will do it, unless the traitor runs away from so great a warrior, as Brandt says he has run when he heard that he was hunting for him."

If ever there was an angry Indian, that one was Lena-Wingo, when he heard these words. The thought of his running away from any one through fear was a little more than he could stand with composure; and those who were crouching around him in breathless stillness were surprised to hear him shift his position and breathe hard, as though struggling to suppress his emotions. Could they have seen his face at that moment, distorted as it was by passion, they would have been frightened at his appearance. His hand clutched his knife and he was on the point of stealing toward the warrior who had uttered the irritating untruth, when he seemed to gain the mastery of himself—aided no doubt by the fact that at the same instant his quick ear caught the sound of a paddle, so faint that no one else heard it. He was on the alert in a second, for a scheme flashed through his mind with the quickness of lightning.

The faint noise showed that several new-comers had arrived on the scene, and naturally a change in the current of conversation followed. The wish of Lena-Wingo was to learn where these later arrivals came from—whether from the other shore or whether they were prowling up and down the bank, where they were now grouped. To the whites, who could hear every word uttered, the talk of course was incomprehensible; but the loudness of the tones, as well as the rapidity and general jangle, led them to believe they were angry about something that had taken or had failed to take place, and that had produced a quarrel between them. Such was the fact, and Lena-Wingo listened to the high words with the hope that they would lead to blows, in which there would be a good chance of the one who had slurred his courage receiving his deserts.

Those in the canoe, it seemed, had been stealing up and down the shore, on the alert to detect the departure of the fugitives, but, from some cause or other, failed to do their duty, and they must have been quite a way off at the time the Mohawk put out his awkward scow. The party on shore were angry because of the failure, which was certainly a discreditable one, and they were very ready to accuse their comrades of being "squaws" on the war-path. The accused were equally ready to charge the others with being "old women" for permitting the whites to land under their noses, and to reach cover again. It would be hard to say which of the companies was most to blame, and, as is the rule at such times, each berated the other all the more on that account. The prospect was promising for a deadly quarrel; but one or two in the party appeared to be cool-headed, and they managed to quiet the rising storm, much to the regret of the listening Mohawk.