That we had proceeded with caution you may be sure. One would as soon put their head in the lion's mouth as approach an Indian encampment without due care. Our horses had by this time been left behind, tethered in a glade and with their heads enveloped in blankets so that they should not neigh, and one by one the whole of our party, which consisted of some forty persons, crept slowly round the bluff of the mountain, leaving the encampment to what I, as a sailor, may describe as the leeward. Our plan, suggested by an old colonist who had been engaged in fighting and contending with Indians and wild animals since far back into the days when William of Orange ruled, was to creep round this bluff, to ascend it a little, and then, from the elevation, to look down upon the Indians' town and concoct our method of attack. And, to the surprise of those who understood the Indian method of warfare, this we were enabled to do without being discovered. We encountered no outposts, such as these savage warriors invariably throw out in a circle round their encampment. We saw no naked breast or plumed head of Indian sentry gleaming through the pines and sassafras, laurels and sumachs; no hideously painted face glaring at us from behind the muscadine vines or maple trees that grew in rich profusion at the mountain's base, ere its owner launched his poisoned arrow at us. The reason was, as we learnt later, that none in that encampment believed that the white avengers could travel twice as fast as they themselves had travelled. None believed there could possibly be a pale face within twenty miles of their town; and, more, there was that taking place in their midst which was enough to distract even the wary Indian from his duties of watchfulness.
What was happening we ourselves saw a few moments later.
[CHAPTER XXVI]
AS FOEMEN FIGHT
It was when we had climbed the spur, or bluff, one by one, crawling like Indians or snakes ourselves, and when we lay prone and gazing down upon the open space in the encampment that we saw that which astonished us so.
This it was.
In the middle of that open space there stood, or rather fought, two men, each contending for the other's life. Each also was a splendid example of the Indian race, great in height, muscular and sinewy; yet the one who seemed the younger of the two was the tallest and the best favoured, the elder having a fierce and cruel face. Both wielded that dreadful instrument, the tomahawk, the weapon that, while so small and harmless-looking, is, in the hands of those accustomed to its use, so deadly; both were bare from the waist upwards, their breasts painted with emblems or devices--a bear on one, a panther on the other. Yet more dreadful, perhaps, than to know that this was a combat to the death, was to see the manner in which the struggle took place. It was no battle of blow against blow, of one blow struck only to be warded off and another given; it was a fight in which craft was opposed to craft and skill to skill, such as no Italian swordsman perhaps knew better how to exhibit. Round and round what once would have been called the lists, or, as we now term it, the arena, those two stole after each other, first one creeping like a tiger at his foe and then his opponent doing the same; while, as they came within striking distance, the tomahawk would rise in the attacker's hand only to sink again as its wielder recognised that it must surely be skilfully parried or fall ineffectually. It was weird, horrible--nay, devilish--to see these two great types of humanity creeping at one another like tigers, yet never meeting in a great shock, as one might well have looked for.
But those below who sat there caused us as much surprise and agitation as did these combatants. There I saw my sweet Joice with, on her fair face, the greatest agitation depicted while she watched every movement of the contending foemen, her excitement being intense as the one who bore the emblem of the bear advanced as though to strike the other, and her look of disappointment extreme when he drew back foiled. What did it mean? What did it portend?
And there, too, was Mary Mills, her hand in Kinchella's as they sat side by side, while on both their faces was the same eager look, the same evident desire for the victory of the younger champion; the same look of regret when he was forced to draw back. But, more marvellous even than this, was what we further saw, yet could not comprehend. All in the crowd of spectators, save one who sat huddled on a great chair or bench, his face covered with a mantle from which he peeped furtively, seemed possessed with the same desire as they; all their sympathy was with him who bore the emblem of the bear. It was so with the dusky warriors who watched every cat-like footstep that the antagonists took; so with the humbler Indians round; so with the richly-bedizened Indian women, whom we deemed the wives or squaws of the braves, and so with the almost nude Indian girls, servants probably. And with all the other white people it was equally the same. Buck and Mr. Pringle, and Mr. Byrd, as well as the other prisoners--though none seemed like prisoners, being unshackled and quite free--applauded and shouted in English fashion as the younger warrior attacked the elder. One would have thought the former was their dearest friend! They winced when the elder attacked in his turn, and looked black and anxious if for a moment the fight seemed to go against the Bear. Strange! all were for him--all; Indians, white people, even my own dear sweetheart and her friends, Mary and Kinchella--all, all, excepting that one shrouded, unknown creature who sat apart by himself. Who could he be? What did it mean? O'Rourke was able to inform me.
When he had told me that the Indian who was the desired victor of all who regarded the combat was the one who had been the chief in command of the attack on my sweet one's house, and had heard Roderick St. Amande not only exposed by Miss Mills but also by his own tongue, he said: