Doc Bell the giant scout was well versed in the geography of the Illinois. He had tramped that vast country at the dead hours of darkness, and, whenever pursued by a foe, he knew where to hide himself from the foeman’s keen eyes. He often boasted that he could secrete himself in certain places, and rest securely there, while the combined tribes of the North-west hunted with the vindictiveness and keenness of the wolf for his scalp.
Therefore, when he suddenly turned aside with Oliver Blount, as related in a preceding chapter, he knew exactly where he was going, and long before the gray light of dawn the twain found themselves in a cave almost directly beneath one of the bush fringed tributaries of the Mississippi.
“This cave is none of the best of hidin’ places,” said the Indian-hunter; “but it was the nearest, an’ seein’ you growin’ weak, Oll, I thought best to take it fur the present. That bullet in yer thigh ar’ goin’ to trouble you somewhat.”
The trader admitted the truth of the hunter’s observation with a groan.
“My leg is getting stiff now,” he said. “While I ran it did not bother me, but now, since exertion has ceased, it is going to make up for the past. Oh, if that accursed ball had missed its mark! Kate! Kate, my child, where are you?”
“Kate will turn up all right, Oll,” said the hunter; “such a gal as she ar’ not goin’ to be harmed by such a dog as Jules Bardue. When she becomes his wife, look for cats and snakes to drop from the moon. They’ll do it then, sartain. But don’t go on about her; think of what I’ve said, and take matters calmly. There’s a God, Oll Blount.”
“A God! Yes, Doc, there’s a God, and from this minute I’m going to leave all to Him. He has saved our lives, and He will certainly watch over Kate. Now, Doc, look at my hurt, and get me on my feet against night, for I want to snatch my child from the hound I once almost whipped to death.”
“I tell you beforehand, Oll Blount, that you won’t git out o’ this hole to-night,” replied the hunter, stooping to examine the trader’s wound. “You must be quiet for a day or so, an’ while you rest here, I’ll hunt for Bob an’ the gal.”
Oliver Blount uttered a groan of disappointment, which admitted the truth of Doc’s remarks, confirmed by an examination of his injuries. The series of actions that followed the shot had irritated the wound, and a serious look overspread the hunter’s face when his eyes fell upon it.
“The army doctors would say you’ve got to die, Oll,” said Bell, “but I don’t say so. You’ve got the worst lookin’ leg I ever did see—no, no, don’t look at it—’twould make you sick. I guess you’ll git along, but you’ll be a cripple. There!” after a long silence. “I’ve fixed you as best I can. I’ll stay with you till night, an’ then— Hark! what was thet?”