Afar in the Forest

by William Henry Giles Kingston

“I am afraid, Roger, that in such a case our hope of escape will be very small,” said my uncle in a grave tone. “Unless we can find water in some hollow in which it will be possible to conceal ourselves, at the return of day, the Indians are sure to see us. Should they cross our track, they are equally certain to come upon us before long. We must, however, hope for the best. Go forward as you propose, and may Heaven protect you, my boy.”

Without stopping to bid Lily and my aunt good-bye I hurried on, keeping my gaze on the fire, which, growing brighter as I advanced, enabled me without difficulty to direct my course for it. The ground was tolerably even, but sloped slightly downwards in the direction I was taking. The fire, indeed, when I first saw it, appeared to be in a hollow, or at all events at a lower elevation than that where we were standing. I looked back once or twice, and quickly lost sight of the waggon. So far I was satisfied that, should the people who had made the fire be Indians, they would not discover the waggon until daylight, by which time I hoped we should be able to conceal ourselves among the hills in the neighbourhood.

I hurried on as fast as I could venture to move, ignorant of what was before me. It would be useless, I knew, to attempt concealing my trail, but as I did not intend to go nearer the camp-fire than was necessary to make out who were there, I hoped some time would elapse after I had retreated before the Indians could discover that any one had been near them. Now and then, when crossing a hill, I lost sight of the fire, and had to direct my course by the stars overhead. Again I saw it before me, blazing brightly. I hoped that Uncle Stephen was right in his conjectures. The fire, however, was further off than I had supposed, and the greater part of an hour was consumed before I got close enough to see the figures moving about it.

I now crept on as noiselessly as I could, for I knew that the least sound would be conveyed to the quick ears of the Redskins. Fortunately there were a number of bushes in the neighbourhood, behind which I could conceal myself.

As I was going on I heard voices, and stopped breathlessly to listen. They did not sound like those of Indians, and presently I saw a couple of figures pass in front of the fire. I almost shouted for joy as I distinguished by their outlines against the bright blaze that their dress was that of white men. I felt sure that the people I saw before me were our friends; still, caution was necessary, for it was possible that they were prisoners of the Indians, saved from the caravan lately destroyed, only to meet with a more cruel death by torture. There might be a large party of Indians encamped.

Presently two other fires came into view, which had been hitherto concealed by the thick bushes surrounding the hollow in which the camp was formed. I crept on and on, crouching down like a panther about to spring on its prey. The voices became more and more distinct, and at last I found myself on the top of the bank, with only a few bushes intervening between me and those encamped below.

On pushing aside the branches my eyes were greeted by the pleasant sight of waggons, cattle, and a number of people; some cooking before the fires, others preparing their resting-places for the night. Not far off, at the lower part of the hollow, for it could scarcely be called a valley, was a pool reflecting the stars overhead.

Feeling sure that I saw my friends before me, I now rushed down the slope towards them. The first person I met was Reuben Claxton.

“Why, Roger! where have you come from?” he exclaimed. “We were very anxious about you, and my father had determined, should you not appear soon, to return with a party to your relief.”

I quickly told him what had occurred, several others gathering round to hear my account. They were greatly alarmed at the description I gave of the remains of the emigrant-train we had discovered. I pointed out that their own camp was formed with less care than usual; of which fact they were convinced, but excused themselves on the plea that they had arrived very tired just at dark, having had a rough country to traverse, and that their cattle had suffered from want of water since the last place they had stopped at. The way I had approached showed them how easily they might have been surprised by a party of hostile Indians.