The Lure Of The Mississippi Part 7

"We must take these lads to St. Paul before that man, Hicks, can find out where we have gone, and try to overtake us. He will not hesitate to set the Sioux on our trail, if he learns which way we have gone."

Tim and Bill had to be shaken out of a sound sleep.

"Come along, lads," Barker told them; "before the sun rises the Sioux will again be scouring the country. We must travel by night as far as we can."

While the boys were getting ready, Tatanka and the trapper planned the day's journey.

"We should strike out northeast for Shakopee on the Minnesota River,"

advised Tatanka. "I used to camp and hunt there, when I was a boy, but it is now a white man's town, and I do not think that Little Crow's warriors will reach it. They will first try to take Fort Ridgely and New Ulm beyond the great elbow of the Wakpah Minnesota."

"It is a good plan," a.s.sented the trapper. "Our two guns are loaded with b.a.l.l.s that carry a great distance. Let us put buckshot into the guns of the boys. If we are attacked, we will fire our own guns first and use the buckshot only if the Sioux come close up."

"It is good," said Black Buffalo. "If all white people were prepared like we are, the warriors of Little Crow would not take many scalps."

The morning was chilly. The gra.s.s and flowers of the prairie were heavy with dew and the little voices of the night had all grown silent, only a lost dog, bereaved of his master, could be heard barking and howling in the distance. They pa.s.sed a slough, where the tall rushes and gra.s.ses and the pools of open water were covered with a gray patchy blanket of fog, out of which rang the loud quacking calls of wild ducks and the low, retiring notes of hundreds of coots. From the blackbirds and swallows which the boys knew were roosting in the marsh by the thousand, came not a sound, but from the gra.s.s near the margin of the slough came the liquid, pebbly song of a marsh-wren.

"Listen, Bill," whispered Tim, "there's the little bird that never sleeps."

"Oh, I guess he sleeps, all right," replied Bill, "only he is so little that he can sleep enough in s.n.a.t.c.hes."

"We must ride faster," said Tatanka. "The stars are getting small and the eastern sky will soon be gray, then the Dakotahs will come out of their camps."

The four travelers wrapped themselves in their blankets, and let the willing horses fall into an easy gallop.

The boys were glad, when, at last, a big red ball pushed slowly over the distant wooded bluffs of the Minnesota, but Barker and Tatanka reined in their horses and approached the crest of every rise with the utmost caution. After traveling an hour or more, in this way, Barker and Tatanka stopped and dismounted in a small grove of oaks on a high knoll, after they had made sure that no tracks led into the patch of timber.

"Here we eat breakfast," Barker told the boys.

"Why don't we hide in a hollow where we can't be seen?" asked Bill.

Tatanka laughed at this question. "In a hollow," he replied, "Dakotahs see us first; on a hill, we see them first."

To the surprise of the boys, the Indian even started a fire and on several green sticks began to fry slices of bacon and ham.

"Won't the Indians see the fire!" asked Tim.

"Not this fire," Bill told him. "Don't you see that Tatanka breaks from the trees only the driest sticks that don't make a bit of smoke!"

Tim and Meetcha were very hungry and Meetcha crept, with quivering nostrils very close to the hot slices of meat, which the Indian was laying down on some oak leaves, but Tatanka struck him a sharp blow with a switch and called, "Raus!" in a loud gruff voice, so the little racc.o.o.n scrambled away in a great hurry.

"What did he say!" asked the boys. "He talked German to Meetcha," Barker laughed. "He learned it from his neighbors. It means, 'Get out.'"

"Meetcha must learn not to steal," said Tatanka, with a smile. "He is a little thief. Tim should let him run in the woods. He will make much trouble."

The four travelers enjoyed a hearty breakfast after their morning ride.

"Boys," remarked the trapper, "if we eat at this rate, we shall live on the smell of hambone to-morrow, unless we make Shakopee tonight."

There were no dishes to wash and Meetcha had to eat the sc.r.a.ps without was.h.i.+ng them, although to the delight of both men and boys, he went through the motions with every piece he ate.

When the meal was over, Tatanka sat for a while and smoked in silence, while Barker and the boys scanned the prairie from the margin of the grove.

A mile to the south some dark objects were moving in the direction of the wooded knoll, but they could not tell what they were. The boys thought they saw Indians on horseback, but as Barker did not agree with them they called Black Buffalo. After he had looked a minute he said:

"Ox-team and white men. We must wait for them."

"How can they get away from the Indians on an ox-team?" asked Bill.

"They can't," explained Barker, "except by a lucky accident. If any Indians see them, they are lost."

When the ox-team came within half a mile of the knoll, Tatanka pointed to the west.

"Look," he said, "now we must fight."

Three Indians on horseback were coming across the prairie directly toward the white men, who tried to whip the oxen into a run so as to reach the wooded knoll.

"Get on your horses," commanded Barker, and the four riders threw themselves quickly between the team and the Sioux.

When the trapper fired a shot at the Sioux, the three Indians turned and then dispersed themselves around the team. They fired their guns, but the bullets all fell short.

On the wagon were two men and several women and children, and the party had been traveling all night.

The Indians followed the team for an hour, but as the party kept to the open prairie, the Sioux at last fell behind and gave up the pursuit.

In the middle of the afternoon, the party reached Henderson, where the owner of the team stayed with friends, while the four hors.e.m.e.n rode rapidly on to Shakopee, which they reached late in the evening.

The news of the outbreak had already reached the town and the people were much excited, although no hostile Indians had been seen in the neighborhood.

On the following day, Wednesday, August 20th, the four hors.e.m.e.n saw no hostile Indians. There were no telegraph lines in those days west and southwest of St. Paul, but the news of the outbreak had reached St. Paul by special messenger, on Tuesday, the day after it started.

Barker and his party did not follow the usual road from Shakopee to St.

Paul, but traveled along old Indian trails and by-paths with which Barker was well acquainted. Near the old inn which stood just west of the Bloomington bridge across the Minnesota, they rested in the woods until evening, for it was Barker's intention to reach St. Paul after dark.

"I doubt not," explained the trapper to Tatanka, "that Hicks, if he is alive, is already on our trail. He is certainly going to look for the boys and myself at St. Paul, and he will most likely strike the road between this place and St. Paul. If we travel on this road in the daytime, we shall meet so many people that it would be an easy thing to follow us. Everybody would remember you and me and the small boy with the racc.o.o.n, so we must stay here, until after dark."

It was shortly after midnight on Thursday morning, that the travelers reached St. Paul. Old Joe, the hostler, at one of the outlying taverns, was not a little surprised to see his friend Barker appear at this hour of the day.

"h.e.l.lo, Sam," he exclaimed, as he shook the old man's hand, "I'm powerful glad to see you. Only last night I was saying to the boys, 'This time they surely got Sam's scalp.' Mighty glad I am, they didn't."

The horses were soon put in their stalls and Meetcha was locked up in an empty grain-box with some kitchen sc.r.a.ps and a pan of water.

"He will wash bones, wash bones, until daylight." Tatanka laughed.

"Now, Joe," said Barker, as the men were seated in the small lobby of the tavern and after the boys had gone to bed, "here is a chance for you to show that you are my friend. Don't tell anybody that we are here. A lanky, squint-eyed cuss with a scar on his forehead may show up inquiring for us. Don't put him on."

"Old Joe is no sieve," replied the hostler. "You can depend on me."

Then the men exchanged the news of the Indian war and the war down South.