Little Oskaloo Part 4

"Father doesn't want to suspect anybody," murmured the boy Carl, who was surprised to see John Darknight sleeping so soundly in the camp after his meeting with Oskaloo on the banks of the river. "I do not know how he came to undertake this trip. We might have been safe where we lived.

I know we are not here. He didn't tell Oscar about the treason, for I heard every word that pa.s.sed between them. Maybe he doesn't think I saw straight. Well, I know I wasn't very close; but I would swear that it was the guide talking to the Indian, and didn't he come up the bank after the redskin left? I have a rifle, and I am going to watch John Darknight myself!"

Having thus delivered himself of his thoughts, Carl Merriweather continued to watch in silence, and he saw that the night was wearing away.

Oscar Parton was wakeful. No sound escaped his ears, and he saw the river growing darker with the dense gloom that precedes the dawn.

Then he redoubled his vigilance, for the hour was suggestive of surprise and ma.s.sacre; but the gloom gradually departed, and the first streaks of dawn silvered the flowing water.

It was a welcome sight, for the long night of anxiety had worn away, and with strength recruited by repose, the journey could be resumed.

The young sentry was watching the long arrows of light fall upon the waves, when an object startled him. It seemed to have risen from the river's unseen depths, but a second look told him that it was an Indian canoe. It skimmed over the water like a thing endowed with life, and the beholder, eager to inspect its occupant, stepped to the brow of the bank, but with the woodman's usual caution.

The light growing stronger as the day advanced, revealed the tenant of the solitary canoe to the young man, and while he gazed intently, the craft suddenly shot like an arrow to the sh.o.r.e.

Instinctively Oscar Parton raised his rifle, but the movement was detected by the person in the stream, and a hand gave the peace signal.

"I cannot shoot a woman!" the guard murmured, lowering the weapon. "Her coming may be our destruction, but I cannot harm her. Bless me, I believe she is a white!"

The work of a few moments sufficed to bring the canoe to the sh.o.r.e, and when its tenant stepped upon _terra firma_, she was confronted by the curious guard, who had come boldly down the bank.

"White family up there?" the jauntily clad girl said, pointing up the slope.

"What if they are?" said the young borderman, evasively. "Who are you?"

"Areotha," was the reply. "The white people call me Little Moccasin.

See!"

With her exclamation she put a foot forward, and displayed, with innocent pride, a tiny moccasin gaily ornamented with beads.

"It is a pretty name, but what do you want here?" asked Oscar.

"Want to tell white father that Little Moccasin has seen him."

"Seen whom?"

"Don't you know--the young white spy who tracks the red men for the Blacksnake?" the girl said with surprise.

"No."

Little Moccasin was nonplussed.

"Me see him," she said at length, and her deep eyes brightened. "Him and the tall hunter come by and by, maybe."

"a.s.sistance, eh?" said Parton, catching the import of her words. "Well, we shall not reject it. You don't hate the whites, then?"

"Little Moccasin their friend."

"But you are not an Indian. Your skin is like mine."

"Been Indian long time, though," the girl said with a smile. "Have Indian mother--the old Madgitwa--in the big Indian village."

"Don't you know where you were born, Areotha?" questioned Parton.

The girl shook her head.

"Come up to the camp. I believe that you are true to our people. We have a girl up there who will like you."

"Little Moccasin like her already," was the artless answer.

Having made her canoe fast to the bank by a rope of twisted sinews, the mysterious girl followed Oscar Parton up the slope. He led her straight to the encampment, where her unexpected appearance created much excitement, and she was immediately surrounded.

Abel Merriweather was the first to question her, and Areotha was about to reply when she caught sight of John Darknight, the guide.

The next moment every vestige of color fled from her face, and, staring at the guide, she started back.

She looked like a person who had suddenly been confronted by a spectre.

At that moment John Darknight's face a.s.sumed a bold, defiant and threatening aspect; but it was as white as Areotha's.

CHAPTER V.

A BRACE OF DESERTIONS.

With one accord the fugitives glanced from Little Moccasin to the guide.

They felt that the twain had met before, and that the present encounter was unexpected and startling to each.

"What do you know about this girl?" said the settler to Darknight. "It seems to me that this is not your first encounter with her."

"I should say that it wasn't," was the reply. "I had hoped that we would reach our destination without meeting her, for her presence among white emigrants or fugitives betokens danger. She is the witch of the northwest territory, and many is the boat that she has decoyed ash.o.r.e to the rifle and the tomahawk. She doubtless recognized me, for I once pitched her into the rapids of yon river, and if she had her deserts now our rifles would rid the territory of its witch, though I know it is hard to kill a woman."

"Abel, she must not stay here if she is to betray us to death," said the settler's wife, fast upon the guide's last words.

"Not so fast, mother," interrupted Kate Merriweather, with sympathy in her dark eyes for the lone girl. "Remember that we have listened to but one side of the story--Mr. Darknight's; now let us hear what she has to say in her defense."

"Oh, she's a cute one, and you'll hear the sleekest story ever told in these parts," the guide said.

But Kate Merriweather did not appear to have heard him.

"You have listened to the white man," she said to Areotha. "He has not given you an enviable reputation. Now we want to hear what you have to say for yourself."

Rea.s.sured by the white girl's kindly voice and looks, the accused maiden stepped boldly forward, and said in a tone trembling but sweet:

"The pale guide does not like to see Areotha here, for she knows him. He is more Wyandot than white man, and where is the boat he ever guided that has not b.l.o.o.d.y planks? Areotha does not know. Did he not tell the white man in his cabin that the red men would surround it and scalp his family, and then right away offer to guide him to the Blacksnake?"