The Lost Trail Read online

  Produced by Sean Pobuda

  THE LOST TRAIL

  By Edward S. Ellis

  CONTENTS

  I AN ENEMY IN A TREE II WHAT A RIFLE-SHOT DID III ON THE BANK OF THE MISSISSIPPI IV THE VISITOR FROM THE OTHER SHORE V AROUND THE CAMP-FIRE VI NIGHT AND MORNING VII A SURPRISED FISHERMAN VIII BEHIND THE TREE IX A TIMELY ARRIVAL X AT BAY XI A PRIMITIVE FORT XII AMONG THE TREE-TOPS XIII A MESSAGE XIV THE MANEUVRES OF DEERFOOT XV "TALL OAKS FROM LITTLE ACORNS GROW" XVI ON THE RIVER XVII THE LOUISIANA SHORE XVIII ON THE LOUISIANA SHORE XIX THE SMOKE OF A CAMPFIRE XX "GOOD-BYE!" XXI THE NEIGH OF A HORSE XXII A STRANGER XXIII AN ABORIGINAL HOME XXIV DEERFOOT XXV AT BAY XXVI AN UNEXPECTED INTERVIEW XXVII A FAILURE XXVIII THE EAVESDROPPER XXIX WITHIN THE WIGWAM XXX AN UNWELCOME VISITOR XXXI PURSUER AND PURSUED XXXII TURNING THE TABLES XXXIII CONCLUSION

  CHAPTER I

  AN ENEMY IN A TREE

  One afternoon in early spring, Jack Carleton, a sturdy youth ofseventeen years, was following a clearly-marked trail, leadingthrough the western part of Kentucky toward the Mississippi river.For many a mile he followed the evenly spaced tracks made by a horseon a walk, the double impressions being a trifle more than threefeet apart.

  "Helloa!" exclaimed, Jack, when he looked at the earth again andobserved that the tracks had taken a new form, with nearly eightfeet between them. "Otto has forced the colt to a trot. He must bein a hurry, or he thinks I am fond of traveling."

  Thus far the lusty young Kentuckian felt no misgiving, but withinfifty yards the trail underwent the startling change--the footprintsbeing separated by more than three yards now.

  "My gracious," muttered the boy, coming to a full stop, "somethingis wrong: Otto would not have put the horse on a dead run if hehadn't been scared."

  Jack Carleton proved his training by the keenness and quickness withwhich he surveyed his surroundings. The woods were on every hand,but they were open and free from undergrowth, so that he gained anextensive view.

  As he advanced with vigorous steps along the winding path, his eyessometimes rested on the pendulous branches of the majestic elm, asmall purple flower here and there still clinging to the limbs andresisting the budding leaves striving to force it aside; the massiveoak and its twisted, iron limbs; the pinnated leaves of the hickory,whose solid trunk, when gashed by the axe, was of snowy whiteness;the pale green spikes and tiny flowers of the chestnut; thesycamore, whose spreading limbs found themselves crowded even in themost open spaces, with an occasional wild cherry or tulip, and nowand then a pine, whose resinous breath brooded like a perennial balmover the vast solitude.

  Jack Carleton was arrayed in the coarse, serviceable garb of theborder: heavy calf-skin shoes, thick trousers, leggings and coat,the latter short and clasped at the waist by a girdle, also ofwoolen and similar to that of the modern ulster. The cap was of thesame material and, like the other garments, had been fashioned andput together by the deft hands of the mother in Kentucky.Powder-horn and bullet-pouch were suspended by strings passing overalternate sides of the neck and a fine flint-lock rifle, theinseparable companion of the Western youth, rested on the rightshoulder, the hand grasping it near the stock.

  Jack's hasty survey failed to reveal any cause for fear, and heresumed his pursuit, as it may be termed. The quick glances he caston the ground in front showed, in every instance, that the horse hewas following was fleeing at the same headlong pace. His rider hadspurred him to a dead run, at which gait he had shot underneath thelimbs of the trees at great risk to himself as well as to his rider.

  The trail was broad, for loaded horses had passed in bothdirections, and wild animals availed themselves of it more than oncein making their pilgrimages to the Mississippi, or in migrating fromone part of the country to the other.

  But there were no footprints that had been made within the past fewdays, with the single exception noted--that of the horse which hadabruptly broken into a full run.

  The balmy afternoon was drawing to a close, and Jack began tobelieve the chances were against overtaking his friend andcompanion, young Otto Relstaub.

  "If he has kept this up very long, he must be far beyond my reach,unless he has turned about and taken the back trail."

  Glancing at the sky as seen through the branches overhead, the youthobserved that it was clear, the deep blue flecked here and there bypatches of snowy clouds, resting motionless in the crystalline air.

  Comparatively young as was Jack, he had been thoroughly trained inwoodcraft. When beyond sight of the cabins of the stragglingsettlement, where he made his home, he was as watchful and alert asDaniel Boone or Simon Kenton himself. His penetrating gray eyes notonly scanned the sinuous path, stretching in front, but darted fromside to side, and were frequently turned behind him. He knew thatif danger threatened it was as likely to come from one point asanother.

  He could not avoid one conclusion: the peril which had impelled theyoung German's horse to such a burst of speed must have been in theform dreaded above all others--that of the wild Indians who at thatday roamed through the vast wilderness of the West and hovered alongthe frontier, eager to use the torch, the rifle, or the tomahawk,whenever and wherever the way opened.

  The probability that such was the cause of the horseman's hastethrew the young Kentuckian at once on his mettle. Inasmuch as hewas putting forth every effort to rejoin his companion, there wasgood reason for fearing a collision with the red men. He had beenin several desperate affrays with them, and, like a sensible person,he spared no exertion to escape all such encounters.

  "If they will let me alone I will not disturb them," was theprinciple which not only he, but many of the bravest frontiersmenfollowed daring the eventful early days of the West.

  The youth now dropped into the loping trot of the American Indian--agait which, as in the case of the dusky warrior himself, he was ableto maintain hour after hour, without fatigue. The sharp glancesthrown in every direction were not long in making a discovery,though not of the nature anticipated.

  A short distance in front a white oak, whose trunk was fully twofeet in diameter, grew beside the trail which he was following. Itsshaggy limbs twisted their way across the path and among thebranches on the other side. The exuberant leaves offered suchinviting concealment to man and animal that the youth subjected themto the keenest scrutiny.

  His trot dropped to a slow walk, and he instinctively glanced at thelock of his gun to make sure it was ready for any emergency.

  Something was moving among the branches of the forest monarch, butJack knew it was not an Indian. No warrior would climb into a treeto wait for his prey, when, he could secure better concealment onthe ground, where he would not be compelled to yield the use of hislegs, which play such an important part in the maneuverings of thered man.

  The lad caught several glimpses of the strange animal, and, whenwithin a few rods, identified it.

  "It's a painter," he said to himself, with a faint smile, resuminghis slow advance and giving a sigh of relief; "I don't know whetherit is worth while to give him a shot or not."

  The name "painter," so common among American hunters, is acorruption of "panther," which is itself an incorrect application,the genuine panther being found only in Africa and India. In SouthAmerica the corresponding animal is the jaguar, and in North Americathe cougar or catamount, and sometimes the American lion.

  Jack Carlton did not hold the brute in special fear, though he knewthat when wounded or impelled by hunger he was a dangerous foe.During an unusually cold day, only a few months before, one of themhad made an open attack on him, inflicting some severe scratches andtearing most of his clothes to shreds.

&nbs
p; It would have been one of the easiest things in the world for theyoung Kentuckian to settle the whole question by leaving the trailand making a detour that would take him safely by the treacherousbeast, which, as a rule, is afraid to assault a person. The lad wascertain that at that season of the year it would not leave the treeto attack him.

  But if he took such a course, it would be a confession of timidityon his part against which, his nature and training rebelled.

  "No," Said he, after brief hesitation, "I won't leave the path forall the painters this side of the Mississippi. It may not be wisefor me to fire my gun just now and I won't do it, if he behaveshimself, but I don't mean to put up with any nonsense."

  He brought his weapon in front, raised the hammer and closelywatched the animal above, while the quadruped was equally intent inobserving him. It was a curious sight--the two scrutinizing eachother with such defiant distrust.

  The cougar was crouching on a broad limb, just far enough from thetrunk of the oak to be directly over the trail. He was extendedfull length, and, as partly seen through the leaves, offered thebest target possible for the marksman below.

  But Jack preferred not to fire his gun, for the reason that thereport was likely to be heard by more dangerous enemies. Hispurpose was to refrain from doing so, unless forced to shoot in selfdefense, and his pride would not permit him to deviate ahair's-breadth from the path in order to escape the necessity ofshooting.

  He walked with the deliberate, noiseless tread of an Indian, lookingsteadily upward at the eyes which assumed a curious, phosphorescentglare, that scintillated with a greenish light, as the relativeposition of the enemies changed.

  The lad passed under the limbs staring unflinchingly aloft. Whenexactly beneath, the cougar was hidden for an instant from sight,but, recognizing the changing conditions, he quickly lifted his headto the right, and the lad again saw the greenish glare, the whiteteeth, and blood red mouth. He traced the outlines of the sinewybody close along the limb, and through which he could have driven abullet with fatal certainty. The "painter," whose scream is oftenmistaken for the cry of a human being, uttered an occasionalsnarling growl as he looked down on the lad. His attitude andmanner seemed to say: "I've got my eye on you, young man! Walk verystraight or you will find yourself in trouble."

  The probability that a cougar is gathering his muscles on a limbwith the intention of bounding down on one's shoulders, is enough tomake the bravest man uneasy. Jack Carleton did feel a creepingchill, but the same pride which prevented him deviating ahair's-breadth from the trail, would not allow him to increase orretard his gait.

  "If you think you can make me run, old fellow," he muttered, withhis gaze still fixed on the beast, "you are mistaken. We don't meetwild animals in Kentucky that are able to drive us out of the woods.You needn't fancy, either, that I am in any hurry to walk away fromyou."

  And, to show the contempt in which he held the beast, the youth atthat moment came to a full stop, turned about and faced him.