Littlepage Manuscripts: Satanstoe, The Chainbearer & The Redskins (Complete Edition). James Fenimore Cooper

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СКАЧАТЬ line from the hut and spring. I continued near him, although neither had spoken during the whole of this examination, which had now lasted quite half an hour. As it was getting dark, however, and Jaap showed the signal that our supper was ready, I thought it might be well, at length, to break the silence.

      “What do you make of all this, Trackless?” I inquired. “Do you find any signs of a trail?”

      “Good trail”—Susquesus answered; “new trail, too Look like Huron!”

      This was startling intelligence, certainly; yet, much as I was disposed to defer to my companion’s intelligence in such matters, in general, I thought he must be mistaken in his fact. In the first place, though I had seen many foot-prints near the hut, and along the low land on which the Indian made his circuit, I could see none where we then were. I mentioned this to the Indian, and desired him to show me, particularly, one of the signs which had led him to his conclusion.

      “See,” said Susquesus, stooping so low as to place a finger on the dead leaves that ever make a sort of carpet to the forest, “here been moccasin—that heel; this toe.”

      Aided, in this manner, I could discover a faint foot-print, which might, by aid of the imagination, be thus read; though the very slight impression that was to be traced, might almost as well be supposed anything else, as it seemed to me.

      “I see what you mean, Susquesus; and, I allow, it may be a foot-print,” I answered; “but then it may also have been left by anything else, which has touched the ground just at that spot. It may have been made by a falling branch of a tree.”

      “Where branch?” asked the Indian, quick as lightning.

      “Sure enough; that is more than I can tell you. But I cannot suppose that a Huron foot-print, without more evidence than you now give.”

      “What you call that?—this—that—t’other?” added the Indian, stepping quickly back, and pointing to four other similar, but very faint impressions on the leaves; “no see him, eh?—Just leg apart, too!”

      This was true enough; and now my attention was thus directed, and my senses were thus aided, I confess I did discover certain proofs of footsteps, that would, otherwise, have baffled my most serious search.

      “I can see what you mean, Susquesus,” I said, “and will allow that this line of impressions, or marks, does make them look more like footsteps. At any rate, most of our party wear moccasins as well as the red-men, and how do you know that some of the surveyors have not passed this way?”

      “Surveyor no make such mark. Toe turn in.”

      This was true, too. But it did not follow that a foot-print was a Huron’s, merely because it was Indian. Then, where were the enemy’s warriors to come from, in so short a time as had intervened between the late battle and the present moment? There was little question all the forces of the French, pale-face and red-man, had been collected at Ticonderoga to meet the English; and the distance was so great as almost to render it impossible for a party to reach this spot so soon, coming from the vicinity of the fortress after the occurrence of the late events. Did not the lake interpose an obstacle, I might have inferred that parties of skirmishers would be thrown on the flanks of the advancing army, thus bringing foes within a lessened distance of us; but, there was the lake, affording a safe approach for more than thirty miles, and rendering the employment of any such skirmishers useless. All this occurred to me at the moment, and I mentioned it to my companion as an argument against his own supposition.

      “No true,” answered Susquesus, shaking his head. “That trail—he Huron trail, too. Don’t know red-man to say so.”

      “But red-men are human as well as pale-faces. It must be seventy miles from this spot to the foot of Lake George, and your conjecture would make it necessary that a party should have travelled that distance in less than twenty-four hours, and be here some time before us.”

      “We no travel him, eh?”

      “I grant you that, Trackless; but we came a long bit of the road in a canoe, each and all of us sleeping, and resting ourselves, in turns. These Hurons must have come the whole distance by land.”

      “No so. Huron paddle canoe well as Onondago. Lake there—canoe plenty. Why not come?”

      “Do you suppose, Trackless, that any of the French Indians would venture on the lake while it was covered with our boats, as was the case last night?”

      “What ‘our boat’ good for, eh? Carry wounded warrior—carry runaway warrior—what he care? T’ink Huron ‘fraid of boat? Boat got eye, eh? Boat see; boat hear, boat shoot, eh?”

      “Perhaps not; but those who were in the boats can do all this, and would be apt, at least, to speak to a strange canoe.”

      “Boat speak my canoe, eh? Onondago canoe, strange canoe, too.”

      All this was clear enough, when I began to reflect on it. It was certainly possible for a canoe with two or three paddles, to go the whole length of the lake in much less time than we had employed in going two-thirds of the distance; and a party landing in the vicinity of William-Henry, could certainly have reached the spot where we then were, several hours sooner than we had reached it ourselves. Still, there existed all the other improbabilities on my side of the question. It was improbable that a party should have proceeded in precisely this manner; it was still more improbable that such a party, coming on a war-path, from a distant part of the country, should know exactly where to find our hut. After a moment’s pause, and while we both slowly proceeded to join our companion, I suggested these objections to the Onondago.

      “Don’t know Injin,” answered the other, betraying more earnestness of manner than was usual with him, when he condescended to discuss any of the usages of the tribes, with a pale-face. “He fight first; then he want scalp. Ever see dead horse in wood—well, no crow there, eh? Plenty crow, isn’t he? Just so, Injin. Wounded soldier carry off, and Injin watch in wood, behind army, to get scalp. Scalp good, after battle. Want him, very much. Wood full of Huron, along path to Albany. Yengeese down in heart; Huron up. Scalp so good, t’ink of nuttin’ else.”

      By this time we had reached the hut, where I found Guert and Dirck already at their supper. I will own that my appetite was not as good as it might have been, but for the Onondago’s conjectures and discoveries; though I took a seat, and began to eat with my friends. While at the meal, I communicated to my companions all that had passed, particularly asking of Guert, who had a respectable knowledge of the bush, what he thought of the probabilities of the case.

      “If hostile red-skins have really been here, lately,” the Albanian answered, “they have been thoroughly cunning devils; for not an article in or about the hut has been disturbed. I had an eye to that myself, the moment we arrived; for I have thought it far from unlikely that the Hurons would be out, on the road between William-Henry and the settlements, trying to get scalps from the parties that would be likely to be sent to the rear with wounded officers.”

      “In which case our friend Bulstrode might be in danger?”

      “He must take his chance, like all of us. But, he will probably be carried to Ravensnest, as the nearest nest for him to nestle in. I don’t half like this trail, however, Corny; it is seldom a red-skin of the Onondago’s character, makes a mistake in such a matter!”

      “It is too late, now, to do anything to-night,” Dirck observed. “Besides, I don’t think any great calamity is likely СКАЧАТЬ