THE next morning, a little after daylight, Frank awoke, and, raising himself on his elbow, he gazed about him. The storm had ceased, and the morning was clear and intensely cold. The fire, however, still burned brightly, for the boys had replenished¹ it several times during the night. His companions, comfortably wrapped up in their thick blankets, were sleeping soundly; but Frank thought it was high time they were stirring, for they had a good twenty miles to travel that day; so, reaching over, he seized Archie by the shoulder and shook him. The long tramp of the previous day had wearied the boys considerably²; but with several hearty³ shakes, Frank succeeded in getting them all on their feet; then, after washing his hands and face in the snow, he commenced to prepare their breakfast.
 
After a good deal of yawning and stretching, the others began to bestir themselves; and while Archie cut a supply of wood, with which to cook their breakfast, George and Harry⁴ busied themselves in packing their baggage on the sleds. As soon as they had eaten breakfast, they put out the fire, and renewed their journey.
 
The traveling was much more difficult than it had been the day before, for the snow was piled on the ice in deep drifts, and it was dark before they reached Uncle Joe’s cabin.
 
As they approached, they were welcomed by the old trapper’s dogs, and Uncle Joe finally appeared at the door.
 
“Get out, you whelps!” he exclaimed. “Who’s that a comin’ there?” he continued, trying to peer through the darkness.
 
“Friends,” answered Frank.
 
“Jeroomagoot!” ejaculated the old man, who recognized Frank’s voice. “What are you boys doin’ out in these woods this time o’ night? Come in—glad to see you any how,” and Uncle Joe seized their hands as they came up, and shook them heartily⁵. “What have you got on them sleds—your plunder⁶?”
 
“Yes,” answered Archie. “That’s a new way we have got of carrying our baggage.”
 
“Fetch it right into the house then, boys;” and, suiting the action to the word, Uncle Joe seized the sleds and pulled them into the cabin.
 
“Bars and buffalers!” exclaimed a voice, as the boys entered. “How de do youngsters?” and a tall, powerfully built man arose from his chair, and, striding across the floor, approached the boys. It was Dick Lewis—Uncle Joe’s brother.
 
He was a fine specimen⁸ of a North American trapper; fully⁷ six feet in hight, with a frame that seemed capable of enduring any amount of fatigue⁹. Thirty years among savage¹⁰ beasts, and still more savage men, had brought him in contact with almost every variety of danger. He had hunted and trapped on every little stream between the Rio Grande and the Great Bear Lake; had taken more than one rough-and-tumble fight with Rocky Mountain grizzlies¹¹; was very expert with the rifle; could throw the tomahawk with all the skill of an Indian; and could lasso and ride the wildest horse that ever roamed the prairie.
 
He was a good-natured, jovial¹² fellow, and when stretched out on his blanket before the cheerful camp-fire, no one delighted more to tell stories and crack jokes than he. He used to say that there was but one thing in the world he hated, and that was an Indian. And good cause had he for enmity; for, if the prairie and the deep, dark woods could speak, they could tell of many a deed of cruelty which he had seen practiced upon the unoffending trappers.
 
Dick had three times been bound to the stake, once when a mere¹³ boy, and had escaped by making use of his prodigious¹⁴ strength, and almost incredible swiftness of foot, which had won for him, from the Indians, the appellation¹⁵ of Big Thunder.
 
Of all the trappers, none was more active in punishing the Indians, or more hated and feared than he. One night, mounted on a powerful, well-trained mustang, he would appear, in spite of their vigilance, in their very midst, picking off their favorite chiefs, or “stampeding” their swiftest horses; and the next morning a warrior¹⁶, seated at his solitary¹⁷ camp-fire, fifty miles away, would be startled by the crack of the rifle that was to start his spirit on its way to the happy hunting-grounds. He seemed to delight in danger, and being perfectly¹⁸ acquainted with the Indian mode of warfare¹⁹, he eluded²⁰ all the plans to capture him, with the same skill and cunning he would exhibit in laying his own. But he did not always escape unhurt, for many an ugly scar on his body bore evidence to the valor²¹ of his enemies, and the severity of the struggles in which he had engaged. He did not call Uncle Joe’s his home. He had lived on the prairie, and among the mountains, from boyhood, and despising the ordinary modes of conveyance²² used by more enlightened men, he had traveled the entire distance, from the head-waters of the Missouri to his brother’s cabin, on foot.
 
“How are you, youngsters? I say,” he exclaimed, continuing his greeting, which we have so unceremoniously interrupted; and he seized Frank’s hand, and gave it a gripe and a shake, which he felt for a quarter of an hour afterward²³.
 
“Draw a cheer up to the fire, young’uns,” said Uncle Joe, “an’ set down.”
 
 
The boys were well acquainted with the trappers, and always made themselves quite at home with them; so, after brushing the snow from their feet, they pulled off their overcoats and seated themselves before the huge fireplace. The cabin—or, as Uncle Joe called it, “shantee”—was built in the most primitive²⁴ style, having but one room and a “loft,” to which access was obtained by a ladder. There were four beds in the room—rude-looking, indeed, but very clean, and abundantly supplied with quilts and blankets; while around on the walls hung the trappers’ rifles, hunting-knives, and powder-horns. Three large dogs lay stretched out before the fireplace, and one of them, a huge, powerful animal, was the only companion Dick had had for three years. He was an ungainly looking animal, but his strength and courage had been severely²⁵ tested in many a desperate encounter, and twice he had saved his master’s life. No wonder, then, that he held a prominent place in the trapper’s affections. The only other inmates²⁶ of the cabin were the four hired men—tall, brawny²⁷ fellows, who despised the city, with its “eternal jostlings and monotonous²⁸ noises,” but delighted in the freedom and solitude²⁹ of the forest.
 
 
“Had any supper, youngsters?” inquired Uncle Joe, as the boys drew their chairs up to the fire. “No, I reckon not,” he continued, without giving them time to reply. “Bob, just fetch out some grub. I’ll bet the boys are as hungry as wolves, after their long tramp.”
 
The boys did not raise any objections, for they were hungry, and they knew that the supper they would get would be worth having.
 
Bob, who was one of the hired men, began to bustle³⁰ about, and, after hanging the tea-kettle over the fire, he drew out a pine table, and covered it with a snow-white cloth, and dishes which shone in the fire-light in a manner that would have delighted a New England housewife. Then came ham and eggs, which, with the coffee, were cooked in the fireplace, wheat-bread, honey, and fresh butter and milk. Although they were forty miles from any settlement or neighbor, in the midst of an almost unbroken forest, there was no danger but what they would fare well, for Uncle Joe was famous for good living.
 
The boys ate very heartily, and Uncle Joe sat by, smoking his pipe, and watching them with evident satisfaction. After supper, while they were engaged in unpacking³² their sleds, Dick’s dog, which answered to the name of Useless, arose suddenly to his feet, looked toward the door for a moment, and uttered a dismal³³ howl.
 
“Injuns ag’in, by all that’s miserable,” ejaculated Dick, removing his pipe from his mouth, and instinctively³⁴ reaching toward his rifle, which hung on the wall above his head; but instantly recollecting³⁵ himself, he resumed his former position, while a dark scowl³⁶ settled on his face. In a few moments, light steps sounded in the snow outside the cabin, and Useless bounded toward the door barking, and showing his teeth, with every demonstration³⁷ of rage.
 
“Come back here, dog,” said Dick; “I don’t blame you, ’cause they are a mean, thievin’ race. The animal understands their natur’ as well as I do,” he continued, as the dog reluctantly returned to his place. “Me an’ him war brought up to hate Injuns, an’ we believe in makin’ war on ’em wherever we find ’em. It’s a mighty³⁸ wonder that they don’t steal Joe out o’ house an’ home.”
 
The country around Moosehead Lake was inhabited by the remnant of a once-powerful tribe, and the Indians, in going to and from the settlements to dispose of their furs, frequently made Uncle Joe’s cabin a stopping-place. Dick was not at all pleased with this state of affairs; but, as he often remarked, he was not “boss of the shantee, and couldn’t help himself.”
 
The footsteps drew nearer, and finally the door opened softly, and two Indians entered.
 
“How are you, Jim,” exclaimed Uncle Joe, shaking the outstretched hand of the foremost.
 
“How de do, brother,” replied the Indian, in imperfect English; and this was all the greeting that passed between them. They deposited their rifles and packs carefully in one corner of the cabin, and then advanced to the fire, and seated themselves on the floor without saying a word. They were dressed in the regular Indian costume, with leggins, moccasins, and hunting-shirts of the finest deer-skin, gaudily³⁹ ornamented⁴⁰, and wore knives in their belts. Such sights were not new to the boys, for Lawrence was a regular Indian trading-post. Frank thought that he had never seen such fine specimens⁴¹ of savages⁴² before. But different thoughts seemed to be passing through Dick’s mind, for he twisted uneasily in his chair, and smoked and scowled⁴³ more vigorously than ever. Useless seated himself by his master’s side, and watched them as closely as a cat ever watched a mouse, now and then uttering a low, angry growl⁴⁴. Neither of the Indians took part in the conversation that followed, but, after emptying their pipes, they spread their blankets out on the floor, and were fast asleep in a few moments.
 
“I don’t see what in tarnation you let them ar painted heathen camp in your shantee in this way for,” said Dick, at length, addressing himself to his brother. “The woods are open, an’ they won’t ketch cold by sleepin’ out-doors.”
 
“O, I don’t mind it,” answered Uncle Joe. “Me an’ the Injuns allers have been on good terms together.”
 
“Wal, you’ll wake up some mornin’ an’ find your shantee gone,” said Dick, “unless it is fastened down tarnation tight. I hate the rascals⁴⁵ wusser nor pisen, an’ I allers ache to begin a knock-down-an’-drag-out fight with ’em whenever I see ’em. Now, Useless,” he continued, turning to his dog, and speaking as though the animal could understand every word he said, “I’m goin’ to bed, an’ I want you to keep an eye on them fellers;” and Dick stretched his heavy frame out on one of the beds, while Useless crawled under the blankets, and lay down beside him. The others soon followed his example, and, in a few moments, nothing was heard in the cabin but the regular breathing of the sleepers⁴⁷.
 
The next morning the boys slept later than usual. When they awoke, they found Bob engaged in getting breakfast. The Indians had gone. According to their usual custom, they had resumed their journey at the first peep of day. Dick sat by the fire, engaged in looking over his “plunder,” as he called it, to see if any thing had been stolen.
 
“Wal,” said Uncle Joe, as they arose from the breakfast-table, “what do you youngsters kalkerlate to do first?”
 
“Let’s go and set our traps for foxes,” said Archie, who was particularly fond of hunting that kind of game, and had become quite proficient⁴⁸ in the art.
 
“Wal,” said Dick, “I’ll go with you. I have some traps that need ’tendin’ to;” and the trapper took down his long rifle and thrust his never-failing pipe into his pocket, and was ready for the start.
 
 
Archie began to overhaul⁴⁹ his traps, which had been piled in one corner of the cabin. He looked them over and over several times, and finally inquired:
 
“Frank, do you know what has become of all my fox traps? Three of them are missing.”
 
“They ought to be in that pile with the others,” answered Frank.
 
“There are only two of them here,” said Archie. “My best ones are gone; I’m afraid we have lost them. They must have got loose, and tumbled off the sled.”
 
“No, I guess not,” said his cousin; “they were all there last night, for I counted them.”
 
“That ar is what comes of allowin’ them Injuns to camp here,” said Dick.
 
“Jeroomagoot!” ejaculated Uncle Joe. “You don’t s’pose them Injuns stole the traps, do you?”
 
“Sartin, I do,” answered Dick, dropping the butt³¹ of his rifle heavily to the floor. “I don’t s’pose nothin’ else.”
 
“Wal, it’s the first thing I ever had stole,” said Uncle Joe.
 
“Thar’s whar the traps have gone to, any how,” said Dick. “Useless,” he continued, turning to his dog, “you aint worth a pinch o’ gunpowder⁵⁰. I told you to watch them fellers. I don’t see how the rascals could do it, for if Useless had seed one of ’em prowlin’ around, he would have muzzled⁵¹ him quicker nor lightnin’. If you want your traps, youngsters, you’ll have to foller them Injuns. I’ll go with you.”
 
“Will you,” exclaimed Archie. “Then, let’s start right off.”
 
“Wal, then,” said the trapper, “pull off them overcoats, ’cause it ’ill be the hardest job you ever done to ketch them Injuns.”
 
There was something novel and exciting in the idea of a chase after Indians. The boys had often read of such things, and now there was an opportunity for them to take part in one. They were soon ready for the chase. Shouldering their guns, they followed Dick from the cabin, and immediately set out on the trail of the Indians, which could be easily followed by the prints of their moccasins in the snow. All the dogs were left at home, except Useless; for he was the only one that understood “Injun hunting,” and the others would only be in the way. The trail ran directly down to the creek⁵², and as soon as they were fairly on the ice, the trapper broke into a “dog trot,” and the boys followed close behind him, in Indian file. After going a little way, Frank said:
 
“Dick, I don’t believe that both of those Indians went this way.”
 
“Why not?” inquired the trapper.
 
“Because there is only a single track, such as one person would make.”
 
“I guess you haven’t hunted Injuns much,” said Dick, with a laugh. “Don’t you know that when they are travelin’, the hindermost ones step exactly in the leader’s tracks? If fifty Injuns had been along here, they would not have left a bigger trail nor those two have. But arter you have hunted and fit ’em as much as I have, you could tell by lookin’ at a trail how many there was in the party. I hope you youngsters are good at runnin’.”
 
“We should not care about running a race with you,” answered George; “but if you will hold this gait, we will agree to keep up with you.”
 
“O, you’ll have to go faster nor this, if you want to ketch them Injuns,” said Dick. “See here—here’s where the rascals began to run.”
 
“How can you tell?” inquired Archie.
 
“Why, easy enough. You see the tracks are further apart nor they wur a little piece back. Come, youngsters! let out a little.”
 
The boys thought that Dick “let out” a good deal, for he almost redoubled his pace, and they concluded it was best to discontinue their talking; for they soon found that they had no breath to waste. After they had gone about two miles, the trail led them from the creek off into the woods; and, in a few moments, the trapper came to a stand-still on the bank of a small stream, where the trail abruptly⁵³ ended.
 
“Where did they go to?” inquired Frank, after he had looked in vain for the trail. “They couldn’t have jumped across the creek.”
 
“No;” answered the trapper, “that would be a better jump nor I ever saw made. We must go back.”
 
“What for?” asked George.
 
“Why, the thieves knowed that we would foller ’em, an’ they have doubled on their trail, just like a fox.”
 
 
“The tracks all point the same way,” said Frank, stooping down and examining the trail.
 
“In course they do,” said Dick. “You don’t s’pose you can tell by the looks of a red-skin’s track which way he is goin’, do you? I have knowed ’em to travel backward for more ’n a mile, to throw their enemies off the scent⁵⁴. But we hain’t got no time to waste. Come on.”
 
The boys followed the trapper back to the creek, and he immediately started off again at a rapid pace. There was not the least sign of a trail, and they were at a loss how to account for the trapper’s reasons for following the creek, when he knew that the trail ran back into the woods. At length he said, by way of explanation:
 
“This is takin’ a short cut on the Injuns. You see, they went back into the woods, an’ doubled an’ twisted about on their trail, an’ when they think they have fooled us nicely, they will come back to the creek again.”
 
The next two miles were passed over in silence. The boys could not have talked if they had wished to, for the rapid pace was telling on them severely, and they began to think that they had never known what running was. But the trapper did not seem to mind it in the least. His motions were easy and graceful⁵⁵, and he appeared to move along without making any exertion⁵⁶ whatever. They ran until almost noon, without seeing any signs of the Indians, and the boys began to think that the trapper had been mistaken in his calculations. But their doubts were soon removed by the finding of the trail.
 
“Hurry on now, youngsters,” exclaimed Dick; “but don’t make too much noise, for the redskins aint far off.”
 
And so it proved; for the next bend in the creek brought them in sight of the Indians, who were walking leisurely⁵⁷ along, with their packs on their backs, thinking, no doubt, that they had effectually eluded pursuit. But they soon became aware of the approach of the hunters, and, without stopping to look back, they commenced running at the top of their speed.
 
“Bars an’ buffalers!” exclaimed the trapper. “This is somethin’ like ole times. Now, youngsters, I’ll show you some runnin’ as is runnin’. Come, Useless, show us what you’re made of.”
 
 
The dog seemed to understand him perfectly, and was off on the instant, and the trapper followed after him at a rate of speed which the boys had never expected to see accomplished⁵⁸ by a human being. The creek, for almost a mile, was perfectly straight, and afforded them a fine view of the race, which was worth going miles to see. The Indians were no inferior runners; and, as they had nearly three hundred yards the start of Dick, the boys were doubtful as to the manner in which the chase would end. But the trapper had lost none of that lightness of foot which had rendered him so famous, both among friends and foes⁵⁹, and before they had gone half a mile, he was near enough to seize one of the Indians, while Useless pulled down the other as though he had been a deer.
 
The boys had been doing their best; but, of course, were left far behind; and when they came up they found the Indians standing⁶⁰ as motionless as statues, apparently⁶¹ perfectly unconcerned, and the trapper and his dog were keeping guard over them.
 
“Now, little ’un,” said Dick, addressing himself to Archie, and pointing to the packs which the Indians had thrown down, “look in them ar bundles an’ see if you can find your traps.”
 
Archie accordingly handed his gun to his cousin, and, kneeling down in the snow, opened one of the packs, when the first thing he discovered was his missing property. He arose slowly to his feet, and surveying the Indian to whom the pack belonged, with a comical expression on his face, said:
 
“You’re a grand rascal⁴⁶. I’ve a good notion to take the ramrod out of my gun and give you a good trouncing.”
 
The Indian was a man fully as large as Dick, very powerfully built, and muscular; while Archie was a little, “spindle-shanked” fellow, very small for his age, and looked as though he were in danger of being carried away by the first gust⁶² of wind that passed. The former, after regarding the diminutive⁶³ hunter for a moment, with an expression of contempt, drew himself up to his full hight, and ejaculated:
 
“Ugh! me big Injun.”
 
He, no doubt, considered it a gross insult that a person of Archie’s proportions should talk of “trouncing” him.
 
 
“Wal,” said the trapper, “we’re done with you, you painted niggers; travel on about your business; but I wouldn’t advise you to cross my trail, in these woods, this winter;” and Dick tapped his rifle in a very significant manner.
 
The savages raised their packs to their shoulders without making any reply, and walked off as though nothing had happened. As soon as they were out of sight, Archie packed up his traps, and the hunters turned their faces homeward.