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Hope and Have; Fanny Grant Among the Indians

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CHAPTER XIV. THE INDIAN BOY. Above the voices of the other savages, the harsh and heavy tones of Lean Bear were prominent. He spoke in the Indian dialect, and of course the anxious fugitives could not understand what he said; but he seemed to be angry and impatient, disappointed and chagrined; and Ethan and Fanny readily inferred that, as he was searching for them, he was the more ferocious because he could not find them. They lay silent and motionless in their hiding-place, hardly daring to breathe, lest a sound should reach the quick ears of their relentless foes. The Indians searched in every nook and cranny of the barn where a human being could possibly be concealed. They climbed to the top of the mow, pulled over the hay, jumped upon it, and thrust their knives deep down. The fugitives felt the weight of the pursuers pressing heavily down upon them; they realized that the points of the bloody knives were within a short distance of their vital organs; but, breathless and silent, they lay in the most agonizing suspense, expecting to be dragged from their retreat, and subjected to atrocities which it froze their blood to think of. The remorseless miscreants howled with disappointed rage as the search was abandoned. Fanny and Ethan drew a long sigh of relief when they heard their foes on the floor beneath them. The good Father to whom they prayed so earnestly had dimmed the eyes of the savages so that they could not see, and the danger of that terrible moment passed by them. Fanny breathed her thanks to God for her safety—she did not dare to speak them. The savages consulted together, using brief, sharp, and exciting sentences. Their words were not understood, and no clew to their future purposes could be obtained. Lean Bear spoke in tones even more savage than he had used before, and the steps of the Indians were heard as they left the barn. "Hev they gone?" asked Ethan, in a convulsive whisper. "Yes, I think they have," replied Fanny, in a tone not less agitated. "Let us thank God that we are still safe." "Don't whistle till you get out o' the woods," added Ethan, who referred, not to the thanks, but to the exultation which his companion appeared to feel at their apparent safety. "We must be thankful and submissive, Ethan. We have been saved this time, whatever may happen next." "I am thankful." "I know you are. We must trust in our Father in heaven if we expect him to hear our prayer." "'Sh!" interposed Ethan, as he became silent and motionless again. The voices of the Indians were heard near the barn again, and other moments of agonizing suspense were in store for the fugitives. The gruff tones of Lean Bear rose above those of his companions, and it was evident that they had not yet given up the search. "Ho, ho, ho! He, he, he!" yelled the monsters, which cries were to them expressions of satisfaction. It was painfully clear to Ethan and Fanny that the Indians had made some important discovery, or done some act which would accomplish their purpose. More agonizing than the thought came the reality, a few moments afterwards, while the wretches outside of the barn were still shouting their hideous yells. A smell of smoke, accompanied by a sharp, crackling sound, assured the waiting, trembling couple in the hay-mow that their worst fears were realized. The Indians had set fire to the barn. "We are lost!" exclaimed Fanny. "They have set fire to the barn!" "'Sh! Don't say a word," interposed Ethan. "We shall be burned to death!" "Don't give up; keep still." "Keep still?" repeated Fanny, amazed at the self-possession of her companion. "We shall be burned to death in a few minutes." "Don't say nothin', Fanny." It was not easy to keep still in that terrible moment of peril, but Ethan seemed to know what he was about, and his coolness and courage acted as inspiration upon his terrified companion. Fanny prayed again, in a hardly audible whisper; but this time, Ethan, though perhaps his heart was with her, was thinking of something else. She felt more calm after her prayer, though the dense smoke and the snapping flames admonished her that death was close at hand. The rough prairie boy looked resolute, and seemed to have conquered his fears. She wondered whether he had discovered any possible avenue of escape, for nothing but the promptings of a strong hope, whether real or delusive, could have produced such a change in his bearing. "Better be burned up, than butchered by the redskins," said he, at last. Was this the explanation of his new-born courage? It was a terrible alternative, but Fanny was forced to believe that what he said was true. "Is there no escape for us?" "Don'no; whar's the Injins now?" "I don't hear them," replied Fanny. "Nuther do I. We must stay here jest as long as we kin." "But the barn is on fire! If we are going to get out at all, we must do so at once." "Don't hurry. The fire's all out to t'other end o' the barn. It won't hurt us jest yit," said Ethan, with wonderful coolness. "I s'pose the Injins is in a hurry, and they won't stop no longer'n they want to. Jest as soon as they move off we'll git out." "How shall we get out after the barn is all in a blaze?" "That's easy enough. I ain't a bit afeered of the fire, but I am pesky skeered of the Injins." The confidence of Ethan increased the courage of Fanny. She had more to dread from the Indians than he had, and if he preferred to die by the flames, she ought to be willing to share his fate. She commended her soul and that of her companion to God, and tried to be calm and resolute, and she succeeded to an extent which astonished herself. The fire was rapidly leaping upward, and the barn was soon enveloped in flames. The Indians could not now be seen through the cracks, nor could their voices be heard, and the fire-besieged fugitives supposed they had gone to new fields of blood and rapine. "We can't stand it much longer—kin we?" said Ethan, as they heard the crash of some falling timbers at the other end of the building. "We are not burned yet, but I am nearly suffocated by the smoke," replied Fanny. "Do you suppose the Indians are gone?" "I reckon they be; but they hain't gone fur yit," added Ethan, as he applied his shoulder to one of the boards on the side of the barn. "Let me help you," said Fanny. "You ain't nothin' but a gal, and you can't do much," replied Ethan. He was a stout boy, and the board, only slightly nailed, gave way before the pressure he applied to it; but it required a great deal of labor to detach it from the timbers above and below. He had not begun this work a moment too soon, for the flames were sweeping over the surface of the mow, and the roof was falling in upon them. The barn was stored full of new hay, which, being partially green, did not burn very readily, especially the solid masses of it. The heat was intense, and nothing but a greater peril without could have forced them to remain so long in the building. The first board was removed, and then a second, leaving an opening wide enough for them to get out. They were about fifteen feet above the level of the ground, but there was no difficulty, even to Fanny, in the descent, though some young ladies might have regarded this minor obstacle as one of some importance. Ethan thrust his head out at the aperture, and looked in every direction his position commanded a view of, in search of the Indians, but none of them were in sight. "Be quick, Ethan, or the fire will be upon us," said Fanny, who began to feel the near approach of the flames above her. "Where shall we go when we get out? We must understand matters a leetle grain aforehand." "I think we had better go down to the lake. We can take the boat and go over to the island." "That's fust rate," replied Ethan, with enthusiasm. "The Injins hain't got no boats, and can't foller us. Now we'll go down; but be keerful. It would be miser'ble to break your neck here, arter gittin' clear of the fire and the Injins both." Ethan descended, holding on at each side of the aperture with his hands, and thrusting his feet into the solid mass of hay in the mow. Fanny, adopting the same method, also reached the ground in safety. "'Sh!" said Ethan, as he took her arm. "Run for them bushes!" and he pointed to a little thicket near the barn. Fanny ran with all her speed to the bushes, and concealed herself behind them. She was immediately followed by Ethan. The barn was now nearly consumed; the portion of the roof which had not before fallen in, now sunk down with a crash upon the masses of burning hay. The lake was beyond the house, which they were obliged to pass in order to reach their destination. "I s'pose the sooner we start, the sooner we'll git there," said Ethan, after he had carefully surveyed the ground to ascertain if any savages were near. "I am ready, Ethan. I will do whatever you say." "We'll go now, then. Foller me, Fanny." Ethan led the way, but they had hardly emerged from the bushes before they were appalled to find that they were discovered by their savage foes. "Ho, ho, ho!" yelled the Indians from behind them. It appeared that Lean Bear and his companions had waited in the vicinity until the burning barn was so far consumed that it was not deemed possible for a human being to remain concealed in it, and then moved off towards another part of the settlement. With watchful eyes behind as well as before them, they had discovered the young fugitives when they left the clump of bushes. "Ho, ho, ho!" shouted the painted wretches, as they gave chase to Fanny and Ethan. "Run for the house!" cried Ethan. "Why not for the lake?" asked Fanny, in an agony of despair. "They'll ketch you afore you git half way there. Run for the house!" They were both running with all their might; and Fanny, though against her judgment, directed her steps to the house. As they approached the back door, an Indian boy and a squaw came out of the building, where they had probably been searching for such valuables as might have escaped the hasty observation of the party who had sacked the premises. The boy was apparently about ten years old, and the woman appeared to be his mother. Fanny, not suspecting any harm from a woman and so young a boy, still ran towards the door, being in advance of Ethan, who was chivalrous enough to place himself in position to cover the retreat of his companion in case of need. To the surprise of Fanny, the squaw placed herself in her path, and attempted to seize her, uttering yells hardly less savage than those of her male companions. The terrified girl paused in her rapid flight till Ethan came up. The resolute fellow had already picked up a heavy cart stake, and when he saw the new and unexpected peril which menaced Fanny, he rushed forward, and though the squaw drew a long knife and stood her ground, he dealt her a heavy blow on the head, which felled her to the ground. "Run into the house as fast as you kin, Fanny," said Ethan. She obeyed, and, in doing so, passed the scalped and mutilated form of her aunt, which lay near the door. The sight made her sick at heart, and she had almost fainted under the horror induced by a single glance at the ghastly spectacle. Such might, and probably would be her own fate, for it was hoping against hope to expect any other issue. She reached the door, and clung to the post for support. Then she saw that Ethan, instead of following her, was pursuing the Indian boy. It was but a short chase, for he immediately overtook the youth, and in spite of his yells, dragged him into the house with him. Ethan seemed then to have a savage spirit, for he handled the boy without mercy, dragging him by the hair of the head, and kicking him to accelerate his movements. The capture of the young Indian had been witnessed by the whole of the pursuing party, who yelled with renewed vigor when they saw him borne into the house. When they reached the place where the squaw had fallen, they paused. The tall form of Lean Bear was seen bending over her, and it was plain that there was confusion in the counsels of the savages. "Hold this boy, Fanny," said Ethan, out of breath with the violence of his exertions, as he took from the belt of the little prisoner a small scalping-knife, and offered it to Fanny. "Don't let him go, no-how; stick him ef he don't keep still." "I can hold him; I don't want the knife," replied she, as she grasped the boy by the arms, bending them back behind him. Taking her handkerchief, she tied his arms behind him, so that he was powerless to do her any mischief. She then cut off a portion of the clothes line, which hung up in the kitchen, and tied his feet together. In this condition, he was secured to a door. The boy looked cool and savage; he did not cry, and ceased to struggle only when the bonds prevented him from doing so. "Now we are ready for sunthin'," said Ethan, as he appeared with two guns and a revolver, which he had taken from their place of concealment behind the oven. <div style="break-after:column;"></div>

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