The Path of Duty, and Other StoriesCaswell, Harriet S. (Harriet Sophia)
General
The Path of Duty, and Other Stories
Caswell, Harriet S. (Harriet Sophia)
Country life -- Fiction; Family -- Fiction; Friendship -- Fiction; Pastoral fiction; Short stories
and found a large Indian sitting by the fire, both hands spread before
the flame to protect his eyes from the light, that his keen gaze might
rest unmolested upon us. As soon as he saw us a writhing grin spread
over his painted features, and rising he offered us each his hand in a
very friendly manner. The Indian drew from his belt a large pipe,
gaudily painted, and from which depended a profusion of wampum, beads,
and eagles' feathers. He lighted the pipe, and after taking a whiff,
passed it to Ralph, who, following his example, passed it to me. After
taking a puff I handed it to the Indian, who replaced it in his belt.
This very important ceremony being finished, the Indian made known his
business. After bestowing a thousand anathemas upon his red brethren, he
informed us that he had left the red man forever, and was willing to
join his white brothers, and to wage an exterminating warfare against
his own kindred. We strove to extort from him the cause of this
ebullition of passion, but he only shook his head in reply to our
questions, and uttered a guttural "ough." We at first suspected him of
some treacherous plot; but there was such an air of candor and
earnestness in the communication he now made, that we threw aside all
suspicion and confided in him. He stated that there was a large party of
Indians in our rear, who had been tracking us for several hours; and
that it was their intention early in the morning to surround us, and
take us prisoners for victims at the stake; "but," said he, "if my white
brudder will follow his red brudder he will lead him safe." We instantly
signified our willingness to trust ourselves to his guidance, and,
shouldering our blankets and guns, we left our camp, and followed our
guide due north at a rapid gait. For several miles we strode through the
thick woods, every moment scratching our faces and tearing our clothing,
with the thick tangled brush through which we had to pass, but
considering this of minor importance we hurried on in silence, save when
we intruded too near the nest of the nocturnal king of the forest, when
a wild hoot made us start and involuntarily grasp our rifles. "Sit on
this log and eat," said our red guide. Finding our appetites sharpened
by vigorous exercise, we sat on the log and commenced our repast, when
our guide suddenly sprang from his seat, and with a hideous yell bolted
into the forest and was soon lost to our sight. This conduct instantly
roused our fear; and with one accord we sprang to our feet. We gazed
around. Turn which way we would, the grim visage of a painted warrior
met our terrified gaze, with his tomahawk in one hand, and his rifle in
the other. "Perfidious villain," exclaimed Ralph, "and this is an
Indian's faith." An Indian of gigantic size, dressed in all the gaudy
trappings of a chief, now strode towards us. Ralph raised his gun, and
closed his eye as the sight of the weapon sought the warrior's breast.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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