CHAPTER III. MARK’S ADVENTURE.

Mark was badly frightened, but he did not show it.

“Look here, old gentleman,” said he, with a pretty show of courage, “you had better not try to hurt any body with that knife. Put it away, and go back to camp where you belong.”

The savage paid no more attention to his words than if he had not spoken at all. He wanted to be revenged upon something for the fall he had received, and not daring to molest either the ladies or Mark, he charged furiously upon the hounds, which nimbly eluded all his attacks, and easily kept out of reach of the knife.

“Do you see what he is doing, mother?” shouted Mark, astonished and enraged at the Indian’s attempts to injure his favorites. “Say 30the word, and I’ll make the dogs stretch him as if he were a ’coon.”

“No! no!” answered mother, hastily. “Don’t make him angry, and perhaps he will go away after a while.”

“He is as angry as he can be already,” replied Mark.

The boy curbed his indignation as well as he was able, and watched the savage as he followed up the hounds, which barked at him, but kept out of his way. They ran under the house, but the robber crawled after them and drove them out. They were too well trained to take hold of him without the word from their master; but they grew angrier every minute, and finally, as if they feared that their rage might get the better of them if they remained longer in sight of their enemy, they sullenly retreated up the steps that led to the porch.

“Hold on, there!” shouted Mark, as the Indian, yelling furiously, prepared to follow the dogs into the house. “Keep away from there, I tell you.”

But the noble warrior did not stop. Striking right and left with his knife, he sprang up 31the steps into the midst of the women; and Mark, believing that it was his intention to attack them, yelled quite as loudly as the Indian.

“Hi! hi! Pull him down, fellows!” he shouted.

The hounds understood that yell; they had been waiting for it. As quick as thought one of them turned and sprang at his throat; the other seized him by the shoulder from behind, and the savage was thrown flat on his back—stretched as if he had been a “’coon.”

It was astonishing how quickly all the fight was shaken out of that ferocious Choctaw. He made one or two wild cuts at his assailants, then the knife dropped from his grasp and he lay like a log upon the porch. He was so still, and the blood flowed so freely from the numerous wounds he had received, that Mark became frightened and spoke to the hounds, which released their enemy very reluctantly. He never would have robbed any more dinner-tables if they had been allowed to have their own way with him.

“Ugh!” roared the Indian, when he found 32himself free from the teeth of the hounds. “Wh-o-o-p!”

He was not seriously injured; he had been “playing ’possum.” He raised himself to a sitting position and gazed about for a moment with a bewildered air, and then jumped to his feet, bounded down the steps and drew a beeline for camp at a rate of speed that made Mark open his eyes.

He did not stop to look for gates, or to let down bars. Whatever may have been that Indian’s claims to courage, he could certainly boast of being a swift runner and a most remarkable jumper.

“Oh, you awful boy! What have you done?” chorused all the visitors, as Mark entered the house.

“I’ve saved somebody from being hurt—that’s what I’ve done,” was the cool reply. “I am the only man about the house, and of course it was my duty to protect you.”

“But don’t you know that an Indian never forgives an injury? He will have revenge for that. He will come back here with his friends and kill and scalp us all.”

33“Well, he had better bring a good many friends if he intends to try that,” said Mark, shaking his head in a very threatening manner. “I’ll take Rock and Dash and whip his whole tribe. How long before dinner will be ready, mother?”

For an answer to this question he was referred to the cook. Now, Aunt Martha was an old and favorite servant, who had somehow got it into her head that she had a perfect right to grumble at any one, from her master down to the smallest pickaninny on the plantation. Having recovered from her fright, she was scolding at an alarming rate over the loss of her fine dinner, and for want of some better object upon which to vent her spite she opened upon Mark the moment he entered the kitchen.

Being unable to obtain any satisfactory replies to his questions, he walked off whistling to drown the clatter of the cook’s tongue, and as he went down the steps he heard her say to herself:

“Dat ar is a monstrous bad boy. He’s boun’ to be de def of all us white folks.”

34At the end of an hour Mark was again summoned to dinner, which this time passed off without interruption. Aunt Martha had recovered her good nature, and sought to restore herself to favor by stepping down from her high position as head cook, and condescending to wait upon “young mass’r,” whose plate she kept bountifully supplied.

When Mark returned to the shop after eating his dinner, he noticed that an unusual silence reigned in the Indian camp. Not a yell, or a song, or even the bark of a dog came from the woods, which were so still that Mark almost believed them to be deserted.

As he could not help feeling somewhat uneasy over what had been said in regard to the savage coming back with re-enforcements, he kept his eye turned in the direction of the camp, and presently discovered a gray streak moving through the cotton-field.

As it approached he saw that it was an Indian; and when he reached the fence Mark recognized the young wrestler, who appeared to be intensely excited about something. He breathed hard after his rapid run, his eyes had 35a wild look in them, and he was in so great a hurry to communicate the object of his visit that he began shouting to Mark as soon as he came within speaking distance.

He might as well have kept silent, however, for he talked principally in his native tongue, and Mark could not understand that. Reaching the fence, he cleared it at a bound, and running up to Mark, who stood looking at him in astonishment, exclaimed:

“Mil-la-la, you white boy! mil-la-la you, quick!”

And as he spoke he seized Mark by the arm, and tried to pull him toward the house.

“Now, see here,” said the latter, pulling off his jacket; “do you want to wrestle? If you do, you’re just the fellow I am looking for.”

“No, no! no, no!” cried the young savage, jumping back, and vehemently shaking his head. “Mil-la-la, you!”

“Talk English, why don’t you?” said Mark impatiently. “I can’t understand that jargon. What do you want me to do? If you haven’t come over here to wrestle, you had better keep your hands to yourself.”

36“Well, I mean you run,” urged Jim. “You run away, quick. See! Indian coming to kill!”

He pointed toward the cotton-field, and the sight that met Mark’s gaze made the cold chills creep all over him. A party of half a dozen braves were approaching the shop in single file at a rapid trot. They were all stripped to the waist, daubed with paint, wore feathers in their hair, carried knives and hatchets in their hands, and altogether their appearance was enough to frighten any boy who had never seen Indians in war costume before. The foremost warrior was the one who had been pulled down by the dogs. When he discovered Mark, he placed his hand to his mouth and gave the war-whoop.

“Jeemes’ River!” was Mark’s mental ejaculation (that was what he always said when he was astonished or alarmed). “Don’t I wish I was somewhere?”

“See, you white boy!” exclaimed Jim, who was so excited and terrified that he could scarcely stand still. “You run, or Indian kill.”

“Keep your hands off,” said Mark, as the 37young wrestler once more tried to push him toward the house. “This is my father’s plantation. I’ve more right here than they have. I haven’t done any thing to be ashamed of, and I shan’t run a step.”

The savages had by this time reached the fence that inclosed the cotton-field, and there they stopped to listen to a speech from their leader, who emphasized his remarks by flourishing his knife and hatchet above his head and yelling furiously.

“Look here, Jim!” said Mark suddenly. “Go and tell those fellows that if they know when they are well off they won’t come over that fence.”

“Oh, no! You run!” entreated Jim, who seemed to be greatly distressed on Mark’s account. “Indian kill, sure!”

“I shan’t budge an inch. Now, that’s flat. Jim, I shan’t tell you more than a dozen times that if you don’t want to wrestle you had better keep your hands away from me. Go and tell those painted gentlemen that I say they have come close enough.”

The young wrestler, seeing that Mark was 38firmly resolved to stand his ground, darted off like a flask, and, perching himself upon the fence, began a speech. He threw his arms wildly about his head, twisted himself into all sorts of shapes, and shouted at the top of his voice.

Mark could not understand a word he said, but the Indians could, and they seemed very much interested. They listened respectfully, no doubt, because the speaker was the son of their chief, only interrupting him now and then with a long-drawn “O-o m-i!” which was probably intended for applause.

If Jim was trying to induce the warriors to return peaceably to camp, he did not succeed in his object. The leader looked toward Mark, who stood in the door of the shop, keeping his eye on the savages, and stooping down occasionally to caress his hounds, and becoming enraged at his coolness, again raised the war-whoop, whereupon Jim brought his speech to a sudden close, and, jumping down from the fence, hurried up to Mark, and begged him to run for his life.

“I shan’t stir a peg,” was the angry response. 39“Go back and say to those men that I am tired of waiting. Tell them that if they come inside this lot I’ll make my hounds eat them up.”

Jim ran back to the fence, and for the second time occupied the attention of the warriors with a speech. They listened attentively for awhile, as before, but his eloquence seemed to make but very little impression upon them, for the leader again raised the war-whoop, and placed his hands upon the fence, as if about to spring over.

“Come on!” shouted Mark, who was every moment growing more angry and impatient. “Come inside this lot if you dare! Hands off, Jim!” he added, pushing back the young Indian, who once more tried to pull him toward the house. “I am just in the right humor for a wrestle now, and when I get through with your friends there I will show you what a white boy can do. Jeemes’ River! why don’t you come on?”

But the Indians, if they had any intention of crossing the fence at all, were not ready to do it just then. They listened to another long speech from their leader, and then, to Mark’s 40great amazement, started back through the cotton-field toward the camp. When they disappeared in the woods, Mark drew a long breath of relief, and turned to Jim, who stood looking at him with every expression of wonder and curiosity. The young wrestler was hardly prepared to believe that any one, especially a boy sixteen years old, could see the famous Choctaw braves in war-paint without being very badly frightened.

“You no afraid?” he inquired.

“Afraid!” repeated Mark. “Scarcely. What’s the use of being afraid until you see something to be afraid of? I feel grateful to you, Jim, for the interest you seem to take in my welfare, and I assure you that I shall always remember it. But you know you challenged me to wrestle with you last night. Come on now; I am ready for you.”

But Jim was not ready for Mark. The latter had given evidence that he was blessed with a goodly share of courage; and the Indian, believing, no doubt, that he possessed strength and activity in the same proportion, thought 41it best to keep out of his reach. He retreated toward the fence, crying out, “No, no; no, no, white boy!” at the same time waving Mark back with his open hands.

“Well, then, if you don’t want to wrestle, perhaps you will be good enough to carry a message from me to your friends,” said Mark. “Tell them that if they will take my advice they will leave this plantation with as little delay as possible. I shall ride through those woods with my hounds about sundown, and—pay strict attention to what I say now, Jim—if I catch a redskin in that camp, I’ll—I’ll—”

Mark finished the sentence by drawing his head down between his shoulders, opening his eyes to their widest extent, spreading out his fingers like the claws of some wild animal, and assuming a most ferocious expression of countenance, which made Jim retreat a step or two as if afraid that Mark was about to jump at him.

I am not certain that Mark could have told exactly what he meant by this pantomime, and neither am I prepared to say how Jim interpreted 42it; but I do know that he started for the camp with all possible speed, while Mark, highly excited, went back to the house to relate his adventure to mother.

That evening, about an hour before sunset, we returned from our deer hunt, and were not a little surprised to find the camp deserted. Not an Indian was to be seen. The warriors, squaws, pappooses, dogs and all had left for parts unknown. Father laughed when mother told him what had happened during our absence; but I could see by the expression in his eye that one Indian, at least, did a very wise thing when he took Mark’s advice and left the plantation.

I have since learned enough about these people to know that Mark showed himself a hero on that day. If he had taken to his heels the Indians would have pursued him, and there was no knowing what they might have done in their blind rage. His bold front cooled their ardor, and perhaps saved somebody’s life.

Although the savages had left the plantation, we were not yet done with them. A few nights afterward our cotton gin was set on fire, and 43the moccasin tracks in the mud showed who did it. We had a lively time hunting up the incendiaries, and I came in for some adventures, the like of which I had never known before.