The weekly herald. [volume] (Cleveland, Tenn.) 1876-1888, 1881-01-21


dred yards down the opposite bank of
the creek, a party of six Indians, sitting
on their ponies. They had reined up,
and stood among some little sand-hil.
locks, looking across, directly toward
where his camp was, in the cotton woods
1t then flashed TO his mind that il was
his horse which bad neighed. That
was why the Indians had pulled up so
suddenly and were staring across the
creek.
Markhead saw that, even could he
himself escape them, the Indians would
inevitably discover his camp and cap
ture his horse and provisions, together
with all the peltries he had trapped.
That was bad, But was was worse,
there was heavy dew that morning,
and his own trail through the grass
along the bank of the creek must, he
knew, be as plain as pike-staff.
He knew that the Indians would not
tail to discover his trail, and that they
would follow him like bloodhounds TO
his death. 1t is not strange that our
hunter thought no more of the bear,
and that his merriment was cut short
by this by no means laughable aspect
of affairs.
But Markhead was quick witted
fellow, not easily alarmed, and while he
lay there watching the Blackfeet as they
stealthily approached the place where
his horse was picketed, he hit on a ruse
for outwitting tEem at their own tao
tics.
Feeling sure that in a few minutes
they would be on his track, he slid
down from his perch on the bluff and
ran back to the creek, to the point
where he had left it in pursuit of the
bear.
Here he resumed his way up the
creek, taking care TO leave a plainly
marked trail through the wet grass,
with here and there footprint in the
mud or sand, just as if he was leisurely
proceeding along the bank, looking to
bis traps.
But he ran on fast, and never slack
ened his pace till he had covered dis.
tance of at least ten miles flom the
place where he had seen the Blackfeet
cross the creek. His surmise was that
the savages, on discovering his trail,
would pursue him, but would expect to
&C me upon him at every trap, and hence
would follow on stealthily, and at no
q eat speed.
Having thus planned out ten-mile
chase for them, Markhead ran back
across the narrow meadow, and climb
ing the bluffs, made detour for his
camp again, keeping a mile Or over
from the creek, back among the sand
bills and cliffs.
Being fleet and praticed runner, he
was not more than an hour and half
making the trip back to the vicinity of
his camp, among the cottonwoods, the
tall tops of which he could see at a
great distance.
After taking breath a few minutes,
and looking to his rifle, Markhead crept
out among the boulders on the crag
overlooking the camping place; for he
expected the Indians would leave one
of their number 10 watch the horses.
That ora he was prepared to deal with.
From the crag, he soon saw the six
ponies down among the timber. They
were hitched up near his own horse.
Nor was he wrong in his conjecture
about the savages leaving one of their
number with the horses. The packs
had been taken off the ponies backs;
and after looking few moments, he
espied an Indian sitting in the shade of
q bush, on heap of buffalo skins and
peltries.
Watching the Indian little, Mark
head crept down, noiseless as fox, to
large cottonwood, rather nearer the
horses, and then, steadying bis piece
against the tree-trunk, was Just about
to shoot the unwary sentinel, when the
Indian turned partially, and to his great
surprise, he saw that it was not Black
foot warrior, but a plump and very
comely squaw.
Markhead often admitted that, for the
instant, he was quite nonplussed. He
did not know what to do, for he would
not shoot the squaw. At length, ha
gave a shout, and rushed toward her.
The squaw bounded from her seat,
and seeing the trapper close upon her,
"yelled like pig" as MarkEead said,
and started to run away. Bat she had
not got many yards before Markhead
'eized her by her long hair; at which
the poor woman, thinking, no doubt,
that her last hour had come, crouched
on the ground, and begged piteously, in
choicest Blackfoot, for the white to
spare her.
Markhead led her back to the ponies,
and drawing his knife, intimated to her
by most emphatic dumb show that her
top.knot would assuredly come of if
she made the least attempt to escape.
With that, the squaw protested, with
every gesture she could devise, that she
would never try to get away; she
would be like little dog, and run at
his heels; she would be like the pony's
tail, always at his back, and inseparable
from him.
Finding that her life was in no inn
mediate danger, the squaw rapidly re-