The Daughter of the Chieftain | Page 5

Omas for how long a time he could leave his child with them, he said he must take her back that evening. His wigwam was a good many miles away in the woods, and he would have to travel all night to reach the village of his tribe.
Mrs. Ripley, however, pleaded so hard, that he consented to let his child stay until he came back the next day or soon thereafter for her.
When he rose to go, the long summer day was drawing to a close. He spoke to Linna in their native tongue. She was sitting on the floor just then, playing with a wonderful rag baby, but was up in a flash, and followed him outside.
"Wait a moment and she will come back," said Mrs. Ripley to her own child. She knew what the movement meant: Omas did not wish anyone to see him and Linna.
On the outside he moved to the left, and glanced around to make sure that no person was looking that way. Then he lifted the little one from the ground; she threw her arms around his neck, and he pressed her to his breast and kissed her several times with great warmth. Then he set her down, and she ran laughing into the house, while he strode off to the woods.
But at the moment of entering them he stopped abruptly, wheeled about, and walked slowly back toward the cabin.
Upon the return of Linna, Mrs. Ripley stepped to the front door to look for her son. He was not in sight, but Omas had stopped again hardly a rod distant. He stood a moment, looking fixedly at her, and then beckoned with his free hand for her to approach.
Without hesitation she stepped off the broad flat stone and went to him.
"What is it, Omas?" she asked in an undertone, pausing in front of him, and gazing up into the grim, painted countenance.
The Delaware returned the look for a few seconds, as if studying how to say what was in his mind. Then in a voice lower even than hers, he said--"You--little girl--big boy--go way soon-- must not stay here."
"Why do you say that, Omas?"
"Iroquois like leaves on trees--white men, call Tories--soon come down here--kill all white people--kill you--kill little girl, big boy--if you stay here."
The pioneer's wife had heard the same rumors for days past. She knew there was cause for fear, for nearly all the able bodied men in Wyoming were absent with the patriot army, fighting for independence. The inhabitants in the valley had begged Congress to send some soldiers to protect them, and the relatives of the women and children had asked again and again that they might go home to save their loved ones from the Tories and Indians; but the prayer was refused. The soldiers in the army were too few to be spared, and no one away from Wyoming believed the danger as great as it was.
But the people themselves knew the peril, and did their best to prepare for it. But who should know more about the Indians and Tories than Omas, the great Delaware warrior?
When, therefore, he said these words to Mrs. Ripley, that woman's heart beat faster. She heard the laughter and prattle of the children in the house, and she thought of that bright boy, playing with his young friends not far away.
"Where can we go?" she asked, in the same guarded voice.
"With Omas," was the prompt reply; "hide in wigwam of Omas. Nobody hurt palefaced friend of Omas."
It was a trying situation. The brave woman, who had passed through many dangers with her husband, knew what a visit from the Tories and Indians meant; but she shrank from leaving Wyoming, and all her friends and neighbors.
"When will they come?" she asked; "will it be in a few weeks or in a few days?"
"Getting ready now; Brandt with Iroquois--Butler with Tory-- soon be here."
"But do you mean that we shall all go with you tonight?"
The Delaware was silent for a few seconds. His active brain was busy, reviewing the situation.
"No," he finally said; "stay here till Omas come back; then go with him--all go--den no one be hurt."
"Very well; we will wait till you come to us again. We will take good care of Linna."
And without another word the Delaware turned once more, strode to the forest, which was then in fullest leaf, and vanished among the trees.
Mrs. Ripley walked slowly back to the door. On the threshold she halted, and looked around again for her absent boy. It was growing dark, and she began to feel a vague alarm for him.
A whistle fell on her ear. It was the sweetest music she had ever heard, for it came from the lips of her boy.
He was in sight, coming along the well worn path