“’Twas night ­the skies were cloudless blue,
     And all around was hushed and still,
  Save paddle of the light canoe,
     And wailing of the whippowill.”

On that sunny afternoon, the fish in a particular locality of a tributary of the Mississippi did not take the bait very well.  The spot to which we refer was that immediately surrounding Teddy, whose patience was well-nigh exhausted.  There he sat for several tedious hours, but had secured only two nibbles at his line, neither of which proved to be anything more.

“Begorrah, but it must be they’se frightened by meself, when that ould scalliwag give me a fling into the stream.  Jabers! wasn’t it done nately.  Hallo! there’s a bite, not bigger, to be sure, than a lady’s fût, but a bull-pout it is I know.”

He instantly arose to his feet, as if he were about to spring in the water, and stood leaning over and scanning the point where his line disappeared in the stream, with an intense interest which the professional angler alone can appreciate.  But this, like all others, proved a disappointment, and he soon settled down into his waiting but necessary attitude of rest.

“A half-hour more of sunshine, and then these same pants will be the same as if they’ve niver saan water, barring it’s mighty seldom they have or they wouldn’t be in this dirty condition.  Arrah! what can be the m’aning of that?”

Faintly but distinctly through the long stretch of woods came the sound of his name.  It was repeated again and again until the Irishman was convinced beyond all possibility of mistake.

“What is up now?” he asked of himself as he drew in his line.  “That is Mister Harvey’s voice sure, and he is calling as though he was in a mighty hurry.  Faith, and I must not linger!  If anything should happen whin I was away I’d feel wus’n old Boney at Watherloo whin he lost the day an’ his crown.”

The line was soon stowed away, and Teddy made his way at a half-walk and ran in a homeward direction.  He had gone about a hundred rods when he paused and listened.  Clearer and more distinctly came his name in tones whose earnest entreaty could not be mistaken.  Teddy rose on his heels and made reply to the hail, to assure his master, if possible, that he was approaching with all speed.

The Irishman’s words were yet lingering in his mouth, when another and more terrible sound reached his ears.  It was that of a suppressed, half-smothered woman’s scream ­a sort of gasp of terror.  It was so short and so far away that it was impossible to tell its direction.  He stopped, his heart beating like a hammer, but he heard no more.

“God protect me, but there’s something gone wrong at the cabin!” he exclaimed, dashing forward through the wood at a reckless rate.  A few moments later it came in view, and he then saw his master walking to and fro, in front of the house, with the child in his arms.  His manner and deathly pale face confirmed the forebodings of Teddy’s heart.

“What’s the matter, Mister Harvey?  What’s the matter?”

“That Indian has carried Cora away!” was the agonized reply.

“Where has the owld divil carried her?” very naturally asked the Hibernian.

“I do not know!  I do not know! but she has gone, and I fear we shall never see her again alive.”

“May me owld head be scraped wid a scalping-knife, an’ me hands be made into furnace-grates for being away,” ejaculated the servant, as the tears streamed down his cheeks.

“No, Teddy, you are not in the least to blame, nor is it my fault,” impetuously interrupted the missionary.

“Till me how it was, Mister Harvey.”

The husband again became composed and related what is already familiar to the reader.  At its close, Teddy dashed into the house and brought out his rifle.

“I’ll murther that At-to-uck, be me sowl, and then I’ll murther that haythen assassinator, an’ iverybody that gits in me way.  Be the powers of the saints and divils, but I’ll murther somebody.  May the divil roast me if I ­”

“Hold!” said the missionary, who by this time was himself again.  “The first thing to be attended to is pursuit.  We must not lose a second.  We can never follow them ourselves through the wood.  Hold the child, while I go to the village and get some of the Indians to help us.”

Teddy took the child that had cried itself asleep, and the missionary started on a full run up the river.  When he reached the settlement, it required but a moment to make his errand known.  A dozen warriors volunteered at once, for these dozen would have laid down their lives for their faithful instructor.  Many of the squaws also gave utterance to dismal howls upon learning what had befallen their pale-faced sister.  Had the missionary chosen to tell the part taken by At-to-uck in the affair, it may be reasonably doubted whether her life would have been spared.  But he was not the man to do such a thing.  Knowing how anxious Teddy would be to participate in the pursuit, he secured the wife of one of the Christian Indians to return with him, and take charge of the boy during their absence.

At the time of the missionary’s visit, the chief and his principal warriors were absent on an expedition to the north.  Although holding little interest himself in the mission of the minister among his people, he would undoubtedly have led a party to the search for the audacious savage who had abducted the respected white woman; and, had he been overtaken, a swift and merciless retribution would have fallen upon the trangressor’s head.

Harvey Richter deemed it best to take but a few Indians with him.  Accordingly he selected five that he knew to be skillful, and with them hurried at once in the direction of his cabin.  He saw with a sinking heart, as he returned, that the sun was already low in the horizon, and the woods were becoming dark and gloomy.  Teddy was at his post chafing like a confined lion.

“This woman, Teddy, will take care of the boy, so that you may join us in the search.”

“Bliss you for that!  It would be the hardest work of me life to stay here when I thought there’s a chance of gitting a whack at that thaiving villian.  Oh, if I could only git howld of him, I wouldn’t l’ave a piece of him big enough to spit on.”

“I think there’s little probability of either of us obtaining a glimpse of him.  We must rely upon these Indians to take the trail and follow it to the end.”

“They’re like the hounds in the owld country, barring they go on two legs an’ don’t stick their noses in the ground, nor howl whin they git on trail.  They’re mighty handy to have around ye at such a time as this, if they be savages wid only a spark of Christianity in ’em not bigger than a tobaccy pipe.”

“It will be impossible, I think, for the savage to conceal traces of his flight, and, if there be any chance of coming up with him, these men will surely do so.”

“But suppose Miss Cora should be tomahawked and ­”

“Don’t mention it,” said the missionary, with a shudder.

While these words were interchanged, the Indians had employed the time more profitably in solving the meaning of the footsteps upon the ground.  A slight whoop announced the trail’s discovery, and when the missionary turned, he saw the whole five gliding off in a line through the woods.  They went in “Indian file,” and resembled a huge serpent making its way with all swiftness toward its prey.

Our two friends started at once after them.  On reaching the edge of the Clearing Teddy asked, abruptly: 

“If the haythen comes back to the cabin while we’s be gone?”

“Impossible! he cannot.”

“Spowsen he hides his track in that manner, he may take a notion to gobble up the little boy.”

“He would not dare ­”

Nevertheless, the remark of his servant alarmed the missionary, and he hesitated.  There might be foundation for what had been said.  The savage finding the pursuit too close to escape with his prey, might slay her and then return stealthily to the cabin and dispatch the boy.  It would not do to leave him alone with the Indian woman.

“I can afford little assistance in the hunt, and will remain behind.  Hurry on, Teddy, or they will be too far away for you to follow.”

The Hibernian shot off through the trees, at a rate that soon exhausted him, while Harvey Richter returned within his cabin, there to keep company with his great woe, until the return of the pursuers brought tidings of the lost one.

An Indian on the trail is not likely to permit any trivial cause to turn him aside, and the five Sioux made rapid progress so long as the light in the wood allowed them to do so.  This, however, was a comparatively short time; and, after progressing fitfully and uncertainly for several hundred yards, they finally drew up to wait until the morrow.

The trail, instead of taking the direction of the river, as the pursuers believed it would, ran precisely parallel to it.  So long as the savage kept away from the stream ­that is, so long as he did not take to a canoe ­his trail could be followed with absolute certainty, and he be overtaken beyond doubt.  Impeded by an unwilling captive, he could not avoid a rapid gain upon him by his pursuers; and to escape certain capture, he must either abandon his prey or conceal his flight by resorting to the river.

It might be, and the pursuers themselves half believed, that the fleeing Indian did not fear a pursuit by any of his own race, in which case he could make a leisurely escape, as the unpracticed white men could not have followed him for a half-mile through the wilderness.  If this were really the case, the Sioux were confident of coming up with him before the morrow’s sun should go down.

The Indians had paused but a few moments, when a great tearing and scrambling was heard, and Teddy came panting upon them.

“What be yees waiting for?” he demanded.  “Tired out?”

“Can’t go furder ­dark ­wait till next day.”

“I’m sorry that yees didn’t stand it bitter.  I can go some ways further meself if yees’ll be kind enough to show me the trail.  But, yees don’t pant or blow a bit, so I can’t think ye’re too much tired.”

“Too dark ­can’t see ­wait till sun.”

“Oh, begorrah!  I didn’t understand ye.  The Injin ‘l’ git a good start on us, won’t he though?”

“Ain’t Injin ­white man!”

“A white man, does ye say, that run off wid Miss Cora?”

Two of the Indians replied in the affirmative.

Teddy manifested the most unbounded amazement, and for a while, could say nothing.  Then he leaped into the air, struck the sides of his shoes with his fingers, and broke forth: 

“It was that owld hunter, may purgatory take him!  Him and that owld Mahogany, what made me drunk ­blast his sowl ­have been hid around in the woods, waiting for a chance to do harm, and one is so much worse than t’other yees can’t tell both from which.  Och! if I but had him under the sight of me gun.”

The spot upon which the Indians and Teddy were standing was but a short distance from the village, and yet, instead of returning to it, they started a small fire and lay down for the night. They were upon the trail, and nothing was to turn them aside from it until their work was completed, or it was utterly lost to them.

Teddy was more loth than they to turn his face backward, but, under the circumstances, he could not forget the sad, waiting husband at home.  So he returned to the cabin, to make him acquainted with the result of their labors thus far.

“If the Indian only avoids the river, he may be overtaken, but if he takes to that, I am fearful he can never be found.”

“Be me sowl, Mr. Harvey, but thim savages says he’s not an Injin, but a white man, and yees know they cannot be mistook fur they’ve got eyes like hawks, and sinses sharper than me only needle, which, begorrah, hasn’t got a point.”

“Can it be that Bra ­that that hunter has done me this great wrong?” said the missionary, correcting himself so dextrously that his servant failed to observe it.  “Has such been the revenge that he has been harboring up for so many years?  And he has followed us these hundreds of miles for the purpose of striking the blow!”

“The owld haythen assassinator!  The bloodthirsty beast, the sneakin’ dog, the dirthy jail-bird, the ­”

“He has not shot either of us when we were at his mercy, for the purpose of lulling us into security, the better to obtain his revenge, and oh, he has succeeded how well!”

The strong man, who still sat in the front of his cabin, where he might catch the first sound of returning footsteps, now covered his face, and his whole form heaved with emotion.  Teddy began to feel uncomfortable.  He arose, walked to and fro, and wiped the tears from his own cheeks.  Despite his tears, however, he recognized in the exclamations of his master a reference to some mystery which he had long suspected, but which had never been cleared up.  The missionary must have met this strange hunter before this encounter in the wilderness, and his identity, and the cause of his deadly enmity, must, also, be known.  Teddy had a great curiosity; but, as his master had repulsed his inquiries upon a previous occasion, he forbore to make any reference to it.  He walked backward and forward until the good man’s emotion had subsided somewhat, and then he said: 

“Good Master Harvey, the owld cabin is so lonely wid the form of Miss Cora gone, that it’s meself that couldn’t very well stay here till morning.  So, wid yer leave jist, I’ll return to the Injins, so as to be ready to folly the trail bright and early in the mornin’.”

“And how do you suppose I feel, Teddy?”

“God save us!  It can be no worse than meself.”

“I am willing that you should go.”

The missionary had need, indeed, for the sustaining power which can come only from above.  The faithful Indian woman remained with his child through the night, while he, with bare head, and hands griped together, paced backward and forward until the morrow’s sun had risen.  How he prayed and agonized in spirit during those long, lonely hours, God and himself only know.  When the day had fairly dawned, he entered the house, lay down wearily, and slept a “long and troubled sleep.”

With a heavy heart Teddy made his way back through the woods to where the Indians were congregated.  They were seated around the camp-fire engaged in smoking, but did not exchange nor utter a syllable.  They all understood each other, and therefore there was no need of talk.  The Irishman seated himself beside them, and joined an hour or two in smoking, when they all lay down and slumbered.

All with the exception of Teddy, who could not sleep.  He rolled hither and thither, drew deep sighs, and took new positions, but it availed nothing.  The events of the past day had driven sleep far from his eyelids, and he soon gave over the effort altogether.  Rising to a sitting position, he scratched his head (which was significant only of abstraction of thought), and gazed meditatively into the smoldering embers.

While seated thus, an idea suddenly came to him which brought him instantly to his feet.  The fact that it had not occurred to the Indians he attributed to their inferior shrewdness and sagacity.  He recalled that the abduction of the young wife took place quite late in the afternoon; and, as she must be an unwilling captive of course, she would know enough to hinder the progress of the man so as to afford her friends a chance to overtake them.  Such being the case, the hunter would find himself compelled to encamp for the night, and therefore he could be but a short distance away.  The more the Irishman reflected, the more he became convinced that his view was right; and, we may state, that for once, at least, his supposition had a foundation to stand upon.

The matter, as has been evident from the first to the reader, rested entirely upon the impossibility of following the trail at night.  Thus far it had maintained its direction parallel with the river, and he deduced that it must continue to do so.  Such being the case, the man could be reached as well during the darkness as daylight.

Teddy concluded not to awaken the savages, as they would hardly coincide with him.  So he cautiously rose to his feet, and walking around them, made off in the darkness.  He was prudent enough to obtain an idea of the general direction before starting, so as to prevent himself going astray; after which he pressed the pursuit with all possible speed.  At intervals he paused and listened, but it seemed as if everything excepting himself was asleep.  He heard no sound of animal or man:  He kept his eyes flitting hither and thither, for he had hopes of chancing upon the camp-fire of the abductor.

It is always a difficult matter to keep one’s “reckoning” in the woods.  If they be of any extent, it requires extraordinary precautions upon the part of an inexperienced person to prevent himself from being lost.  Should he endeavor to travel by night, it would be almost a miracle indeed if he could save himself from going totally astray.

Teddy had every disadvantage to contend against, and he had not journeyed a half-hour, when his idea of his own position was just the opposite of truth.  As he had not yet become aware of it, however, it perhaps was just as well as if he had committed no error.  He was pressing forward, with that peculiar impelling feeling that it was only necessary to do so ultimately to reach his destination, when a star-like glimmer caught his eye.  Teddy stopped short, and his heart gave a great bound, for he believed the all-important opportunity had now come.  He scanned the light narrowly, but it was only a flickering point, such as a lantern would give at a great distance at night.  The light alone was visible, but no flame.  It was impossible to form any correct idea of its location, although, from the fact that the nature of the wood must prevent the rays penetrating very far, he was pretty certain it was comparatively close at hand.

With this belief he commenced making his way toward it, his movements certifying his consciousness that a mis-step would prove fatal.  To his dismay, however, he had advanced but a dozen steps or so when the light disappeared, and he found it impossible to recover it.  He moved from side to side, forward and backward, but it availed nothing, and he was about to conclude it had been extinguished, when he retreated to his starting-point and detected it at once.

Keeping his eye fixed upon it, he now walked slowly, but at the same point as before it disappeared.  This, he saw, must arise from some limb, or branch or tree interfering, and it only remained for him to continue advancing in the same line.  Having proceeded a hundred rods or so, he began to wonder that he still failed to discover it.  Thinking he might be mistaken in the distance, he went forward until he was sure he had passed far beyond it, when he turned and looked behind him.  Nothing but the dim figures of the tree-trunks rewarded his gaze.

Fully a half-hour was spent in wandering to and fro in the further efforts to locate the light that had caught his eye, and he finally sought to obtain his first stand-point.  Whether he succeeded or not Teddy never could tell, but he never saw nor learned anything more regarding the camp-fire to which he was confident that he had been in such close proximity.

About this time, which was in the neighborhood of midnight, Teddy made the discovery that he was lost, and, like a sensible person, gave up all efforts to right himself.  He was so wearied that he did not awake until daylight, when he was aroused by the five Indians, whose trail-hunt led them to the spot where he lay sleeping.

The trail was now followed rapidly for a half-mile when, as the pursuers had feared all along, it made a sudden bend to the river, upon the banks of which it was totally lost.  Not to be baffled in this manner, a canoe was produced with which three crossed the river.  The entire day was spent by these upon one bank, while the two other Indians and Teddy pursued the search for traces of the hunter’s landing upon their own side of the stream.  Not the slightest evidence was discovered that he had touched shore after embarking.  The man had escaped, and even the eagle-eyed Sioux were compelled on the second night to return to their village with the sad announcement that the TRAIL WAS LOST!