Chapter 2 Po-No-Kah: An Indian Tale of Long Ago by Mary Mapes Dodge
EXPLORING THE STREAM
One of the favorite holiday resorts of Bessie and Rudolph was a lovely spot in the forest, not a quarter of a mile from the house. Shaded by giant oaks, whose gnarled roots lay like serpents, half hidden in the moss, ran a streamlet, covered with sunny speckles, where parted leaves admitted the sunshine. Flowers grew along its banks in wild profusion, and it held its wayward course with many a rippling fall and fantastic turn, until it was lost in the shades of the forest.
"Where does it go to, I wonder?" the children often would say to each other, longing for permission to follow its windings farther than the limits prescribed by their parents would allow.
"To the ocean, of course," Rudolph would answer, triumphantly; while Bessie, looking at its golden ripple, and listening to its musical song, half believed that it carried its wealth of sparkling jewels to Fairyland itself.
Sometimes, when Bouncer was with them, they lingered so long by the mysterious streamlet, sending chip boats adrift upon its surface, or trying to adjust troublesome little water-wheels under some of its tiny cascades, that Mrs. Hedden would blow the big horn as a signal for their return; and as they ran home, playing with Bouncer by the way, or scolding him for shaking his wet sides under their very faces, they would inwardly resolve to coax father to take them up the stream on the very first pleasant Saturday.
Accordingly, on one bright Friday in June, as Bessie and Rudolph were returning from school together, they ran toward their father, who was working in the clearing.
"Father! father!" they shouted, "will you take us down the stream to-morrow?—we want to see where it goes to."
"Goes to?" laughed back the father. "Why, it goes to the moon; didn't Kitty say so last night?"
"Now, father," returned Bessie, pouting just a little, "you know we don't believe that. We want you so much to take us in the boat; it doesn't leak at all now—oh! do." And both children fairly capered in their excitement.
Mr. Hedden smiled; but; after wiping his forehead with a red and yellow handkerchief, went on thoughtfully with his work without returning any answer.
The children, looking wistfully at him a moment, turned toward the house, wondering among themselves, "what father meant to do about it."
That evening, at the supper-table (where they didn't have napkin rings or silver salt-cellars, I can assure you), Mr. Hedden asked his wife whether Tom Hennessy was back from "up river" yet?
"I think he came home yesterday," returned his wife. "Why do you ask?"
"Because I thought, as to-morrow'll be a holiday, I'd get him to take the youngsters down the stream in the scow."
"Oh! husband," rejoined Mrs. Hedden, looking up anxiously, "do you think it's safe?"
"Why not, Betsey?—the scow doesn't leak; and even if it did, the water isn't above Tom's waist anywhere."
"I don't mean anything of that kind," pursued the wife, smiling in spite of herself at the joyful faces of the young folks. "I—I mean the Indians."
"Oh, never fear about them; I'll give Tom every necessary caution," was the answer. "The boat won't be gone more than two hours altogether; and, to my mind, there wouldn't be the slightest danger in letting even little Kitty join the party."
"Oh! tanky, Poppy, tanky!" shouted Kitty, clapping her chubby hands in great glee. Every one at the table laughed heartily at her unexpected response.
Bright and early the next morning, the children stood in the door-way, eagerly looking out for Tom. Big Tom, the village boys called him; and well they might, for he was a staunch, burly fellow, who looked as if he could crush an Indian in each hand—not that he had ever had an opportunity to perform that remarkable feat, for Tom Hennessy had but recently arrived from a large town in the East; but he looked as if he could do it; and, therefore, had credit for any amount of prowess and strength.
After sundry directions given by Mr. Hedden to Tom, and a command from their mother for the little folks to be home at dinner-time, they set forth amid shouts of laughter and merriment. Kitty was there in all her glory, for, after what "Poppy" had said, she had insisted upon joining the party. Even Bouncer, in spite of many a "Go back, sir!" "Call him, mother!" had quietly insinuated himself into the group, and neither threats nor coaxing could force him away.
It was a glorious day; and, as they neared the stream, it seemed to sparkle into joyous welcome at their approach.
Soon, comfortably seated in the scow, they were pushed and rowed laboriously along by the good-natured Tom, while Bouncer panted along the bank, or dashed into the water, splashing the boat in fine style. In passing the accustomed "limits," the delight of the children knew no bounds.
"Now for it!" cried Bessie, clapping her hands. "Now we shall find out where the stream goes to!"
And so they sailed along, following its graceful windings—sometimes touching bottom, and sometimes skimming smoothly over deep water, where Kitty could no longer clutch for the tall, bright grass that here and there had reared itself above the surface. Often Big Tom would sing out, "Lie low!" as some great bough, hanging over the stream, seemed stretching out its arms to catch them; and often they were nearly checked in their course by a fallen trunk, or the shallowness of the water. At last, upon reaching a very troublesome spot, Tom cried good-naturedly—
"Now, youngsters, you must all get out while I turn the scow over this 'ere log, and then you can jump in again on t'other side."
With merry shouts they leaped out, one after the other, Tom holding Kitty in his arms, as he stood knee-deep in the water.
"What is the matter with Bouncer?" cried Bessie.
There was no time for a reply. Looking up, the frightened party saw three hideous faces peering at them over the bushes!
"The Indians! the Indians!" screamed Bessie.
Springing to the shore, and catching Rudolph with one arm, while he held Kitty tightly in the other, Tom Hennessy dashed into the forest, calling upon Bessie to follow. Poor Bessie! What could she do? With a thrill of horror she saw two fierce savages bounding after them with fearful yells, while a third, with upraised club, and tomahawk and scalping-knife in his belt, was rushing toward her.
Uttering one long piercing scream, the poor girl knelt to await her doom. A prolonged roar of fury caused her to raise her head. Bouncer, brave, noble Bouncer, and the Indian had fallen together in a deadly struggle! Now was her time! With new energy and hope, she sprang to her feet, and darted through the forest, rending the air with cries for help, and unconscious of whither she was flying.
"Rudolph! Kitty!" she cried, frantically. "God in heaven help us! Oh! help us!"