I suppose today the protagonists might wonder if they had time traveled. Frankly, I'm surprised the movie director was so authentic that Uncle Ned the expert thought they were real Native Americans!If there was one place that Kenneth and Harold Lawrence liked to visit more than all others, it was Uncle Ned Wilson's home, out among the hills of the Sun River. Every Saturday and every holiday saw them on their way thither. Sometimes they would not have money enough to pay car-fare for the fifteen miles that lay between their homes and his, but that would not keep them from going. They would get up long before daybreak, and set out afoot.
Surely two boys never had a nicer nor a more agreeable uncle than the one Kenneth and Harold possessed in Uncle Ned. And nowhere was there a more attractive place for boys to spend a holiday than in his big house and among the hills that surrounded it.
Uncle Ned was a man who loved nature. He liked to roam in the fields and woods; to fish and hunt; to build his camp far away from cities and men, and there live as the Indians once lived.
And here was Uncle Ned's one great hobby—Indians. He probably knew more about Indians than any other man in America. He had studied them for years; he had dwelt with them for long periods, in their towns and villages; he had written learned books about them. There was not a tribe of Indians between the Arctic Circle and the Gulf of Mexico that he had not visited, and in every tribe he was always welcomed as an honored guest.
His house was one vast museum, a collection of things pertaining to the North American Indian. It had taken him many years to bring that great collection together, and it was recognized by scientists as being the most complete of its kind in the world.
It would be almost impossible to name a single article made by the Indians of which there was not a specimen to be found in his museum. There were stone-axes, flint arrow-heads, spears, tomahawks, grinding pestles, pottery, ornaments of all kinds, wampum money, and all the thousand and one other things that go to complete a collection like his.
And he had gathered together a lot of relics of some of the old leaders of the red men whose names have gone down in history. There was a knife that Pontiac had wielded: a tomahawk that belonged to Tecumseh; a rifle that Joseph Brant had carried in one of his expeditions against the settlers of Pennsylvania; and in a box which he always kept tightly locked, and which he rarely opened, there lay an old brown parchment upon which was scrawled the mark of Massasoit, the great chief who welcomed the Pilgrims to the New World.
He could tell wonderful stories of his adventures among the Indians of the West, before they had quit warring with the whites and had gone to their reservations. Many of the famous old chiefs he knew personally, and more than once he had been called to Washington to consult with the President about some unruly tribe that was threatening to go on the war-path.
What a glorious place it was for the two boys! They never tired of listening to their uncle's stories, and the long cases of stone-axes and arrow-heads, the rows of spears, and bows, and arrows, the skin tepees, the old relics, were always a source of enjoyment to them.
Uncle Ned liked to have his nephews come to see him. He took them into his confidence, and told them everything about his work. Once he had given them a trip to southern Ohio, where they spent a week digging and burrowing among the mounds built by the ancient Mound-builders. That was an experience that Kenneth and Harold set down as the very best of their lives.
One day in early June, the boys had gone out to make a half-week's stay with their uncle. They found him at work in his study, sorting out a lot of old wampum money which some collector had sent him from Maine. He put aside his work when the boys arrived, and began telling them of a discovery he had made right at home.
"I was roaming around in the hills, a few days ago, over near the little lake where we go to fish, and I found evidences of an old Indian camping-ground. I came home to get a pick and shovel, and went back. I set to work digging, and soon uncovered several circles of stones, the remains of the Indians' fireplaces. And I also found something else. Look here. Are these not beauties?"
He showed the boys a dozen or more perfect arrow-lips made of pure white quartz. "Bird points," they are called, and were used by the Indians for shooting small birds.
The boys were very much excited.
"Can we not go over there to-day and make another search, Uncle Ned?" they asked.
"Well, I 'm too busy to go with you to-day, but I will tell you how to find the spot, and you can go. I expect to overhaul it pretty thoroughly, and I have n't any doubt but that you will find some arrow-heads."
Then he told the boys how to find the old camp, and they set forth in high spirits.
"I hope we 'll have good luck and find a lot of arrow-heads," said Kenneth, as they trudged along the path through the hills.
"There is no telling what we may find," replied Harold. "Maybe a stone-ax, or a grinding pestle, or maybe an Indian grave. Would n't I laugh if we should find something big, something that would make Uncle Ned open his eyes!"
"Would n't I, too," chuckled Kenneth.
They were not long in coming to the little lake. The location of the old camp they sought was at the brow of the hill, Uncle Ned had told them. They climbed up through the thick vines and bushes, and came to the top, where, through the leaves, they could see a level field that stretched back to another line of hills.
Suddenly Kenneth grasped Harold's arm and whispered:
"Harold! Harold! Look yonder! Look!"
"What is it?" asked Harold, who was a few feet behind.
"Indians!" gasped Kenneth.
"Indians? Nonsense! Where?"
"Right yonder!" said Kenneth, his voice trembling.
Harold looked where his cousin pointed, and what he saw made his face go as pale as Kenneth's.
Over against the fringe of trees that grew at the top of the hill up which they had clambered, stood a group of tents. Indian tepees they undoubtedly were, for they were of coarse, dirty, yellow skins, some of which were painted over with strange figures, while out of the top of each tent protruded a cluster of poles.
Eefore the tents were lighted fires, and around the fires Indian women worked, some of them busy with cooking, others chopping wood, others carrying water. The boys even saw two or three papooses strapped on boards that leaned against the trees.
Near by the tents, in little groups of three and four, were Indian men, great, tall, strapping fellows in yellow buckskin suits. Their faces were painted in very bright colors, and their heads were adorned with long feathers. Some of them were smoking, some mending bows, some whetting glistening knives.
While the boys gazed at them in speechless astonishment—and fear, if the truth be told—there was a sudden commotion in the camp. Men lying on the ground sprang to their feet. There was a great hurrying to and fro. Hows were seized, and arrows fitted to the strings; knives began to glitter in the sunlight; the women began running in and out of the tents, uttering loud cries.
Looking across the field, Kenneth and Harold saw a little band of Indians issue from a thicket and advance toward the encampment. They were in full war-dress, and carried bows and spears; but they came forward with their right hands uplifted.
An equal number of men from the encampment went to meet them. There was a long parley. Suddenly one of the new-comers struck down one of the Indians from the camp. Instantly there was an uproar. More men from the camp ran out, and a new band came rushing out of the woods. There was a horrible outcry of many voices, and the two sides clashed in battle.
The boys waited to see no more. Down the hill they plunged, tearing their clothing on the bushes, scratching their faces, tripping and falling. Back along the little path they raced, never pausing an instant. Breathless they dashed into the house, almost upsetting Grandmother Wilson, who had seen them coming, and had gone to the door to meet them.
"Mercy sakes!" she cried, "what does this mean?"
But they did not stop. They burst into Uncle Xed's study.
"Uncle Ned! Uncle Ned!" they both shouted. "Indians! Indians! Indians!"
Uncle Ned looked at the two excited boys in astonishment.
"What in the world possesses you two chaps?" he demanded.
"The Indians have come back!" cried Kenneth.
"Yes, they are up at the old camp you found—a whole band of them." said Harold, too excited to talk plainly.
"Why, you two boys are dreaming. What has happened to you? Mother, come here and look after these young men," called Uncle Ned. "I 'm afraid they 've been sun-struck."
But neither Grandmother Wilson nor Uncle Ned could quiet the boys. They would listen to none of their uncle's arguments that the Indians had left that part of the country more than a hundred years before. They had seen them. They had seen them in their encampment, and they had seen them battling among themselves.
Finally Uncle Ned, grumbling a little at being taken away from his work, put on his hat and went with the boys. As they hurried along, both the boys warned him of the danger they were about to confront, for the Indians were bloodthirsty, as they knew from what they had seen of them. When they came to the hill and began to climb its steep side, Uncle Xed good-humoredly obeyed their command to "go easy," and they crept through the bushes with hardly a sound. They gained the top and peered through the leaves. The Indians were still there.
It was now Uncle Ned's turn to gasp with surprise, and gasp he did, in a manner that would have highly delighted the boys, had they not been so thoroughly terrified.
"Indians, as sure as I am alive!" they heard him mutter. "And right on the old campingground, in exactly the same place where I found the circles of stones!" He took off his hat and mopped his brow.
"Boys, we are dreaming—every one of us," he said, while he plucked nervously at his beard. "Everything exact and complete," he went on, speaking more to himself. "Tepees, instruments of war, war-paint, and regalia—everything. And, if I 'm not mistaken, an Iroquois tribe! Well, well!"
"Suppose they should discover us here, and get after us," said Harold. "What do people do in that kind of a case, when they are dreaming?"
"Well, in a dream as real as this one is," replied Uncle Ned, decisively, "I 'd run, and I 'd run hard."
Just then, they heard a cracking of the bushes behind them, and turned, to see a dozen or more painted savages almost upon them. So intent had they been in watching the movements about the wigwams, that they had not heard the approach of Indians in their rear.
A fearful war-whoop rang out. An answering cry came from the camp.
"Here they are, boys!" cried Uncle Ned. "Let 's get out of this! Come on!"
There was but one direction for them to take, and that must be across the open field, toward the opposite woods. To be sure, this would bring them in full view of the camp; but there was no other route to choose.
Out of the thicket where they had lain hidden, they dashed, and sped across the field. The boys led, Uncle Ned brought up the rear. He was short and fat, and could not run as fast as they, but for a fat man of his years, he did remarkably well. He kept urging them on, cheering them to make greater speed, but they, not wishing to leave their uncle behind, did not run as fast as they could. The great Indian student was panting painfully; his hat blew off, and on he raced, bareheaded and red-faced.
They could hear the thud, thud of the feet of their pursuers behind them, and every minute the air was rent with a savage yell. A whitctipped arrow flew over their heads and plunged into the ground before them.
"Go on, boys! Go on!" gasped Uncle Ned. "I can't run much farther, but you can reach the woods and get away. Run!"
"Hey there! what do you mean by getting in my picture and spoiling it?" they heard some one angrily shout. A man came running across the field to meet them. Looking off to the right, they saw another man busily turning a crank on a little black box that sat on three legs, and farther away they spied still another. The man who had called to them came up.
"What 's the matter with you people?" he demanded. "Can't you see we 're making moving pictures? What do you want to get in here and mess things up for?"
Uncle Ned did not have breath enough left to enable him to make any kind of a reply. They were near the woods then, and he and the boys went over to one of the trees and threw themselves upon the ground. After Uncle Ned had somewhat recovered, he began to laugh. He rolled on the ground; he laughed until the tears came into his eyes.
"Boys, the joke is upon us," he at last managed to say. "Rather it is upon me, the man who knows all about Indians. Moving pictures! Well, boys, if you won't say anything about this little race of ours, I 'll take you down to southern Ohio with me next month."
Both Kenneth and Harold agreed to say nothing to any one.
The moving-picture man came across to the place where they were lying.
"Say, I believe I 'll be able to use that picture, all right," he said. "I 'll put it on as 'A Race for Life.' It ought to make a hit. Much obliged."
"I 'd like mighty well to see the pictures they are taking here," said Kenneth.
"So would I," declared Harold.
"Well, I don't know," mused Uncle Ned. "The fact is, boys. I 'm thinking of going over to see if I can't buy the film from that man."
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