This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and withalmost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away orre-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License includedwith this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org
Title: The Young Trailers
A Story of Early Kentucky
Author: Joseph A. Altsheler
Release Date: October 5, 2006 [eBook #19477]
Language: English
Character set encoding: ISO-8859-1
***START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE YOUNG TRAILERS***
E-text prepared by the Project Gutenberg Online Distributed Proofreading Team
(http://www.pgdp.net/)
A STORY OF EARLY KENTUCKY
By JOSEPH A. ALTSHELER
APPLETON-CENTURY-CROFTS, INC.
NEW YORK
Copyright, 1907, by
D. APPLETON AND COMPANY
All rights reserved. This book, or parts thereof, must not bereproduced in any form without permission of the publishers.
Copyright 1934 by Sallie B. Altsheler
Printed in the United States of America
TO
SYDNEY
A YOUNG KENTUCKIAN
CONTENTS
CHAPTER I.—Into the Unknown
CHAPTER II.—The First Great Exploit
CHAPTER III.—Lost in the Wilderness
CHAPTER IV.—The Haunted Forest
CHAPTER V.—Afloat
CHAPTER VI.—The Voice of the Woods
CHAPTER VII.—The Giant Bones
CHAPTER VIII.—The Wild Turkey's "Gobble"
CHAPTER IX.—The Escape
CHAPTER X.—The Cave Dust
CHAPTER XI.—The Forest Spell
CHAPTER XII.—The Primitive Man
CHAPTER XIII.—The Call of Duty
CHAPTER XIV.—The Return
CHAPTER XV.—The Siege
CHAPTER XVI.—A Girl's Way
CHAPTER XVII.—The Battle in the Forest
CHAPTER XVIII.—The Test
CHAPTER XIX.—An Errand and a Friend
THE YOUNG TRAILERS
CHAPTER I
INTO THE UNKNOWN
It was a white caravan that looked down from the crest of the mountainsupon the green wilderness, called by the Indians, Kain-tuck-ee. Thewagons, a score or so in number, were covered with arched canvas,bleached by the rains, and, as they stood there, side by side, theylooked like a snowdrift against the emerald expanse of forest andfoliage.
The travelers saw the land of hope, outspread before them, a wide sweepof rolling country, covered with trees and canebrake, cut by streams ofclear water, flowing here and there, and shining in the distance, amidthe green, like threads of silver wire. All gazed, keen with interestand curiosity, because this unknown land was to be their home, but nonewas more eager than Henry Ware, a strong boy of fifteen who stood infront of the wagons beside the guide, Tom Ross, a tall, lean man thecolor of well-tanned leather, who would never let his rifle go out ofhis hand, and who had Henry's heartfelt admiration, because he knew somuch about the woods and wild animals, and told such strange andabsorbing tales of the great wilderness that now lay before them.
But any close observer who noted Henry Ware would always have looked athim a second time. He was tall and muscled beyond his years, and when hewalked his figure showed a certain litheness and power like that of theforest bred. His gaze was rapid, penetrating and inclusive, but neverfurtive. He seemed to fit into the picture of the wilderness, as if hehad taken a space reserved there for him, and had put himself incomplete harmony with all its details.
The long journey from their old home in Maryland had been a source ofunending variety and delight to Henry. There had been no painfulpartings. His mother and his brother and young sister were in the fourthwagon from the right, and his father stood beside it. Farther on in thesame company were his uncles and aunts, and many of the old neighbors.All had come together. It was really the removal of a village from anold land to a new one, and with the familiar faces of kindred andfriends around them, they were not lonely in strange regions, thoughmountains frowned and dark forests lowered.
It was to Henry a return rather than a removal. He almost fancied thatin some far-off age he had seen all these things before. The forests andthe mountains beckoned in friendly fashion; they had no terrors, foreven their secrets lay open before him. He seemed to breathe a newer andkeener air than that of the old land left behind, and his mind expandedwith the thought of fresh pleasures to come. The veteran guide, Ross,alone observed how the boy learned, through intuition, ways of thewilderness that others achieved only by hard experience.
They had met fair weather, an important item in such a journey, andthere had been no illness, beyond trifling ailments quickly cured. Asthey traveled slowly and at their ease, it took them a long time to passthrough the settled regions. This part of the journey did not interestHenry so much. He was eager for the forests and the great wildernesswhere his fancy had already gone before. He wanted to see deer and bearsand buffaloes, trees bigger than any that grew in Maryland, andmountains and mighty rivers. But they left the settlements behind atlast, and came to the unbroken forest. Here he found his hopesfulfilled. They were on the first slopes of the mountains that divideVirginia from Kentucky, and the bold, wild nature of the country pleasedhim. He had never seen mountains before, and he felt the dignity andgrandeur of the peaks.
Sometimes he went on ahead with Tom Ross, the guide, his chosen friend,and then he considered himself, in very truth, a man, or soon to becomeone, because he was now exploring the unknown, leading the way for acaravan—and there could be no more important duty. At such moments helistened to the talk of the guide who taught the lesson that in thewilderness it was always important to see and to listen, a thing howeverthat Henry already knew instinctively. He learned the usual sounds ofthe woods, and if there was any new noise he would see what made it. Hestudied, too, the habits of the beasts and birds. As for fishing, hefound that easy. He could cut a rod with his clasp knife, tie a stringto the end of it and a bent pin to the end of a string, and with thisrude tackle he could soon catch in the mountain creeks as many fish ashe wanted.
Henry liked the nights in the mountains; in which he did not differ fromhis fellow-travelers. Then the work of the day was done; the wagons weredrawn up in a half circle, the horses and the oxen were resting orgrazing under the trees, and, as they needed fires for warmth as well ascooking, they built them high and long, giving room for all in front ofthe red coals if they wished. The forest was full of fallen brushwood,as dry as tinder, and Henry helped gather it. It pleased him to see theflames rise far up, and to hear them crackle as they ate into the heartof the boughs. He liked to see their long red shadows fall across theleaves and grass, peopling the dark forest with fierce wild animals; hewould feel all the cosier within the scarlet rim of the firelight. Thenthe men would tell stories, particularly Ross, the guide, who hadwandered much and far in Kentucky. He said that it was a beautiful land.He spoke of the noble forests of beech and oak and hickory and maple,the dense canebrake, the many rivers, and the great Ohio that receivedthem all—the Beautiful River, the Indians called it—and the game, withwhich forests and open alike swarmed, the deer, the elk, the bear, thepanther and the buffalo. Now and then, when the smaller children wereasleep in the wagons and the larger ones were nodding before the fires,the men would sink their voices and speak of a subject which made themall look very grave indeed. It sounded like Indians, and the men morethan once glanced at their rifles and powderhorns.
But the boy, when he heard them, did not feel afraid. He knew thatsavages of the most dangerous kind often came into the forests ofKentucky, whither they were going, but he thrilled rather than shiveredat the thought. Already he seemed to have the knowledge that he would bea match for them at any game they wished to play.
Henry usually slept very soundly, as became a boy who was on his feetnearly all day, and who did his share of the work; but two or threetimes he awoke far in the night, and, raising himself up in the wagon,peeped out between the canvas cover and the wooden body. He saw a veryblack night in which the trees looked as thin and ghostly as shadows,and smoldering fires, beside which two men rifle on shoulder, alwayswatched. Often he had a wish to watch with them, but he said nothing,knowing that the others would hold him too young for the task.
But to-day he felt only joy and curiosity. They were now on the crest ofthe last mountain ridge and before them lay the great valley ofKentucky; their future home. The long journey was over. The men took offtheir hats and caps and raised a cheer, the women joined throughsympathy and the children shouted, too, because their fathers andmothers did so, Henry's voice rising with the loudest.
A slip of a girl beside Henry raised an applauding treble and he smiledprotectingly at her. It was Lucy Upton, two years younger than himself,slim and tall, dark-blue eyes looking from under broad brows, anddark-brown curls, lying thick and close upon a shapely head.
"Are you not afraid?" she asked.
"Afraid of what?" replied Henry Ware, disdainfully.
"Of the forests over there in Kentucky. They say that the savages oftencome to kill."
"We are too strong. I do not fear them."
He spoke without any vainglory, but in the utmost confidence. Sheglanced covertly at him. He seemed to her strong and full of resource.But she would not show her admiration.
They passed from the mountain slope into a country which now sank awayin low, rolling hills like the waves of the sea and in which everythinggrew very beautiful. Henry had never seen such trees in the East. Thebeech, the elm, the hickory and the maple reached gigantic proportions,and wherever the shade was not too dense the grass rose heavy and rank.Now and then they passed thickets of canebrake, and once, at the side ofa stream, they came to a salt "lick." It was here that a fountainspouted from the base of a hill, and, running only a few feet, emptiedinto a creek. But its waters were densely impregnated with salt, and allaround its banks the soft soil was trodden with hundreds of footsteps.
"The wild beasts made these," said the guide to Henry. "They come hereat night: elk, deer, buffalo, wolves, and all the others, big andlittle, to get the salt. They drink the water and they lick up the salttoo from the ground."
A fierce desire laid hold of the boy at these words. He had a smallrifle of his own, which however he was not permitted to carry often. Buthe wanted to take it and lie beside the pool at night when the game camedown to drink. The dark would have no terrors for him, nor would he needcompanionship. He knew what to do, he could stay in the bush noiselessand motionless for hours, and he would choose only the finest of thedeer and the bear. He could see himself drawing the bead, as a greatbuck came down in the shadows to the fountain and he thrilled withpleasure at the thought. Each new step into the wilderness seemed tobring him nearer home.
Their stay beside the salt spring was short, but the next night theybuilt the fire higher than ever because just after dark they heard thehowling of wolves, and a strange, long scream, like the shriek of awoman, which the men said was the cry of a panther. There was no danger,but the cries sounded lonesome and terrifying, and it took a big fire tobring back gayety.
Henry had not yet gone to bed, but was sitting in his favorite placebeside the guide, who was calmly smoking a pipe, and he felt theimmensity of the wilderness. He understood why the people in thiscaravan clung so closely to each other. They were simply a big family,far away from anybody else, and the woods, which curved around them forso many hundreds of miles, held them together.
The men talked more than usual that night, but they did not tellstories; instead they asked many questions of the guide about thecountry two days' journey farther on, which, Ross said, was so good, andit was agreed among them that they should settle there near the banks ofa little river.
"It's the best land I ever saw," said Ross, "an' as there's lots ofcanebrake it won't be bad to clear up for farmin'. I trapped beaver inthem parts two years ago, an' I know."
This seemed to decide the men, and the women, too, for they had theirshare in the council. The long journey was soon to end, and all lookedpleased, especially the women. The great question settled, the menlighted their pipes and smoked a while, in silence, before the blazingfires. Henry watched them and wished that he too was a man and couldtake part in these evening talks. He was excited by the knowledge thattheir journey was to end so soon, and he longed to see the valley inwhich they were to build their homes. He climbed into the wagon at lastbut he could not sleep. His beloved rifle, too, was lying near him, andonce he reached out his hand and touched it.
The men, by and by, went to the wagons or, wrapping themselves inblankets, slept before the flames. Only two remained awake and on guard.They sat on logs near the outskirts of the camp and held their rifles intheir hands.
Henry dropped the canvas edge and sought sleep, but it would not come.Too many thoughts were in his mind. He was trying to imagine thebeautiful valley, described by Ross, in which they were to build theirhouses. He lifted the canvas again after a while and saw that the fireshad sunk lower than ever. The two men were still sitting on the logs andleaning lazily against upthrust boughs. The wilderness around them wasvery black, and twenty yards away, even the outlines of the trees werelost in the darkness.
Henry's sister who was sleeping at the other end of the wagon awoke andcried for water. Mr. Ware raised himself sleepily, but Henry at oncesprang up and offered to get it. "All right," Mr. Ware said.
Henry quickly slipped on his trousers and taking the tin cup in his handclimbed out of the wagon. He was in his bare feet, but like otherpioneer boys he scorned shoes in warm weather, and stubble and pebblesdid not trouble him.
The camp was in a glade and the spring was just at the edge of thewoods—they stopped at night only by the side of running water, whichwas easy to find in this region. Near the spring some of the horses andtwo of the oxen were tethered to stout saplings. As Henry approached, ahorse neighed, and he noticed that all of them were pulling on theirropes. The two careless guards were either asleep or so near it thatthey took no notice of what was passing, and Henry, unwilling to calltheir attention for fear he might seem too forward, walked among theanimals, but was still unable to find the cause of the trouble. He kneweveryone by name and nature, and they knew him, for they had beencomrades on a long journey, and he patted their backs and rubbed theirnoses and tried to soothe them. They became a little quieter, but hecould not remain any longer with them because his sister was waiting atthe wagon for the water. So he went to the spring and, stooping down,filled his cup.
When Henry rose to his full height, his eyes happened to be turnedtoward the forest, and there, about seven or eight feet from the ground,and not far from him he saw two coals of fire. He was so startled thatthe cup trembled in his hand, and drops of water fell splashing backinto the spring. But he stared steadily at the red points, which he nownoticed were moving slightly from side to side, and presently he sawbehind them the dim outlines of a long and large body. He knew that thismust be a panther. The habits of all the wild animals, belonging to thisregion, had been described to him so minutely by Ross that he was surehe could not be mistaken. Either it was a very hungry or a very ignorantpanther to hover so boldly around a camp full of men and guns.
The panther was crouched on a bough of a tree, as if ready to spring,and Henry was the nearest living object. It must be he at whom the greattawny body would be launched. But as a minute passed and the panther didnot move, save to sway gently, his courage rose, especially when heremembered a saying of Ross that it was the natural impulse of all wildanimals to run from man. So he began to back away, and he heard behindhim the horses trampling about in alarm. The lazy guards still dozed andall was quiet at the wagons. Now Henry recalled some knowledge that hehad learned from Ross and he made a resolve. He would show, at a time,when it was needed, what he really could do. He dropped his cup, rushedto the fire, and picked up a long brand, blazing at one end.
Swinging his torch around his head until it made a perfect circle offlame he ran directly toward the panther, uttering a loud shout as heran. The animal gave forth his woman's cry, this time a shriek ofterror, and leaping from the bough sped with cat-like swiftness into theforest.
All the camp was awake in an instant, the men springing out of thewagons, gun in hand, ready for any trouble. When they saw only a boy,holding a blazing torch above his head, they were disposed to grumble,and the two sleepy guards, seeking an excuse for themselves, laughedoutright at the tale that Henry told. But Mr. Ware believed in the truthof his son's words, and the guide, who quickly examined the ground nearthe tree, said there could be no doubt that Henry had really seen thepanther, and had not been tricked by his imagination. The great tracksof the beast were plainly visible in the soft earth.
"Pushed by hunger, an' thinking there was no danger, he might havesprung on one of our colts or a calf," said Ross, "an' no doubt the boywith his ready use of a torch has saved us from a loss. It was a bravething for him to do."
But Henry took no pride in their praise. It was no part of his ambitionmerely to drive away a panther, instead he had the hunter's wish to killhim. He would be worthy of the wilderness.
Henry despite his lack of pride found the world very beautiful the nextday. It was a fair enough scene. Nature had done her part, but hisjoyous mind gave to it deeper and more vivid colors. The wind wasblowing from the south, bringing upon its breath the odor of wildflowers, and all the forest was green with the tender green of youngspring. The cotton-tailed hares that he called rabbits ran across theirpath. Squirrels talked to one another in the tree tops, and defiantlythrew the shells of last year's nuts at the passing travelers. Once theysaw a stag bending down to drink at a brook, and when the forest kingbeheld them he raised his head, and merely stared at these strange newinvaders of the wilds. Henry admired his beautiful form and splendidantlers nor would he have fired at him had it even been within orders.The deer gazed at them a few moments, and then, turning and tossing hishead, sped away through the forest.
All that he saw was strange and grand to Henry, and he loved thewilderness. About noon he and Ross went back to the wagons and thatnight they encamped on the crest of a range of low and grassy hills.This was the rim of the valley that they had selected on the guide'sadvice as their future home, and the little camp was full of theliveliest interest in the morrow, because it is a most eventful thing,when you are going to choose a place which you intend shall be your homeall the rest of your days. So the men and women sat late around thefires and even boys of Henry's age were allowed to stay up, too, andlisten to the plans which all the grown people were making. Theirs hadnot been a hard journey, only long and tedious—though neither toHenry—and now that its end was at hand, work must be begun. They wouldhave homes to build and a living to get from the ground.
"Why, I could live under the trees; I wouldn't want a house," whisperedHenry to the guide, "and when I needed anything to eat, I'd kill game."
"A hunter might do that," replied Ross, "but we're not all hunters an'only a few of us can be. Sometimes the game ain't standin' to be shot atjust when you want it, an' as for sleepin' under the trees it's all veryfine in summer, if it don't rain, but 'twould be just a least bit chillyin winter when the big snows come as they do sometimes more'n a footdeep. I'm a hunter myself, an' I've slept under trees an' in caves, an'on the sheltered side of hills, but when the weather's cold give me fortrue comfort a wooden floor an' a board roof. Then I'll bargain to sleepto the king's taste."
But Henry was not wholly convinced. He felt in himself the power to meetand overcome rain or cold or any other kind of weather.
Everybody in the camp, down to the tiniest child, was awake the nextmorning by the time the first bar of gray in the east betokened thecoming day. Henry was fully dressed, and saw the sun rise in amagnificent burst of red and gold over the valley that was to be theirvalley. The whole camp beheld the spectacle. They had reached the crestof the hill the evening before, too late to get a view and they werefull of the keenest curiosity.
It was now summer, but, having been a season of plenteous rains, grassand foliage were of the most vivid and intense green. They were enteringone of the richest portions of Kentucky, and the untouched soil wasluxuriant with fertility. As a pioneer himself said: "All they had to dowas to tickle it with a hoe, and it laughed into a harvest." There wasthe proof of its strength in the grass and the trees. Never before hadthe travelers seen oaks and beeches of such girth or elms and hickoriesof such height. The grass was high and thick and the canebrake was sodense that passage through it seemed impossible. Down the center of thevalley, which was but one of many, separated from each other by low easyhills, flowed a little river, cleaving its center like a silver blade.
It was upon this beautiful prospect that the travelers saw the sun risethat morning and all their troubles and labors rolled away. Even theface of Mr. Ware who rarely yielded to enthusiasm kindled at the sightand, lifting his hand, he made with it a circle that described thevalley.
"There," he said. "There is our home waiting for us."
"Hurrah!" cried Henry, flinging aloft his cap. "We've come home."
Then the wagon train started again and descended into the valley, whichin very truth and fact was to be "home."
CHAPTER II
THE FIRST GREAT EXPLOIT
They found the valley everything in beauty and fertility that Ross hadclaimed for it, and above all it had small "openings," that is, placeswhere the trees did not grow. This was very important to the travelers,as the labor of cutting down the forest was immense, and even Henry knewthat they could not live wholly in the woods, as both children and cropsmust have sunshine to make them grow. The widest of these open spacesabout a half mile from the river, they selected as the site of their newcity to which they gave the name of Wareville in honor of their leader.A fine brook flowed directly through the opening, but Ross said it wouldbe a good place, too, to sink a well.
It was midsummer now and the period of dry weather had begun. So thetravelers were very comfortable in their wagon camp while they weremaking their new town ready to be lived in. Both for the sake of companyand prudence they built the houses in a close cluster. First the men,and most of them were what would now be called jacks-of-all-trades,felled trees, six or eight inches in diameter, and cut them into logs,some of which were split down the center, making what are calledpuncheons; others were only nicked at the ends, being left in the rough,that is, with the bark on.
The round logs made the walls of their houses. First, the place wherethe house was to be built was chosen. Next the turf was cut off and theground smoothed away. Then they "raised" the logs, the nicked endsfitting together at the corner, the whole inclosing a square. Everybodyhelped "raise" each house in turn, the men singing "hip-hip-ho!" as theyrolled the heavy logs into position.
A place was cut out for a window and fastened with a shutter and alarger space was provided in the same manner for a door. They made thefloor out of the puncheons, turned with the smooth side upward, and theroof out of rough boards, sawed from the trees. The chimney was built ofearth and stones, and a great flat stone served as the fireplace. Someof the houses were large enough to have two rooms, one for the grownfolks and one for the children, and Mr. Ware's also had a little lean-toor shed which served as a kitchen.
It seemed at first to Henry, rejoicing then in the warm, sunny weather,that they were building in a needlessly heavy and solid fashion. Butwhen he thought over it a while he remembered what Ross said about thewinters and deep snows of this new land. Indeed the winters in Kentuckyare often very cold and sometimes for certain periods are quite as coldas those of New York or New England.
When the little town was finished at last it looked both picturesque andcomfortable, a group of about thirty log houses, covering perhaps anacre of ground. But the building labors of the pioneers did not stophere. Around all these houses they put a triple palisade, that is threerows of stout, sharpened stakes, driven deep into the ground and risingfull six feet above it. At intervals in this palisade were circularholes large enough to admit the muzzle of a rifle.
They built at each corner of the palisade the largest and strongest oftheir houses,—two-story structures of heavy logs, and Henry noticedthat the second story projected over the first. Moreover, they madeholes in the edge of the floor overhead so that one could look downthrough them upon anybody who stood by the outer wall. Ross went up intothe second story of each of the four buildings, thrust the muzzle of hisrifle into every one of the holes in turn, and then looked satisfied."It is well done," he said. "Nobody can shelter himself against the wallfrom the fire of defenders up here."
These very strong buildings they called their blockhouses, and afterthey finished them they dug a well in the corner of the inclosed ground,striking water at a depth of twenty feet. Then their main labors werefinished, and each family now began to furnish its house as it would orcould.
It was not all work for Henry while this was going on, and some of thelabor itself was just as good as play. He was allowed to go considerabledistances with Ross, and these journeys were full of novelty. He was aboy who came to places which no white boy had ever seen before. It washard for him to realize that it was all so new. Behold a splendid groveof oaks! he was its discoverer. Here the little river dropped over acliff of ten feet; his eyes were the first to see the waterfall. Fromthis high hill the view was wonderful; he was the first to enjoy it.Forest, open and canebrake alike were swarming with game, and he sawbuffaloes, deer, wild turkeys, and multitudes of rabbits and squirrels.Unaccustomed yet to man, they allowed the explorers to come near.
Ross and Henry were accompanied on many of these journeys by Shif'lessSol Hyde. Sol was a young man without kith or kin in the settlement, andso, having nobody but himself to take care of, he chose to roam thecountry a great portion of the time. He was fast acquiring a skill inforest life and knowledge of its ways second only to that of Ross, theguide. Some of the men called Sol lazy, but he defended himself. "Thegood God made different kinds of people and they live different kinds oflives," said he. "Mine suits me and harms nobody." Ross said he wasright, and Sol became a hunter and scout for the settlement.
There was no lack of food. They yet had a good supply of the provisionsbrought with them from the other side of the mountains, but they savedthem for a possible time of scarcity. Why should they use this storewhen they could kill all the game they needed within a mile of their ownhouse smoke? Now Henry tasted the delights of buffalo tongue and beavertail, venison, wild turkey, fried squirrel, wild goose, wild duck and adozen kinds of fish. Never did a boy have more kinds of meat, morning,noon, and night. The forest was full of game, the fish were juststanding up in the river and crying to be caught, and the air wassometimes dark with wild fowl. Henry enjoyed it. He was always hungry.Working and walking so much, and living in the open air every minute ofhis life, except when he was eating or sleeping, his young and growingframe demanded much nourishment, and it was not denied.
At last the great day came when he was allowed to kill a deer if hecould. Both Ross and Shif'less Sol had interceded for him. "The boy'sgetting big and strong an' it's time he learned," said Ross. "His hand'ssteady enough an' his eye's good enough already," said Shif'less Sol,and his father agreeing with them told them to take him and teach him.
Two miles away, near the bank of the river, was a spring to which thegame often came to drink, and for this spring they started a littlewhile before sundown, Henry carrying his rifle on his shoulder, and hisheart fluttering. He felt his years increase suddenly and his figureexpand with equal abruptness. He had become a man and he was going forthto slay big game. Yet despite his new manhood the blood would run to hishead and he felt his nerves trembling. He grasped his precious riflemore firmly and stole a look out of the corner of his eye at its barrelas it lay across his left shoulder. Though a smaller weapon it wasmodeled after the famous Western rifle, which, with the ax, won thewilderness. The stock was of hard maple wood delicately carved, and thebarrel was comparatively long, slender, and of blue steel. The sightswere as fine-drawn as a hair. When Henry stood the gun beside himself,it was just as tall as he. He carried, too, a powderhorn, and the horn,which was as white as snow, was scraped so thin as to be transparent,thus enabling its owner to know just how much powder it contained,without taking the trouble of pouring it out. His bullets and wadding hecarried in a small leather pouch by his side.
When they reached the spring the sun was still a half hour high andfilled the west with a red glow. The forest there was tinted by it, andseen thus in the coming twilight with those weird crimsons and scarletsshowing through it, the wilderness looked very lonely and desolate. Anordinary boy, at the coming of night would have been awed, if alone, bythe stillness of the great unknown spaces, but it found an answeringchord in Henry.
"Wind's blowin' from the west," said Sol, and so they went to theeastern side of the spring, where they lay down beside a fallen log at afair distance. There was another log, much closer to the spring, butRoss conferring aside with Sol chose the farther one. "We want to teachthe boy how to shoot an' be of some use to himself, not to slaughter,"said Ross. Then the three remained there, a long time, and noiseless.Henry was learning early one of the first great lessons of the forest,which is silence. But he knew that he could have learned this lessonalone. He already felt himself superior in some ways to Ross and Sol,but he liked them too well to tell them so, or to affect even equalityin the lore of the wilderness.
The sun went down behind the Western forest, and the night came on,heavy and dark. A light wind began to moan among the trees. Henry heardthe faint bubble of the water in the spring, and saw beside him theforms of his two comrades. But they were so still that they might havebeen dead. An hour passed and his eyes growing more used to the dimness,he saw better. There was still nothing at the spring, but by and by Rossput his hand gently upon his arm, and Henry, as if by instinct, lookedin the right direction. There at the far edge of the forest was a deer,a noble stag, glancing warily about him.
The stag was a fine enough animal to Ross and Sol, but to Henry'sunaccustomed eyes he seemed gigantic, the mightiest of his kind thatever walked the face of the earth.
The deer gazed cautiously, raising his great head, until his antlerslooked to Henry like the branching boughs of a tree. The wind wasblowing toward his hidden foes, and brought him no omen of comingdanger. He stepped into the open and again glanced around the circle. Itseemed to Henry that he was staring directly into the deer's eyes, andcould see the fire shining there.
"Aim at that spot there by the shoulder, when he stoops down to drink,"said Ross in the lowest of tones.
Satisfied now that no enemy was near, the stag walked to the spring.Then he began to lower slowly the great antlers, and his head approachedthe water. Henry slipped the barrel of his rifle across the log andlooked down the sights. He was seized with a tremor, but Ross andShif'less Sol, with a magnanimity that did them credit, pretended not tonotice it. The boy soon mastered the feeling, but then, to his greatsurprise, he was attacked by another emotion. Suddenly he began to havepity, and a fellow-feeling for the stag. It, too, was in the greatwilderness, rejoicing in the woods and the grass and the running streamsand had done no harm. It seemed sad that so fine a life should end,without warning and for so little.
The feeling was that of a young boy, the instinct of one who had notlearned to kill, and he suppressed it. Men had not yet thought to sparethe wild animals, or to consider them part of a great brotherhood, leastof all on the border, where the killing of game was a necessity. And soHenry, after a moment's hesitation, the cause of which he himselfscarcely knew, picked the spot near the shoulder that Ross hadmentioned, and pulled the trigger.
The stag stood for a moment or two as if dazed, then leaped into the airand ran to the edge of the woods, where he pitched down head foremost.His body quivered for a little while and then lay still.
Henry was proud of his marksmanship, but he felt some remorse, too, whenhe looked upon his victim. Yet he was eager to tell his father and hisyoung sister and brother of his success. They took off the pelt and cutup the deer. A part of the haunch Henry ate for dinner and the antlerswere fastened over the fireplace, as the first important hunting trophywon by the eldest son of the house.
Henry did not boast much of his triumph, although he noticed with secretpride the awe of the children. His best friend, Paul Cotter, openlyexpressed his admiration, but Braxton Wyatt, a boy of his own age, whomhe did not like, sneered and counted it as nothing. He even cast doubtupon the reality of the deed, intimating that perhaps Ross or Sol hadfired the shot, and had allowed Henry to claim the credit.
Henry now felt incessantly the longing for the wilderness, but, for thepresent, he helped his father furnish their house. It was too late toplant crops that year, nor were the qualities of the soil yet altogetherknown. It was rich beyond a doubt, but they could learn only by trialwhat sort of seed suited it best. So they let that wait a while, andcontinued the work of making themselves tight and warm for the winter.
The skins of deer and buffalo and beaver, slain by the hunters, weredried in the sun, and they hung some of the finer ones on the walls ofthe rooms to make them look more cozy and picturesque. Mrs. Ware alsoput two or three on the floors, though the border women generallyscorned them for such uses, thinking them in the way. Henry also helpedhis father make stools and chairs, the former a very simple task,consisting of a flat piece of wood, chopped or sawed out, in which threeholes were bored to receive the legs, the latter made of a section ofsapling, an inch or so in diameter. But the baskets required longer andmore tedious work. They cut green withes, split them into strips andthen plaiting them together formed the basket. In this Mrs. Ware andeven the little girl helped. They also made tables and a small stonefurnace or bake-oven for the kitchen.
Their chief room now looked very cozy. In one corner stood a bedsteadwith low, square posts, the bed covered with a pure white counterpane.At the foot of the bedstead was a large heavy chest, which served asbureau, sofa and dressing case. In the center of the room stood a bigwalnut table, on the top of which rested a nest of wooden trays,flanked, on one side, by a nicely folded tablecloth, and on the other bya butcher knife and a Bible. In a corner was a cupboard consisting of aset of shelves set into the logs, and on these shelves were theblue-edged plates and yellow-figured teacups and blue teapot that Mrs.Ware had received long ago from her mother. The furniture in theremainder of the house followed this pattern.
The heaviest labor of all was to extend the "clearing"; that is, to cutdown trees and get the ground ready for planting the crops next spring,and in this Henry helped, for he was able to wield an ax blow for blowwith a grown man. When he did not have to work he went often to theriver, which was within sight of Wareville, and caught fish. Nobodyexcept the men, who were always armed, and who knew how to take care ofthemselves, was allowed to go more than a mile from the palisade, butHenry was trusted as far as the river; then the watchman in the lookouton top of the highest blockhouse could see him or any who might come,and there, too, he often lingered.
He did not hate his work, yet he could not say that he liked it, and,although he did not know it, the love of the wild man's ways wascreeping into his blood. The influence of the great forests, of the vastunknown spaces, was upon him. He could lie peacefully in the shade of atree for an hour at a time, dreaming of rivers and mountains farther onin the depths of the wilderness. He felt a kinship with the wild things,and once as he lay perfectly still with his eyes almost closed, a stag,perhaps the brother to the one that he had killed, came and looked athim out of great soft eyes. It did not seem odd at the time to Henrythat the stag should do so; he took it then as a friendly act, and lesthe should alarm this new comrade of the woods he did not stir or evenraise his eyelids. The stag gazed at him a few moments, and then,tossing his great antlers, turned and walked off in a graceful anddignified way through the woods. Henry wondered where the deer would go,and if it would be far. He wished that he, too, could roam thewilderness so lightly, wandering where he wished, having no cares andbeholding new scenes every day. That would be a life worth living.
The next morning his mother said to his father:
"John, the boy is growing wild."
"Yes," replied the father. "They say it often happens with those who aretaken young into the wilderness. The forest lays a spell upon them whenthey are easy to receive impressions."
The mother looked troubled, but Mr. Ware laughed.
"Don't bother about it," he said. "It can be cured. We have merely toteach him the sense of responsibility."
This they proceeded to do.
CHAPTER III
LOST IN THE WILDERNESS
The method by which Mr. and Mrs. Ware undertook to teach Henry a senseof responsibility was an increase of work. Founding a new state was nolight matter, and he must do his share. Since he loved to fish, itbecame his duty to supply the table with fish, and that, too, at regularhours, and he also began to think of traps and snares, which he wouldset in the autumn for game. It was always wise for the pioneer to savehis powder and lead, the most valuable of his possessions and thehardest to obtain. Any food that could be procured without its use was awelcome addition.
But fishing remained his easiest task, and he did it all with a polethat he cut with his clasp knife, a string and a little piece of bentand stiffened wire. He caught perch, bass, suckers, trout, sunfish,catfish, and other kinds, the names of which he did not know. Sometimeswhen his hook and line had brought him all that was needed, and the daywas hot, he would take off his clothing and plunge into the deep, coolpools. Often his friend, Paul Cotter, was with him. Paul was a yearyounger than Henry, and not so big. Hence the larger boy felt himself,in a certain sense, Paul's teacher and protector, which gave him acomfortable feeling, and a desire to help his comrade as much as hecould.
He taught the smaller lad new tricks in swimming, and scarcely a daypassed when two sunburned, barefooted boys did not go to the river,quickly throw off their clothing, and jump into the clear water. Therethey swam and floated for a long time, dived, and ducked each other, andthen lay on the grass in the sun until they dried.
"Paul," said Henry once, as they were stretched thus on the bank,"wouldn't you like to have nothing to do, but wander through the woodsjust as you pleased, sleep wherever you wished, and kill game when yougrew hungry, just like the Indians?"
Henry's eyes were on the black line of the forest, and the blue haze ofthe sky beyond. His spirit was away in the depths of the unknown.
"I don't know," replied Paul. "I guess a white boy has to become a whiteman, after a while, and they say that the difference between a white manand the Indian is that the white man has to work."
"But the Indians get along without it," said Henry.
"No they don't," replied Paul. "We win all the country because we'velearned how to do things while we are working."
Yet Henry was unconvinced, and his thoughts wandered far into the blackforest and the blue haze.
The cattle pastured near the deepest of the swimming holes, and it oftenfell to the lot of the boys to bring them into the palisade at sunset.This was a duty of no little importance, because if any of the cattlewandered away into the forest and were lost, they could not be replaced.It was now the latter half of summer, and the grass and foliage werefast turning brown in the heat. Late on the afternoon of one of the veryhottest days Henry and Paul went to the deepest swimming hole. There hadnot been a breath of air stirring since morning; not a blade of grass,not a leaf quivered. The skies burned like a sheet of copper.
The boys panted, and their clothing, wet with perspiration, clung tothem. The earth was hot under their feet. Quickly they threw off theirgarments and sprang into the water. How cool and grateful it felt! Therethey lingered long, and did not notice the sudden obscurity of the sunand darkening of the southwest.
A slight wind sprang up presently, and the dry leaves and grass began torustle. There was thunder in the distance and a stroke of lightning. Theboys were aroused, and scrambling out of the water put on theirclothing.
"A storm's coming," said Henry, who was weatherwise, "and we must getthe cattle in."
These sons of the forest did not fear rain, but they hurried on theirclothing, and they noticed, too, how rapidly the storm was gathering.The heat had been great for days, and the earth was parched and thirsty.The men had talked in the evening of rain, and said how welcome it wouldbe, and now the boys shared the general feeling. The drought would beended. The thirsty earth would drink deep and grow green again.
The rolling clouds, drawn like a great curtain over the southwest,advanced and covered all the heavens. The flashes of lightning followedeach other so fast that, at times, they seemed continuous; the forestgroaned as it bent before the wind. Then the great drops fell, and soonthey were beating the earth like volleys of pistol bullets. Fragments ofboughs, stripped off by the wind, swept by. Never had the boys in theirEastern home known such thunder and lightning. The roar of one wasalways in their ears, and the flash of the other always in their eyes.
The frightened cattle were gathered into a group, pressing closetogether for company and protection. The boys hurried them toward thestockade, but one cow, driven by terror, broke from the rest and rantoward the woods. Agile Henry, not willing to lose a single straggler,pursued the fugitive, and Paul, wishing to be as zealous, followed. Therest of the cattle, being so near and obeying the force of habit, wenton into the stockade.
It was the wildest cow of the herd that made a plunge for the woods, andHenry, knowing her nature, expected trouble. So he ran as fast as hecould, and he was not aware until they were in the forest that Paul wasclose behind him. Then he shouted:
"Go back, Paul! I'll bring her in."
But Paul would not turn. There was fire in his blood. He considered itas much his duty to help as it was Henry's. Moreover, he would notdesert his comrade.
The fugitive, driven by the storm acting upon its wild nature, continuedat great speed, and the panting boys were not able to overtake her. Soon the trio went, plunging through the woods, and saving themselves fromfalls, or collisions with trees, only by the light from the flashes oflightning. Many boys, even on the border, would have turned back, butthere was something tenacious in Henry's nature; he had undertaken to doa thing, and he did not wish to give it up. Besides that cow was toovaluable. And Paul would not leave his comrade.
Away the cow went, and behind her ran her pursuers. The rain camerushing and roaring through the woods, falling now in sheets, whileoverhead the lightning still burned, and the thunder still crashed,though with less frequency. Both the boys were drenched, but they didnot mind it; they did not even know it at the time. The lightning diedpresently, the thunder ceased to rumble, and then the darkness fell likea great blanket over the whole forest. The chase was blotted out fromthem, and the two boys, stopping, grasped each other's hands for thesake of company. They could not see twenty feet before them, but therain still poured.
"We'll have to give her up," said Henry reluctantly. "We couldn't followa whole herd of buffaloes in all this black night."
"Maybe we can find her to-morrow," said Paul.
"Maybe so," replied Henry. "We've got to wait anyhow. Let's go home."
They started back for Wareville, keeping close together, lest they loseeach other in the darkness, and they realized suddenly that they wereuncomfortable. The rain was coming in such sheets directly in theirfaces that it half blinded them, now and then their feet sank deep inmire and their drenched bodies began to grow cold. The little log housesin which they lived now seemed to them palaces, fit for a king, and theyhastened their footsteps, often tripping on vines or running intobushes. But Henry was trying to see through the dark woods.
"We ought to be near the clearing," he said.
They stopped and looked all about, seeking to see a light. They knewthat one would be shining from the tower of the blockhouse as a guide tothem. But they saw none. They had misjudged the distance, so theythought, and they pushed on a half hour longer, but there was still nolight, nor did they come to a clearing. Then they paused. Dark as it waseach saw a look of dismay on the face of the other.
"We've come the wrong way!" exclaimed Paul.
"Maybe we have," reluctantly admitted Henry.
But their dismay lasted only a little while. They were strong boys, usedto the wilderness, and they did not fear even darkness and wanderingthrough the woods. Moreover, they were sure that they should findWareville long before midnight.
They changed their course and continued the search. The rain ceased byand by, the clouds left the heavens, and the moon came out, but they sawnothing familiar about them. The great woods were dripping with water,and it was the only sound they heard, besides that made by themselves.They stopped again, worn out and disconsolate at last. All their walkingonly served to confuse them the more. Neither now had any idea of thedirection in which Wareville lay, and to be lost in the wilderness was amost desperate matter. They might travel a thousand miles, shouldstrength last them for so great a journey, and never see a single humanbeing. They leaned against the rough bark of a great oak tree, andstared blankly at each other.
"What are we to do?" asked Paul.
"I can't say," replied Henry.
The two boys still looked blank, but at last they laughed—and eachlaughed at the other's grewsome face. Then they began once more to castabout them. The cold had passed and warm winds were blowing up from thesouth. The forest was drying, and Henry and Paul, taking off theircoats, wrung the water from them. They were strong lads, inured to manyhardships of the border and the forest, and they did not fear illresults from a mere wetting. Nevertheless, they wished to becomfortable, and under the influence of the warm wind they soon foundthemselves dry again. But they were so intensely sleepy that they couldscarcely keep their eyes open, and now the wilderness training of bothcame into use.
It was a hilly country, with many outcroppings of stone and cavelikeopenings in the sides of the steep but low hills, and such a place asthis the boys now sought. But it was a long hunt and they grew moretired and sleepy at every step. They were hungry, too, but if they mightonly sleep they could forget that. They heard again the hooting of owlsand the wind, moaning among the leaves, made strange noises. Once therewas a crash in a thicket beside them, and they jumped in momentaryalarm, but it was only a startled deer, far more scared than they,running through the bushes, and Henry was ashamed of his nervousimpulse.
They found at last their resting place, a sheltered ledge of dry stonein the hollow of a hill. The stone arched above them, and it was dark inthe recess, but the boys were too tired now to worry about shadows. Theycrept into the hollow, and, scraping up fallen leaves to soften the hardstone, lay down. Both were off to slumberland in less than five minutes.
The hollow faced the East, and the bright sun, shining into their eyes,awakened them at last. Henry sprang up, amazed. The skies were a silkyblue, with little white clouds sailing here and there. The forest,new-washed by the rain, smelt clean and sweet. The south wind was stillblowing. The world was bright and beautiful, but he was conscious of anacute pain at the center of his being. That is, he was increasinglyhungry. Paul showed equal surprise, and was a prey to the same annoyingsensation in an important region. He looked up at the sun, and foundthat it was almost directly overhead, indicating noon.
All the country about them was strange, an unbroken expanse of hill andforest, and nowhere a sign of a human being. They scrutinized thehorizon with the keen eyes of boyhood, but they saw no line of smoke,rising from the chimneys of Wareville. Whether the villages lay north orsouth or east or west of them they did not know, and the wind thatsighed so gently through the forest never told. They were alone in thewilderness and they knew, moreover, that the wilderness was very vastand they were very small. But Henry and Paul did not despair; in fact nosuch thought entered Henry's mind. Instead he began to find a certainjoy in the situation; it appealed to his courage. They resolved to findsomething to eat, and they used first a temporary cure for the pangs ofhunger. Each had a strong clasp knife and they cut strips of the softinner bark of the slippery-elm tree, which they chewed, drawing from ita little strength and sustenance. They found an hour or two later somenearly ripe wild plums, which they ate in small quantities, and, lateron, ripe blackberries very juicy and sweet. Paul wanted to be voracious,but Henry restrained him, knowing well that if he indulged liberally hemight suffer worse pangs than those of hunger. Slender as was this dietthe boys felt much strengthened, and their spirits rose in a wonderfulmanner.
"We're bound to be found sooner or later," said Henry, "and it's strangeif we can't live in the woods until then."
"If we only had our guns and ammunition," said Paul, "we could get allthe meat we wanted, and live as well as if we were at home."
This was true, because in the untrodden forest the game was plentifulall about them, but guns and ammunition they did not have, and it wasvain to wish for them. They must obtain more solid food than wild plumsand blackberries, if they would retain their strength, and both boysknew it. Yet they saw no way and they continued wandering until theycame to a creek. They sat a while on its banks and looked down at thefish with which it was swarming, and which they could see distinctly inits clear waters.
"Oh, if we only had one of those fine fellows!" said Paul.
"Then why not have him?" exclaimed Henry, a sudden flash appearing inhis eye.
"Yes, why not?" replied Paul with sarcasm. "I suppose that all we haveto do is to whistle and the finest of 'em will come right out here onthe bank, and ask us to cook and eat 'em."
"We haven't any hooks and lines now but we might make 'em," said Henry.
"Make 'em!" said Paul, and he looked in amazement at his comrade.
"Out of our clothes," replied Henry.
Then he proceeded to show what he meant and Paul, too, when he saw himbegin, was quickly taken with the idea. They drew many long strands fromthe fiber of their clothing—cloth in those days was often made asstrong as leather—and twisted and knotted them together until they hada line fifteen feet long. It took them at least two hours to completethis task, and then they contemplated their work with pride. But thelook of joy on Paul's face did not last long.
"How on earth are we to get a hook, Henry?" he asked.
"I'll furnish that," replied Henry, and he took the small steel bucklewith which his trousers were fastened together at the back. Breakingthis apart he bent the slenderest portion of it into the shape of ahook, and fastened it to the end of his line.
"If we get a fish on this he may slip off or he may not, but we musttry," he said.
The fishing rod and the bait were easy matters. A slender stem ofdogwood, cut with a clasp knife, served for the first, and, to get thelatter, they had nothing to do but turn up a flat stone, and draw angleworms from the moist earth beneath.
The hook was baited and with a triumphant flourish Henry swung it towardthe stream.
"Now," he said, "for the biggest fish that ever swam in this creek."
The boys might have caught nothing with such a rude outfit, butdoubtless that stream was never fished in before, and its inhabitants,besides being full of a natural curiosity, did not dream of any dangercoming from the outer air. Therefore they bit at the curious-lookingmetallic thing with the tempting food upon it which was suddenly droppedfrom somewhere.
But the first fish slipped off as Henry had feared, and then there wasnothing to do but try again. It was not until the sixth or seventh bitethat he succeeded in landing a fine perch upon the bank, and then Pauluttered a cry of triumph, but Henry, as became his superior dignity atthat moment, took his victory modestly. It was in reality something torejoice over, as these two boys were perhaps in a more dangeroussituation than they, with all their knowledge of the border, understood.The wilderness was full of animal life, but it was fleeter than man,and, without weapons they were helpless.
"And now to cook him," said Henry. So speaking, he took from his pocketthe flint and steel that he had learned from the men always to carry,while Paul began to gather fallen brushwood.
To light the fire Henry expected to be the easiest of their tasks, butit proved to be one of the most difficult. He struck forth the elusivesparks again and again, but they went out before setting fire to thewood. He worked until his fingers ached and then Paul relieved him. Itfell to the younger boy's lot to succeed. A bright spark flying forthrested a moment among the lightest and dryest of the twigs, ignitingthere. A tiny point of flame appeared, then grew and leaped up. In a fewmoments the great pile of brushwood was in a roaring blaze, and then theboys cooked their fish over the coals. They ate it all with supremecontent, and they believed they could feel the blood flowing in a newcurrent through their veins and their strength growing, too.
But they knew that they would have to prepare for the future and drawupon all their resources of mind and body. Their hook and line was but aslender appliance and they might not have such luck with it again. Paulsuggested that they make a fish trap, of sticks tied together withstrips cut from their clothing, and put it in the creek, and Henrythought it was a good idea, too. So they agreed to try it on the morrow,if they should not be found meanwhile, and then they debated the subjectof snares.
The undergrowth was swarming with rabbits, and they would make mosttoothsome food. Rabbits they must have, and again Henry led the way. Heselected a small clear spot near the thick undergrowth where a rabbitwould naturally love to make his nest and around a circle about sixinches in diameter he drove a number of smooth pegs. Then he tied astrong cord made of strips of their clothing to one end of a stout bush,which he bent over until it curved in a semicircle. The other end of thecord was drawn in a sliding loop around the pegs, and was attached to alittle wooden trigger, set in the center of the inclosure.
The slightest pressure upon this trigger would upset it, cause the nooseto slip off the pegs and close with a jerk around the neck of anythingthat might have its head thrust into the inclosure. The bush, too, wouldfly back into place and there would be the intruder, really hanged byhimself. It was the common form of snare, devised for small game by theboys of early Kentucky, and still used by them.
Henry and Paul made four of these ingenious little contrivances, andbaited them with bruised pieces of the small plantain leaves that therabbits love. Then they contemplated their work again with satisfaction.But Paul suddenly began to look rueful.
"If we have to pay out part of our clothes every time we get a dinner wesoon won't have any left," he said.
Henry only laughed.
It was now near sunset, and, as they had worked hard they would havebeen thankful for supper, but there was none to be thankful for, andthey were too tired to fish again. So they concluded to go to sleep,which their hard work made very easy, and dream of abundant harvests onthe morrow.
They gathered great armfuls of the fallen brushwood, littering theforest, and built a heap as high as their heads, which blazed and roaredin a splendid manner, sending up, too, a column of smoke that rose farabove the trees and trailed off in the blue sky.
It was a most cheerful bonfire, and it was a happy thought for the boysto build it, even aside from its uses as a signal, as the coming ofnight in the wilderness is always most lonesome and weird.
They lay down near each other on the soft turf, and Henry watched thered sun sink behind the black forest in the west. The strange,sympathetic feeling for the wilderness again came into his mind. Hethought once more of the mysterious regions that lay beyond the linewhere the black and red met. He could live in the woods, he was livingnow without arms, even, and if he only had his rifle and ammunition hecould live in luxury. And then the wonderful freedom! That old thoughtcame to him with renewed force. To roam as he pleased, to stop when hepleased and to sleep where he pleased! He would make a canoe, and floatdown the great rivers to their mouths. Then he would wander far out onthe vast plains, which they say lay beyond the thousand miles of forest,and see the buffalo in millions go thundering by. That would be a lifewithout care.
He fell asleep presently, but he was awakened after a while by along-drawn plaintive shriek answered by a similar cry. Once he wouldhave been alarmed by the sound, but now he knew it was panther talkingto panther. He and Paul were unarmed, but they had something aseffective as guns against panthers and that was the great bonfire whichstill roared and blazed near them. He was glad now for a new reason thatthey had built it high, because the panther's cry was so uncanny andsent such a chill down one's back. He looked at Paul, but his comradestill slept soundly, a peaceful smile showing on his face. He rememberedthe words of Ross that no wild animal would trouble man if man did nottrouble him, and, rolling a little nearer to Paul, he shut his eyes andsought sleep.
But sleep would not come, and presently he heard the cry of the pantheragain but much nearer. He was lying with his ear to the ground. Now theearth is a conductor of sound and Henry was sure that he heard a softtread. He rose upon his elbow and gazed into the darkness. There hebeheld at last a dim form moving with sinuous motion, and slowly it tookthe shape of a great cat-like animal. Then he saw just behind it anotheras large, and he knew that they were the two panthers whose cries he hadheard.
Henry was not frightened, although there was something weird and uncannyin the spectacle of these two powerful beasts of prey, stealing aboutthe fire, before which two unarmed boys reposed. He knew, however, thatthey were drawn not by the desire to attack, but by a kind of terrifiedcuriosity. The fire was to them the magnet that the snake is to thefascinated bird. He longed then for his gun, the faithful little riflethat was reposing on the hooks over his bed in his father's house. "I'dmake you cry for something," he said to himself, looking at the largestof the panthers.
The animals lingered, glaring at the boys and the fire with great redeyes, and presently Henry, doing as he had done on a former occasion,picked up a blazing torch and, shouting, rushed at them.
The panthers sprang headlong through the undergrowth, in their eagernessto get away from the terrible flaming vision that was darting down uponthem. Their flight was so quick that they disappeared in an instant andHenry knew they would not venture near the site of the fire again in along time. He turned back and found Paul surprised and alarmed standingerect and rubbing his eyes.
"Why—why—what's the matter?" cried Paul.
"Oh, it's nothing," replied Henry.
Then he told about the panthers. Paul did not know as much as Henryconcerning panthers and the affair got on his nerves. The lonely andvast grandeur of the wilderness did not have the attraction for him thatit had for his comrade, and he wished again for the strong log walls andcomfortable roofs of Wareville. But Henry reassured him. The testimonyof the hunters about the timidity of wild beasts was unanimous and heneed have no fears. So Paul went to sleep again, but Henry lingered asbefore.
He threw fresh fuel on the fire. Then he lay down again and graduallyweary nature became the master of him. The woods grew dim, and fadedaway, the fire vanished and he was in slumberland.
When Henry awoke it was because some one was tugging at his shoulder. Heknew now that the Indian warriors had come across the Ohio, and hadseized him, and he sprang up ready to make a fierce resistance.
"Don't fight, Henry! It's me—Paul!" cried a boyish voice, and Henryletting his muscles relax rubbed the sleep out of his eyes. It was Paulsure enough standing beside him, and the sun again was high up in theheavens. The fire was still burning, though it had died down somewhat.
"Oh, my breakfast!" cried Henry as he felt a sudden pang.
"Come, let's see if we're going to have any," said Paul, and off theywent to their snares. The first had not been touched, nor had thesecond. The bait was gone from the third, and the loop sprung, but therewas nothing in it. The hearts of the boys sank and they thought again ofwild plums and blackberries which were but a light diet. But when theycame to the fourth snare their triumph was complete. A fat rabbit,caught in the loop, was hanging by the neck, beside the bush.
"It's lucky the forest is so full of game that some of it falls into ourtrap," said Henry.
They cooked the rabbit, and again they were so hungry that they ate itall. Then they improvised new fishing tackle and both boys began tofish. They knew that they must devote their whole time to this problemof food, and they decided, for the present, not to leave the creek. Theywere afraid to renew the search for Wareville, lest they wander deeperinto the wilderness, and moreover lose the way to the creek which seemedto be the surest source of food. So they would stay a while where theywere, and keep their fire burning high as a signal to searchers.
Either the fish had learned that the curiously shaped thing with thetempting bait upon it was dangerous, or they had gone to visit friendsin distant parts of the creek, for, at least two hours passed, withouteither boy getting a bite. When the fish did lay hold it was usually toslip again from the rude hook, and it was at least another hour beforethey caught a fish. It was Paul who achieved the feat, and it repaid himfor being asleep when the panthers came, a matter that had lain upon hismind somewhat.
They persisted in this work until Henry also made a catch and then theygathered more plums and berries. They dug up, too, the root of theIndian turnip, an herb that burnt the mouth like fire, but which Henrysaid they could use, after soaking it a long time in water. Then theydiscussed the matter of the fish trap which they thought they could makein a day's work. This would relieve them of much toil, but they deferredits beginning until the morrow, and used the rest of the day in makingtwo more snares for rabbits.
Paul now suggested that they accumulate as much food as possible, cookit and putting it on their backs follow the creek to its mouth. He hadno doubt that it emptied into the river that flowed by Wareville andthen by following the stream, if his surmise was right, they could reachhome again. It was a plausible theory and Henry agreed with him.Meanwhile they built their fire high again and lay down for anothernight's rest in the woods. The next day they devoted to the fish trapwhich was successfully completed, and put in the river, and then theytook their places on the turf for the third night beside the camp fire.
The day, like its predecessor, had been close and hot. All traces of thegreat rain were gone. Forest and earth were again as dry as tinder. Theyrefreshed themselves with a swim in the creek just before lying down tosleep, but they were soon panting with the heat. It seemed to hang inheavy clouds, and the forest shut out any fresh air that might be movinghigh up.
Despite the great heat the boys had built the fire as high as usual,because they knew that the search for them would never cease so long asthere was a hope of success, and they thought that the signal should notbe lacking. But now they moved away from it and into the shadow of thewoods.
"If only the wind would blow!" said Henry.
"And I'd be willing to stand a rain like the one in which we got lost,"said Paul.
But neither rain nor wind came, and after a while they fell asleep.Henry was awakened at an unknown hour of the night by a roaring in hisears, and at first he believed that Paul was about to have his storm.Then he was dazzled by a great rush of light in his eyes, and he sprangto his feet in sudden alarm.
"Up, Paul!" he cried, grasping his comrade by the shoulder. "The woodsare on fire!"
Paul was on his feet in an instant, and the two were just in time.Sparks flew in their faces and the flames twisting into pyramids andcolumns leaped from tree to tree with a sound like thunder as they came.Boughs, burnt through, fell to the ground with a crash. The sparks rosein millions.
The boys had slept in their clothes or rather what was left of them,and, grasping each other's hands, they ran at full speed toward thecreek, with the great fire roaring and rushing after them. Henry lookedback once but the sight terrified him and the sparks scorched his face.He knew that the conflagration had been set by their own bonfire, fannedby a rising wind as they slept, but it was no time to lament. The rushand sweep of the flames, feeding upon the dry forest and gatheringstrength as they came, was terrific. It was indeed like the thunder of astorm in the ears of the frightened boys, and they fairly skimmed overthe ground in the effort to escape the red pursuer. They could feel itshot breath on their necks, while the smoke and the sparks flew overtheir heads. They dashed into the creek, and each dived down under thewater which felt so cool and refreshing.
"Let's stay here," said Paul, who enjoyed the present.
"We can't think of such a thing," replied Henry. "This creek won't stopthat fire half a minute!"
A fire in a sun-dried Western forest is a terrible thing. It rushes onat a gallop, roaring and crackling like the battle-front of an army, anddestroying everything that lies before it. It leaves but blackenedstumps and charred logs behind, and it stops only when there is nolonger food for it to devour.
The boys sprang out of the creek and ran up the hill. Henry paused amoment at its crest, and looked back again. The aspect of the fire wasmore frightful than ever. The flames leaped higher than the tops of thetallest trees, and thrust out long red twining arms, like coilingserpents. Beneath was the solid red bank of the conflagration, precededby showers of ashes and smoke and sparks. The roar increased and waslike that of many great guns in battle.
"Paul!" exclaimed Henry seizing his comrade's hand again. "We've got torun, as we've never run before! It's for our lives now!"
It was in good truth for their lives, and bending low their heads, thetwo boys, hand in hand, raced through the forest, with the ruthlesspursuer thundering after them. Henry as he ran, glanced back once moreand saw that the fire was gaining upon them. The serpents of flame werecoming nearer and nearer and the sparks flew over their heads in greatershowers. Paul was panting, and being the younger and smaller of the twohis strength was now failing. Henry felt his comrade dragging upon hishand. If he freed himself from Paul's grasp he could run faster, but heremembered his silent resolve to take Paul back to his people. Even wereit not for those others at Wareville he could never desert his friend atsuch a moment. So he pulled on Paul's hand to hasten his speed, andtogether the boys went on.
The two noticed presently that they were not alone in their flight, acirc*mstance that had escaped them in the first hurry and confusion.Deer and rabbits, too, flew before the hurricane of fire. The deer werein a panic of terror, and a great stag ran for a few moments beside theboys, not noticing them, or, in his fear of greater evil, having no fearof human beings who were involved in the same danger. Three or fourbuffaloes, too, presently joined the frightened herd of game, one, agreat bull running with head down and blowing steam from his nostrils.
Paul suddenly sank to his knees and gasped:
"I can't go on! Let me stay here and you save yourself, Henry!"
Henry looked back at the great fiery wall that swept over the ground,roaring like a storm. It was very near now and the smoke almost blindedhim. A boy with a spirit less stanch than his might well have fled in apanic, leaving his companion to his death. But the nearer the dangercame the more resolute Henry grew. He saw, too, that he must sting Paulinto renewed action.
"Get up!" he exclaimed, and he jerked the fainting boy to his feet.Then, snatching a stick, he struck Paul several smart blows on his back.Paul cried out with the sudden pain, and, stimulated by it into physicalaction, began to run with renewed speed.
"That's right, Paul!" cried Henry, dropping his stick and seizing hiscomrade again by the hand. "One more big try and we'll get away! Justover this hill here it's open ground, and the fire will have to stop!"
It was a guess, only made to encourage Paul, and Henry had small hopethat it would come true, but when they reached the brow of the hill bothuttered a shout of delight. There was no forest for perhaps a quarter ofa mile beyond, and down the center of the open glittered a silver streakthat meant running water.
Henry was so joyous that he cried out again.
"See, Paul! See!" he exclaimed. "Here's safety! Now we'll run!"
How they did run! The sight gave them new strength. They shot out ofthat terrible forest and across the short dry grass, burnt brown by latesummer days, running for life toward the flowing water. They did notstop to notice the size of the stream, but plunged at once into itscurrent.
Henry sank with a mighty splash, and went down, down, it seemed to him,a mile. Then his feet touched a hard, rocky bottom, and he shot back tothe surface, spluttering and blowing the water out of eyes, mouth andnostrils. A brown head was bobbing beside him. He seized it by the hair,pulled it up, and disclosed the features of Paul, his comrade. Paul,too, began to splutter and at the same time to try to swim.
Splash!
A heavy body struck the water beside them with a thud too great for thatof a man. It was the stag leaping also for safety and he began to swimabout, looking at the boys with great pathetic eyes, as if he would askthem what he ought to do next for his life. Apparently his fear ofmankind had passed for the moment. They were bound together by thecommunity of danger.
Splash! Splash! Splash!
The water resounded like the beating of a bass drum. Three more deer, abuffalo, and any number of smaller game sprang into the stream, andremained there swimming or wading.
"Here, Paul! Here's a bar that we can stand on," said Henry who hadfound a footing. At the same time he grasped Paul by the wrist, and drewhim to the bar. There they stood in the water to their necks, andwatched the great fire as it divided at the little prairie, and sweptaround them, passing to left and right. It was a grim sight. All theheavens seemed ablaze, and the clouds of smoke were suffocating. Eventhere in the river the heat was most oppressive, and at times the facesof the boys were almost scorched. Then they would thrust their headsunder the water, and keep them there as long as they could hold theirbreath, coming up again greatly refreshed. The wild game clustered nearin common terror.
"It's a lucky thing for us the river and prairie are here," said Henry."Another half mile and we'd have been ashes."
Paul was giving thanks under his breath, and watching the fire withawe-stricken eyes. It swept past them and rushed on, in a great redcloud, that ate all in its path and gave forth much noise.
It was now on the far side of the prairie, and soon began to growsmaller in the distance. Yet so great was the wall of fire that it waslong in sight, dying at last in a red band under the horizon. Even thenall the skies were still filled with drifting smoke and ashes.
The boys looked back at the path over which they had come, and althoughthe joy of escape was still upon them it was with real grief that theybeheld the stricken forest, lately so grand a sight. It was now but adesolate and blackened ruin. Here and there charred trunks stood likethe chimneys of burned houses, and others lay upon the ground likefallen and smoking rafters. Scattered about were great beds of livingcoals, where the brush had been thickest, and smoke rose in columns fromthe burned grass and hot earth. It was all like some great templedestroyed by fire; and such it was, the grandest of all temples, thenatural temple of the forest.
"We kindled that fire," said Paul.
"I guess we did," responded Henry, "but we didn't know our spark wouldgrow into so great a blaze."
They swam to the bank and walked toward the remains of the forest. Butthe ground was still hot to their feet, and the smoke troubled them.Near the edge of the wood they found a deer still alive and with abroken leg, tripped in its panic-stricken flight or struck by a fallentree. Henry approached cautiously and slew him with his clasp knife. Hefelt strong pity as the fallen animal looked at him with great mournfuleyes, but they were two hungry boys, and they must have a food supply ifthey would live in the woods.
They cleaned and dressed the deer and found that the carcass was as muchas they could carry. But with great toil they lifted it over the hotground, and then across another little prairie, until they came to woodsonly partially burned. There they hung the body to the bough of a tree,out of the reach of beasts of prey.
Then they took thought for the future. Barring the deer which would lastsome time they would now have to begin all over again, but they resolvedto spend the rest of the present day, there under the shade of thetrees. They were too much exhausted with exertion and excitement toundertake any new risk just yet.
Paul was afflicted with a great longing for home that afternoon. Thefire and their narrow escape were still on his nerves. His muscularfiber was not so enduring as that of Henry, and the wilderness did notmake so keen an appeal to him. Their hardships were beginning to weighupon him and he thought all the time of Wareville, and the comfortablelittle log houses and the certain and easy supplies of food. Henry knewwhat was on his comrade's mind but he did not upbraid him for weaknessof spirit. He, too, had memories of Wareville, and he pitied the griefof their people who must now be mourning them as lost forever. But hehad been thinking long and hard and he had a plan. Finally he announcedto Paul that they would build a raft.
"I believe this is the same river that runs by Wareville," he said. "Inever heard Ross or Shif'less Sol or any of the men speak of anotherriver, near enough for us to have reached it, since we've been wanderingaround. So it must be the same. Now either we are above Wareville or weare below it. We've got to guess at that and take the risk of it. We canroll a lot of the logs and timber into the river, tie 'em together, andfloat with the stream until we come to Wareville."
"But if we never come to it?" asked Paul.
"Then all we have to do is to get off the raft and follow the river backup the bank. Then we are sure to reach home."
This was so plausible that Paul was full of enthusiasm and they decidedthat they would set to work on the raft early in the morning.
CHAPTER IV
THE HAUNTED FOREST
As the two boys sat before their camp fire that night, after makingtheir plan, they were far from feeling gloomy. Another revulsion hadcome. Safe, for the moment, after their recent run for life, it seemedto them that they were safe for all time. They were rested, they hadeaten good food in plenty, and the fire was long since but a dim redblur on the horizon. Ashes, picked up by wandering puffs of wind, stillfloated here and there among the burned tree trunks, and now and then ashower of sparks burst forth, as a bough into which the flames had eatendeep, broke and fell to the ground; but fear had gone from the lads,and, in its place, came a deep content. They were used to the forest,and in the company of each other they felt neither loneliness nordespair.
"It's good here," said Paul who was a reader and a philosopher. "I guessa fellow's life looks best to him just after he's thought he was goingto lose it, but didn't."
"I think that's true," said Henry, glancing toward the far horizon,where the red blur still showed under the twilight. "But that was just alittle too close for fun."
But his satisfaction was even deeper than Paul's. The wilderness and itsways made a stronger appeal to him. Paul, without Henry, would have feltloneliness and fear, but Henry alone, would have faced the nightundaunted. Already the great forest was putting upon him its magicspell.
"Have you eaten enough, Paul?" he asked.
"I should like to eat more, but I'm afraid I can't find a place for it,"replied Paul ruefully.
Henry laughed. He felt himself more than ever Paul's protector andregarded all his weaknesses with kindly tolerance. There the two layawhile, stretched out on the soft, warm earth, watching the twilightdeepen into night. Henry was listening to the voice of the wilderness,which spoke to him in such pleasant tones. He heard a faint sighing,like some one lightly plucking the strings of a guitar, and he knew thatit was the wandering breeze among the burned boughs; he heard now andthen a distant thud, and he knew that it was the fall of a tree, intowhose trunk the flames had bit deeply; as he lay with his ear to theearth he heard more than once a furtive footfall as light as air, and heknew that some wild animal was passing. But he had no fear, the fire wasa ring of steel about them.
Paul heard few of these sounds, or if hearing them he paid no heed. Thewilderness was not talking to him. He was merely in the woods and he wasvery glad indeed to have his strong and faithful comrade beside him.
The twilight slipped away and the night came, thick and dark. The redblur lingered, but the faintest line of pink under the dark horizon, andthe scorched tree trunks that curved like columns in a circle aroundthem became misty and unreal. Despite himself Paul began to feel alittle fear. He was a brave boy, but this was the wilderness, thewilderness in the dark, peopled by wild animals and perhaps by wildermen, and they were lost in it. He moved a little closer to his comrade.But Henry, into whose mind no such thoughts had come, rose presently,and heaped more wood on the fire. He was merely taking an ordinaryprecaution, and this little task finished, he spoke to Paul in a vein ofhumor, purposely making his words sound very big.
"Mr. Cotter," he said, "it seems to me that two worthy gentlemen likeourselves who have had a day of hard toil should retire for the night,and seek the rest that we deserve."
"What you say is certainly true, Mr. Ware," responded Paul who had alively fancy, "and I am glad to see that we have happened upon an inn,worthy of our great merits, and of our high position in life. This, yousee, Mr. Ware, is the Kaintuckee Inn, a most spacious place, noted forits pure air, and the great abundance of it. In truth, Mr. Ware, I mayassert to you that the ventilation is perfect."
"So I see, Mr. Cotter," said Henry, pursuing the same humor. "It isindeed a noble place. We are not troubled by any guest, beneath us inquality, nor are we crowded by any of our fellow lodgers."
"True! True!" said Paul, his bright eyes shining with his quick spirit,"and it is a most noble apartment that we have chosen. I have seldombeen in one more spacious. My eyes are good, but good as they are Icannot see the ceiling, it is so high. I look to right and left, and thewalls are so far away that they are hidden in the dark."
"Correctly spoken, Mr. Cotter," said Henry taking up the thread of talk,"and our inn has more than size to speak for it. It is furnished mostbeautifully. I do not know of another that has in it so good a larder.Its great specialty is game. It has too a most wonderful and plenteoussupply of pure fresh water and that being so I propose that we get adrink and go to bed."
The two boys went down to the little brook that ran near, and drankheartily. They then returned within the ring of fire.
They were thoroughly tired and sleepy, and they quickly threw themselvesdown upon the soft warm earth, pillowing their heads on their arms, andthe great Kaintuckee Inn bent over them a roof of soft, summer skies.
But the wilderness never sleeps, and its people knew that night that astranger breed was abroad among them. The wind rose a little, and itssong among the burned branches became by turns a music and a moan. Thelast cinder died, the earth cooled, and the forest creatures began tostir in the woodland aisles where the fire had passed. The disaster hadcome and gone, and perhaps it was already out of their memories forever.Rabbits timidly sought their old nests. A wild cat climbed a tree,scarcely yet cool beneath his claws, and looked with red and staringeyes at the ring of fire that formed a core of light in the forest, andthe two extraordinary beings that slept within its shelter. A deer camedown to the brook to drink, snorted at the sight of the red gleam amongthe trees, and then, when the strange odor came on the wind to itsnostrils, fled in wild fright through the forest.
The news, in some way unknown to man, was carried to all the forestcreatures. A new species, strange, unexplainable, had come among them,and they were filled with curiosity. Even the weak who had need to fearthe strong, edged as near as they dared, and gazed at the singularbeings who lay inside the red blaze. The wild cat crawled far out on thebare bough, and stared, half afraid, half curious, and also angry at theintrusion. He could see over the red blaze and he saw the boys stretchedupon the ground, their faces, very white to the eye of the forest,upturned to the sky. To human gaze they would have seemed as two dead,but the keen eyes of the wild cat saw their chests rising and fallingwith deep regular breaths.
The darkness deepened and then after a while began to lighten. Abeautiful clear moon came out and sheathed all the burned forest ingleaming silver. But the boys were still far away in a happyslumberland. The wild cat fled in alarm at the light, and the timidthings drew back farther among the trees.
Time passed, and the red ring of fire about Paul and Henry sank. Hastyand tired, they had not drawn up enough wood to last out the night, andnow the flames died, one by one. Then the coals smoldered and after awhile they too began to go out, one by one. The red ring of fire thatinclosed the two boys was slowly going away. It broke into links, andthen the links went out.
Light clouds came up from the west, and were drawn, like a veil, acrossthe sky. The moon began to fade, the silver armor melted away from thetrees, and the wild cat that had come back could scarcely see the twostrange beings, keen though his eyes were, so dense was the shadow wherethey lay. The wild things, still devoured with curiosity, pressednearer. The terrible red light that filled their souls with dread, wasgone, and the forest had lost half its terror. There was a ring of eyesabout Henry and Paul, but they yet abode in glorious slumberland,peaceful and happy.
Suddenly a new note came into the sounds of the wilderness, one thatmade the timid creatures tremble again with dread. It was faint and veryfar, more like a quaver brought down upon the wind, but the ring of eyesdrew back into the forest, and then, when the quaver came a second time,the rabbits and the deer fled, not to return. The lips of the wild catcontracted into a snarl, but his courage was only of the moment, hescampered away and he did not stop until he had gone a full mile. Thenhe swiftly climbed the tallest tree that he could find, and hid in itstop.
The ring of eyes was gone, as the ring of fire had died, but Henry andPaul slept on, although there was full need for them to be awake. Thelong, distant quaver, like a whine, but with something singularlyferocious in its note came again on the wind, and, far away, a score offorms, phantom and dusky, in the shadow were running fast, with low,slim bodies, and outstretched nostrils that had in them a grateful odorof food, soon to come.
Nature had given to Henry Ware a physical mechanism of great strength,but as delicate as that of a watch. Any jar to the wheels and springswas registered at once by the minute hand of his brain. He stirred inhis sleep and moved one hand in a troubled way. He was not yet awake,but the minute hand was quivering, and through all his wonderfullysensitive organism ran the note of alarm. He stirred again and thenabruptly sat up, his eyes wide open, and his whole frame tense with anew and terrible sensation. He saw the dead coals, where the fire hadbeen; the long, quavering and ferocious whine came to his ears, and, inan instant, he understood. It was well for the two that Henry was bynature a creature of the forest! He sprang to his feet and with onesweeping motion pulled Paul to his also.
"Up! Up, Paul!" he cried. "The fire is out, and the wolves are coming!"
Paul's physical senses were less acute and delicate than Henry's, and hedid not understand at once. He was still dazed, and groping with hishands in the dusk, but Henry gave him no time.
"It's our lives, Paul!" he cried. "Another enemy as bad as the fire isafter us!"
Not twenty feet away grew a giant beech, spreading out low and mightyboughs, and Henry leaped for it, dragging Paul after him.
"Up you go!" he cried, and Paul, not yet fully awake, instinctivelyobeyed the fierce command. Then Henry leaped lightly after him and asthey climbed higher among the boughs the ferocious whine burst into along terrible howl, and the dusky forms, running low, gaunt and ghostlyin the shadow, shot from the forest, and hurled themselves at the beechtree.
Henry, despite all his courage, shuddered, and while he clutched a boughtightly with one hand put the other upon his comrade to see that he didnot fall. He could feel Paul trembling in his grasp.
The two looked down upon the inflamed red eyes, the cruelly sharp, whiteteeth and slavering mouths, and, still panting from their climb, eachbreathed a silent prayer of thankfulness. They had been just in time toescape a pack of wolves that howled horribly for a while, and then satupon their haunches, staring silently up at the sweet new food, whichthey believed would fall at last into their mouths.
Paul at length said weakly:
"Henry, I'm mighty glad you're a light sleeper. If it had been left tome to wake up first I'd have woke up right in the middle of the stomachsof those wolves."
"Well, we're here and we're safe for the present," said Henry who nevertroubled himself over what was past and gone, "and I think this is amighty fine beech tree. I know that you and I, Paul, will never seeanother so big and friendly and good as it is."
Paul laughed, now with more heart.
"You are right, Henry," he said. "You are a mighty good friend, Mr. BigBeech Tree, and as a mark of gratitude I shall kiss you right in themiddle of your honest barky old forehead," and he touched his lipslightly to the great trunk. Paul was an imaginative boy, and his whimpleased him. Such a thought would not have come to Henry, but he likedit in Paul.
"I think it's past midnight, Paul," said Henry, "and we've been luckyenough to have had several hours' sleep."
"But they'll go away as soon as they realize they can't get us," saidPaul, "and then we can climb down and build a new and bigger ring offire about us."
Henry shook his head.
"They don't realize it," he replied. "I know they expect just thecontrary, Paul. They are as sure as a wolf can be that we will dropright into their mouths, just ready and anxious to be eaten. Look atthat old fellow with his forepaws on the tree! Did you ever see suchconfidence?"
Paul looked down fearfully, and the eyes of the biggest of the wolvesmet his, and held him as if he were charmed. The wolf began to whine andlick his lips, and Paul felt an insane desire to throw himself down.
"Stop it, Paul!" Henry cried sharply.
Paul jerked his eyes away, and shuddered from head to foot.
"He was asking me to come," he said hysterically, "and I don't know howit was, but for a moment I felt like going."
"Yes and a warm welcome he would have given you," said Henry stillsharply. "Remember that your best friend just now is not Mr. Big Wolf,but Mr. Big Beech Tree, and it's a wise boy who sticks to his bestfriend."
"I'm not likely to forget it," said Paul.
He shuddered again at the memory of the terrible, haunting eyes that hadbeen able for a brief moment to draw him downward. Then he clasped thefriendly tree more tightly in his arms, and Henry smiled approval.
"That's right, Paul," he said, "hold fast. I'd a heap rather be up herethan down there."
Paul felt himself with his hand.
"I'm all in one piece up here," he said, "and I think that's good for afellow who wants to live and grow."
Henry laughed with genuine enjoyment. Paul was getting back his sense ofhumor, and the change meant that his comrade was once more strong andalert. Then the larger boy looked down at their besiegers, who weresitting in a solemn circle, gazing now at the two lads and now at thevenison, hanging from the boughs of another tree very near. In the duskand the shadows they were a terrible company, gaunt and ghostly, grayand grim.
For a long time the wolves neither moved nor uttered a sound; theymerely sat on their haunches and stared upward at the living prey thatthey felt would surely be theirs. The clouds, caught by wanderingbreezes, were stripped from the face of the sky, and the moonlight cameout again, clear, and full, sheathing the scorched trunks once more insilver armor, and stretching great blankets of light on the burned andashy earth. It fell too on the gaunt figures of the gray wolves, but thesilent and deadly circle did not stir. In the moonlight they grew moreterrible, the red eyes became more inflamed and angry, because they hadto wait so long for what they considered theirs by right, the snarlinglips were drawn back a little farther, and the sharp white teeth gleamedmore cruelly.
Time passed again, dragging slowly and heavily for the besieged boys inthe tree, but the wolves, though hungry, were patient. Strong in unionthey were lords of the forest, and they felt no fear. A shambling blackbear, lumbering through the woods, suddenly threw up his nose in thewind, and catching the strong pungent odor, wheeled abruptly, lumberingoff on another course. The wild cat did not come back, but crouchedlower in his tree top; the timid things remained hidden deep in theirnests and burrows.
It was a new kind of game that the wolves had scented and driven to theboughs, something that they had never seen before, but the odor was verysweet and pleasant in their nostrils. It was a tidbit that they musthave, and, red-eyed, they stared at the two strange, toothsomecreatures, who stirred now and then in the tree, and who made queersounds to each other. When they heard these occasional noises the packwould reply with a long ferocious whine that seemed to double on itselfand give back echoes from every point of the compass. In the still nightit went far, and the timid things, when they heard it, trembled all overin their nests and burrows. Then the leader, the largest and mostterrible of the pack would stretch himself upon the tree trunk, and clawat the scorched bark, but the food he craved was still out of reach.
They noticed that the strange creatures in the tree began to moveoftener, and to draw their limbs up as if they were growing stiff, andthen their long-drawn howl grew longer and more ferocious than ever; thegame, tired out, would soon drop into their mouths. But it did not, thetwo creatures made sounds as if they were again encouraging each other,and the hearts of the wolves filled with rage and impatience that theyshould be cheated so long.
The night advanced; the moonlight faded again and the dark hours thatcome before the dawn were at hand. The forest became black and mistylike a haunted wood, and the dim forms of the wolves were the ghoststhat lived in it. But to their sharp red eyes the dark was nothing; theysaw the two beings in the tree do a very queer thing; they tore stripsfrom themselves, so it seemed to the wolves, from their clothing infact, and wound it about their bodies and a bough of the tree againstwhich they rested. But the wolves did not understand, only they knewthat the creatures did not stir again or make any kind of noise for along time.
When the darkness was thickest the wolves grew hot with impatience.Already they smelled the dawn and in the light their courage would ooze.Could it be that the food they coveted would not fall into their mouths?The dread suspicion filled every vein of the old leader with wrath, andhe uttered a long terrible howl of doubt and anger; the pack took up thenote and the lonely forest became alive with its echoes. But thecreatures in the tree stirred only a little, and made very few sounds.They seemed to be safe and content, and the wolves raged back and forth,leaping and howling.
The old leader felt the dark thin and lighten, and the scent of thecoming dawn became more oppressive to him. A little needle of fear shotinto his heart, and his muscles began to grow weak. He saw afar in theeast the first pale tinge, faint and gray, of the dreadful light that hefeared and hated. His howl now was one of mingled anger anddisappointment, and the pack imitated the note of the king.
The black veil over the forest gave way to one of gray. The dreadful barof light in the east broadened and deepened, and became beaming, intenseand brilliant. The needle of terror at the heart of the gray wolfstabbed and tore. His red eyes could not face the great red sun thatswung now above the earth, shooting its fierce beams straight at him.The dark, so kindly and so encouraging, beloved of his kind, was gone,and the earth swam in a hideous light, every ray of which was hostile.His blood changed to water, his knees bent under him, and then, to turnfear to panic, came a powerful odor on the light, morning wind. It waslike the scent of the two strange, succulent creatures in the tree, butit was the odor of many—many make strength he knew—and the great graywolf was sore afraid.
The sun shot higher and the world was bathed in a luminous golden glow.The master-wolf cast one last, longing look at the lost food in thetree, and then, uttering a long quavering howl of terror, which the packtook up and carried in many echoes, fled headlong through the forestwith his followers close behind, all running low and fast, and withterror hot at their heels. Their gaunt, gray bodies were gone in amoment, like ghosts that vanish at the coming of the day.
"Rouse up, Paul!" cried Henry. "They are gone, afraid of the sun, andit's safe for us now on the ground."
"And mighty glad I am!" said Paul. "The great Inn of Kaintuckee was notso hospitable after all, or at least some of our fellow guests were toohungry."
"It's because we were careless about our fire," said Henry. "If we hadobeyed all the rules of the inn, we should have had no trouble. Jumpdown, Paul!"
Henry dropped lightly and cheerfully to the ground. As usual he let thepast and its dangers slip, forgotten, behind him. Paul alighted besidehim and the wilderness witnessed the strange sight of two stout boys,running up and down, pounding and rubbing their hands and arms, utteringlittle cries of pain, as the blood flowed at first slowly and withdifficulty in their cramped limbs, and then of delight, as thecirculation became free and easy.
"Now for breakfast," said Henry. "It will be easy, as Mr. Landlord haskept the venison hanging on the tree there for us."
Henry was breathing the fresh morning air, and rejoicing in thesunlight. His wonderful physical nature had cast away all thought offear, but Paul, who had the sensitive mind and delicate fancy, was stilltroubled.
"Henry," he said, "I'm not willing to stay here, even to eat the deermeat. All through those hours we were up there it was a haunted forestfor me. I don't want to see this spot any more, and I'd like to get awayfrom it just as soon as I can."
Was it some instinct? or an unseen warning given to Paul, and registeredon his sensitive mind, as a photographic plate takes light? To the keennose of the old wolf leader an alarming odor had come with the dawn! Wasa kindred signal sent to Paul?
Henry stared at his comrade in surprise, but he knew that he and Paulwere different, and he respected those differences which might be eitherstrength or weakness.
"All right, if you wish it, Paul," he said, lightly. "There are manyrooms in the Kaintuckee Inn, and if the one we have doesn't suit uswe'll just take another. Wait till I cut this venison down, and we'llmove without paying our score."
"I guess we paid that to the wolves," said Paul, smiling a little.
Henry detached the venison and divided it. Then each took his share, andthey moved swiftly away among the trees, still keeping to the generalcourse of the river. They came presently to a large area of unburnedforest, thick with foliage and undergrowth and, without hesitation, theyplunged into it. Henry was in front and suddenly to his keen ears came asound which he knew was not one of the natural noises of the forest. Helistened and it continued, a beat, faint but regular and steady. He knewthat it was made by footfalls, and he knew, too, that in the wildernesseveryone is an enemy until he is proved to be a friend. They were in thedensest of the undergrowth, and thought and action came to him on theheels of each other, swift as lightning.
"Sink down, Paul! Sink down!" he cried, and grasping his comrade by theshoulder he bore him down among the thick bushes, going down with him.
"Don't move for your life!" he whispered. "Men are about to pass andthey cannot be our kind!"
Paul at once became as still as death. He too under the strain of thewilderness life and the need of caring for oneself was becomingwonderfully acute of the senses and ready of action. The two boyscrouched close together, their heads below the tops of the bushes,although they could see between the leaves and twigs, and neither moveda hair.
Almost hidden in the foliage a line of Indian warriors, like duskyphantoms, passed, in single file, and apparently stepping in oneanother's tracks. Well for the boys that Paul had felt his impulse toleave the vicinity of the besieged tree, because the course of thewarriors would carry them very near it, and they could not fail todetect the alien presence. But no such suspicion seemed to enter theirminds now, and, like the wolves, they were traveling fast, butsouthward.
The boys stared through the leaves and twigs, afraid but fascinated.They were fourteen in all—Henry counted them—but never a warrior spokea word, and the grim line was seen but a moment and then gone, thoughtheir dark painted faces long remained engraved, like pictures, on theminds of both. But to Paul it was, for the instant, like a dream. He sawthem, and then he did not. The leaves of the bushes rustled a littlewhen they passed, and then were still.
"They must be Southern Indians," whispered Henry. "Cherokees mostlikely. They come up here now and then to hunt, but they seldom staylong, for fear of the more warlike and powerful Northern Indians, whocome down to Kaintuckee for the same purpose, at least that's what Iheard Ross and Sol say."
"Well, they did seem to be traveling fast," breathed Paul, "and I'mmighty glad of it. Do you think, Henry, they could have done any harm atWareville?"
Henry shook his head.
"I have no such fear," he said. "We are a good long distance from home,and they've probably gone by without ever hearing of the place. Ross hasalways said that no danger was to be dreaded from the south."
"I guess it's so," said Paul with deep relief, "but I think, Henry, thatyou and I ought to go down to the river's bank, and build that raft assoon as we can."
"All right," said Henry calmly. "But we'll first eat our venison."
They quickly did as they agreed, and felt greatly strengthened andencouraged after a hearty breakfast. Then with bold hearts and quickhands they began their task.
CHAPTER V
AFLOAT
The boys began at once the work on their raft, a rude structure of a fewfallen logs, fastened together with bark and brush, but simple, strongand safe. They finished it in two days, existing meanwhile on the deermeat, and early the morning afterwards, the clumsy craft, bearing thetwo navigators, was duly intrusted to the mercy of the unknown river.Each of the boys carried a slender hickory pole with which to steer, andthey also fastened securely to the raft the remainder of their deer,their most precious possession.
They pushed off with the poles, and the current catching their craft,carried it gently along. It was a fine little river, running in a deepchannel, and Henry became more sure than ever that it was the one thatflowed by Wareville. He was certain that the family resemblance was toostrong for him to be mistaken.
They floated on for hours, rarely using their poles to increase thespeed of the raft and by and by they began to pass between cliffs ofconsiderable height. The forest here was very dense. Mighty oaks andhickories grew right at the water's edge, throwing out their boughs sofar that often the whole stream was in the shade. Henry enjoyed it. Thiswas one of the things that his fancy had pictured. He was now floatingdown an unknown river, through unknown lands, and, like as not, his andPaul's were the first human eyes that had ever looked upon these hillsand splendid forests. Reposing now after work and danger he breathedagain the breath of the wilderness. He loved it—its silence, itsmagnificent spaces, and its majesty. He was glad that he had come toKentucky, where life was so much grander than it was back in the oldEastern regions. Here one was not fenced in and confined and could growto his true stature.
They ate their dinner on the raft, still floating peacefully and triedto guess how far they had come, but neither was able to judge the speedof the current. Paul fitted himself into a snug place on their queercraft and after a while went to sleep. Henry watched him, lest he turnover and fall into the river and also kept an eye out for other things.
He was watching thus, when about the middle of the afternoon he saw athin dark line, lying like a thread, against the blue skies. He studiedit long and came to the conclusion that it was smoke.
"Smoke!" said he to himself. "Maybe that means Wareville."
The raft glided gently with the current, moving so smoothly andpeacefully that it was like the floating of a bubble on a summer sea.Paul still lay in a dreamless sleep. The water was silver in the shadeand dim gold where the sunshine fell upon it, and the trees, a solidmass, touched already by the brown of early autumn, dropped over thestream. Afar, a fine haze, like a misty veil, hung over the forest. Theworld was full of peace and primitive beauty.
They drifted on and the spire of smoke broadened and grew. The look ofthe river became more and more familiar. Paul still slept and Henrywould not awaken him. He looked at the face of his comrade as heslumbered and noticed for the first time that it was thin and pale. Thelife in the woods had been hard upon Paul. Henry did not realize untilthis moment how very hard it had been. The sight of that smoke had notcome too soon.
There was a shout from the bank followed by the crash of bodies amongthe undergrowth.
"Smoke me, but here they are! A-floatin' down the river in their ownboat, as comfortable as two lords!"
It was the voice of Shif'less Sol, and his face, side by side with thatof Ross, the guide, appeared among the trees at the river's brink. Henryfelt a great flush of joy when he saw them, and waved his hands. Paul,awakened by the shouts, was in a daze at first, but when he beheld oldfriends again his delight was intense.
Henry thrust a pole against the bottom and shoved the raft to the bank.Then he and Paul sprang ashore and shook hands again and again with Rossand Sol. Ross told of the long search for the two boys. He and Mr. Wareand Shif'less Sol and a half dozen others had never ceased to seek them.They feared at one time that they had been carried off by savages, butnowhere did they find Indian traces. Then their dread was of starvationor death by wild animals, and they had begun to lose hope.
Both Henry and Paul were deeply moved by the story of the grief atWareville. They knew even without the telling that this sorrow had neverbeen demonstrative. The mothers of the West were too much accustomed togreat tragedies to cry out and wring their hands when a blow fell.Theirs was always a silent grief, but none the less deep.
Then, guided by Ross and the shiftless one, they proceeded to Warevillewhich was really at the bottom of the smoke spire, where they werereceived, as two risen from the dead, in a welcome that was not noisy,but deep and heartfelt. The cow, the original cause of the trouble, hadwandered back home long ago.
"How did you live in the forest?" asked Mr. Ware of Henry, after thefirst joy of welcome was shown.
"It was hard at first, but we were beginning to learn," replied the boy."If we'd only had our rifles 'twould have been no trouble. And father,the wilderness is splendid!"
The boy's thoughts wandered far away for a moment to the wild woodswhere he again lay in the shade of mighty oaks and saw the deer comedown to drink. Mr. Ware noticed the expression on Henry's face and tookreflection. "I must not let the yoke bear too heavy upon him," was hisunspoken thought.
But Paul's joy was unalloyed; he preferred life at Wareville to life inthe wilderness amid perpetual hardships, and when they gave the greatdinner at Mr. Ware's to celebrate the return of the wanderers he reachedthe height of human bliss. Both Ross and Shif'less Sol were present andwith them, too, were Silas Pennypacker who could preach upon occasionfor the settlement and did it, now and then, and John Upton, who next toMr. Ware was the most notable man in Wareville, and his daughter Lucy,now a shy, pretty girl of twelve, and more than twenty others. EvenBraxton Wyatt was among the members although he still sneered at Henry.
Theirs was in very truth a table fit for a king. In fact few kings couldduplicate it, without sending to the uttermost parts of the earth, andperhaps not then. Meat was its staple. They had wild duck, wild goose,wild turkey, deer, elk, beaver tail, and a half dozen kinds of fish; butthe great delicacy was buffalo hump cooked in a peculiar way—that is,served up in the hide of a buffalo from which the hair had been singedoff, and baked in an earthen oven. Ross, who had learned it from theIndians, showed them how to do this, and they agreed that none of themhad ever before tasted so fine a dish. When the dinner was over, Henryand Paul had to answer many questions about their wanderings, and theywere quite willing to do so, feeling at the moment a due sense of theirown importance.
A shade passed over the faces of some of the men at the mention of theIndians, whom Henry and Paul had seen, but Ross agreed with Henry thatthey were surely of the South, going home from a hunting trip, and sothey were soon forgotten.
Henry's work after their return included an occasional huntingexcursion, as game was always needed. His love of the wilderness did notdecrease when thus he ranged through it and began to understand itsways. Familiarity did not breed contempt. The magnificent spaces andmighty silence appealed to him with increasing force. The columns of thetrees were like cathedral aisles and the pure breath of the wind wasfresh with life.
The first part of the autumn was hot and dry. The foliage died fast, theleaves twisted and dried up and the brown grass stems fell lifeless tothe earth. A long time they were without rain, and a dull haze of heathung over the simmering earth. The river shrank in its bed, and thebrooks became rills.
Henry still hunted with his older comrades, though often at night now,and he saw the forest in a new phase. Dried and burned it appealed tohim still. He learned to sleep lightly, that is, to start up at theslightest sound, and one morning after the wilderness had been growinghotter and dryer than ever he was awakened by a faint liquid touch onthe roof. He knew at once that it was the rain, wished for so long andtalked of so much, and he opened the shutter window to see it fall.
The sun was just rising, but showed only a faint glow of pink throughthe misty clouds, and the wind was light. The clouds opened but a littleat first and the great drops fell slowly. The hot earth steamed at thetouch, and, burning with thirst, quickly drank in the moisture. The windgrew and the drops fell faster. The heat fled away, driven by the wavesof cool, fresh air that came out of the west. Washed by the rain the drygrass straightened up, and the dying leaves opened out, springing intonew life. Faster and faster came the drops and now the sound they madewas like the steady patter of musketry. Henry opened his mouth andbreathed the fresh clean air, and he felt that like the leaves and grasshe, too, was gaining new life.
When he went forth the next day in the dripping forest the wildernessseemed to be alive. The game swarmed everywhere and he was a lazy manwho could not take what he wished. It was like a late touch of spring,but it did not last long, for then the frosts came, the air grew crispand cool and the foliage of the forest turned to wonderful reds andyellows and browns. From the summit of the blockhouse tower Henry saw agreat blaze of varied color, and he thought that he liked this part ofthe year best. He could feel his own strength grow, and now that coldweather was soon to come he would learn new ways to seek game and newphases of the wilderness.
The autumn and its beauty deepened. The colors of the foliage grew moreintense and burned afar like flame. The settlers lightened their workand most of them now spent a large part of the time in hunting, pursuingit with the keen zest, born of a natural taste and the relaxation fromheavy labors. Mr. Ware and a few others, anxious to test the qualitiesof the soil, were plowing up newly cleared land to be sown in wheat, butHenry was compelled to devote only a portion of his time to this work.The remaining hours, not needed for sleep, he was usually in the forestwith Paul and the others.
The hunting was now glorious. Less than three miles from the fort andabout a mile from the river Henry and Paul found a beaver dam across atributary creek and they laid rude traps for its builders, six of whichthey caught in the course of time. Ross and Sol showed them how to takeoff the pelts which would be of value when trade should be opened withthe east, and also how to cook beaver tail, a dish which could, withtruth, be called a rival of buffalo hump.
Now the settlers began to accumulate a great supply of game atWareville. Elk and deer and bear and buffalo and smaller animals werebeing jerked and dried at every house, and every larder was filled tothe brim. There could be no lack of food the coming winter, the settlerssaid, and they spoke with some pride of their care and providence.
The village was gaining in both comfort and picturesqueness. Tannedskins of the deer, elk, buffalo, bear, wolf, panther and wild cat hungon the walls of every house, and were spread on every floor. The womencontrived fans and ornaments of the beautiful mottled plumage of thewild turkey. Cloth was hard to obtain in the wilderness, as it might bea year before a pack train would come over the mountains from the east,and so the women made clothing of the softest and lightest of thedressed deer skin. There were hunting shirts for the men and boys,fastened at the waist by a belt, and with a fringe three or four incheslong, the bottom of which fell to the knees. The men and boys also madethemselves caps of raccoon skin with the tail sewed on behind as adecoration. Henry and Paul were very proud of theirs.
The finest robes of buffalo skin were saved for the beds, and Ross gavewarning that they should have full need of them. Winters in Kentucky, hesaid, were often cold enough to freeze the very marrow in one's bones,when even the wildest of men would be glad enough to leave the woods andhover over a big fire. But the settlers provided for this also bybuilding great stacks of firewood beside each house. They were as wellequipped with axes—keen, heavy weapons—as they were with rifles andammunition, and these were as necessary. The forest around Warevillealready gave great proof of their prowess with the ax.
Now the autumn was waning. Every morning the wilderness gleamed andsparkled beneath a beautiful covering of white frost. The brown in theleaves began to usurp the yellows and the reds. The air, crisp and cold,had a strange nectar in it and its very breath was life. The sun lay inthe heavens a ball of gold, and a fine haze, like a misty golden veil,hung over the forest. It was Indian summer.
Then Indian summer passed and winter, which was very early that year,came roaring down on Wareville. The autumn broke up in a cold rain whichsoon turned to snow. The wind swept out of the northwest, bitter andchill, and the desolate forest, every bough stripped of its leaves,moaned before the blast.
But it was cheerful, when the sleet beat upon the roof and the cold windrattled the rude shutters, to sit before the big fires and watch themsparkle and blaze.
There was another reason why Henry should now begin to spend much of histime indoors. The Rev. Silas Pennypacker opened his school for thewinter, and it was necessary for Henry to attend. Many of the pioneerswho crossed the mountains from the Eastern States and founded the greatWestern outpost of the nation in Kentucky were men of education andcultivation, with a knowledge of books and the world. They did notintend that their children should grow up mere ignorant borderers, butthey wished their daughters to have grace and manners and their sons tobecome men of affairs, fit to lead the vanguard of a mighty race. So afirst duty in the wilderness was to found schools, and this they did.
The Reverend Silas was no lean and thin body, no hanger-on upon strongermen, but of fine girth and stature with a red face as round as the fullmoon, a glorious laugh and the mellowest voice in the colony. He was byrepute a famous scholar who could at once give the chapter and text ofany verse in the Bible and had twice read through the ponderous historyof the French gentleman, M. Rollin. It was said, too, that he had nearlytwenty volumes of some famous romances by a French lady, oneMademoiselle de Scudery, brought over the mountains in a box, but ofthis Henry and Paul could not speak with certainty, as a certain woodencupboard in Mr. Pennypacker's house was always securely locked.
But the teacher was a favorite in the settlement with both men andwomen. A sight of his cheerful face was considered good enough to curechills and fever, and for the matter of that he was an expert hand withboth ax and rifle. His uses in Wareville were not merely mental andspiritual. He was at all times able and willing to earn his own breadwith his own strong hands, though the others seldom permitted him to doso.
Henry entered school with some reluctance. Being nearly sixteen now,with an unusually powerful frame developed by a forest life, he was aslarge as an ordinary man and quite as strong. He thought he ought tohave done with schools, and set up in man's estate but his fatherinsisted upon another winter under Mr. Pennypacker's care and Henryyielded.
There were perhaps thirty boys and girls who sat on the rough woodenbenches in the school and received tuition. Mr. Pennypacker did notundertake to guide them through many branches of learning, but what hetaught he taught well. He, too, had the feeling that these boys andgirls were to be the men and women who would hold the future of the Westin their hands, and he intended that they should be fit. There werestatesmen and generals among those red-faced boys on the benches, andthe wives and mothers of others among the red-faced girls who sat nearthem, and he tried to teach them their duty as the heirs of awilderness, soon to be the home of a great race.
Among his favorite pupils was Paul who had not Henry's eye and hand inthe forest, but who loved books and the knowledge of men. He couldfollow the devious lines of history when Henry would much rather havebeen following the devious trail of a deer. Nevertheless, Henrypersisted, borne up by the emulation of his comrade, and the knowledgethat it was his last winter in school.
CHAPTER VI
THE VOICE OF THE WOODS
To study now was the hardest task that Henry had ever undertaken. It waseven easier to find food when he and Paul were unarmed and destitute inthe forest. The walls of the little log house in which he sat inclosedhim like a cell, the air was heavy and the space seemed to grow narrowerand narrower. Then just when the task was growing intolerable he wouldlook across the room and seeing the studious face of Paul bent over thebig text of an ancient history, he would apply himself anew to his laborwhich consisted chiefly of "figures," a bit of the world's geography,and a little look into the history of England.
Mr. Pennypacker would neither praise nor blame, but often when the boydid not notice he looked critically at Henry. "I don't think your sonwill be a great scholar," he said once to Mr. Ware, "but he will be aNimrod, a mighty hunter before men, and a leader in action. It's aswell, for his is the kind that will be needed most and for a long timein this wilderness, and back there in the old lands, too."
"It is so," replied Mr. Ware, "the clouds do gather."
Involuntarily he looked toward the east, and Mr. Pennypacker's eyesfollowed him. But both remained silent upon that portion of theirthoughts.
"Moreover I tell you for your comfort that the lad has a sense of duty,"added the teacher.
Henry shot a magnificent stag with great antlers a few days later, andmounting the head he presented it to Mr. Pennypacker. But on thefollowing day the master looked very grave and Henry and Paul tried toguess the cause. Henry heard that Ross had arrived the night before fromthe nearest settlement a hundred miles away, but had stayed only anhour, going to their second nearest neighbor distant one hundred andfifty miles. He brought news of some kind which only Mr. Ware, Mr.Upton, the teacher and three or four others knew. These were not readyto speak and Paul and Henry were well aware that nothing on earth couldmake them do so until they thought the time was fit.
It was a long, long morning. Henry had before him a map of the Empire ofMuscovy but he saw little there. Instead there came between him and thepage a vision of the beaver dam and the pool above it, now covered witha sheet of ice, and of the salt spring where the deer came to drink, andof a sheltered valley in which a herd of elk rested every night.
Mr. Pennypacker was singularly quiet that morning. It was his custom tocall up his pupils and make them recite in a loud voice, but the hourspassed and there were no recitations. The teacher seemed to be lookingfar away at something outside the schoolroom, and his thoughts followedhis eyes. Henry by and by let his own roam as they would and he was indreamland, when he was aroused by a sharp smack of the teacher'shomemade ruler upon his homemade desk.
But the blow was not aimed at Henry or anybody in particular. It was anannouncement to all the world in general that Mr. Pennypacker was aboutto speak on a matter of importance. Henry and Paul guessed at once thatit would be about the news brought by Ross.
Mr. Pennypacker's face grew graver than ever as he spoke. He told themthat when they left the east there was great trouble between thecolonies and the mother country. They had hoped that it would pass away,but now, for the first time in many months, news had come across themountains from their old home, and had entered the great forest. Thetroubles were not gone. On the contrary they had become worse. There hadbeen fighting, a battle in which many had been killed, and a great warwas begun. The colonies would all stand together, and no man could tellwhat the times would bring forth.
This was indeed weighty news. Though divided from their brethren in theeast by hundreds of miles of mountain and forest the patriotism of thesettlers in the wilderness burned with a glow all the brighter on thataccount. More than one young heart in that rude room glowed with adesire to be beside their countrymen in the far-off east, rifle in hand.
But Mr. Pennypacker spoke again. He said that there was now a greaterduty upon them to hold the west for the union of the colonies. Theirtask was not merely to build homes for themselves, but to win the landthat it might be homes for others. There were rumors that the savageswould be used against them, that they might come down in force from thenorth, and therefore it was the part of everyone, whether man, woman orchild to redouble his vigilance and caution. Then he adjourned schoolfor the day.
The boys drew apart from their elders and discussed the great news.Henry's blood was on fire. The message from that little Massachusettstown, thrilled him as nothing in his life had done before. He had avague idea of going there, and of doing what he considered his part, andhe spoke to Paul about it, but Paul thought otherwise.
"Why, Henry!" he said. "We may have to defend ourselves here and we'llneed you."
The people of Wareville knew little about the causes of the war andafter this one message brought by Ross they heard no more of itsprogress. They might be fighting great battles away off there on theAtlantic coast, but no news came through the wall of woods. Warevilleitself was peaceful, and around it curved the mighty forest which toldnothing.
Mountains and forest alike lay under deep snow, and it was not likelythat they would hear anything further until spring, because the winterwas unusually cold and a man who ventured now on a long journey wasbraver than his fellows.
The new Kentuckians were glad that they had provided so well for winter.All the cupboards were full and there was no need for them now to roamthe cold forests in search of game. They built the fires higher andwatched the flames roar up the chimneys, while the little childrenrolled on the floor and grasped at the shadows.
Though but a bit of mankind hemmed in by the vast and frozen wildernesstheirs was not an unhappy life by any means. The men and boys, thoughnow sparing their powder and ball, still set traps for game and were notwithout reward. Often they found elk and deer, and once or twice abuffalo floundering in the deep snowdrifts, and these they added to thewinter larder. They broke holes in the ice on the river and caught fishin abundance. They worked, too, about the houses, making more tables andbenches and chairs and shelves and adding to their bodily comforts.
The great snow lasted about a month and then began to break up with aheavy rain which melted all the ice, but which could not carry away allthe snow. The river rose rapidly and overflowed its banks but Warevillewas safe, built high on the hill where floods could not reach. Warmwinds followed the rain and the melting snow turned great portions ofthe forest into lakes. The trees stood in water a yard deep, and theaspect of the wilderness was gloomy and desolate. Even the most resoluteof the hunters let the game alone at such a time. Often the warm windswould cease to blow when night came and then the great lagoons would becovered with a thin skim of ice which melted again the next day underthe winds and the sun. All this brought chills and fever to Warevilleand bitter herbs were sought for their cure. But the strong frame ofHenry was impervious to the attacks and he still made daily journeys tohis traps in the wet and steaming wilderness.
Henry was now reconciled to the schoolroom. It was to be his last termthere and he realized with a sudden regret that it was almost at itsend. He was beginning to feel the sense of responsibility, that he wasin fact one of the units that must make up the state.
Despite these new ideas a sudden great longing lay hold of him. Thewinds from the south were growing warmer and warmer, all the snow andice was gone long ago, faint touches of green and pink were appearing ongrass and foliage and the young buds were swelling. Henry heard thewhisper of these winds and every one of them called to him. He knew thathe was wanted out there in the woods. He began to hate the sight ofhuman faces, he wished to go alone into the wilderness, to see the deersteal among the trees and to hear the beaver dive into the deep waters.He felt himself a part of nature and he would breathe and live as naturedid.
He grew lax in his tasks; he dragged his feet and there were even timeswhen he was not hungry. When his mother noticed the latter circ*mstanceshe knew surely that the boy was ill, but her husband shrewdly said:
"Henry, the spring has come; take your rifle and bring us some freshvenison."
So Henry shouldered his rifle and went forth alone upon the quest, evenleaving behind Paul, his chosen comrade. He did not wish humancompanionship that day, nor did he stop until he was deep in thewilderness. How he felt then the glory of living! The blood was flushingin his veins as the sap was rising in the trees around him. The worldwas coming forth from its torpor of winter refreshed and strengthened.He saw all about him the signs of new life—the tender young grass inshades of delicate green, the opening buds on the trees, and a subtleperfume that came on the edge of the Southern wind. Beyond him the wildturkeys on the hill were calling to each other.
He stood there a long time breathing the fresh breath of this new world,and the old desire to wander through illimitable forests and floatsilently down unknown rivers came over him. He would not feel the needof companionship on long wanderings. Nature would then be sufficient,talking to him in many tongues.
The wind heavy, with perfumes of the South, came over the hill and onits crest the wild turkeys were still clucking to each other. Henry,through sheer energy and flush of life, ran up the slope, and watchedthem as they took flight through the trees, their brilliant plumagegleaming in the sunshine.
It was the highest hill near Wareville and he stood a while upon itscrest. The wilderness here circled around him, and, in the distance, itblended into one mass, already showing a pervading note of green withfaint touches of pink bloom appearing here and there. The whole of itwas still and peaceful with no sign of human life save a rising spire ofsmoke behind him that told where Wareville stood.
He walked on. Rabbits sprang out of the grass beside him and raced awayinto the thickets. Birds in plumage of scarlet and blue and gold shotlike a flame from tree to tree. The forest, too, was filled with themelody of their voices, but Henry took no notice.
He paused a while at the edge of a brook to watch the silver sunfishplay in the shallows, then he leaped the stream and went on into thedeeper woods, a tall, lithe, strong figure, his eyes gazing at no onething, the long slender-barreled rifle lying forgotten across hisshoulder.
A great stag sprang up from the forest and stood for a few moments,gazing at him with expanding and startled eyes. Henry standing quitestill returned the look, seeking to read the expression in the eyes ofthe deer.
Thus they confronted each other a half minute and then the stag turningfled through the woods. There was no undergrowth, and Henry for a longtime watched the form of the deer fleeing down the rows of trees, as itbecame smaller and smaller and then disappeared.
All the forest glowed red in the setting sun when he returned home.
"Where is the deer?" asked his father.
"Why—why I forgot it!" said Henry in confused reply.
Mr. Ware merely smiled.
CHAPTER VII
THE GIANT BONES
About this time many people in Wareville, particularly the women andchildren began to complain of physical ills, notably lassitude and alack of appetite; their food, which consisted largely of the gameswarming all around the forest, had lost its savor. There was no mysteryabout it; Tom Ross, Mr. Ware and others promptly named the cause; theyneeded salt, which to the settlers of Kentucky was almost as precious asgold; it was obtained in two ways, either by bringing it hundreds ofmiles over the mountains from Virginia in wagons or on pack horses, orby boiling it out at the salt springs in the Indian-haunted woods.
They had neither the time nor the men for the long journey to Virginia,and they prepared at once for obtaining it at the springs. They hadalready used a small salt spring but the supply was inadequate, and theydecided to go a considerable distance northward to the famous Big BoneLick. Nothing had been heard in a long time of Indian war parties southof the Ohio, and they believed they would incur no danger. Moreover theycould bring back salt to last more than a year.
When they first heard of the proposed journey, Paul Cotter pulled Henryto one side. They were just outside the palisade, and it was a beautifulday, in early spring. Already kindly nature was smoothing over the cruelscars made by the axes in the forest, and the village within thepalisade began to have the comfortable look of home.
"Do you know what the Big Bone Lick is, Henry?" asked Paul eagerly.
"No," replied Henry, wondering at his chum's excitement.
"Why it's the most wonderful place in all the world!" said Paul, jumpingup and down in his wish to tell quickly. "There was a hunter here lastwinter who spoke to me about it. I didn't believe him then, it soundedso wonderful, but Mr. Pennypacker says it's all true. There's a greatsalt spring, boiling out of the ground in the middle of a kind of marsh,and all around it, for a long distance, are piled hundreds of largebones, the bones of gigantic animals, bigger than any that walk theearth to-day."
"See here, Paul," said Henry scornfully, "you can't stuff my ears withmush like that. I guess you were reading one of the master's oldromances, and then had a dream. Wake up, Paul!"
"It's true every word of it!"
"Then if there were such big animals, why don't we see 'em sometimesrunning through the forest?"
"My, they've all been dead millions of years and their bones have beenpreserved there in the marsh. They lived in another geologic era—that'swhat Mr. Pennypacker calls it—and animals as tall as trees strolled upand down over the land and were the lords of creation."
Henry puckered his lips and emitted a long whistle of incredulity.
"Paul," he said, reprovingly, "you do certainly have the gift ofspeech."
But Paul was not offended at his chum's disbelief.
"I'm going to prove to you, Henry, that it's true," he said. "Mr.Pennypacker says it's so, he never tells a falsehood and he's a scholar,too. But you and I have got to go with the salt-makers, Henry, and we'llsee it all. I guess if you look on it with your own eyes you'll believeit."
"Of course," said Henry, "and of course I'll go if I can."
A trip through the forest and new country to the great salt spring wastemptation enough in itself, without the addition of the fields of bigbones, and that night in both the Ware and Cotter homes, eloquent boysgave cogent reasons why they should go with the band.
"Father," said Henry, "there isn't much to do here just now, and they'llwant me up at Big Bone Lick, helping to boil the salt and a lot ofthings."
Mr. Ware smiled. Henry, like most boys, seldom showed much zeal formanual labor. But Henry went on undaunted.
"We won't run any risk. No Indians are in Kentucky now and, father, Iwant to go awful bad."
Mr. Ware smiled again at the closing avowal, which was so frank. Just atthat moment in another home another boy was saying almost exactly thesame things, and another father ventured the same answer that Mr. Waredid, in practically the same words such as these:
"Well, my son, as it is to be a good strong company of careful andexperienced men who will not let you get into any mischief, you can goalong, but be sure that you make yourself useful."
The party was to number a dozen, all skilled foresters, and they were tolead twenty horses, all carrying huge pack saddles for the utensils andthe invaluable salt. Mr. Silas Pennypacker who was a man of his own willannounced that he was going, too. He puffed out his ruddy cheeks andsaid emphatically:
"I've heard from hunters of that place; it's one of the greatcuriosities of the country and for the sake of learning I'm bound to seeit. Think of all the gigantic skeletons of the mastodon, the mammoth andother monsters lying there on the ground for ages!"
Henry and Paul were glad that Mr. Pennypacker was to be with them, as inthe woods he was a delightful comrade, able always to make instructionentertaining, and the superiority of his mind appealed unconsciously toboth of these boys who—each in his way—were also of superior cast.
They departed on a fine morning—the spring was early and heldsteady—and all Wareville saw them go. It was a brilliant littlecavalcade; the horses, their heads up to scent the breeze from thefragrant wilderness, and the men, as eager to start, everyone with along slender-barreled Kentucky rifle on his shoulder, the fringed andbrilliantly colored deerskin hunting shirt falling almost to his knees,and, below that deerskin leggings and deerskin moccasins adorned withmany-tinted beads. It was a vivid picture of the young West, so young,and yet so strong and so full of life, the little seed from which somighty a tree was soon to grow.
All of them stopped again, as if by an involuntary impulse, at the edgeof the forest, and waved their hands in another, and, this time, in alast good-by to the watchers at the fort. Then they plunged into themighty wilderness, which swept away and away for unknown thousands ofmiles.
They talked for a while of the journey, of the things that they mightsee by the way, and of those that they had left behind, but before longconversation ceased. The spell of the dark and illimitable woods, inwhose shade they marched, fell upon them, and there was no noise, butthe sound of breathing and the tread of men and horses. They dropped,too, from the necessities of the path through the undergrowth, intoIndian file, one behind the other.
Henry was near the rear of the line, the stalwart schoolmaster just infront of him, and his comrade Paul, just behind. He was full ofthankfulness that he had been allowed to go on this journey. It allappealed to him, the tale that Paul told of the giant bones and thegreat salt spring, the dark woods full of mystery and delightful danger,and his own place among the trusted band, who were sent on such anerrand. His heart swelled with pride and pleasure and he walked with alight springy step and with endurance equal to that of any of the menbefore him. He looked over his shoulder at Paul, whose face also wastouched with enthusiasm.
"Aren't you glad to be along?" he asked in a whisper.
"Glad as I can be," replied Paul in the same whisper.
Up shot the sun showering golden beams of light upon the forest. The airgrew warmer, but the little band did not cease its rapid pace northwarduntil noon. Then at a word from Ross all halted at a beautiful glade,across which ran a little brook of cold water. The horses were tetheredat the edge of the forest, but were allowed to graze on the young grasswhich was already beginning to appear, while the men lighted a smallfire of last year's fallen brushwood, at the center of the glade on thebank of the brook.
"We won't build it high," said Ross, who was captain as well as guide,"an' then nobody in the forest can see it. There may not be an Indiansouth of the Ohio, but the fellow that's never caught is the fellow thatnever sticks his head in the trap."
"Sound philosophy! sound philosophy! your logic is irrefutable, Mr.Ross," said the schoolmaster.
Ross grinned. He did not know what "irrefutable" meant, but he did knowthat Mr. Pennypacker intended to compliment him.
Paul and Henry assisted with the fire. In fact they did most of thework, each wishing to make good his assertion that he would prove of useon the journey. It was a brief task to gather the wood and then Ross andShif'less Sol lighted the fire, which they permitted merely to smolder.But it gave out ample heat and in a few minutes they cooked over ittheir venison and corn bread and coffee which they served in tin cups.Henry and Paul ate with the ferocious appetite that the march and theclean air of the wilderness had bred in them, and nobody restrictedthem, because the forest was full of game, and such skillful hunters andriflemen could never lack for a food supply.
Mr. Pennypacker leaned with an air of satisfaction against the upthrustbough of a fallen oak.
"It's a wonderful world that we have here," he said, "and just to thinkthat we're among the first white men to find out what it contains."
"All ready!" said Tom Ross, "then forward we go, we mustn't waste timeby the way. They need that salt at Wareville."
Once more they resumed the march in Indian file and amid the silence ofthe woods. About the middle of the afternoon Ross invited Mr.Pennypacker and the two boys to ride three of the pack horses. Henry atfirst declined, not willing to be considered soft and pampered, but asthe schoolmaster promptly accepted and Paul who was obviously tired didthe same, he changed his mind, not because he needed rest, but lest Paulshould feel badly over his inferiority in strength.
Thus they marched steadily northward, Ross leading the way, andShif'less Sol who was lazy at the settlement, but never in the woodswhere he was inferior in knowledge and skill to Ross only, covering therear. Each of these accomplished borderers watched every movement of theforest about him, and listened for every sound; he knew with the eye ofsecond sight what was natural and if anything not belonging to the usualorder of things should appear, he would detect it in a moment. But theysaw and heard nothing that was not according to nature: only the windamong the boughs, or the stamp of an elk's hoof as it fled, startled atthe scent of man. The hostile tribes from north and south, fearful ofthe presence of each other, seemed to have deserted the great wildernessof Kentucky.
Henry noted the beauty of the country as they passed along; the gentlyrolling hills, the rich dark soil and the beautiful clear streams. Oncethey came to a river, too deep to wade, but all of them, except theschoolmaster, promptly took off their clothing and swam it.
"My age and my calling forbid my doing as the rest of you do," said theschoolmaster, "and I think I shall stick to my horse."
He rode the biggest of the pack horses, and when the strong animal beganto swim, Mr. Pennypacker thrust out his legs until they were almostparallel with the animal's neck, and reached the opposite bank,untouched by a drop of water. No one begrudged him his dry and unlaboredpassage; in fact they thought it right, because a schoolmaster wasmightily respected in the early settlements of Kentucky and they wouldhave regarded it as unbecoming to his dignity to have stripped, and swumthe river as they did.
Henry and Paul in their secret hearts did not envy the schoolmaster.They thought he had too great a weight of dignity to maintain and theyenjoyed cleaving the clear current with their bare bodies. What! bedeprived of the wilderness pleasures! Not they! The two boys did notremount, after the passage of the river, but, fresh and full of life,walked on with the others at a pace so swift that the miles droppedrapidly behind them. They were passing, too, through a country rarelytrodden even by the red men; Henry knew it by the great quantities ofgame they saw; the deer seemed to look from every thicket, now and thena magnificent elk went crashing by, once a bear lumbered away, and twicesmall groups of buffalo were stampeded in the glades and rushed off,snorting through the undergrowth.
"They say that far to the westward on plains that seem to have no endthose animals are to be seen in millions," said Mr. Pennypacker.
"It's so, I've heard it from the Indians," confirmed Ross the guide.
They stopped a little while before sundown, and as the game was soplentiful all around them, Ross said he would shoot a deer in order tosave their dried meat and other provisions.
"You come with me, while the others are making the camp," he said toHenry.
The boy flushed with pride and gratification, and, taking his rifle,plunged at once into the forest with the guide. But he said nothing,knowing that silence would recommend him to Ross far more than words,and took care to bring down his moccasined feet without sound. Nor didhe let the undergrowth rustle, as he slipped through it, and Rossregarded him with silent approval. "A born woodsman," he said tohimself.
A mile from the camp they stopped at the crest of a little hill, thicklyclad with forest and undergrowth, and looked down into the glade beyond.Here they saw several deer grazing, and as the wind blew from themtoward the hunters they had taken no alarm.
"Pick the fat buck there on the right," whispered Ross to Henry.
Henry said not a word. He had learned the taciturnity of the woods, andleveling his rifle, took sure aim. There was no buck fever about himnow, and, when his rifle cracked, the deer bounded into the air anddropped down dead. Ross, all business, began to cut up and clean thegame, and with Henry's aid, he did it so skillfully and rapidly thatthey returned to the camp, loaded with the juicy deer meat, by the timethe fire and everything else was ready for them.
Henry and Paul ate with eager appetites and when supper was over theywrapped themselves in their blankets and lay down before the fire underthe trees. Paul went to sleep at once, but Henry did not close his eyesso soon. Far in the west he saw a last red bar of light cast by thesunken sun and the deep ruddy glow over the fringe of the forest. Thenit suddenly passed, as if whisked away by a magic hand, and all thewilderness was in darkness. But it was only for a little while. Out camethe moon and the stars flashed one by one into a sky of silky blue. Asouth wind lifting up itself sang a small sweet song among the branches,and Henry uttered a low sigh of content, because he lived in thewilderness, and because he was there in the depths of the forest on animportant errand. Then he fell sound asleep, and did not awaken untilRoss and the others were cooking breakfast.
A day or two later they reached the wonderful Big Bone Lick, and theyapproached it with the greatest caution, because they were afraid lestan errand similar to theirs might have drawn hostile red men to thegreat salt spring. But as they curved about the desired goal they saw noIndian sign, and then they went through the marsh to the spring itself.
Henry opened his eyes in amazement. All that the schoolmaster and Paulhad told was true, and more. Acres and acres of the marsh lands werefairly littered with bones, and from the mud beneath other and fargreater bones had been pulled up and left lying on the ground. Henrystood some of these bones on end, and they were much taller than he.Others he could not lift.
"The mastodon, the mammoth and I know not what," said Mr. Pennypacker ina transport of delight. "Henry, you and Paul are looking upon theremains of animals, millions of years old, killed perhaps in fights withothers of their kind, over these very salt springs. There may not beanother such place as this in all the world."
Mr. Pennypacker for the first day or two was absolutely of no help inmaking the salt, because he was far too much excited about the bones andthe salt springs themselves.
"I can understand," said Henry, "why the animals should come here afterthe salt, since they crave salt just as we do, but it seems strange tome that salt water should be running out of the ground here, hundreds ofmiles from the sea."
"It's the sea itself that's coming up right at our feet," replied theschoolmaster thoughtfully. "Away back yonder, a hundred million yearsago perhaps, so far that we can have no real conception of the time, thesea was over all this part of the world. When it receded, or the groundupheaved, vast subterranean reservoirs of salt water were left, and now,when the rain sinks down into these full reservoirs a portion of thesalt water is forced to the surface, which makes the salt springs thatare scattered over this part of the country. It is a process that isgoing on continually. At least, that's a plausible theory, and it's asgood as any other."
But most of the salt-makers did not bother themselves about causes, andthey accepted the giant bones as facts, without curiosity about theirorigin. Nor did they neglect to put them to use. By sticking them deepin the ground they made tripods of them on which they hung their kettlesfor boiling the salt water, and of others they devised comfortable seatsfor themselves. To such modern uses did the mastodon come! But to theschoolmaster and the two boys the bones were an unending source ofinterest, and in the intervals of labor, which sometimes were prettylong, particularly for Mr. Pennypacker, they were ever prowling in theswamp for a bone bigger than any that they had found before.
But the salt-making progressed rapidly. The kettles were always boilingand sack after sack was filled with the precious commodity. At nightwild animals, despite the known presence of strange, new creatures,would come down to the springs, so eager were they for the salt, and themen rarely molested them. Only a deer now and then was shot for food,and Henry and Paul lay awake one night, watching two big bull buffaloes,not fifty yards away, fighting for the best place at a spring.
Ross and Shif'less Sol did not do much of the work at the salt-boiling,but they were continually scouting through the forest, on a labor noless important, watching for raiding war parties who otherwise mightfall unsuspected upon the toilers. Henry, as a youth of great promise,was sometimes taken with them on these silent trips through the woods,and the first time he went he felt badly on Paul's account, because hiscomrade was not chosen also. But when he returned he found that hissympathy was wasted. Paul and the master were deeply absorbed in thetask of trying to fit together some of the gigantic bones that is, tore-create the animal to which they thought the bones belonged, and Paulwas far happier than he would have been on the scout or the hunt.
The day's work was ended and all the others were sitting around the campfire, with the dying glow of the setting sun flooding the springs, themarshes and the camp fire, but Paul and the master toiled zealously atthe gigantic figure that they had up-reared, supported partly withstakes, and bearing a remote resemblance to some animal that lived a fewmillion years or so ago. The master had tied together some of the boneswith withes, and he and Paul were now laboriously trying to fit asection of vertebræ into shape.
Shif'less Sol who had gone with Henry sat down by the fire, stuffed apiece of juicy venison into his mouth and then looked with eyes ofwonder at the two workers in the cause of natural history.
"Some people 'pear to make a heap o' trouble for theirselves," he said,"now I can't git it through my head why anybody would want to work witha lot o' dead old bones when here's a pile o' sweet deer meat justwaitin' an' beggin' to be et up."
At that moment the attempt of Paul and the schoolmaster to reconstruct aprehistoric beast collapsed. The figure that they had built up with somuch care and labor suddenly slipped loose somewhere, and all the bonesfell down in a heap. The master stared at them in disgust and exclaimed:
"It's no use! I can't put them together away out here in thewilderness!"
Then he stalked over to the fire, and taking a deer steak, ate hungrily.The steak was very tender, and gradually a look of content and peacestole over Mr. Pennypacker's face.
"At least," he murmured, "if it's hard to be a scholar here, one canhave a glorious appetite, and it is most pleasant to gratify it."
As the dark settled down Ross said that in one day more they ought tohave all the salt the horses could carry, and then it would be best todepart promptly and swiftly for Wareville. A half hour later all wereasleep except the sentinel.
CHAPTER VIII
THE WILD TURKEY'S GOBBLE
Henry had conducted himself so well on his first scout and, had shownsuch signs of efficiency that Ross concluded to take him again the nextday. Henry's heart swelled with pride, and he was no longer worriedabout Paul, because he saw that the latter's interest and ambitions werenot exactly the same as his own. Henry could not have any innate respectfor heaps of "old bones," but if Paul and the master found them worthyof such close attention, they must be right.
Henry and Ross slipped away into the undergrowth, and Henry soon noticedthat the guide's face, which was tense and preoccupied, seemed graverthan usual. The boy was too wise to ask questions, but after they hadsearched through the forest for several hours Ross remarked in the mostcasual way:
"I heard the gobble of a wild turkey away off last night."
"Yes," said Henry, "there are lots of 'em about here. You remember theone I shot Tuesday?"
Ross did not reply just then, but in about five minutes he vouchsafed:
"I'm looking for the particular wild turkey I heard last night."
"Why that one, when there are so many, and how would you know him fromthe others if you found him?" asked Henry quickly, and then a deepburning flush of shame broke through the tan of his cheeks. He, HenryWare, a rover of the wilderness to ask such foolish questions! A childof the towns would have shown as much sense. Ross who was lookingcovertly at him, out of the corner of his eye, saw the mounting blush,and was pleased. The boy had spoken impulsively, but he knew better.
"You understand, I guess," said Ross.
"Yes," replied Henry, "I know why you want to find that wild turkey, andI know why you said last night we ought to leave the salt springs justas soon as we can."
The smile on the face of the scout brightened. Here was the mostpromising pupil who had ever sat at his feet for instruction; and nowthey redoubled their caution, as their soundless bodies slipped throughthe undergrowth. Everywhere they looked for the trail of that wildturkey. It may be said that a turkey can and does fly in the air andleaves no trail, but Henry knew that the one for which they looked mightleave no trail, but it did not fly in the air.
Time passed; noon and part of the afternoon were gone, and they werestill curving in a great circle about the camp, when Ross, suddenlystopped beside a little brook, or branch, as he and his comrades alwayscalled them, and pointed to the soft soil at the edge of the water.Henry followed the long finger and saw the outline of a footstep.
"Our turkey has passed here."
The guide nodded.
"Most likely," he said, "and if not ours, then one of the same flock.But that footprint is three or four hours old. Come on, we'll followthis trail until it grows too warm."
The footsteps led down the side of the brook, and when they curved awayfrom it Ross was able to trace them on the turf and through theundergrowth. A half mile from the start other footsteps joined them, andthese were obviously made by many men, perhaps a score of warriors.
"You see," said Ross, "I guess they've just come across the Ohio or wewouldn't be left all these days b'il'n salt so peaceful, like as ifthere wasn't an Indian in the whole world."
Henry drew a deep breath. Like all who ventured into the West heexpected some day to be exposed to Indian danger and attack, but it hadbeen a vague thought. Even when they came north to the Big Bone Lick itwas still a dim far-away affair, but now he stood almost in itspresence. The Shawnees, whose name was a name of terror to the newsettlements, were probably not a mile away. He felt tremors but theywere not tremors of fear. Courage was an instinctive quality in him.Nature had put it there, when she fashioned him somewhat in the mold ofthe primitive man.
"Step lighter than you ever did afore in your life," said Ross, "an'bend low an' follow me. But don't you let a single twig nor nothin' snapas you pass."
He spoke in a sharp, emphatic whisper, and Henry knew that he consideredthe enemy near. But there was no need to caution the boy, in whom theprimal man was already awakened. Henry bent far down, and holding hisrifle before him in such a position that it could be used at a moment'swarning, was following behind Ross so silently that the guide, hearingno sound, took an instant's backward glance. When he saw the boy hepermitted another faint smile of approval to pass over his face.
They advanced about three-quarters of a mile and then at the crest of ahill thickly clothed in tall undergrowth the guide sank down and pointedwith a long ominous forefinger.
"Look," he said.
Henry looked through the interlacing bushes and, for the second time inhis life, gazed upon a band of red men. And as he looked, his blood fora moment turned cold. Perhaps thirty in number, they were sitting in aglade about a little fire. All of them had blankets of red or blue aboutthem and they carried rifles. Their faces were hideous with war paintand their coarse black hair rose in the defiant scalp lock.
"Maybe they don't know that our men are at the Lick," said Ross, "or ifthey do they don't think we know they've come, an' they're planning foran attack to-night, when they could slip up on us sleepin'."
The guide's theory seemed plausible to Henry, but he said nothing. Itdid not become him to venture opinions before one who knew so much ofthe wilderness.
"It can't be more'n two o'clock," whispered Ross, "an' they'd attackabout midnight. That gives us ten hours. Henry, the Lord is with us.Come."
He slid away through the bushes and Henry followed him. When they were ahalf mile from the Indian camp they increased their speed to anastonishing gait and in a half hour were at the Big Bone Lick.
"Have 'em to load up all the salt at once," said Ross to Shif'less Sol,"an' we must go kitin' back to Wareville as if our feet was greased."
Shif'less Sol shot him a single look of comprehension and Ross nodded.Then the shiftless one went to work with extraordinary diligence and theothers imitated his speed. To the schoolmaster Ross breathed the oneword "Shawnees," and Henry in a few sentences told Paul what he hadseen.
Fortunately the precious salt was packed—they had no intention ofdeserting it, however close the danger—and it was quickly transferredto the backs of the horses along with the food for the way. In a littlemore than a half hour they were all ready and then they fled southward,Shif'less Sol, this time, leading the way, the guide Ross at the rear,eye and ear noticing everything, and every nerve attuned to danger.
The master cast back one regretful glance at his beloved giant bones,and then, with resignation, turned his face permanently toward the southand the line of retreat.
"O Henry," whispered Paul, half in delight, half in terror, "did youreally see them?"
"Yes," replied Henry, "twenty or more of 'em, and an ugly lot they were,too, I can tell you, Paul. I believe we could whip 'em in a stand-upfight, though they are three to our one, but they know more of thesewoods than we do and then there's the salt; we've got to save what we'vecome for."
He sighed a little. He did not wholly like the idea of running away,even from a foe thrice as strong. Yet he could not question the wisdomof Ross and Shif'less Sol, and he made no protest.
The men looked after the heavily laden horses—nobody could ride exceptas a last resort—and southward they went in Indian file as they hadcome. Henry glanced around him and saw nothing that promised danger. Itwas only another beautiful afternoon in early spring. The forest glowedin the tender green of the young buds, and, above them arched the sky abrilliant sheet of unbroken blue. Never did a world look moreattractive, more harmless, and it seemed incredible that these woodsshould contain men who were thirsting for the lives of other men. But hehad seen; he knew; he could not forget that hideous circle of paintedfaces in the glade, upon which he and Ross had looked from the safecovert of the undergrowth.
"Do you think they'll follow us, Henry?" asked Paul.
"I don't know," replied Henry, "but it's mighty likely. They'll hang onour trail for a long time anyway."
"And if they overtake us, there'll be a fight?"
"Of course."
Henry, watching Paul keenly, saw him grow pale. But his lips did nottremble and that passing pallor failed to lower Paul in Henry's esteem.The bigger and stronger boy knew his comrade's courage and tenacity, andhe respected him all the more for it, because he was perhaps less fittedthan some others for the wild and dangerous life of the border.
After these few words they sank again into silence, and to Paul and themaster the sun grew very hot. It was poised now at a convenient angle inthe heavens, and poured sheaves of fiery rays directly upon them. Mr.Pennypacker began to gasp. He was a man of dignity, a teacher of youth,and it did not become him to run so fast from something that he couldnot see. Ross's keen eye fell upon him.
"I think you'd better mount one of the horses," he said; "the big baythere can carry his salt and you too for a while until you are rested."
"What! I ride, when everybody else is afoot!" exclaimed Mr. Pennypacker,indignantly.
"You're the only schoolmaster we have and we can't afford to lose you,"said Ross without the suspicion of a grin.
Mr. Pennypacker looked at him, but he could not detect any change ofcountenance.
"Hop up," continued Ross, "it ain't any time to be bashful. Others of usmay have to do it afore long."
Mr. Pennypacker yielded with a sigh, sprang lightly upon the horse, andthen when he enjoyed the luxury of rest was glad that he had yielded.Paul, and one or two others took to the horses' backs later on, butHenry continued the march on foot with long easy strides, and no sign ofweakening. Ross noticed him more than once but he never made anysuggestion to Henry that he ride; instead the faint smile of approvalappeared once more on the guide's face.
The sun began to sink, the twilight came, and then night. Ross called ahalt, and, clustered in the thickest shadows of the forest, they atetheir supper and rested their tired limbs. No fire was lighted, but theysat there under the trees, hungrily eating their venison, and talking inthe lowest of whispers.
Mr. Pennypacker was much dissatisfied. He had been troubled by the hastyflight and his dignity suffered.
"It is not becoming that white men should run away from an inferiorrace," he said.
"Maybe it ain't becomin', but it's safe," said Ross.
"At least we are far enough away now," continued the master, "and wemight rest here comfortably until dawn. We haven't seen or heard a signof pursuit."
"You don't know the natur' of the red warriors, Mr. Pennypacker," saidthe leader deferentially but firmly, "when they make the least noisethen they're most dangerous. Now I'm certain sure that they struck ourtrail not long after we left Big Bone Lick, an' in these woods the manthat takes the fewest risks is the one that lives the longest."
It was a final statement. In the present emergency the leader'sauthority was supreme. They rested about an hour with no sound save theshuffling feet of the horses which could not be kept wholly quiet; andthen they started on again, not going so quickly now, because the nightwas dark, and they wished to make as little noise as possible, threshingabout in the undergrowth.
Paul pressed up by the side of Henry.
"Do you think we shall have to go on all night, this way?" he asked."Wasn't Mr. Pennypacker right, when he said we were out of danger?"
"No, the schoolmaster was wrong," replied Henry. "Tom Ross knows moreabout the woods and what is likely to happen in them than Mr.Pennypacker could know in all his life, if he were to live a thousandyears. It's every man to his own trade, and it's Tom's trade that weneed now."
After hearing these sage words of youth Paul asked no more questions,but he and Henry kept side by side throughout the night, that is, whenneither of them was riding, because Henry, like all the others, now tookturns on horseback. Twice they crossed small streams and once a largerone, where they exercised the utmost caution to keep their precious saltfrom getting wet. Fortunately the great pack saddles were a protection,and they emerged on the other side with both salt and powder dry.
When the night was thickest, in the long, dark hour just before thedawn, Henry and Paul, who were again side by side, heard a faint,distant cry. It was a low, wailing note that was not unpleasant,softened by the spaces over which it came. It seemed to be far behindthem, but inclining to the right, and after a few moments there cameanother faint cry just like it, also behind them, but far to the left.Despite the soft, wailing note both Henry and Paul felt a shiver runthrough them. The strange low sound, coming in the utter silence of thenight, had in it something ominous.
"It was the cry of a wolf," said Paul.
"And his brother wolf answered," said Henry.
Shif'less Sol was just behind them, and they heard him laugh, a lowlaugh, but full of irony. Paul wheeled about at once, his pride aflameat the insinuation that he did not know the wolf's long whine.
"Well, wasn't it a wolf—and a wolf that answered?" he asked.
"Yes, a wolf an' a wolf that answered," replied Shif'less Sol withsardonic emphasis, "but they had only four legs between 'em. Them wasthe signal cries of the Shawnees, an', as Tom has been tellin' you allthe time, they're hot on our trail. It's a mighty lucky thing for us wedidn't undertake to stay all night back there where we stopped."
Paul turned pale again, but his courage as usual came back. "Thank Godit will be daylight soon," he murmured to himself, "and then if theyovertake us we can see them."
Faint and far, but ominous and full of threat came the howl of the wolfa*gain, first from the right and then from the left, and then from pointsbetween. Henry noticed that Ross and Shif'less Sol seemed to drawthemselves together, as if they would make every nerve and muscle taut,and then his eyes shifted to Mr. Pennypacker, and seeing him, he knew atonce that the master did not understand; he had not heard the words ofShif'less Sol.
"It seems that we are pursued by a pack of wolves instead of a warparty," said Mr. Pennypacker. "At least we are numerous enough to beatoff a lot of cowardly four-footed assailants."
Henry smiled from the heights of his superior knowledge.
"Those are not wolves, Mr. Pennypacker," he said, "those are theShawnees calling to one another."
"Then, why in Heaven's name don't they speak their own language!"exclaimed the exasperated schoolmaster, "instead of using that whichappertains only to the prowling beast?"
Henry, despite himself, was forced to smile, but he turned his face andhid the smile—he would not offend the schoolmaster whom he esteemedsincerely.
The dawn now began to brighten. The sun, a flaming red sword, cleft thegray veil, and then poured down a torrent of golden beams upon the vast,green wilderness of Kentucky. Henry, as he looked around upon the littleband, realized what a tiny speck of human life they were in all thosehundreds of miles of forest, and what risks they ran.
Ross gave the word to halt, and again they ate of cold food. While theothers sat on fallen timber or leaned against tree trunks, Ross and Soltalked in low tones, but Henry could see that all their words weremarked by the deepest earnestness. Ross presently turned to the men andsaid in tones of greatest gravity:
"All of you heard the howlin' just afore dawn, an' I guess all of youknow it was not made by real wolves, but by Shawnees, callin' to eachother an' directin' the chase of us. We've come fast, but they've comefaster, an' I know that by noon we'll have to fight."
The schoolmaster's eyes opened in wonder.
"Do you really mean to say that they are overhauling us?" he asked.
"I shore do," replied Ross. "You see, they're better trained travelersfor woods than we are, an' they are not hampered by anythin'."
Mr. Pennypacker said nothing more, but his lips suddenly closed tightlyand his eyes flashed. In the great battle ground of the white man andthe red man, called Kentucky, the early schoolmaster was as ready as anyone else to fight.
Ross and Sol again consulted and then Ross said:
"We think that since we have to fight it would be better to fight whenwe are fresh and steady and in the best place we can find."
All the men nodded. They were tired of running and when Ross gave theword to stop again they did so promptly. The questioning eyes of bothRoss and Sol roamed round the forest and finally and simultaneously thetwo uttered a low cry of pleasure. They had come into rocky ground andthey had been ascending. Before them was a hill with a rather steepascent, and dropping off almost precipitously on three sides.
"We couldn't find a better place," said Ross loud enough for all tohear. "It looks like a fort just made for us."
"But there is no line of retreat," objected the schoolmaster.
"We had a line of a retreat last night and all this mornin' an' we'vebeen followin' it all the time," rejoined the leader. "Now we don't needit no more, but what we do need to do is to make a stan'-up fight, an'lick them fellers."
"And save our salt," added the master.
"Of course," said Ross emphatically. "We didn't come all these miles an'work all these days just to lose what we went so far after an' worked sohard for."
They retreated rapidly upon the great jutting peninsula of rocky soil,which fortunately was covered with a good growth of trees, and tetheredthe horses in a thick grove near the end.
"Now, we'll just unload our salt an' make a wall," said Ross with atrace of a smile. "They can shoot our salt as much as they please, justso they don't touch us."
The bags of salt were laid in the most exposed place across thenarrowest neck of the peninsula and they also dragged up all the fallentree trunks and boughs that they could find to help out their primitivefortification. Then they sat down to wait, a hard task for men, buthardest of all for two boys like Henry and Paul.
Two of the men went back with the horses to watch over them and also toguard against any possible attempt to scale the cliff in their rear, butthe others lay close behind the wall of salt and brushwood. The sunswung up toward the zenith and shone down upon a beautiful world. Allthe wilderness was touched with the tender young green of spring andnothing stirred but the gentle wind. The silky blue sky smiled over ascene so often enacted in early Kentucky, that great border battleground of the white man and the red, the one driven by the desire fornew and fertile acres that he might plow and call his own, the other byan equally fierce desire to retain the same acres, not to plow nor evento call his own, but that he might roam and hunt big game over them atwill.
The great red eye of the sun, poised now in the center of the heavens,looked down at the white men crouched close to the earth behind theirlow and primitive wall, and then it looked into the forest at the redmen creeping silently from tree to tree, all the eager ferocity of theman hunt on the face of everyone.
But Paul and Henry, behind their wall, saw nothing and heard nothing butthe breathing of those near them. They fingered their rifles and throughthe crevices between the bags studied intently the woods in front ofthem, where they beheld no human being nor any trace of a foe. Henrylooked from tree to tree, but he could see no flitting shadow. Where thepatches of grass grew it moved only with the regular sweep of thebreeze. He began to think that Ross and Sol must be mistaken. Thewarriors had abandoned the pursuit. He glanced at Ross, who was not adozen feet away, and the leader's face was so tense, so eager and soearnest that Henry ceased to doubt, the man's whole appearance indicatedthe knowledge of danger, present and terrible.
Even as Henry looked, Ross suddenly threw up his rifle, and, apparentlywithout aim, pulled the trigger. A flash of fire leaped from the longslender muzzle of blue steel, there was a sharp report like the swiftlash of a whip, and then a cry, so terrible that Henry, strong as hewas, shuddered in every nerve and muscle. The short high-pitched andagonizing shout died away in a wail and after it came silence, grim,deadly, but so charged with mysterious suspense that both Henry and Paulfelt the hair lifting itself upon their heads. Henry had seen nothing,but he knew well what had happened.
"They've come and Ross has killed one of 'em," he whispered breathlesslyto Paul.
"That yell couldn't mean anything else," said Paul trembling. "I'll hearit again every night for a year."
"I hope we'll both have a chance to hear it again every night for ayear," said Henry with meaning.
The master crouched nearer to the boys. He was one of the bravest of themen and in that hour of danger and suspense his heart yearned over thesetwo lads, his pupils, each a good boy in his own way. He felt that itwas a part of his duty to get them safely back to Wareville and theirparents, and he meant to fulfill the demands of his conscience.
"Keep down, lads," he said, touching Henry on his arm, "don't exposeyourselves. You are not called upon to do anything, unless it comes tothe last resort."
"We are going to do our best, of course, we are!" replied Henry withsome little heat.
He resented the intimation that he could not perform a man's full duty,and Mr. Pennypacker, seeing that his feelings were touched, said nomore.
A foreboding silence followed the death cry of the fallen warrior, butthe brilliant sunshine poured down on the woods, just as if it were aglorious summer afternoon with no thought of strife in a human breastanywhere. Henry again searched the forest in front of them, and,although he could see nothing, he was not deceived now by thisappearance of silence and peace. He knew that their foes were there,more thirsty than ever for their blood, because to the natural desirenow was added the tally of revenge.
More than an hour passed, and then the forest in front of them burstinto life. Rifles were fired from many points, the sharp crack blendinginto one continuous ominous rattle; little puffs of white smoke arose,whistling bullets buried themselves with a sighing sound in the bags ofsalt, and high above all rang the fierce yell, the war whoop of theShawnees, the last sound that many a Kentucky pioneer ever heard.
The terrible tumult, and above all, the fierce cry of the warriors senta thrill of terror through Paul and Henry, but their disciplined mindsheld their bodies firm, and they remained crouched by the primitivebreastwork, ready to do their part.
"Steady, everybody! Steady!" exclaimed Ross in a loud sharp voice, everysyllable of which cut through the tumult. "Don't shoot until you seesomething to shoot at, an' then make your aim true!"
Henry now began to see through the smoke dusky figures leaping from treeto tree, but always coming toward them. It was his impulse to fire, themoment a flitting figure appeared, gone the next instant like a shadow,but remembering Ross's caution and their terrible need he restrainedhimself although his finger already lay caressingly on the trigger.Around him the rifles had begun to crack. Ross and Sol were firing withslow deliberate aim, and then reloading with incredible swiftness, anddown the line the others were doing likewise. Bullets were spatteringinto trunks and boughs, or burying themselves with a soft sigh in thesalt, but Henry could not see that anybody was yet hurt.
He saw presently a dark figure passing from one tree to another and thepassage was long enough for him to take a good aim at a hideouslypainted breast. He pulled the trigger and then involuntarily he shut hiseyes—he was a hunter, but he had never hunted men before. When helooked again he saw a blur upon the ground, and despite himself and thefight for life, he shuddered. Paul beside him was now in a state of wildexcitement. The smaller boy's nerves were not so steady and he wasloading and firing almost at random. Finally he lifted himself almostunconsciously to his full height, but he was dragged down the nextinstant, as if he had been seized from below by a bear.
"Paul!" fiercely exclaimed the schoolmaster, all the instincts of apedagogue rising within him, "if you jump up that way again exposingyourself to their bullets, I'll turn you over my knee right here, big asyou are, and give you a licking that you'll remember all your life!"
The master was savagely in earnest and Paul did not jump up again. Henryfired once more, and a third time and the tumult rose to its height.Then it ceased so suddenly and so absolutely that the silence wasappalling. The wind blew the smoke away, a few dark objects lay close tothe ground among the trees before them, but not a sound came from theforest, and no flitting form was there.
CHAPTER IX
THE ESCAPE
Henry and Paul, with their eyes at the crevices, stared and stared, butthey saw only those dark, horrible forms lying close to the earth, andheard again the peaceful wind blowing among the peaceful trees. Thesavage army had melted away as if it had never been, and the darkobjects might have been taken for stones or pieces of wood.
"We beat 'em off, an' nobody on our side has more'n a scratch,"exclaimed Shif'less Sol jubilantly.
"That's so," said Ross, casting a critical eye down the line, "it'sbecause we had a good position an' made ready. There's nothin' liketakin' a thing in time. How're you, boys?"
"All right, but I've been pretty badly scared I can tell you," repliedPaul frankly. "But we are not hurt, are we, Henry?"
"Thank God," murmured the schoolmaster under his breath, and then hesaid aloud to Ross: "I suppose they'll leave us alone now."
Ross shook his head.
"I wish I could say it," he replied, "but I can't. We've laid out fourof 'em, good and cold, an' the Shawnees, like all the other redskins,haven't much stomach for a straightaway attack on people behindbreastworks; I don't think they'll try that again, but they'll be up tonew mischief soon. We must watch out now for tricks. Them's sly devils."
Ross was a wise leader and he gave food to his men, but he cautionedthem to lie close at all times. Two or three bullets were fired from theforest but they whistled over their heads and did no damage. They seemedsafe for the present, but Ross was troubled about the future, andparticularly the coming of night, when they could not protect themselvesso well, and the invaders, under cover of darkness, might slip forwardat many points. Henry himself was man enough and experienced enough tounderstand the danger, and for the moment, he wondered with a kind ofimpersonal curiosity how Ross was going to meet it. Ross himself wasstaring at the heavens, and Henry, following his intent eyes, noticed achange in color and also that the atmosphere began to have a differentfeeling to his lungs. So much had he been engrossed by the battle, andso great had been his excitement, that such things as sky and air had nopart then in his life, but now in the long dead silence, they obtrudedthemselves upon him.
The last wisp of smoke drifted away among the trees, and the sunlight,although it was mid-afternoon, was fading. Presently the skies were avast dome of dull, lowering gray, and the breeze had a chill edge. Thenthe wind died and not a leaf or blade of grass in the forest stirred.Somber clouds came over the brink of the horizon in the southwest, andcrept threateningly up the great curve of the sky. The air steadilydarkened, and suddenly the dim horizon in the far southwest was cut by avivid flash of lightning. Low thunder grumbled over the distant hills.
"It's a storm, an' it's to be a whopper," said Shif'less Sol.
"Ay," returned Ross, who had been back among the horses, "an' it maysave us. All you fellows be sure to keep your powder dry."
There would be little danger of that fatal catastrophe, the wetting ofthe powder, as it was carried in polished horns, stopped securely, norwould there be any danger either of the salt being melted, as it wasinclosed in bags made of deerskin, which would shed water.
"One of the men," continued Ross, "has found a big gully running downthe back end of the hill, an' I think if we're keerful we can lead thehorses to the valley that way. But just now, we'll wait."
Henry and Paul were watching, as if fascinated. They had seen before thegreat storms that sometimes sweep the Mississippi Valley, but the onepreparing now seemed to be charged with a deadly power, far surpassinganything in their experience. It came on, too, with terrible swiftness.The thunder, at first a mere rumble, rose rapidly to crash after crashthat stunned their ears. The livid flash of lightning that split thesouthwest like a flaming sword appeared and reappeared with suchintensity that it seemed never to have gone. The wind rose and theforest groaned. From afar came a sullen roar, and then the greathurricane rushed down upon them.
"Lie flat!" shouted Ross.
All except four or five who held the struggling and frightened horsesthrew themselves upon the ground, and, although Henry and Paul huggedthe earth, their ears were filled with the roar and scream of the wind,and the crackle of boughs and whole tree trunks snapped through, likethe rattle of rifle fire. The forest in front of them was quickly filledwith fallen trees, and fragments whistled over their heads, butfortunately they were untouched.
The great volley of wind was gone in a few moments, as if it were asingle huge cannon shot. It whistled off to the eastward, but left inits path a trail of torn and fallen trees. Then in its path came thesweep of the great rain; the air grew darker, the thunder ceased tocrash, the lightning died away, and the water poured down in sheets overthe black and mangled forest.
"Now boys, we'll start," said Ross. "Them Shawnees had to hunt cover,an' they can't see us nohow. Up with them bags of salt!"
In an incredibly short time the salt was loaded on the pack horses andthen they were picking their way down the steep and dangerous gully inthe side of the hill. Henry, Paul and the master locked hands in thedark and the driving rain, and saved each other from falls. Ross and Solseemed to have the eyes of cats in the dark and showed the way.
"My God!" murmured Mr. Pennypacker, "I could not have dreamed ten yearsago that I should ever take part in such a scene as this!"
Low as he spoke, Henry heard him and he detected, too, a certain note ofpride in the master's tone, as if he were satisfied with the manner inwhich he had borne himself. Henry felt the same satisfaction, althoughhe could not deny that he had felt many terrors.
After much difficulty and some danger they reached the bottom of thehill unhurt, and then they sped across a fairly level country, not muchtroubled by undergrowth or fallen timber, keeping close together so thatno one might be lost in the darkness and the rain, Ross, as usual,leading the line, and Shif'less Sol bringing up the rear. Now and thenthe two men called the names of the others to see that all were present,but beyond this precaution no word was spoken, save in whispers.
Henry and Paul felt a deep and devout thankfulness for the chance thathad saved them from a long siege and possible death; indeed it seemed tothem that the hand of God had turned the enemy aside, and in theirthankfulness they forgot that, soaked to the bone, cold and tired, theywere still tramping through the lone wilderness, far from Wareville.
The darkness and the pouring rain endured for about an hour, then bothbegan to lighten, streaks of pale sky appeared in the east, and thetrees like cones emerged from the mist and gloom. All of thesalt-workers felt their spirits rise. They knew that they had escapedfrom the conflict wonderfully well; two slight wounds, not more than thebreaking of skin, and that was all. Fresh strength came to them, and asthey continued their journey the bars of pale light broadened anddeepened, and then fused into a solid blue dawn, as the last clouddisappeared and the last shower of rain whisked away to the northward. Awet road lay before them, the drops of water yet sparkling here andthere, like myriads of beads. Ross drew a deep breath of relief andordered a halt.
"The Shawnees could follow us again," he said, "but they know now thatthey bit off somethin' a heap too tough for them to chaw, an' I don'tthink they'll risk breaking a few more teeth on it, specially afterhavin' been whipped aroun' by the storm as they must 'a been."
"And to think we got away and brought our salt with us, too!" said Mr.Pennypacker.
Dark came soon, and Ross and Sol felt so confident they were safe fromanother attack that they allowed a fire to be lighted, although theywere careful to choose the center of a little prairie, where the rifleshots of an ambushed foe in the forest could not reach them.
It was no easy matter to light a fire, but Ross and Sol at lastaccomplished it with flint, steel and dry splinters cut from the underside of fallen logs. Then when the blaze had taken good hold they heapedmore brushwood upon it and never were heat and warmth more grateful totired travelers.
Henry and Paul did not realize until then how weary and how very wetthey were. They basked in the glow, and, with delight watched the greatbeds of coals form. They took off part of their clothing, hanging itbefore the fire, and when it was dry and warm put it on again. Then theyserved the rest the same way, and by and by they wore nothing but warmgarments.
"I guess two such terrible fighters as you," said Ross to Henry andPaul, "wouldn't mind a bite to eat. I've allers heard tell as how theRomans after they had fought a good fight with them Carthaginians orMacedonians or somebody else would sit down an' take some good grub intotheir insides, an' then be ready for the next spat."
"Will we eat? will we eat? Oh, try us, try us," chanted Henry and Paulin chorus, their mouths stretching simultaneously into wide grins, andRoss grinned back in sympathy.
The revulsion had come for the two boys. After so much danger andsuffering, the sense of safety and the warmth penetrating their bonesmade them feel like little children, and they seized each other in afriendly scuffle, which terminated only when they were about to rollinto the fire. Then they ate venison as if they had been famished.Afterwards, when they were asleep on their blankets before the fire,Ross said to Mr. Pennypacker:
"They did well, for youngsters."
"They certainly did, Mr. Ross," said the master. "I confess to you thatthere were times to-day when learning seemed to offer no consolation."
Ross smiled a little, and then his face quickly became grave.
"It's what we've got to go through out here," he said. "Every settlementwill have to stand the storm."
A vigilant watch was kept all the long night but there was no sign of asecond Shawnee attack. Ross had reckoned truly when he thought theShawnees would not care to risk further pursuit, and the next day theyresumed their journey, under a drying sun.
They were not troubled any more by Indian attacks, but the rest of theway was not without other dangers. The rivers were swollen by the springrains, and they had great trouble in carrying the salt across on theswimming horses. Once Paul was swept down by a swift and powerfulcurrent, but Henry managed to seize and hold him until others came tothe rescue. Men and boys alike laughed over their trials, because theyfelt now all the joy of victory, and their rapid march south amid theglories of spring, unfolding before them, appealed to the instincts ofeveryone in the band, the same instincts that had brought them from theEast into the wilderness.
They were passing through the region that came to be known in later daysas the Garden of Kentucky. Then it was covered with magnificent forestand now they threaded their way through the dense canebrake. Squirrelschattered in every tree top, deer swarmed in the woods, and the buffalowas to be found in almost every glen.
"I do not wonder," said the thoughtful schoolmaster, "that the Indianshould be loath to give up such choice hunting grounds, but, fight ascunningly and bravely as he will, his fate will come."
But Henry, with only the thoughts of youth, could not conceive of thetime when the vast wilderness should be cut down and the game should go.He was concerned only with the present and the words of Mr. Pennypackermade upon him but a faint and fleeting impression.
At last on a sunny morning, whole, well fed, with their treasurepreserved, and all fresh and courageous, they approached Wareville. Thehearts of Henry and Paul thrilled at the signs of white habitation. Theysaw where the ax had bitten through a tree, and they came upon broadtrails that could be made only by white men, going to their work, orhunting their cattle.
But it was Paul who showed the most eagerness. He was whole-hearted inhis joy. Wareville then was the only spot on earth for him. But Henryturned his back on the wilderness with a certain reluctance. A primitivestrain in him had been awakened. He was not frightened now. The dangerof the battle had aroused in him a certain wild emotion which repeateditself and refused to die, though days had passed. It seemed to him attimes that it would be a great thing to live in the forest, and to haveknowledge and wilderness power surpassing those even of Shif'less Sol orRoss. He had tasted again the life of the primitive man and he liked it.
Mr. Pennypacker was visibly joyful. The wilderness appealed to him in away, but he considered himself essentially a man of peace, and Warevillewas becoming a comfortable abode.
"I have had my great adventure," he said, "I have helped to fight thewild men, and in the days to come I can speak boastfully of it, even asthe great Greeks in Homer spoke boastfully of their achievements, butonce is enough. I am a man of peace and years, and I would fain wage thebattles of learning rather than those of arms."
"But you did fight like a good 'un when you had to do it, schoolmaster,"said Ross.
Mr. Pennypacker shook his head and replied gravely:
"Tom, you do right to say 'when I had to do it,' but I mean that I shallnot have to do it any more."
Ross smiled. He knew that the schoolmaster was one of the bravest ofmen.
Now they came close to Wareville. From a hill they saw a thin, bluecolumn of smoke rising and then hanging like a streamer across the clearblue sky.
"That comes from the chimneys of Wareville," said Ross, "an' I guessshe's all right. That smoke looks kinder quiet, as if nothin' out of theway had happened."
They pressed forward with renewed speed, and presently a shout came fromthe forest. Two men ran to meet them, and rejoiced at the sight of themen unharmed, and every horse heavily loaded with salt. Then it was atriumphal procession into Wareville, with the crowd about themthickening as they neared the gates. Henry's mother threw her arms abouthis neck, and his father grasped him by the hand. Paul was in the centerof his own family, completely submerged, and all the space within thepalisade resounded with joyous laugh and welcome, which became all themore heartfelt, when the schoolmaster told of the great danger throughwhich they had passed.
That evening, when they sat around the low fire in his father'shome—the spring nights were yet cool—Henry had to repeat the story ofthe salt-making and the great adventure with the Shawnees. He grewexcited as he told of the battle and the storm, his face flushed, hiseyes shot sparks, and, as Mrs. Ware looked at him, she realized, half inpride, half in terror, that she was the mother of a hunter and warrior.
CHAPTER X
THE CAVE DUST
The great supply of salt brought by Ross and his men was welcome toWareville, as the people had begun to suffer for it, but they would haveenough now to last them a full year, and a year was a long time to lookahead. Great satisfaction was expressed on that score, but the news thata Shawnee war party was in Kentucky and had chased them far southwardcaused Mr. Ware and other heads of the village to look very grave and tohold various councils.
As a result of these talks the palisade was strengthened with anotherrow of strong stakes, and they took careful stock of their supplies ofammunition. Lead they had in plenty, but powder was growing scarce. Afresh supply had been expected with a new band of settlers from Virginiabut the band had failed to come, and the faces of the leaders grew yetgraver, when they looked at the dwindling supply, and wondered how itcould be replenished for the dire need that might arise. It was now thatMr. Pennypacker came forward with a suggestion and he showed how booklearning could be made of great value, even in the wilderness.
"You will recall," he said to Mr. Ware and Mr. Upton, and other heads ofthe settlement, "that some of our hunters have reported the existence ofgreat caves to the southwestward and that they have brought back fromthem wonderful stalactites and stalagmites and also dust from the cavefloors. I find that this dust is strongly impregnated with niter; fromniter we obtain saltpeter and from saltpeter we make gunpowder. We neednot send to Virginia for our powder, we can make it here in Kentucky forourselves."
"Do you truly think so, Mr. Pennypacker?" asked Mr. Ware, doubtfully.
"Think so! I know so," replied the schoolmaster in sanguine tones. "Why,what am I a teacher for if I don't know a little of such things? Andeven if you have doubts, think how well the experiment is worth trying.Situated as we are, in this wild land, powder is the most precious thingon earth to us."
"That is true! that is true!" said Mr. Ware with hasty emphasis."Without it we shall lie helpless before the Indian attack, should itcome. If, as you say, this cave dust contains the saltpeter, the restwill be easy."
"It contains saltpeter and the rest will be easy!"
"Then, you must go for it. Ross and Sol and a strong party must go withyou, because we cannot run the risk of losing any of you through theIndians."
"I am sure," said Mr. Pennypacker, "that we shall incur no danger fromIndians. The region of the great caves lies farther south than Warevilleand the Southern Indians, who are less bold than the Northern tribes,are not likely to come again into Kentucky. The hunters say that Indianshave not been in that particular region for years."
"Yes, I think you are right," said Mr. Ware, "but be careful anyhow."
Henry, when he heard of the new expedition, was wild to go, but hisparents, remembering the great danger of the journey to the salt licks,were reluctant with their permission. Then Ross interceded effectively.
"The boy is just fitted for this sort of work," he said. "He isn't inlove with farming, he's got other blood in him, but down there he willbe just about the best man that Wareville has to send, an' there won'tbe any Indians."
There was no reply to such an argument, because in the bordersettlements the round peg must go in the round hole; the conditions ofsurvival demanded no surplusage and no waste.
When Paul heard that Henry was to go he gave his parents no rest, andwhen Mr. Pennypacker, whose favorite he was, seconded his request, onthe ground that he would need a scholar with him the permission had tobe granted.
Rejoicing, the two boys set forth with the others, the dangers of theShawnee battle and their terrors already gone from their minds. Theywould meet no Indians this time, and the whole powder-making expeditionwould be just one great picnic. The summer was now at hand, and theforests were an unbroken mass of brilliant green. In the little spacesof earth where the sunlight broke through, wild flowers, red, blue, pinkand purple peeped up and nodded gayly, when the light winds blew. Gameabounded, but they killed only enough for their needs, Ross saying itwas against the will of God to shoot a splendid elk or buffalo and leavehim to rot, merely for the pleasure of the killing.
After a while they forded a large river, passed out of the forests, andcame into a great open region, to which they gave the name of Barrens,not because it was sterile, but because it was bare of trees. Henry, atfirst, thought it was the land of prairies, but Ross, after examining itminutely, said that if left to nature it would be forested. It was histheory that the Indians in former years had burned off the young treegrowth repeatedly in order to make great grazing grounds for the biggame. Whether his supposition was true or not, and Henry thought itlikely to be true, the Barrens were covered with buffalo, elk and deer.In fact they saw buffalo in comparatively large numbers for the firsttime, and once they looked upon a herd of more than a hundred, grazingin the rich and open meadows. Panthers attracted by the quantity of gameupon which they could prey screamed horribly at night, but the flamingcamp fires of the travelers were sufficient to scare them away.
All these things, the former salt-makers, and powder-makers that hopedto be, saw only in passing. They knew the value of time and theyhastened on to the region of great caves, guided this time by one oftheir hunters, Jim Hart, although Ross as usual was in supreme command.But Hart had spent some months hunting in the great cave region and hisreport was full of wonders.
"I think there are caves all over, or rather, under this country thatthe Indians call Kaintuckee," he said, "but down in this part of itthey're the biggest."
"You are right about Kentucky being a cave region," said theschoolmaster, "I think most of it is underlaid with rock, anywhere fromfive thousand to ten thousand feet thick, and in the course of ages,through geological decay or some kindred cause, it has becomecrisscrossed with holes like a great honeycomb."
"I'm pretty sure about the caves," said Ross, "but what I want to knowis about this peter dirt."
"We'll find it and plenty of it," replied the master confidently. "Thatsample was full of niter, and when we leach it in our tubs we shall havethe genuine saltpeter, explosive dust, if you choose to call it, that isthe solution of gunpowder."
"Which we can't do without," said Henry.
They passed out of the Barrens, and entered a region of high, roughhills, and narrow little valleys. Hills and valleys alike were denselyclothed with forest.
Hart pointed to several, large holes in the sides of the hills, alwaysat or near the base and said they were the mouths of caves.
"But the big one, in which I got the peter dirt is farther on," he said.
They came to the place he had in mind, just as the twilight was falling,a hole, a full man's height at the bottom of a narrow valley, butleading directly into the side of the circling hill that inclosed thebowl-like depression. Henry and Paul looked curiously at the black mouthand they felt some tremors at the knowledge that they were to go inthere, and to remain inside the earth for a long time, shut from thelight of day. It was the dark and not the fear of anything visible, thatfrightened them.
But they made no attempt to enter that evening, although night would bethe same as day in the cave. Instead they provided for a camp, as thehorses and a sufficient guard would have to remain outside. The valleyitself was an admirable place, since it contained pasturage for thehorses, while at the far end was a little stream of water, flowing outof the hill and trickling away through a cleft into another and slightlylower valley.
After tethering the horses, they built a fire near the cave mouth andsat down to cook, eat, rest and talk.
"Ain't there danger from bad air in there?" asked Ross. "I've heard tellthat sometimes in the ground air will blow all up, when fire is touchedto it, just like a bar'l o' gunpowder."
"The air felt just as fresh an' nice as daylight when I went in," saidHart, "an' if it comes to that it will be better than it is out herebecause it's allus even an' cool."
"It is so," said the master meditatively. "All the caves discovered sofar in Kentucky have fresh pure air. I do not undertake to account forit."
That night they cut long torches of resinous wood, and early the nextmorning all except two, who were left to guard the horses, entered thecave, led by Hart, who was a fearless man with an inquiring mind.Everyone carried a torch, burning with little smoke, and after they hadpassed the cave mouth, which was slightly damp, they came to a perfectlydry passage, all the time breathing a delightfully cool and fresh air,full of vigor and stimulus.
Paul and Henry looked back. They had come so far now that the light ofday from the cave mouth could not reach them, and behind them was onlythick impervious blackness. Before them, where the light of the torchesdied was the same black wall, and they themselves were only a littleisland of light. But they could see that the cave ran on before them, asif it were a subterranean, vaulted gallery, hewed out of the stone byhands of many Titans! Henry held up his torch, and from the roof twentyfeet above his head the stone flashed back multicolored and glitteringlights. Paul's eyes followed Henry's and the gleaming roof appealed tohis sensitive mind.
"Why, it's all a great underground palace!" he exclaimed, "and we arethe princes who are living in it!"
Hart heard Paul's enthusiastic words and he smiled.
"Come here, Paul," he said, "I want to show you something."
Paul came at once and Hart swung the light of his torch into a darkcryptlike opening from the gallery.
"I see some dim shapes lying on the floor in there, but I can't tellexactly what they are," said Paul.
"Come into this place itself."
Paul stepped into the crypt, and Hart with the tip of his moccasined toegently moved one of the recumbent forms. Paul could not repress a littlecry as he jumped back. He was looking at the dark, withered face of anIndian, that seemed to him a thousand years old.
"An' the others are Indians, too," said Hart. "An' they needn't troubleus. God knows how long they've been a-layin' here where their friendsbrought 'em for burial. See the bows an' arrows beside 'em. They ain'tlike any that the Indians use now."
"And the dry cave air has preserved them, for maybe two or three hundredyears," said the schoolmaster. "No, their dress and equipment do notlook like those of any Indians whom I have seen."
"Let's leave them just as they are," said Paul.
"Of course," said Ross, "it would be bad luck to move 'em."
They went on farther into the cave, and found that it increased ingrandeur and beauty. The walls glittered with the light of the torches,the ceiling rose higher, and became a great vaulted dome. From the roofhung fantastic stalactites and from the floor stalagmites equallyfantastic shot up to meet them. Slow water fell drop by drop from thepoint of the stalactite upon the point of the stalagmite.
"That has been going on for ages," said the schoolmaster, "and the samedrop of water that leaves some of its substance to form the stalactite,hanging from the roof, goes to form the stalagmite jutting up from thefloor. Come, Paul, here's a seat for you. You must rest a bit."
They beheld a rock formation almost like a chair, and, Paul sitting downin it, found it quite comfortable. But they paused only a moment, andthen passed on, devoting their attention now to the cave dust, which wasgrowing thicker under their feet. The master scooped up handfuls of itand regarded it attentively by the close light of his torch.
"It's the genuine peter dust!" he exclaimed exultantly. "Why, we canmake powder here as long as we care to do so."
"You are sure of it, master?" asked Ross anxiously.
"Sure of it!" replied Mr. Pennypacker. "Why, I know it. If we stayedhere long enough we could make a thousand barrels of gunpowder, goodenough to kill any elk or buffalo or Indian that ever lived."
Ross breathed a deep sigh of relief. He had had his doubts to the last,and none knew better than he how much depended on the correctness of theschoolmaster's assertion.
"There seems to be acres of the dust about here," said Ross, "an' Iguess we'd better begin the makin' of our powder at once."
They went no farther for the present, but carried the dust in, sackafter sack, to the mouth of the cave. Then they leached it, pouringwater on it in improvised tubs, and dissolving the niter. This solutionthey boiled down and the residuum was saltpeter or gunpowder, withoutwhich no settlement in Kentucky could exist.
The little valley now became a scene of great activity. The fires werealways burning and sack after sack of gunpowder was laid safely away ina dry place. Henry and Paul worked hard with the others, but they neverpassed the crypt containing the mummies, without a little shudder. Insome of the intervals of rest they explored portions of the cave,although they were very cautious. It was well that they were so as oneday Henry stopped abruptly with a little gasp of terror. Not five feetbefore him appeared the mouth of a great perpendicular well. It wasperfectly round, about ten feet across, and when Henry and Paul heldtheir torches over the edge, they could see no bottom. Henry shouted,throwing his voice as far forward as possible, but only a dull, distantecho came back.
"We'll call that the Bottomless Pit," he said.
"Bottomless or not, it's a good thing to keep out of," said Paul. "Itgives me the shudders, Henry, and I don't think I'll do much moreexploring in this cave."
In fact, the gunpowder-making did not give them much more chance, andthey were content with what they had already seen. The cave had manywonders, but the sunshine outside was glorious and the vast mass ofgreen forest was very restful to the eye. There was hunting to be done,too, and in this Henry bore a good part, he and Ross supplying the freshmeat for their table.
A fine river flowed not two miles away and Paul installed himself aschief fisherman, bringing them any number of splendid large fish, verysavory to the taste. Ross and Sol roamed far among the woods, but theyreported absolutely no Indian sign.
"I don't believe any of the warriors from either north or south havebeen in these parts for years," said Ross.
"Luckily for us," added Mr. Pennypacker, "I don't want another suchretreat as that we had from the salt springs."
Ross's words came true. The powder-making was finished in peace, and thejourney home was made under the same conditions. At Wareville there wasa shout of joy and exultation at their arrival. They felt that theycould hold their village now against any attack, and Mr. Pennypacker wasa great man, justly honored among his people. He had shown them how tomake powder, which was almost as necessary to them as the air theybreathed, and moreover they knew where they could always get materialsneeded for making more of it.
Truly learning was a great thing to have, and they respected it.
CHAPTER XI
THE FOREST SPELL
When the adventurers returned the rifle and ax were laid aside atWareville, for the moment, because the supreme test was coming. The soilwas now to respond to its trial, or to fail. This was the vital questionto Wareville. The game, in the years to come, must disappear, the forestwould be cut down, but the qualities of the earth would remain; if itproduced well, it would form the basis of a nation, if not, it would bebetter to let all the work of the last year go and seek another homeelsewhere.
But the settlers had little doubt. All their lives had been spent closeto the soil, and they were not to be deceived, when they came over themountains in search of a land richer than any that they had tilledbefore. They had seen its blackness, and, plowing down with the spade,they had tested its depth. They knew that for ages and ages leaf andbough, falling upon it, had decayed there and increased its fertility,and so they awaited the test with confidence.
The green young shoots of the wheat, sown before the winter, were thefirst to appear, and everyone in Wareville old enough to know theimportance of such a manifestation went forth to examine them. Mr. Ware,Mr. Upton and Mr. Pennypacker held solemn conclave, and the finalverdict was given by the schoolmaster, as became a man who might not beso strenuous in practice as the others, but who nevertheless was morenearly a master of theory.
"The stalks are at least a third heavier than those in Maryland orVirginia at the same age," he said, "and we can fairly infer from itthat the grain will show the same proportion of increase. I take a thirdas a most conservative estimate; it is really nearer a half. Warevillecan, with reason, count upon twenty-five bushels of wheat to the acre,and it is likely to go higher."
It was then no undue sense of elation that Wareville felt, and it wasshared by Henry and Paul, and even young Lucy Upton.
"It will be a rich country some day when I'm an old, old woman," shesaid to Henry.
"It's a rich country now," replied he proudly, "and it will be a long,long time before you are an old woman."
They began now to plow the ground cleared the autumn before—"newground" they called it—for the spring planting of maize. This, oftentermed "Indian corn" but more generally known by the simple name corn,was to be their chief crop, and the labor of preparation, in which Henryhad his full share, was not light. Their plows were rude, made bythemselves, and finished with a single iron point, and the ground, whichhad supported the forest so lately, was full of roots and stumps. So thepassage of the plow back and forth was a trial to both the muscles andthe spirit. Henry's body became sore from head to foot, and by and by,as the spring advanced and the sun grew hotter, he looked longingly atthe shade of the forest which yet lay so near, and thought of the deep,cool pools and the silver fish leaping up, until their scales shone likegold in the sunshine, and of the stags with mighty antlers coming downto drink. He was sorry for the moment that he was so large and strongand was so useful with plow and hoe. Then he might be more readilyexcused and could take his rifle and seek the depths of the forest,where everything grew by nature's aid alone, and man need not work,unless the spirit moved him to do so.
They planted the space close around the fort in gardens and here afterthe ground was "broken up" or plowed, the women and the girls, all talland strong, did the work.
The summer was splendid in its promise and prodigal in its favors. Therains fell just right, and all that the pioneers planted came up inabundance. The soil, so kind to the wheat, was not less so to the cornand the gardens. Henry surveyed with pride the field of maize cultivatedby himself, in which the stalks were now almost a foot high, looking inthe distance like a delicate green veil spread over the earth. Hissatisfaction was shared by all in Wareville because after thisfulfillment of the earth's promises, they looked forward to continuedseasons of plenty.
When the heavy work of planting and cultivating was over and there wasto be a season of waiting for the harvest, Henry went on the greatexpedition to the Mississippi.
In the party were Ross, Shif'less Sol, the schoolmaster, Henry and Paul.Wareville had no white neighbor near and all the settlements lay to thenorth or east. Beyond them, across the Ohio, was the formidable cloud ofIndian tribes, the terror of which always overhung the settlers. West ofthem was a vast waste of forest spreading away far beyond theMississippi, and, so it was supposed, inhabited only by wild animals. Itwas thought well to verify this supposition and therefore the exploringexpedition set out.
Each member of the party carried a rifle, hunting knife and ammunition,and in addition they led three pack horses bearing more ammunition,their meal, jerked venison and buffalo meat. This little army expectedto live upon the country, but it took the food as a precaution.
They started early of a late but bright summer morning, and Henry foundall his old love of the wilderness returning. Now it would be gratifiedto the full, as they should be gone perhaps two months and would passthrough regions wholly unknown. Moreover he had worked hard for a longtime and he felt that his holiday was fully earned; hence there was noflaw in his hopes.
It required but a few minutes to pass through the cleared ground, thenew fields, and reach the forest and as they looked back they saw what aslight impression they had yet made on the wilderness. Wareville was buta bit of human life, nothing more than an islet of civilization in a seaof forest.
Five minutes more of walking among the trees, and then both Warevilleand the newly opened country around it were shut out. They saw only thespire of smoke that had been a beacon once to Henry and Paul, risinghigh up, until it trailed off to the west with the wind, where it laylike a whiplash across the sky. This, too, was soon lost as theytraveled deeper into the forest, and then they were alone in thewilderness, but without fear.
"When we were able to live here without arms or ammunition it's notlikely that we'll suffer, now is it?" said Paul to Henry.
"Suffer!" exclaimed Henry. "It's a journey that I couldn't be hired tomiss."
"It ought to be enjoyable," said Mr. Pennypacker; "that is, if ourrelatives don't find it necessary to send into the Northwest, and try tobuy back our scalps from the Indian tribes."
But the schoolmaster was not serious. He had little fear of Indians inthe western part of Kentucky, where they seldom ranged, but he thoughtit wise to put a slight restraint upon the exuberance of youth.
They camped that night about fifteen miles from Wareville under theshadow of a great, overhanging rock, where they cooked some squirrelsthat the shiftless one shot, in a tall tree. The schoolmaster upon thisoccasion constituted himself cook.
"There is a popular belief," he said when he asserted his place, "that aman of books is of no practical use in the world. I hereby intend togive a living demonstration to the contrary."
Ross built the fire, and while the schoolmaster set himself to his task,Henry and Paul took their fish hooks and lines and went down to thecreek that flowed near. It was so easy to catch perch and other fishthat there was no sport in it, and as soon as they had enough for supperand breakfast they went back to the fire where the tempting odors thatarose indicated the truth of the schoolmaster's assertion. The squirrelswere done to a turn, and no doubt of his ability remained.
Supper over, they made themselves beds of boughs under the shadow of therock, while the horses were tethered near. They sank into dreamlesssleep, and it was the schoolmaster who awakened Paul and Henry the nextmorning.
They entered that day a forest of extraordinary grandeur, almost clearof undergrowth and with illimitable rows of mighty oak and beech trees.As they passed through, it was like walking under the lofty roof of animmense cathedral. The large masses of foliage met overhead and shut outthe sun, making the space beneath dim and shadowy, and sometimes itseemed to the explorers that an echo of their own footsteps came back tothem.
Henry noted the trees, particularly the beeches which here grow to finerproportions than anywhere else in the world, and said he was glad thathe did not have to cut them down and clear the ground, for the use ofthe plow.
After they passed out of this great forest they entered the wideststretch of open country they had yet seen in Kentucky, though here andthere they came upon patches of bushes.
"I think this must have been burned off by successive forest fires,"said Ross, "Maybe hunting parties of Indians put the torch to it inorder to drive the game."
Certainly these prairies now contained an abundance of animal life. Thegrass was fresh, green and thick everywhere, and from a hill theexplorers saw buffalo, elk, and common deer grazing or browsing on thebushes.
As the game was so abundant Paul, the least skillful of the party insuch matters, was sent forth that evening to kill a deer and this hetriumphantly accomplished to his own great satisfaction. They againslept in peace, now under the low-hanging boughs of an oak, andcontinued the next day to the west. Thus they went on for days.
It was an easy journey, except when they came to rivers, some of whichwere too deep for fording, but Ross had made provision for them. Perchedupon one of the horses was a skin canoe, that is, one made of stoutbuffalo hide to be held in shape by a slight framework of wood on theinside, such as they could make at any time. Two or three trips in thiswould carry themselves and all their equipment over the stream while thehorses swam behind.
They soon found it necessary to put their improvised canoe to use asthey came to a great river flowing in a deep channel. Wild ducks flewabout its banks or swam on the dark-blue current that flowed quietly tothe north. This was the Cumberland, though nameless then to thetravelers, and its crossing was a delicate operation as any incautiousmovement might tip over the skin canoe, and, while they were all goodswimmers, the loss of their precious ammunition could not be taken asanything but a terrible misfortune.
Traveling on to the west they came to another and still mightier river,called by the Indians, so Ross said, the Tennessee, which means in theirlanguage the Great Spoon, so named because the river bent in curves likea spoon. This river looked even wilder and more picturesque than theCumberland, and Henry, as he gazed up its stream, wondered if the whiteman would ever know all the strange regions through which it flowed.Vast swarms of wild fowl, as at the Cumberland, floated upon its watersor flew near and showed but little alarm as they passed. When theywished food it was merely to go a little distance and take it as onewalks to a cupboard for a certain dish.
Now, the aspect of the country began to change. The hills sank. Thestreams ceased to sparkle and dash helter-skelter over the stones;instead they flowed with a deep sluggish current and always to the west.In some the water was so nearly still that they might be called lagoons.Marshes spread out for great distances, and they were thronged withmillions of wild fowl. The air grew heavier, hotter and damper.
"We must be approaching the Mississippi," said Henry, who was quick todraw an inference from these new conditions.
"It can't be very far," replied Ross, "because we are in low countrynow, and when we get into the lowest the Mississippi will be there."
All were eager for a sight of the great river. Its name was full ofmagic for those who came first into the wilderness of Kentucky. Itseemed to them the limits of the inhabitable world. Beyond stretchedvague and shadowy regions, into which hunters and trappers mightpenetrate, but where no one yet dreamed of building a home. So it waswith some awe that they would stand upon the shores of this boundary,this mighty stream that divided the real from the unreal.
But traveling was now slow. There were so many deep creeks and lagoonsto cross, and so many marshes to pass around that they could not makemany miles in a day. They camped for a while on the highest hill thatthey could find and fished and hunted. While here they built themselvesa thatch shelter, acting on Ross's advice, and they were very glad thatthey did so, as a tremendous rain fell a few days after it was finished,deluging the country and swelling all the creeks and lagoons. So theyconcluded to stay until the earth returned to comparative dryness againin the sunshine, and meanwhile their horses, which did not stand thejourney as well as their masters, could recuperate.
Two days after they resumed the journey, they stood on the low banks ofthe Mississippi and looked at its vast yellow current flowing in amile-wide channel, and bearing upon its muddy bosom, bushes and trees,torn from slopes thousands of miles away. It was not beautiful, it wasnot even picturesque, but its size, its loneliness and its desolationgave it a somber grandeur, which all the travelers felt. It was the sameriver that had received De Soto's body many generations before, and itwas still a mystery.
"We know where it goes to, for the sea receives them all," said Mr.Pennypacker, "but no man knows whence it comes."
"And it would take a good long trip to find out," said Sol.
"A trip that we haven't time to take," returned the schoolmaster.
Henry felt a desire to make that journey, to follow the great stream,month after month, until he traced it to the last fountain and uncoveredits secret. The power that grips the explorer, that draws him on throughdanger, known and unknown, held him as he gazed.
They followed the banks of the stream at a slow pace to the north,sweltering in the heat which seemed to come to a focus here at theconfluence of great waters, until at last they reached a wide extent oflow country overgrown with bushes and cut with a broad yellow bandcoming down from the northeast.
"The Ohio!" said Ross.
And so it was; it was here that the stream called by the Indians "TheBeautiful River"—though not deserving the name at this place—lostit*elf in the Mississippi and at the junction it seemed full as mighty ariver as the great Father of Waters himself.
They did not stay long at the meeting of the two rivers, fearing themiasma of the marshy soil, but retreated to the hills where they wentinto camp again. Yet Ross, and Henry, and Sol crossed both the Ohio andthe Mississippi in the frail canoe for the sake of saying that they hadbeen on the farther shores. The three, leaving Paul and the schoolmasterto guard the camp, even penetrated to a considerable distance in theprairie country beyond the Ohio. Here Henry saw for the first time abuffalo herd of size. Buffaloes were common enough in Kentucky, but thecountry being mostly wooded they roamed there in small bands. North ofthe Ohio he now beheld these huge shaggy animals in thousands and henarrowly escaped being trampled to death by a herd which, frightened bya pack of wolves, rushed down upon him like a storm. It was Ross whosaved him by shooting the leading bull, thus compelling them to dividewhen they came to his body, by which action they left a clear spacewhere he and Henry stood. After that Henry, as became one offast-ripening experience and judgment, grew more cautious.
All the party were in keen enjoyment of the great journey, and felt intheir veins the thrill of the wilderness. Paul's studious face took onthe brown tan of autumn, and even the schoolmaster, a man of years wholiked the ways of civilization, saw only the pleasures of the forest andclosed his eyes to its hardships. But there was none who was caught sodeeply in the spell of the wilderness as Henry, not even Ross nor theshiftless one. There was something in the spirit of the boy thatresponded to the call of the winds through the deep woods, a harkingback to the man primeval, a love for nature and silence.
The forest hid many things from the schoolmaster, but he knew the heartsof men, and he could read their thoughts in their eyes, and he was thefirst to notice the change in Henry or rather less a change than adeepening and strengthening of a nature that had not found until now itstrue medium. The boy did not like to hear them speak of the return, heloved his people and he would serve them always as best he could, butthey were prosperous and happy back there in Wareville and did not needhim; now the forest beckoned to him, and, speaking to him in a hundredvoices, bade him stay. When he roamed the woods, their majesty and leafysilence appealed to all his senses. The two vast still rivers threw overhim the spell of mystery, and the secret of the greater one, its hiddenorigin, tantalized him. Often he gazed northward along its yellowcurrent and wondered if he could not pierce that secret. Dimly in hismind, formed a plan to follow the yellow stream to its source some day,and again he thrilled with the thought of great adventures and mightywanderings, where men of his race had never gone before.
Knowledge, too, came to him with an ease and swiftness that filled withsurprise experienced foresters like Ross and Sol. The woods seemed tounfold their secrets to him. He learned the nature of all the herbs,those that might be useful to man and those that might be harmful, hewas already as skillful with a canoe as either the guide or theshiftless one, he could follow a trail like an Indian, and the habits ofthe wild animals he observed with a minute and remembering eye. All thelore of those far-away primeval ancestors suddenly reappeared in him atthe voice of the woods, and was ready for his use.
"It will not be long until Henry is a man," said Ross one evening asthey sat before their camp fire and saw the boy approaching, a deer thathe had killed borne upon his shoulders.
"He is a man now," said the schoolmaster with gravity and emphasis as helooked attentively at the figure of the youth carrying the deer. No oneever before had given him such an impression of strength and physicalalertness. He seemed to have grown, to have expanded visibly since theirdeparture from Wareville. The muscles of his arm stood up under theclose-fitting deerskin tunic, and the length of limb and breadth ofshoulder in the boy indicated a coming man of giant mold.
"What a hunter and warrior he will make!" said Ross.
"A future leader of wilderness men," said Mr. Pennypacker softly, "butthere is wild blood in those veins; he will have to be handled well."
Henry threw down the deer and greeted them with cheerful words that camespontaneously from a joyful soul. They had built their fire, not a largeone, in an oak opening and all around the trees rose like a mightycircular wall. The red shadows of a sun that had just set lingered onthe western edge of the forest, but in the east all was black. Out ofthis vastness came the rustling sound of the wind as it moved among theautumn leaves. In the opening was a core of ruddy light and the livingforms of men, but it was only a tiny spot in the immeasurablewilderness.
The schoolmaster and he alone felt their littleness. The autumn nightwas crisp, and from his seat on a log he held out his fingers to thewarm blaze. Now and then a yellow or red leaf caught in the light winddrifted to his feet and he gazed up half in fear at the great encirclingwall of blackness. Then he uttered silent thanks that he was with suchtrusty men as the guide and the shiftless one.
The effect upon Henry was not the same. He had become silent while theothers talked, and he half reclined against a tree, looking at the skythat showed a dim and shadowy disk through the opening. But there wasnothing of fear in his mind. A delicious sense of peace and satisfactioncrept over him. All the voices of the night seemed familiar and good. Alizard slipped through the grass and the eye and ear of Henry alonenoticed it; neither the guide nor the shiftless one had seen or heardits passage. He measured the disk of the heavens with his glance andforetold unerringly whether it would be clear or cloudy on the morrow,and when something rustled in the woods, he knew, without looking, thatit was a hare frightened by the blaze fleeing from its covert. A tinybrook trickled at the far edge of the fire's rim, and he could tell bythe color of the waters through what kind of soil it had come.
Paul sat down near him, and began to talk of home. Henry smiled upon himindulgently; his old relation of protector to the younger boy had grownstronger during this trip; in the forest he was his comrade's superiorby far, and Paul willingly admitted it; in such matters he sought norivalry with his friend.
"I wonder what they are doing way down there?" said Paul, waving hishand toward the southeast. "Just think of it, Henry! they are only onelittle spot in the wilderness, and we are only another little spot wayup here! In all the hundreds of miles between, there may not be anotherwhite face!"
"It is likely true, but what of it?" replied Henry. "The bigger thewilderness the more room in it for us to roam in. I would rather havegreat forests than great towns."
He turned lazily and luxuriously on his side, and, gazing into the redcoals, began to see there visions of other forests and vast plains, withhimself wandering on among the trees and over the swells. His comradessaid nothing more because it was comfortable in their little camp, andthe peace of the wilds was over them all. The night was cold, but thecircling wall of trees sheltered the opening, and the fire in the centerradiated a grateful heat in which they basked. The scholar, Mr.Pennypacker, rested his face upon his hands, and he, too, was dreamingas he stared into the blaze. Paul, his blanket wrapped around him andhis head pillowed upon soft boughs, was asleep already. Ross and Soldozed.
But Henry neither slept nor wished to do so. His gaze shifted from thered coals to the silver disk of the sky. The world seemed to him verybeautiful and very intimate. These illimitable expanses of forestconveyed to him no sense of either awe or fear. He was at home. He hadbecome for the time a being of the night, piercing the darkness with theeyes of a wild creature, and hearkening to the familiar voices aroundhim that spoke to him and to him alone. Never was sleep farther fromhim. The shifting firelight in its flickering play fell upon his faceand revealed it in all its clear young boyish strength, the firm neck,the masterful chin, the calm, resolute eyes set wide apart, the leanbig-boned fingers, lying motionless across his knees.
Mr. Pennypacker began to nod, then he, too, wrapped himself in hisblanket, lay back and soon fell fast asleep; in a few minutes Solfollowed him to the land of real dreams, and after a brief intervalRoss, too, yielded. Henry alone was awake, drinking deep of the nightand its lonely joy.
The silver disk of the sky turned into gray under a cloud, the darknessswept up deeper and thicker, the light of the fire waned, but the boystill leaned against the log, and upon his sensitive mind every changeof the wilderness was registered as upon the delicate surface of aplate. He glanced at his sleeping comrades and smiled. The smile was theindex to an unconscious feeling of superiority. Ross and Sol were two orthree times his age, but they slept while he watched, and not Rosshimself in all his years in the wilderness had learned many things thatcame to him by intuition.
Hours passed and the boy was yet awake. New feelings, vague andundetermined came into his mind but through them all went the feeling ofmastery. He, though a boy, was in many respects the chief, and while heneed not assert his leadership yet a while, he could never doubt itspossession.
The light died far down and only a few smoldering coals were left. Theblackness of the night, coming ever closer and closer, hovered over hiscompanions and hid their faces from him. The great trunks of the treesgrew shadowy and dim. Out of the darkness came a sound slight but not inharmony with the ordinary noises of the forest. His acute senses, theold inherited primitive instinct, noticed at once the jarring note. Hemoved ever so little but an extraordinary change came over his face. Theidle look of luxury and basking warmth passed away and the eyes becamealert, watchful, defiant. Every feature, every muscle was drawn, as ifhe were at the utmost tension. Almost unconsciously his figure sank downfarther against the log, until it blended perfectly with the bark andthe fallen leaves below. Only an eye of preternatural keenness couldhave separated the outline of the boy from the general scene.
For five minutes he lay and moved not a particle. Then the discordantnote came again among the familiar sounds of the forest and he glancedat his comrades. They slept peacefully. His lip curled slightly, notwith contempt but with that unconscious feeling of superiority; theywould not have noticed, even had they been awake.
His hands moved forward and grasped his rifle. Then he began to slipaway from the opening and into the forest, not by walking nor altogetherby crawling, but by a curious, noiseless, gliding motion, almost likethat of a serpent. Always he clung to the shadows where his shiftingbody still blended with the dark, and as he advanced other primitiveinstincts blazed up in him. He was a hunter pursuing for the first timethe highest and most dangerous game of all game and the thrill throughhis veins was so keen that he shivered slightly. His chin was projected,and his eyes were two red spots in the night. All the while his comradesby the fire, even the trained foresters, slumbered in peace, no warningwhatever coming to their heavy heads.
The boy reached the wall of the woods, and now his form was completelyswallowed up in the blackness there. He lay a while in the bushes,motionless, all his senses alert, and for the third time the jarringnote came to his ears. The maker of it was on his right, and, as hejudged, perhaps a couple of hundred yards away. He would proceed at onceto that point. It is truth to say that no thought of danger entered hismind; the thrills of the present and its chances absorbed him. It seemednatural that he should do this thing, he was merely resuming an oldlabor, discontinued for a time.
He raised his head slightly, but even his keen eyes could see nothing inthe forest save trunks and branches, ghostly and shapeless, and theregular rustle of the wind was not broken now by the jarring note. Butthe darkness heavy and ominous, was permeated with the signs of thingsabout to happen, and heavy with danger, a danger, however, that broughtno fear to Henry for himself, only for others. A faint sighing note asof a distant bird came on the wind, and pausing, he listened intently.He knew that it was not a bird, that sound was made by human lips, andonce more a light shiver passed over his frame; it was a signal,concerning his comrades and himself, and he would turn aside the dangerfrom those old friends of his who slept by the fire, in peace andunknowing.
He resumed his cautious passage through the undergrowth, and, theinherited instinct blossoming so suddenly into full flower, was stillhis guide. Not a sound marked his advance, the forest fell silentlybehind him, and he went on with unerring knowledge to the spot fromwhich the discordant sounds had come.
He approached another opening among the trees, like unto that in whichhis comrades slept, and now, lying close in the undergrowth, he lookedfor the first time upon the sight which so often boded ill to his kind.The warriors were in a group, some sitting others standing, and thoughthere was no fire and the moonlight was slight he could mark theprimitive brutality of their features, the nature of the animal thatfought at all times for life showing in their eyes. They were hard,harsh and repellent in every aspect, but the boy felt for a moment asingular attraction, there was even a distant feeling of kinship as ifhe, too, could live this life and had lived it. But the feeling quicklypassed, and in its place came the thought of his comrades whom he mustsave.
The older of the warriors talked in a low voice, saying unknown words ina harsh, guttural tongue, and Henry could guess only at their meaning.But they seemed to be awaiting a signal and presently the low thrillingnote was heard again. Then the warriors turned as if this were thecommand to do so, and came directly toward the boy who lay in thedarkest shadows of the undergrowth.
Henry was surprised and startled but only for a moment, then theprimeval instinct came to his aid and swiftly he sank away in the bushesin front of them, as before, no sound marking his passage. He thoughtrapidly and in all his thoughts there was none of himself but as thesavior of the little party. It seemed to come to him naturally that heshould be the protector and champion.
When he had gone about fifty yards he uttered a shout, long, swellingand full of warning. Then he turned to his right and crashed through theundergrowth, purposely making a noise that the pursuing warriors couldnot fail to hear. Ross and the others, he knew, would be arousedinstantly by his cry and would take measures of safety. Now the savageswould be likely to follow him alone, and he noted by the sounds thatthey had turned aside to do so.
At this moment Henry Ware felt nothing but exultation that he, a boy,should prove himself a match for all the cunning of the forest-bred, andhe thought not at all of the pursuit that came so fiercely behind him.
He ran swiftly and now directly more than a mile from the camp of hisfriends. Then the inherited instinct that had served him so well failed;it could not warn him of the deep little river that lay straight acrosshis path flowing toward the Mississippi. He came out upon its banks andwas ready to drop down in its waters, but he saw that before he couldreach the farther shore he would be a target for his pursuers. Hehesitated and was about to turn at a sharp angle, but the warriorsemerged from the forest. It was then too late.
The savages uttered a shout of triumph, the long, ferocious, whiningnote, so terrible in its intensity and meaning, and Henry, raising hisrifle, fired at a painted breast. The next moment they were hurled uponhim in a brown mass. He felt a stunning blow upon the head, sparks flewbefore his eyes, and the world reeled away into darkness.
CHAPTER XII
THE PRIMITIVE MAN
When Henry came back to his world he was lying upon the ground, with hishead against a log, and about him was a circle of brown faces, cold,hard, expressionless and apparently devoid of human feeling; pity andmercy seemed to be unknown qualities there. But the boy met them with agaze as steady as their own, and then he glanced quickly around thecircle. There was no other prisoner and he saw no ghastly trophy; thenhis comrades had escaped, and, deep satisfaction in his heart, he lethis head fall back upon the log. They could do now as they chose withhim, and whatever it might be he felt that he had no cause to fear it.
Three other warriors came in presently, and Henry judged that all theparty were now gathered there. He was still lying near the river onwhose banks he had been struck down, and the shifting clouds let themoonlight fall upon him. He put his hand to his head where it ached, andwhen he took it away, there was blood on his fingers. He inferred that aheavy blow had been dealt to him with the flat of a tomahawk, but withthe stained fingers he made a scornful gesture. One of the warriors,apparently a chief, noticed the movement, and he muttered a word or twowhich seemed to have the note of approval. Henry rose to his feet andthe chief still regarded him, noting the fearless look, and the hint ofsurpassing physical powers soon to come. He put his hand upon the boy'sshoulder and pointed toward the north and west. Henry understood him.His life was to be spared for the present, at least, and he was to gowith them into the northwest, but to what fate he knew not.
One of the warriors bathed his head, and put upon it a lotion of leaveswhich quickly drove away the pain. Henry suffered his ministrations withprimitive stoicism, making no comment and showing no interest.
At a word from the leader they took up their silent march, skirting theriver for a while until they came to a shallow place, where they fordedit, and buried themselves again in the dark forest. They passed amongits shades swiftly, silently and in single file, Henry near the middleof the column, his figure in the dusk blending into the brown of theirs.He had completely recovered his strength, and, save for the separationfrom his friends and their consequent wonder and sorrow, he would nothave grieved over the mischance. Instinct told him—perhaps it was hisyouth, perhaps his ready adaptability that appealed to his captors—thathis life was safe—and now he felt a keen curiosity to know the outcome.It seemed to him too that without any will of his own he was about tobegin the vast wanderings that he had coveted.
Hour after hour the silent file trod swiftly on into the northwest, noone speaking, their footfalls making no sound on the soft earth. Themoonlight deepened again, and veiled the trunks and branches in ghostlysilver or gray. By and by it grew darker and then out of the blacknesscame the first shoot of dawn. A shaft of pale light appeared in theeast, then broadened and deepened, bringing in its trail, in terraceafter terrace, the red and gold of the rising sun. Then the light sweptacross the heavens and it was full day.
They were yet in the forest and the dawn was cold. Here and there in theopen spaces and on the edges of the brown leaves appeared the whitegleam of frost. The rustle of the woods before the western wind waschilly in the ear. But Henry was without sign of fatigue or cold. Hewalked with a step as easy and as tireless as that of the strongestwarrior in the band, and at all times he held himself, as if he were oneof them, not their prisoner.
About an hour after dawn the party which numbered fifteen men halted ata signal from the chief and began to eat the dried meat of the buffalo,taken from their pouches. They gave him a good supply of the food, andhe found it tough but savory. Hunger would have given a sufficient sauceto anything and as he ate in a sort of luxurious content he studied hiscaptors with the advantage of the daylight. The full sunshine disclosedno more of softness and mercy than the night had shown. The featureswere immobile, the eyes fixed and hard, but when the gaze of any one ofthem, even the chief, met the boy's it was quickly turned. There wasabout them something furtive, something of the lower kingdom of theanimals. That inherited primitive instinct, recently flaming up withsuch strength in him, did not tell him that they were his full brethren.But he did not hate them, instead they interested him.
After eating they rested an hour or more in the covert of a thicket andHenry saw the beautiful day unfold. The sunshine was dazzling in itsglory, the crisp wind made one's blood sparkle like a tonic, and it wasgood merely to live. A vast horizon inclosed only the peace of thewilderness.
The chief said some words to Henry, but the boy could understand none ofthem, and he shook his head. Then the chief took the rifle that hadbelonged to the captive, tapped it on the barrel and pointed toward thesoutheast. Henry nodded to indicate that he had come from that point,and then smiling swept the circle of the northwestern horizon with hishands. He meant to say that he would go with them without resistance,for the present, at least, and the chief seemed to understand, as hisface relaxed into a look of comprehension and even of good nature.
Their march was resumed presently and as before it was straight into thenorthwest. They passed out of the forest crossed the Ohio in hiddencanoes and entered a region of small but beautiful prairies, cut byshallow streams, which they waded with undiminished speed. Henry beganto suspect that the band came from some very distant country, and washastening so much in order not to be caught on the hunting grounds ofrival tribes. The northwesterly direction that they were followingconfirmed him in this belief.
All the day passed on the march but shortly after the night came on andthey had eaten a little more of the jerked meat, they lay down in athicket, and Henry, unmindful of his captivity, fell in a few minutesinto a sleep that was deep, sweet and dreamless. He did not know thenthat before he was asleep long the chief took a robe of tanned deerskinand threw it over him, shielding his body from the chill autumn night.In the morning shortly before he awoke the chief took away the robe.
That day they came to a mighty river and Henry knew that the yellowstream was that of the Mississippi. The Indians dragged from thesheltering undergrowth two canoes, in which the whole party paddled upstream until nightfall, when they hid the canoes again in the foliage onthe western shore, and then encamped on the crest. They seemed to feelthat they were out of danger now as they built a fine fire and thecaptive basked in its warmth.
Henry had not made the slightest effort to escape, nor had he indicatedany wish to do so, finding his reward in the increased freedom which thewarriors gave to him. He had never been bound and now he could walk ashe chose in a limited area about the camp. But he did not avail himselfof the privilege, for the present, preferring to sit by the fire, wherehe saw pictures of Wareville and those whom he loved. Then he had aswift twinge of conscience. When they heard they would grieve deep andlong for him and one, his mother, would never forget. He should havesought more eagerly to escape, and he glanced quickly about him, butthere was no chance. However careless the warriors might seem there wasalways one between him and the forest. He resigned himself with a sighbut had he thought how quickly the pain passed his conscience would havehurt him again. Now he felt much comfort where he sat; the night wasreally cold, bitingly cold, and it was a glorious fire. As he sat beforeit and basked in its radiance he felt the glorious physical joy thatmust have thrilled some far-away primeval ancestor, as he hugged thecoals in his cave after coming in from the winter storm.
Henry had the best place by the fire and a warrior who was sitting wherehis back was exposed to the wind moved over and shoved him away. Henrywithout a word smote him in the face with such force that the man fellflat and Henry thrust him aside, resuming his original position. Thewarrior rose to his feet and rubbed his bruised face, looking doubtfullyat the boy who sat in such stolid silence, staring into the coals andpaying no further attention to his opponent. The Indian never uses hisfists, and his hand strayed to the handle of his tomahawk; then, as itstrayed away again he sat down on the far side of the fire, and he toobegan to stare stolidly into the red coals. The chief, Black Cloud,bestowed on both a look of approval, but uttered no comment.
Presently Black Cloud gave some orders to his men and they lay down tosleep, but the chief took the deerskin robe and handed it to Henry. Hismanner was that of one making a gift, and a gesture confirmed theimpression. Henry took the robe which he would need and thanked thechief in words whose meaning the donor might gather from the tone. Thenhe lay down and slept as before a dreamless sleep all through the night.
Their journey lasted many days and every hour of it was full of interestto Henry, appealing alike to his curiosity and its gratification. He waslaunched upon the great wandering and he found in it both the glamourand the reality that he wished, the reality in the rivers and theforests and the prairies that he saw, and the glamour in the hope ofother and greater rivers and forests and prairies to come.
Indian summer was at hand. All the woods were dyed in vivid colors, redsand yellows and browns, and glowed with dazzling hues in the intensesunlight. Often the haze of Indian summer hung afar and softened everyoutline. Henry's feeling that he was one of the band grew stronger, andthey, too, began to regard him as their own. His freedom was extendedmore and more and with astonishing quickness he soon picked up enoughwords of their dialect to make himself intelligible. They took him withthem, when they turned aside for hunting expeditions, and he waspermitted now and then to use his own rifle. Only six men in the bandhad guns, and two of these guns were rifles the other four beingmuskets. Henry soon showed that he was the best marksman among them andrespect for him grew. The Indian whom he knocked down was slightly goredby a stag when only Henry was near, but Henry slew the stag, bound upthe man's wound and stayed by him until the others came. The warrior,Gray Fox, speedily became one of his best friends.
Henry's enjoyment became more intense; all the trammels of civilizationwere now thrown aside, he never thought of the morrow because the daywith its interests was sufficient, and from his new friends he learnedfresh lore of the forest with marvelous rapidity; they taught him how totrail, to take advantage of every shred of cover and to make signals byimitating the cry of bird or beast. Once they were caught in ahailstorm, when it turned bitterly cold, but he endured it as well asthe best of them, and made not a single complaint.
They came at last to their village, a great distance west of theMississippi, a hundred lodges perhaps, pitched in a warm and shelteredvalley and the boy, under the fostering care of Black Cloud, wasformally adopted into the tribe, taking up at once the thread of his newlife, and finding in it the same keen interest that had marked all thestages of the great journey.
The climate here was colder than that from which he had come, andwinter, with fierce winds from the Great Plains was soon upon them. Butthe camp which was to remain there until spring was well chosen and thesteep hills about them fended off the worst of the blast. Yet the snowcame soon in great, whirling flakes and fell all one night. The nextmorning the boy saw the world in white and he found it singularlybeautiful. The snow he did not mind as clothing of dressed skins hadbeen given to him and he had a warm buffalo robe for a blanket. Now,young as he was, he became one of the best hunters for the village andwith the others he roamed far over the snowy hills in search of game.Many were the prizes that fell to his steady aim and eye, chief amongthem the deer, the bear and the buffalo.
His fame in the village grew fast, and it would be hiding the fact todeny that he enjoyed it. The wild rough life with its limitless rangeover time and space appealed to every instinct in him, and his new fameas a tireless and skillful hunter was very sweet to him. He thought ofhis people and Wareville, it is true, but he consoled himself again withthe belief that they were well and he would return to them when thechance came, and then he plunged all the deeper and with all the morezest into his new life which had so many fascinations. At Warevillethere were certain bounds which he must respect, certain weights whichhe must carry, but here he was free from both.
Meanwhile his body thrived at a prodigious rate. One could almost seehim grow. There was not a warrior in the village who was as strong ashe, and already he surpassed them all in endurance; none was so fleet offoot nor so tireless. His face and hair darkened in the wind and sun,his last vestige of civilized garb had disappeared long ago, and he wasclothed wholly in deerskin. His features grew stronger and keener andthe eyes were incessantly watchful, roving hither and thither, coveringevery point within range. It would have taken more than a casual glancenow to discover that he was white.
The winter deepened. The snow was continuous, fierce blasts blew in fromthe distant western plains and even searched out their sheltered valley.The old men and the women shivered in the lodges, but sparkling youngblood and tireless action kept the boy warm and flourishing through itall. Game grew scarce about them and the hunters went far westward insearch of the buffalo.
Henry was with the party that traveled farthest toward the setting sun,and it was long before they returned. Winter was at its height and whenthey came out of the forest into the waving open stretches which are theGreat Plains all things were hidden by the snow.
Henry from the summit of a little hill saw before him an expanse asmighty as the sea, and like it in many of its aspects. They told himthat it rolled away to the westward, no man knew how far, as none ofthem had ever come to the end of it. In summer it was covered with life.Here grew thick grass and wild flowers and the buffalo passed inmillions.
It inspired in Henry a certain awe and yet by its very vagueness andimmensity it attracted. Just as he had wished to explore the secrets ofthe forest he would like now to tread the Great Plains and find whatthey held.
They turned toward the southwest in search of buffalo and were caught ina great storm of wind and hail. The cold was bitter and the wind cut tothe bone. They were saved from freezing to death only by digging a rudeshelter through the snow into the side of a hill, and there theycrouched for two days with so little food left in their knapsacks, thatwithout game, they would perish, in a week, of hunger, if the cold didnot get the first chance. The most experienced hunters went forth, butreturned with nothing, thankful for so little a mercy as the ability toget back to their half-shelter.
Henry at last took his rifle and ventured out alone—the others were toolistless to stop him—and before the noon hour he found a buffalo bull,some outcast from the herd which had gone southward, struggling in thesnow. The bull was old and lean, and it took two bullets to bring himdown, but his death meant their life and Henry hurried to the camp withthe joyful news. It was clearly recognized that he had saved them, butno one said anything and Henry was glad of their silence.
When the storm ceased they renewed their journey toward the south with aplentiful supply of food and not long afterwards the snow began to melt.Under the influence of a warm wind out of the southwest it disappearedwith marvelous quickness; one day the earth was all white, and the nextit was all brown. The warm wind continued to blow, and then fainttouches of green began to appear in the dead grass; there were delicateodors, the breath of the great warm south, and they knew that spring wasnot far away.
In a week they ran into the buffalo herd, a mighty black mass of movingmillions. The earth rumbled hollowly under the tread of a myriad feet,and the plain was black with bodies to the horizon and beyond.
They killed as many of the buffalo as they wished and after the fashionof the more northerly Indians reduced the meat to pemmican. Then, eachman bearing as much as he could conveniently carry, they began theirswift journey homeward, not knowing whether they would arrive in timefor the needs of the village.
Henry felt a deep concern for these new friends of his who were leftbehind in the valley. He shared the anxiety of the others who fearedlest they would be too late and that fact reconciled him to the retreatfrom the Great Plains, whose mysteries he longed to unravel.
As they went swiftly eastward the spring unfolded so fast that it seemedto Henry to come with one great jump. They were now in the forests andeverywhere the trees were laden with fresh buds, in all the open spacesthe young grass was springing up, and the brooks, as if rejoicing intheir new freedom from the ice-bound winter, ran in sparkling littlestreams between green banks.
The physical world was full of beauty to him, more so than ever becausehis power of feeling it had grown. During the winter and by thetriumphant endurance of so many hardships his form had expanded and thetide of sparkling blood had risen higher. Although a captive he wasregarded in a sense as the leader of the hunting party; it was obvious,in the deference that the others, though much older, showed to him andhe knew that only his resource, courage and endurance had saved them allfrom death. A song of triumph was singing in his veins.
They found the village at the edge of starvation despite the approach ofspring; two or three of the older people had died already of weakness,and their supplies arrived just in time to relieve the crisis. Therewere willing tongues to tell of his exploits, and Henry soon perceivedthat he was a hero to them all and he enjoyed it, because it was naturalto him to be a leader, and he loved to breathe the air of approbation.Yet as they valued him more they grew more jealous of him, and theywatched him incessantly, lest he should take it into his head to flee tothe people who were once his own. Henry saw the difficulty and again itsoothed his conscience by showing to him that he could not do what heyet had a lingering feeling that he ought to do.
Good luck seemed to come in a shower to the village with the return ofthe hunting party. Spring leaped suddenly into full bloom, and the woodsbegan to swarm with game. It was the most plentiful season that theoldest man could recall, there was no hunter so lazy and so dull that hecould not find the buffalo and the deer.
Then the band, with the spirit of irresponsible wandering upon it, tookdown its lodges and traveled slowly into the north farther and fartherfrom the little settlement away down in Kentucky. There was peace amongthe tribes and they could go as they chose. They came at last to theshores of a mighty lake, Superior, and here when Henry looked out uponan expanse of water, as limitless to the eyes as the sea, he felt thesame thrill of awe that had passed through his veins when the GreatPlains lay outspread before him. As it was now midsummer and the forestscrackled in the heat they lingered long by the deep cool waters of thelake. Here white traders, Frenchmen speaking a tongue unknown to Henry,came to them with rifles, ammunition and bright-colored blankets totrade for furs. More than one of them saw and admired the tall powerfulyoung warrior with the singularly watchful eyes but not one of them knewthat under his paint and tan he was whiter than themselves; instead theytook him to be the wildest of the wild.
Henry's heart had throbbed a little at the first sight of them, but itwas only for a moment, then it beat as steadily as ever; white likehimself they might be, but they were of an alien race; their speech wasnot his speech, their ways not his ways and he turned from them. He wasglad when they were gone.
Toward the end of summer they went south again and wandered idly throughpleasant places. It was still a full season with wild fruits hangingfrom the trees and game everywhere. There had been no sickness in thelittle tribe and they basked in physical content. It was now a carelesseasy life with the stimulus of wandering and hunting and all the oldprimeval instincts in Henry, made stronger by habit, were gratified. Hefell easily into the ways of his friends; when there was nothing to dohe could sit for hours looking at the forests and the streams and thesunshine, letting his soul steep in the glory of it all. To his otherqualities he now added that of illimitable patience. He could wait forwhat he wished as the Eskimo sits for days at the air hole until theseal appears.
In their devious wanderings they kept a general course toward the valleyin which they had passed the first winter, intending to renew their campthere during the cold weather, but autumn, as they intended, was at handbefore they reached it. They were yet a long distance north and west oftheir valley when they were threatened by a danger with which they hadnot reckoned. A local tribe claimed that the band was infringing upontheir hunting grounds and began war with a treacherous attack upon ahunting party.
The war was not long but the few hundreds who took part in it shared allthe passions and fierce emotions of two great nations in conflict. Henrywas in the thick of it, first alike in attack and defense, superior tothe Indians themselves in wiles and cunning. Several of the hostiletribe fell at his hand, although he could not take a scalp, the remnantsof his early training forbidding it. But once or twice he was ashamed ofthe weakness. The hostile party was triumphantly beaten off with greatloss to itself and Henry and his friends pursued their journey leisurelyand triumphantly. Now besides being a great hunter he was a greatwarrior too.
CHAPTER XIII
THE CALL OF DUTY
They arrived at their valley and prepared for the second winter there,returning to the place for several reasons, chief among them being theright of prescription, to which the other tribes yielded tacit consent.The Indian recks little of the future, but in his reversion to primitivetype Henry had taken with him much of the acquired and modern knowledgeof education. He looked ahead, and, under his constant suggestion,advice and pressure they stored so much food for the winter that therewas no chance of another famine, whatever might happen to the game.
Before they went into winter quarters Henry clearly perceived onething—he was first in the little tribe; even Black Cloud, the chief,willingly took second place to him. He was first alike in strength andwisdom and it was patent to all. He was now, although only a boy inyears, nearly at his full height, almost a head above an ordinarywarrior, with wonderfully keen eyes, set wide apart, and a squareprojecting chin, so firm that it seemed to be carved of brown marble.His shoulders were of great breadth, but his lean figure had all thegraceful strength and ease of some wild animal native to the forest. Hewas scrupulous in his attire, and wore only the finest skins and fursthat the village could furnish.
Henry felt the deference of the tribe and it pleased him. He glidednaturally into the place of leader, feeling the responsibility andliking it. He was tactful, too, he would not push Black Cloud from hisold position, but merely remained at his right hand and ruled throughhim. The chief was soothed and flattered, and the arrangement worked tothe pleasure of both, and to the great good of the village which nowenjoyed a winter of prosperity hitherto unknown to such natives of thewoods. Nobody had to go hungry, there was abundant provision against thecold. Henry, though not saying it, knew that with him the credit lay,and just now the world seemed very full. As human beings go he wasthoroughly happy; the life fitted him, satisfied all his wants, and thememory of his own people became paler and more distant; they could dovery well without him; they were so many, one could be spared, and whenthe chance came he would send word to them that he was alive and well,but that he would not come back.
When the buds began to burst they traveled eastward, until they came tothe Mississippi. The sight of its stream brought back to Henry a thoughtof those with whom he had first seen it and he felt a pang of remorse.But the pang was fleeting, and the memory too he resolutely put aside.
They crossed the Mississippi and advanced into the land of littleprairies, a green, rich region, pleasant to the eye and full of game.They wandered and hunted here, drifting slowly to the eastward, untilthey came upon a great encampment of the fierce and warlike nation,known as the Shawnees. The Shawnees were in their war paint and weresinging warlike songs. It was evident to the most casual visitor thatthey were going forth to do battle.
It was late in the afternoon when Henry, Black Cloud and two others cameupon this encampment. His own band had pitched its lodges some milesbehind, but the kinship of the forest and the peace between them, madethe four the guests of the Shawnees as long as they chose to stay.
At least a thousand warriors were in all the hideous varieties of warpaint, and the scene, in the waning light, was weird and ominous even toHenry. The war songs in their very monotony were chilling, and full offerocity, and in all the thousand faces there was not one that shonewith the light of kindness and mercy.
Long glances were cast at Henry, but even their keen eyes failed tonotice that he was not an Indian, and he stood watching them, his faceimpassive, but his interest aroused. A dozen warriors naked to the waistand hideously painted were singing a war song, while they capered andjumped to its unrhythmic tune. Suddenly one of them snatched somethingfrom his girdle and waved it aloft in triumph. Henry knew that it was ascalp, many of which he had seen, and he paid little attention, but theIndian came closer, still singing and dancing, and waving his hideoustrophy.
The scalp flashed before Henry's eyes, and it displayed not the coarseblack locks of the savage, but hair long, fine and yellow like silk. Heknew that it was the scalp of a white girl, and a sudden, shudderinghorror seized him. It had belonged to one of his own kind, to the raceinto which he had been born and with which he had passed his boyhood.His heart filled with hatred of these Shawnees, but the warriors of hisown little tribe would take scalps, and if occasion came, the scalps ofwhite people, yes, of white women and white girls! He tried to dismissthe thought or rather to crush it down, but it would not yield to hiswill; always it rose up again.
He walked back to the edge of the encampment, where some of the warriorswere yet singing the war songs that with all of their monotony were soweird and chilling. Twilight was over the forest, save in the west,where a blood-red tint from the sunken sun lingered on trunk and bough,and gleamed across the faces of the dancing warriors. In this luridlight Henry suddenly saw them savage, inhuman, implacable. They weretruly creatures of the wilderness, the lust of blood was upon them, andthey would shed it for the pleasure of seeing it flow. Henry's primevalworld darkened as he looked upon them.
He was about to leave with Black Cloud and his friends when it occurredto him to ask which way the war party was going and who were thedestined victims. He spoke to two or three warriors until he came to onewho understood the tongue of his little tribe.
The man waved his hand toward the south.
"Off there; far away," he said. "Beyond the great river."
Henry knew that in this case "great river" meant the Ohio and he wassomewhat surprised; it was still a long journey from the Ohio to theland of the Cherokees, Chickasaws and Choctaws with whom the Northerntribes sometimes fought, and he spoke of it to the warrior, but the manshook his head, and said they were going against the white people; therewas a village of them in a sheltered valley beside a little river, theyhad been there three or four years and had flourished in peace; freedomso long from danger had made them careless, but the Shawnee scouts hadlooked from the woods upon the settlement, and the war band would slayor take them all with ease.
The man had not spoken a half dozen words before Henry knew thatWareville was the place, upon which the doom was so soon to fall. Thechill of horror that had seized him at sight of the yellow-haired scalppassed over him again, deeper, stronger and longer than before. And thecolony would fall! There could be no doubt of it! Nothing could save it!The hideous band, raging with tomahawk and knife, would dash without aword of warning, like a bolt from the sky upon Wareville so longsheltered and peaceful in its valley. And he could see all the phases ofthe savage triumph, the surprise, the triumphant and ferocious yells,the rapid volleys of the rifles, the flashing of the blades, the burningbuildings, the shouts, the cries, and men, women and children in one redslaughter. In another year the forest would be springing up whereWareville had been, and the wolf and the fox would prowl among thecharred timbers. And among the bleaching bones would be those of his ownmother and sister and Lucy Upton—if they were not taken away for aworse fate.
He endured the keenest thrill of agony that life had yet held for him.All his old life, the dear familiar ties surged up, and were hot uponhis brain. His place was there! with them! not here! He had yielded tooeasily to the spell of the woods and the call of the old primevalnature. He might have escaped long ago, there had been manyopportunities, but he could not see them. His blindness had beenwillful, the child of his own desires. He knew it too well now. He sawhimself guilty and guilty he was.
But in that moment of agony and fear for his own he was paying the priceof his guilt. The sense of helplessness was crushing. In two hours thewar party would start and it would flit southward like the wind, assilent but far more deadly. No, nothing could save the innocent peopleat Wareville; they were as surely doomed as if their destruction hadalready taken place.
But not one of these emotions, so tense and so deep, was written on theface of him whom even the Shawnees did not know to be white. Not afeature changed, the Indian stoicism and calm, the product alike of hisnature and cultivation, clung to him. His eyes were veiled and hismovements had their habitual gravity and dignity.
He walked with Black Cloud to the edge of the encampment, said farewellto the Shawnees, and then, with a great surge of joy, his resolutioncame to him. It was so sudden, so transforming that the whole worldchanged at once. The blood-red tint, thrown by the sunken sun, was gonefrom the forest, but instead the silver sickle of the moon was risingand shed a radiant light of hope.
He said nothing until they had gone a mile or so and then, drawing BlackCloud aside, spoke to him words full of firmness, but not withoutfeeling. He made no secret of his purpose, and he said that if BlackCloud and the others sought to stay him with force with force he wouldreply. He must go, and he would go at once.
Black Cloud was silent for a while, and Henry saw the faintest quiver inhis eyes. He knew that he held a certain place in the affections of thechief, not the place that he might hold in the regard of a white man, itwas more limited and qualified, but it was there, nevertheless.
"I am the captive of the tribe I know," said Henry. "It has made me itsson, but my white blood is not changed and I must save my people. TheShawnees march south to-night against them and I go to give warning. Itis better that I go in peace."
He spoke simply, but with dignity, and looked straight into the eyes ofthe chief, where he saw that slight pathetic quiver come again.
"I cannot keep you now if you would go," said Black Cloud, "but it maybe when you are far away that the forest and we with whom you have livedand hunted so many seasons will call to you again, in a voice to whichyou must listen."
Henry was moved; perhaps the chief was telling the truth. He saw thehardships and bareness of the wilderness but the life there appealed tohim and satisfied the stronger wants of his nature; he seemed to be thereincarnation of some old forest dweller, belonging to a time thousandsof years ago, yet the voice of duty, which was in this case also thevoice of love, called to him, too, and now with the louder voice. Hewould go, and there must be no delay in his going.
"Farewell, Black Cloud," he said with the same simplicity. "I will thinkoften of you who have been good to me."
The chief called the other warriors and told them their comrade wasgoing far to the south, and they might never see him again. Their facesexpressed nothing, whatever they may have felt. Henry repeated thefarewell, hesitated no longer and plunged into the forest. But hestopped when he was thirty or forty yards away and looked back. Thechief and the warriors stood side by side as he had left them,motionless and gazing after him. It was night now and to eyes less keenthan Henry's their forms would have melted into the dusk, but he sawevery outline distinctly, the lean brown features and the black shiningeyes. He waved his hands to them—a white man's action—and resumed hisflight, not looking back again.
It was a dark night and the forest stretched on, black and endless, thetrunks of the trees standing in rows like phantoms of the dusk. Henrylooked up at the moon and the few stars, and reckoned his course.Wareville lay many hundred miles away, chiefly to the south, and he hada general idea of the direction, but the war party would know exactly,and its advantage there would perhaps be compensation for the superiorspeed of one man. But Henry, for the present, would not think of such adisaster as failure; on the contrary he reckoned with nothing butsuccess, and he felt a marvelous elation.
The decision once taken the rebound had come with great force, and hefelt that he was now about to make atonement for his long neglect, andmore than neglect. Perhaps it had been ordained long ago that he shouldbe there at the critical moment, see the danger and bring them thewarning that would save. There was consolation in the thought.
He increased his pace and sped southward in the easy trot that he hadlearned from his red friends, a gait that he could maintainindefinitely, and with which he could put ground behind him at aremarkable rate. His rifle he carried at the trail, his head was bentslightly forward, and he listened intently to every sound of the forestas he passed; nothing escaped his ear, whether it was a raccoon stirringamong the branches, a deer startled from its covert, or merely the windrustling the leaves. Instinct also told him that the forest was atpeace.
To the ordinary man the night with its dusk, the wilderness with itsghostly tree trunks, and the silence would have been full of weirdnessand awe, black with omens and presages. Few would not have chilled tothe marrow to be alone there, but to Henry it brought only hope and thethrill of exultation. He had no sense of loneliness, the forest hid nosecrets for him; this was home and he merely passed through it on agreat quest.
He looked up at the moon and stars, and confirmed himself in his course,though he never slackened speed as he looked. He came out of the forestupon a prairie, and here the moonlight was brighter, touching the crestsof the swells with silver spear-points. A dozen buffaloes rose up andsnorted as he flitted by, but he scarcely bestowed a passing glance uponthe black bulk of the animals. The prairie was only two or three milesacross, and at the far edge flowed a shallow creek which he crossed atfull speed, and entered the forest again. Now he came to rough country,steep little hills, and a dense undergrowth of interlacing bushes, andtwining thorny vines. But he made his way through them in a manner thatonly one forest-bred could compass, and pressed on with speed but littleslackened.
When the night became darkest, in the forest just before morning he laydown in the deepest shadow of a thicket, his hand upon his rifle, and ina few minutes was sleeping soundly. It was a matter of training with himto sleep whenever sleep was needed and he had no nerves. He knew, too,despite his haste that he must save his strength, and he did nothesitate to follow the counsels of prudence.
It was his will that he should sleep about four hours, and, his systemobeying the wish, he awoke at the appointed time. The sun was risingover the vast, green wilderness, lighting up a world seemingly as lonelyand deserted as it had been the night before. The unbroken forest,touched with the tender tints of young spring and bathed in the purelight of the first dawn, bent gently to a west wind that breathed onlyof peace.
Henry stood up and inhaled the odorous air. He was a striking figure,yet a few yards away he would have been visible only to the trained eye;his half-savage garb of tanned deerskin, stained green and trimmed atthe edges with green beads and little green feathers, blended with thecolors of the forest and merely made a harmonious note in the whole. Hisfigure compact, powerful and always poised as if ready for a springswayed slightly, while his eyes that missed nothing searched every nookin the circling woods. He was then neither the savage nor the civilizedman, but he had many of the qualities of both.
The slight swaying motion of his body ceased suddenly and he remained asstill as a rock. He seemed to be a part of the green bushes that grewaround him, yet he was never more watchful, never more alert. Theindefinable sixth sense, developed in him by the wilderness, had takenalarm; there was a presence in the forest, foreign in its nature; it wasnot sight nor hearing nor yet smell that told him so, but a feeling orrather a sort of prescience. Then an extraordinary thrill ran throughhim; it was an emotion partaking in its nature of joy and anticipation;he was about to be confronted by some danger, perhaps a crisis, and thephysical faculties, handed down by a far-off ancestor, expanded to meetit. He knew that he would conquer, and he felt already the glow oftriumph.
Presently he sank down in the undergrowth so gently that not a bushrustled; there was no displacement of nature, the grass and the foliagewere just as they had been, but the figure, visible before to thetrained eye at a dozen paces, could not have been seen now at all. Thenhe began to creep through the grass with a swift easy gliding motionlike that of a serpent, moving at a speed remarkable in such a positionand quite soundless. He went a full half mile before he stopped and roseto his knees, and then his face was hidden by the bushes, although theeyes still searched every part of the forest.
His look was now wholly changed. He might be the hunted, but he borehimself as the hunter. All vestige of the civilized man, trained tohumanity and mercy, was gone. Those who wished to kill were seeking himand he would kill in return. The thin lips were slightly drawn back,showing the line of white teeth, the eyes were narrowed and in them wasthe cold glitter of expected conflict. Brown hands, lean but big-bonedand powerful, clasped a rifle having a long slender barrel and abeautifully carved stock. It was a figure, terrible alike in itsmanifestation of physical power and readiness, and in the fierce eyethat told what quality of mind lay behind it.
He sank down again and moved in a small circle to the right. Hisoriginal thrill of joy was now a permanent emotion; he was like some oneplaying an exciting game into which no thought of danger entered. Hestopped behind a large tree, and sheltering himself riveted his eyes ona spot in the forest about fifty yards away. No one else could havefound there anything suspicious, anything to tell of an alien presence,but he no longer doubted.
At the detected point a leaf moved, but not in the way it should haveswayed before the gentle wind, and there was a passing spot of brown inthe green of the bushes. It was visible only for a moment, but it wassufficient for the attuned mind and body of Henry Ware. Every part ofhim responded to the call. The rifle sprang to his shoulder and beforethe passing spot of brown was gone, a stream of fire spurted from itsslender muzzle, and its sharp cracking report like the lashing of a whipwas blended with the long-drawn howl, so terrible in its note, that isthe death cry of a savage.
The bullet had scarcely left his gun before he fell back almost flat,and the answering shot sped over his head. It was for this that he sankdown, and before the second shot died he sprang to his feet and rushedforward, drawing his tomahawk and uttering a shout that rolled away infierce echoes through the forest.
He knew that his enemies were but two; in his eccentric course throughthe forest he had passed directly over their trail, and he had read thesigns with an infallible eye. Now one was dead and the other likehimself had an unloaded gun. The rest of his deed would be a mere matterof detail.
The second savage uttered his war cry and sprang forward from thebushes. He might well have recoiled at the terrible figure that rushedto meet him; in all his wild life of risks he had never before beenconfronted by anything so instinct with terror, so ominous of death. Buthe did not have time to take thought before he was overwhelmed by hisresistless enemy.
It was an affair of but a few moments. The Indian threw his tomahawk butHenry parried the blade upon the barrel of his rifle which he stillcarried in his left hand, and his own tomahawk was whirled in aglittering curve about his head. Now it was launched with mighty forceand the savage, cloven to the chin, sank soundless to the earth; he hadbeen smitten down by a force so sudden and absolute that he diedinstantly.
The victor, elate though he was, paused, and quickly reloaded hisrifle—wilderness caution would allow nothing else—and afterwardsadvancing looked first at the savage whom he had slain in the open andthen at the other in the bushes. There was no pity in him, his onlyemotion was a great sense of power; they had hunted him, two to one, andthey born in the woods, but he had outwitted and slain them both. Hecould have escaped, he could have easily left them far behind when hefirst discovered that they were stalking him, but he had felt that theyshould be punished and now the event justified his faith.
It was not his first taking of human life, and while he would haveshuddered at the deed a year ago he felt no such sensation now; theywere merely dangerous wild animals that had crossed his path, and he hadput them out of it in the proper way; his feeling was that of the hunterwho slays a grizzly bear or a lion, only he had slain two.
He stood looking at them, and save for the rustling of the young grassunder the gentle western wind the wilderness was silent and at peace.The sun was shooting up higher and higher and a vast golden light hungover the forest, gilding every leaf and twig. Henry Ware turned at lastand sped swiftly and silently to the south, still thrilling withexultation over his deed, and the sequel that he knew would quicklycome. But in the few brief minutes his nature had reverted another andfurther step toward the primitive.
When he had gone a half mile in his noiseless flight he stopped, and,listening intently, heard the faint echo of a long-drawn, whining cry.After that came silence, heavy and ominous. But Henry only laughed innoiseless mirth. All this he had expected. He knew that the larger partyto which the two warriors belonged would find the bodies, with hastypursuit to follow after the single cry. That was why he lingered. Hewanted them to pursue, to hang upon his trail in the vain hope that theycould catch him; he would play with them, he would enjoy the gameleading them on until they were exhausted, and then, laughing, he wouldgo on to the south at his utmost speed.
A new impulse drove him to another step in the daring play, and, raisinghis head, he uttered his own war cry, a long piercing shout that died indistant echoes; it was at once a defiance, and an intimation to themwhere they might find him, and then, mirth in his eyes, he resumed hisflight, although, for the present, he chose to keep an unchangingdistance between his pursuers and himself.
That party of warriors may have pursued many a man before and may havecaught most of them, but the greatest veteran of them all had never hungon the trail of such another annoying fugitive. All day he led them inswift flight toward the south, and at no time was he more than a littlebeyond their reach; often they thought their hands were about to closedown upon him, that soon they would enjoy the sight of his writhingsunder the fa*got and the stake, but always he slipped away at the fatalmoment, and their savage hearts were filled with bitterness that a lonefugitive should taunt them so. His footsteps were those of the whiteman, but his wile and cunning were those of the red, and curiosity wasadded to the other motives that drew them on.
At the coming of the twilight one of their best warriors who pursued atsome distance from the main band was slain by a rifle shot from thebushes, then came that defiant war cry again, faint, but full of ironyand challenge, and then the trail grew cold before them. He whom theypursued was going now with a speed that none of them could equal, andthe darkness itself, thick and heavy, soon covered all sign of hisflight.
Henry Ware's expectations of joy had been fulfilled and more; it was thekeenest delight that had yet come into his life. At all times he hadbeen master of the situation, and as he drew them southward, hefulfilled his duty at the same time and enjoyed his sport. Everythinghad fallen out as he planned, and now, with the night at hand, he shookthem off.
Through the day he had eaten dried venison from his pouch, as he ran,and he felt no need to stop for food. So, he did not cease the flightuntil after midnight when he lay down again in a thicket and sleptsoundly until daylight. He rose again, refreshed, and faster than eversped on his swift way toward Wareville.
CHAPTER XIV
THE RETURN
Wareville lay in its pleasant valley, rejoicing in the young spring, sokind with its warm rains that the men of the village foresaw a greatseason for crops. The little river flowed in a silver current, smokerose from many chimneys, and now and then the red homemade linsey dressof a girl gleamed in the sunlight like the feathers of the scarlettanager. To the left were the fields cleared for Indian corn, and to theright were the gardens. Beyond both were the hills and the unbrokenforest.
Now and then a man, carrying on his shoulder the inevitable Kentuckyrifle, long and slender-barreled, passed through the palisade, but thecardinal note of the scene was peace and cheerfulness. The town wasprospering, its future no longer belonged to chance; there would beplenty, of the kind that they liked.
In the Ware house was a silent sadness, silent because these were sternpeople, living in a stern time, and it was the custom to hide one'sgriefs. The oldest son was gone; whether he had perished nobody knew,nor, if he had perished, how.
John Ware was not an emotional man, feelings rarely showed on his face,and his wife alone knew how hard the blow had been to him—she knewbecause she had suffered from the same stroke. But the children, theyounger brother Charles and the sister Mary could not always remember,and with them the impression of the one who was gone would grow dimmerin time. The border too always expected a certain percentage of loss inhuman life, it was one of the facts with which the people must reckon,and thus the name of Henry Ware was rarely spoken.
To-day was without a cloud. New emigrants had come across the mountains,adding welcome strength to the colony, and extending the limits of thevillage. But danger had passed them by, they had heard once or twicemore of the great war in the far-away East, but it was so distant andvague that most of them forgot it; the Indians across the Ohio had nevercome this way, and so far Henry Ware was the only toll that they hadpaid to the wilderness. There was cause for happiness, as humanhappiness goes.
A slim girl bearing in her hand a wooden pail came through the gate ofthe palisade. She was bare-headed, but her wonderful dark-brown haircoiled in a shining mass was touched here and there with golden gleamswhere the sunshine fell upon it. Her face, browned somewhat, was yetvery white on the forehead, and the cheeks had the crimson flush ofhealth. She wore a dress of homemade linsey dyed red, and its close fitsuggested the curves of her supple, splendid young figure. She walkedwith strong elastic step toward the spring that gushed from a hillside,and which after a short course fell into the little river.
It was Lucy Upton, grown much taller now, as youth develops rapidly onthe border, a creature nourished into physical perfection first by thegood blood that was in her, then developed in the open air, and by work,neither too little nor too much.
She reached the spring, and setting the pail by its side looked down atthe cool, gushing stream. It invited her and she ran her white roundedarm through it, making curves and oblongs that were gone before theywere finished. She was in a thoughtful mood. Once or twice she looked atthe forest, and each time that she looked she shivered because theshadow of the wilderness was then very heavy upon her.
Silas Pennypacker, the schoolmaster, came to the spring while she wasthere, and they spoke together, because they were great friends, thesetwo. He was unchanged, the same strong gray man, with the ruddy face. Hewas not unhappy here despite the seeming incongruity of his presence.The wilderness appealed to him too in a way, he was the intellectualleader of the colony and almost everything that his nature called formet with a response.
"The spring is here, Lucy," he said, "and it has been an easy winter. Weshould be thankful that we have fared so well."
"I think that most of us are," she replied. "We'll soon be a big town."
She glanced at the spreading settlement, and this launched Mr.Pennypacker upon a favorite theme of his. He liked to predict how thecolony would grow, sowing new seed, and already he saw great cities tobe. He found a ready listener in Lucy. This too appealed to herimagination at times, and if at other times interest was lacking, shewas too fond of the old man to let him know it. Presently when she hadfinished she filled the pail and stood up, straight and strong.
"I will carry it for you," said the schoolmaster.
She laughed.
"Why should I let you?" she asked. "I am more able than you."
Most men would have taken it ill to have heard such words from a girl,but she was one among many, above the usual height for her years; shecreated at once the impression of great strength, both physical andmental; the heavy pail of water hung in her hand, as if it were a triflethat she did not notice. The master smiled and looked at her with eyesof fatherly admiration.
"I must admit that you tell the truth," he said. "This West of oursseems to suit you."
"It is my country now," she said, "and I do not care for any other."
"Since you will not let me carry the water you will at least let me walkwith you?" he said.
She did not reply, and he was startled by the sudden change that cameover her.
First a look of wonder showed on her face, then she turned white, everyparticle of color leaving her cheeks. The master could not tell what herexpression meant, and he followed her eyes which were turned toward thewilderness.
From the forest came a figure very strange to Silas Pennypacker, afigure of barbaric splendor. It was a youth of great height and powerfulframe, his face so brown that it might belong to either the white or thered race, but with fine clean features like those of a Greek god. He wasclad in deerskins, ornamented with little colored beads and fringes ofbrilliant dyes. He carried a slender-barreled rifle over his shoulder,and he came forward with swift, soundless steps.
The master recoiled in alarm at the strange and ominous figure, but asthe red flooded back into the girl's cheeks she put her hand upon hisarm.
"It is he! I knew that he was not dead!" she said in an intensetremulous whisper. The words were indefinite, but the master knew whomshe meant, and there was a surge of joy in his heart, to be followed thenext moment by doubt and astonishment. It was Henry Ware who had comeback, but not the same Henry Ware.
Henry was beside them in a moment and he seized their hands, first thehands of one and then of the other, calling them by name.
The master recovering from his momentary diffidence threw his armsaround his former pupil, welcomed him with many words, and wanted toknow where he had been so long.
"I shall tell you, but not now," replied Henry, "because there is notime to spare; you are threatened by a great danger. The Shawnees arecoming with a thousand warriors and I have hastened ahead to warn you."
He hurried them inside the palisade, his manner tense, masterful andconvincing, and there he met his mother, whose joy, deep and grateful,was expressed in few words after the stern Puritan code. The father andthe brother and sister came next, but the younger people like Lucy felta little fear of him, and his old comrade Paul Cotter scarcely knew him.
He told in a few words of his escape from a far Northwestern tribe, ofthe coming of the Shawnees, and of the need to take every precaution fordefense.
"There is no time to spare," he said. "All must be called in at once."
A man with powerful lungs blew long on a cow's horn, those who were atwork in the fields and the forest hastened in, the gates were barred,the best marksmen were sent to watch in the upper story of theblockhouses and at the palisade, and the women began to mold bullets.
Henry Ware was the pervading spirit through all the preparations. Heknew everything and thought of everything, he told them the mode ofIndian attack and how they could best meet it, he compelled them tostrengthen the weak spots in the palisade, and he encouraged all thosewho were faint of heart and apprehensive.
Lucy's slight fear of him remained, but with it now came admiration. Shesaw that his was a soul fit to lead and command, the work that he wasabout to do he loved, his eyes were alight with the fire of battle; acertain joy was shining there, and all, feeling the strength of hisspirit, obeyed him without asking why.
Only Braxton Wyatt uttered doubts with words and sneered with looks. Hetoo had become a hunter of skill, and hence what he said might have somemerit.
"It seems strange that Henry Ware should come so suddenly when he mighthave come before," he remarked with apparent carelessness to Lucy Upton.
She looked at him with sharp interest. The same thought had entered hermind, but she did not like to hear Braxton Wyatt utter it.
"At all events he is about to save us from a great danger," she said.
Wyatt laughed and his thin long features contracted in an ugly manner.
"It is a tale to impress us and perhaps to cover up something else," hereplied. "There is not an Indian within two hundred miles of us. I know,I have been through the woods and there is no sign."
She turned away, liking his words little and his manner less. Shestopped presently by a corner of one of the houses on a slight elevationwhence she could see a long distance beyond the palisade. So far asseeming went Braxton Wyatt was certainly right. The spring day was fullof golden sunshine, the fresh new green of the forest was unsullied, andit was hard to conjure up even the shadow of danger.
Wyatt might have ground for his suspicion, but why should Henry Waresound a false alarm? The words "perhaps to cover up something else"returned to her mind, but she dismissed them angrily.
She went to the Ware house and rejoiced with Mrs. Ware, to whom a sonhad come back from the dead, and in whose joy there was no flaw.According to her mother's heart a wonder had been performed, and it hadbeen done for her special benefit.
The village was in full posture of defense, all were inside the wallsand every man had gone to his post. They now awaited the attack, and yetthere was some distrust of Henry Ware. Braxton Wyatt, a clever youth,had insidiously sowed the seeds of suspicion, and already there was acrop of unbelief. By indirection he had called attention to the strangeappearance of the returned wanderer, the Indianlike air that he hadacquired, his new ways unlike their own, and his indifference to manythings that he had formerly liked. He noticed the change in Henry Ware'snature and he brought it also to the notice of others.
It seemed as the brilliant day passed peacefully that Wyatt was rightand Henry, for some hidden purpose of his own, perhaps to hide thesecret of his long absence, had brought to them this sounding alarm.There was the sun beyond the zenith in the heavens, the shadows ofafternoon were falling, and the yellow light over the forest softenedinto gray, but no sign of an enemy appeared.
If Henry Ware saw the discontent he did not show his knowledge; thelight of the expected conflict was still in his eyes and his thoughtswere chiefly of the great event to come; yet in an interval of waitinghe went back to the house and told his mother of much that had befallenhim during his long absence; he sought to persuade himself now that hecould not have escaped earlier, and perhaps without intending it hecreated in her mind the impression that he sought to engrave upon hisown; so she was fully satisfied, thankful for the great mercy of hisreturn that had been given to her.
"Now mother!" he said at last, "I am going outside."
"Outside!" she cried aghast, "but you are safe here! Why not stay?"
He smiled and shook his head.
"I shall be safe out there, too," he said, "and it is best for us allthat I go. Oh, I know the wilderness, mother, as you know the rooms ofthis house!"
He kissed her quickly and turned away. John Ware, who stood by, saidnothing. He felt a certain fear of his son and did not yet know how tocommand him.
As Henry passed from the house into the little square Lucy Uptonovertook him.
"Where are you going?" she asked.
"I think I can be of more help out there than in here," he repliedpointing toward the forest.
"It would be better for you to stay," she said.
"I shall be in no danger."
"It is not that; do you know what some of them here are saying ofyou—that you are estranged from us, that there is some purpose in this,that no attack is coming! Your going now will confirm them in thebelief."
His dark eyes flashed with a fierceness that startled her, and his wholeframe seemed to draw up as if he were about to spring. But the emotionpassed in a moment, and his face was a brown mask, saying nothing. Heseemed indifferent to the public opinion of his little world.
"I am needed out there," he said, pointing again toward the dark line ofthe forest, "and I shall go. Whether I tell the truth or not will soonbe known; they will have to wait only a little. But you believe me now,don't you?"
She looked deep into his calm eyes, and she read there only truth. Butshe knew even before she looked that Henry Ware was not one who wouldever be guilty of falsehood or treachery.
"Oh yes I know it," she replied, "but I wish others to know it as well."
"They will," he said, and then taking her hand in his for one briefmoment he was gone. His disappearance was so sudden and soundless thathe seemed to her to melt away from her sight like a mist before thewind. She did not even know how he had passed through the palisade, buthe was certainly outside and away. There was something weird about itand she felt a little fear, as if an event almost supernatural hadoccurred.
The sudden departure of Henry Ware to the forest started the slanderoustongues to wagging again, and they said it was a trap of some kind,though no one could tell how. A sly report was started that he hadbecome that worst of all creatures in his time, a renegade, a white manwho allied himself with the red to make war upon his own people. It cameto the ears of Paul Cotter, and the heart of the loyal youth grew hotwithin him. Paul was not fond of war and strife, but he had an aboundingcourage, and he and Henry Ware had been through danger together.
"He is changed, I will admit," he said, "but if he says we are going tobe attacked, we shall be. I wish that all of us were as true as he."
He touched his gun lock in a threatening manner, and Braxton Wyatt andthe others who stood by said no more in his presence. Yet the course ofthe day was against Henry's assertion. The afternoon waned, the sun, aball of copper, swung down into the west, long shadows fell and nothinghappened.
The people moved and talked impatiently inside their wooden walls. Theyspoke of going about their regular pursuits, there was work that couldbe done on the outside in the twilight, and enough time had been lostalready through a false alarm. But some of the older men, with cautiousblood, advised them to wait and their counsel was taken. Night came,thick and black, and to the more timid full of omens and presages.
The forest sank away in the darkness, nothing was visible fifty yardsfrom the palisade and in the log houses few lights burned. The littlecolony, but a pin point of light, was alone in the vast and circlingwilderness. One of the greatest tests of courage to which the human racehas ever been subjected was at hand. In all directions the forest curvedaway, hundreds of miles. It would be a journey of days to find any otherof their own kind, they were hemmed in everywhere by silence andloneliness, whatever happened they must depend upon themselves, becausethere was none to bring help. They might perish, one and all, and therest of the world not hear of it until long afterwards.
A moaning wind came up and sighed over the log houses, the youngerchildren—and few were too young not to guess what was expected—fellasleep at last, but the older, those who had reached their thinkingyears could not find such solace. In this black darkness their fearsbecame real; there was no false alarm, the forest around them hid theirenemy, but only for the time.
There was little noise in the station. By the low fires in the housesthe women steadily molded bullets, and seldom spoke to each other, asthey poured the melted lead into the molds. By the walls the men too,rifle in hand, were silent, as they sought with intent eyes to mark whatwas passing in the forest.
Lucy Upton was molding bullets in her father's house and they weremelting the lead at a bed of coals in the wide fireplace. None wassteadier of hand or more expert than she. Her face was flushed as shebent over the fire and her sleeves were rolled back, showing her strongwhite arms. Her lips were compressed, but as the bullets shining likesilver dropped from the mold they would part now and then in a slightsmile. She too had in her the spirit of warlike ancestors and it wasaroused now. Girl, though she was, she felt in her own veins a little ofthe thrill of coming conflict.
But her thoughts were not wholly of attack and defense; they followed aswell him who had come back so suddenly and who was now gone again intothe wilderness from which he had emerged. His appearance and manner hadimpressed her deeply. She wished to hear more from him of the strangewild life that he had led; she too felt, although in a more modifiedform, the spell of the primeval.
Her task finished she went to the door, and then drawn by curiosity shecontinued until her walk brought her near the palisade where she watchedthe men on guard, their dusky figures touched by the wan light that camefrom the slender crescent of a moon, and seeming altogether weird andunreal. Paul Cotter in one of his errands found her there.
"You had better go back," he said. "We may be attacked at any time, anda bullet or arrow could reach you here."
"So you believe with me that an attack will be made as he said!"
"Of course I do," replied Paul with emphasis. "Don't I know Henry Ware?Weren't he and I lost together? Wasn't he the truest of comrades?"
Several men, talking in low tones, approached them. Braxton Wyatt waswith them and Lucy saw at once that it was a group of malcontents.
"It is nothing," said Seth Lowndes, a loud, arrogant man, the boaster ofthe colony. "There are no Indians in these parts and I'm going out thereto prove it."
He stood in the center of a ray of moonlight, as he spoke, and itlighted up his red sneering face. Lucy and Paul could see him plainlyand each felt a little shiver of aversion. But neither said anythingand, in truth, standing in the dark by themselves they were not noticedby the others.
"I'm going outside," repeated Lowndes in a yet more noisy tone, "and ifI run across anything more than a deer I'll be mighty badly fooled!"
One or two uttered words of protest, but it seemed to Lucy that BraxtonWyatt incited him to go on, joining him in words of contempt for thealleged danger.
Lowndes reached the palisade and climbed upon it by means of the crosspieces binding it together, and then he stood upon the topmost bar,where his head and all his body, above the knees, rose clear of thebulwark. He was outlined there sharply, a stout, puffy man, his faceredder than ever from the effect of climbing, and his eyes gleamingtriumphantly as, from his high perch, he looked toward the forest.
"I tell you there is not—" But the words were cut short, the gleam diedfrom his eyes, the red fled from his face, and he whitened suddenly withterror. From the forest came a sharp report, echoing in the still night,and the puffy man, throwing up his arms, fell from the palisade backinto the inclosure, dead before he touched the ground.
A fierce yell, the long ominous note of the war whoop burst from theforest, and its sound, so full of menace and fury, was more terriblethan that of the rifle. Then came other shots, a rapid pattering volley,and bullets struck with a low sighing sound against the upper walls ofthe blockhouse. The long quavering cry, the Indian yell rose and diedagain and in the black forest, still for aught else, it was weird andunearthly.
Lucy stood like stone when the lifeless body of the boaster fell almostat her feet, and all the color was gone from her face. The terrible cryof the savages without was ringing in her ears, and it seemed to her,for a few moments, that she could not move. But Paul grasped her by thearm and drew her back.
"Go into your house!" he cried. "A bullet might reach you here!"
Obedient to his duty he hastened to the palisade to bear a valiant handin the defense, and she, retreating a little, remained in the shadow ofthe houses that she might see how events would go. After the first shockof horror and surprise she was not greatly afraid, and she was conscioustoo of a certain feeling of relief. Henry Ware had told the truth, heknew of what he spoke when he brought his warning, and he had greatlyserved his own.
CHAPTER XV
THE SIEGE
It was not Lucy Upton alone who felt relief when the attack upon thestockade came, hideous and terrifying though it might be; the suspenseso destructive of nerves and so hard to endure was at an end, and themen rushed gladly to meet the attack, while the women with almost equaljoy reloaded empty rifles with the precious powder made from the cavedust and passed them to the brave defenders. The children, too small totake a part, cowered in the houses and listened to the sounds of battle,the lashing of the rifle fire, the fierce cry of the savages in theforest, and the answering defiance of the white men. Amid such scenes agreat state was founded and who can wonder that its defenders learned toprize bravery first of all things?
The attack was in accordance with the savage nature, a dash, irregularvolleys, shots from ambush, an endeavor to pick off the settlers,whenever a head was shown, but no direct attempt to storm the palisade,for which the Indian is unfitted. A bullet would not reach from theforest, but from little hillocks and slight ridges in the open where abrown breast was pressed close to the earth came the flash of rifles,some hidden by the dusk, but the flame showing in little points of firethat quickly went out. The light of the moon failed somewhat, and thesavages in ambush were able to come nearer, but now and then asharpshooter behind the wall, firing at the flash of the concealedrifle, would hear an answering death cry.
Lucy Upton behind the barricade with other girls and women was reloadingrifles and passing them to her father and Paul Cotter who stood in alittle wooden embrasure like a sally port. For a time the fire of battleburned as fiercely in her veins as in those of any man, but after awhile she began to wonder what had become of Henry Ware, and presentlyfrom some who passed she heard comments upon him again; they found faultwith his absence; he should have been there to take a part in thedefense, and while she admitted that their criticisms bore the color oftruth, she yet believed him to be away for some good purpose.
For two hours the wild battle in the dark went on, to the chorus ofshouts from white man and red, the savages often coming close to thewalls, and seeking to find a shelter under them in the dark, but alwaysdriven back. Then it ceased so suddenly that the intense silence wasmore pregnant with terror than all the noise that had gone before. PaulCotter, looking over the palisade, could see nothing. The forest rose uplike a solid dark wall, and in the opening not a blade of grass stirred;the battle, the savage army, all seemed to have gone like smoke meltinginto the air, and Paul was appalled, feeling that a magic hand hadabruptly swept everything out of existence.
"What do you see?" asked Lucy, upon whose ears the silence too was heavyand painful.
"Nothing but darkness, and what it hides I cannot guess."
A report ran through the village that the savage army, beaten, had gone,and the women, and the men with little experience, gave it currency, butthe veterans rebuked such premature rejoicing; it was their part, theysaid, to watch with more vigilance than ever, and in nowise to relaxtheir readiness.
Then the long hours began and those who could, slept. Braxton Wyatt andhis friends again impeached the credit of Henry Ware, insinuating withsly smiles that he must be a renegade, as he had taken no part in thedefense and must now be with his savage friends. To the slur Paul Cotterfiercely replied that he had warned them of the attack; without him thestation would have been taken by surprise, and that surely proved him tobe no traitor.
The hours between midnight and day not only grew in length, but seemedto increase in number as well, doubling and tripling, as if they wouldnever end for the watchers in the station. The men behind the woodenwalls and some of the women, too, intently searched the forest, seekingto discover movements there, but nothing appeared upon its solid blackscreen. Nor did any sound come from it, save the occasional gentle moanof the wind; there was no crackling of branches, no noise of footsteps,no rattle of arms, but always the heavy silence which seemed so deadly,and which, by its monotony, was so painful to their ears.
Lucy Upton went into her father's house, ate a little and then spreadingover herself a buffalo robe tried to sleep. Slumber was long in coming,for the disturbed nerves refused to settle into peace, and the excitedbrain brought back to her eyes distorted and overcolored visions of thenight's events. But youth and weariness had their way and she slept atlast, to find when she awakened that the dawn was coming in at thewindow, and the east was ablaze with the splendid red and yellow lightof the sun.
"Are they still there?" was her first question when she went forth fromher father's house, and the reply was uncertain; they might or might notbe there; the leaders had not allowed anyone to go out to see, but thenumber who believed that the savages were gone was growing; and alsogrew the number who believed that Henry Ware was gone with them.
Even in the brilliant daylight that sharpened and defined everything aswith the etcher's point, they could see nothing save what had beenbefore the savages came. Their eyes reached now into the forest, but asfar as they ranged it was empty, there was no encampment, not a singlewarrior passed through the undergrowth. It seemed that the grumblerswere right when they said the besieging army was gone.
Lucy Upton was walking toward the palisade where she saw Paul Cotter,when she heard a distant report and Paul's fur cap, pierced by a bullet,flew from his head to the earth. Paul himself stood in amaze, as if hedid not know what had happened, and he did not move until Lucy shoutedto him to drop to the ground. Then he crawled quickly away from theexposed spot, although two or three more bullets struck about him.
The station thrilled once more with excitement, but the new danger wasof a kind that they did not know how to meet. It was evident that thefiring came from a high point, one commanding a view inside the walls,and from marksmen located in such a manner the palisade offered noshelter. Bullets were pattering among the houses, and in the open spacesinclosed by the walls, two men were wounded already, and the threat hadbecome formidable.
Ross and Shif'less Sol, the best of the woodsmen, soon decided that theshots came from a large tree at the edge of the forest northeast fromthe stockade, and they were sure that at least a half-dozen warriorswere lying sheltered among its giant boughs, while they sent searchingbullets into the inclosure. There had been some discussion about thetree at the time the settlement was built, but expert opinion held thatthe Indian weapons could not reach from so great a distance, and as thetask of cutting so huge a trunk when time was needed, seemed too muchthey had left it, and now they saw their grievous and perhaps mortalerror.
The side of the palisade facing the tree was untenable so long as thewarriors held their position, and it was even dangerous to pass from onehouse to another. The terrors of the night, weighty because unknown,were gone, but the day had brought with it a more certain menace thatall could see.
The leaders held a conference on the sheltered side of one of thehouses, and their faces and their talk were full of gloom. Theschoolmaster, Ross and Sol were there, and so were John Ware and Lucy'sfather. The schoolmaster, by nature and training a man of peace, wasperhaps the most courageous of them all.
"It is evident that those savages have procured in some manner a numberof our long-range Kentucky rifles," he said, "but they are no betterthan ours. Nor is it any farther from us to that tree than it is fromthat tree to us. Why can't our best marksmen pick them off?"
He looked with inquiry at Ross and Sol, who shook their heads and abatednot a whit of their gloomy looks.
"They are too well sheltered there," replied Ross, "while we would notbe if we should try to answer them. Our side would get killed while theywouldn't be hurt and we can't spare the men."
"But we must find a way out! We must get rid of them somehow!" exclaimedMr. Ware.
"That's true," said Upton, and as he spoke they heard a bullet thudagainst the wall of the house. From the forest came a wild quaveringyell of triumph, full of the most merciless menace. Mr. Ware and Mr.Upton shuddered. Each had a young daughter, and it was in the minds ofeach to slay her in the last resort if there should be no other way.
"If those fellows in the tree keep on driving us from the palisade,"said Ross, setting his face in the grim manner of one who forces himselfto tell the truth, "there's nothin' to prevent the main band from makin'an attack, and while the other fellows rain bullets on us they'll beinside the palisade."
They stared at each other in silent despair, and Ross going to thecorner of the house, but keeping himself protected well, looked at thefatal tree. No one was firing, then, and he could see nothing among itsbranches. In the fresh green of its young foliage it looked like a hugecone set upon a giant stem, and Ross shook his fist at it in futileanger. Nor was a foe visible elsewhere. The entire savage army layhidden in the forest and nothing fluttered or moved but the leaves andthe grass.
The others, led by the same interest, followed Ross, and keeping to thesafety of the walls, stole glances at the tree. As they looked theyheard the faint report of a shot and a cry of death, and saw a brownbody shoot down from the green cone of the tree to the ground, where itlay still.
"There is a marksman among us who can beat them at their own trick,"cried the schoolmaster in exultation. "Who did it? Who fired that shot,Tom?"
Ross did not answer. First a look of wonder came upon his face, and thenhe began to study the forest, where all but nature was yet lifeless. Thefaint sound of a second shot came and what followed was a duplicate ofthe sequel to the first. Another brown body shot downward, and laylifeless beside its fellow on the grass.
The master cried out once more in exultation, and wished to know whyothers within the palisade did not imitate the skillful sharpshooter.But Ross shook his head slowly and spoke these slow words:
"A great piece of luck has happened to us, Mr. Pennypacker, an' how it'shappened I don't know, at least not yet. Them shots never come from anyof our men. We've got a friend outside an' he's pickin' off themambushed murderers one by one. The savages think we're doin' it, butthey'll soon find out the difference."
There was a third shot and the tree ejected a third body.
"What wonderful shootin'!" exclaimed Ross in a tone of amazement. "Themshots come from a long distance, but all three of 'em plugged the markto the center. Them savages was dead before they touched the ground. Inever saw the like."
The others waited expectantly, as if he could give them an explanation,but if he had a thought in his mind he kept it to himself.
"There, they've found it out," he said, when a terrific yell full ofanger came from the forest, "but they haven't got him, whoever he is.They'd shout in a different way if they had."
"Why do you say him?" asked Mr. Pennypacker. "Surely a single man hasnot been doing such daring and deadly work!"
"It's one man, because there are not two in all this wilderness who canshoot like that. I'd hate to be in the place of the savages left in thattree."
The wonder of the new and unknown ally soon spread through Wareville,and reached Lucy Upton as it reached others. A thought came to her andshe was about to speak of it, but she stopped, fearing ridicule, andmerely listened to the excited talk going on all about her.
An hour later a fourth Indian was shot from the tree, and less thanfifteen minutes afterwards a fifth fell a victim to the terrible rifle.Then two, the only survivors, dropped from the boughs and ran for theforest. Ross, Sol and Paul Cotter were watching together and saw theflight.
"One of them brown rascals will never reach the woods," said Ross withthe intuition of the borderer.
The foremost savage fell just at the edge of the forest, shot throughthe heart, and the other, the sole survivor of the tree, escaped behindthe sheltering trunks.
The cry of the angry savages swelled into a terrible chorus and bulletsbeat upon the stockade, but the attack was quickly repulsed, and againquiet and treacherous peace settled down upon this little spot, this pinpoint in the mighty wilderness, whose struggle must be carried onunaided, and, in truth, unknown to all the rest of the world.
When the savages were driven back they melted again into the forest, andthe old silence and peace laid hold of everything, the brilliantsunshine gilding every house, and dyeing into deeper colors the glowingtints of the wilderness. The huge tree, so fatal to those who had soughtto use it, stood up, a great green cone, its branches waving softlybefore the wind.
In the little fortress the wonder and excitement yet prevailed, butmingled with it was a devout gratitude for this help from an unknownquarter which had been so timely and so effective. The spirits of thegarrison, from the boldest ranger down to the most timid woman, took asudden upward heave and they felt that they should surely repel everyattack by the savage army.
The remainder of the day passed in silence and with the foe invisible,but the guard at the palisade, now safe from ambushed marksmen, relaxedits vigilance not at all. These men knew that they dealt with an enemywhose uncertainty made him all the more terrible, and they would notleave the issue to shifting chance.
The day waned, the night came, heavy and dark again, and full, as it wasbound to be, of threats and omens for the beleaguered people. Lucy Uptonwith Mary Ware slipped to the little wooden embrasure where Paul Cotterwas on watch.
They found Paul in the sheltered nook, watching the forest and the open,through the holes pierced for rifles, and he did not seek to hide hispleasure at seeing them. Two other men were there, but they weremiddle-aged and married, the fathers of increasing families, and theywere not offended when Paul received a major share of attention.
He told them that all was quiet, his own eyes were keen, but they failedto mark anything unusual, and he believed that the savages, profiting bytheir costly experience, would make no new attempt yet a while. Then hespoke of the mysterious help that had come to them, and the same thoughtwas in his mind and Lucy's, though neither spoke of it. They stood therea while, talking in low tones and looking for excuses to linger, whenone of the older men moved a little and held up a warning hand. He hadjust taken his eyes from a loophole, and he whispered that he thought hehad seen something pass in the shadow of the wall.
All in the embrasure became silent at once, and Lucy, brave as she was,could hear her heart beating. There was a slight noise on the outside ofthe wall, so faint that only keen ears could hear it, and then as theylooked up they saw a hideous, painted face raised above the palisade.
One of the older men threw his rifle to his shoulder, but, quick as aflash, Paul struck his hand away from the trigger. He knew who had come,when he looked into the eyes that looked down at him, though he feltfear, too—he could not deny it—as he met their gaze, so fierce, sowild, so full of the primitive man.
"Don't you see?" he said, "it is Henry! Henry Ware!"
Even then Lucy Upton, intimate friend though she had been, scarcely saw,but laughing a low soft laugh of intense satisfaction, Henry droppedlightly among them. Good excuse had these men for not knowing him as histransformation was complete! He stood before them not a white man, butan Indian warrior, a prince of savages. His hair was drawn up in thedefiant scalp lock, his face bore the war paint in all its variationsand violent contrast of colors, the dark-green hunting shirt andleggings with their beaded decorations were gone, and in their place ared Indian blanket was wrapped around him, drooping in its gracefulfolds like a Roman toga.
His figure, erect in the moonlight, nearly a head above the others, hada certain savage majesty, and they gazed upon him in silence. He seemedto know what they felt and his eyes gleamed with pride out of his darklypainted face. He laughed again a low laugh, not like that of the whiteman, but the almost inaudible chuckle of the Indian.
"It had to be," he said, glancing down at his garb though not withshame. "To do what I wished to do, it was necessary to pass as anIndian, at least between times, and, as all the Shawnees do not knoweach other, this helped."
"It was you who shot the Indians in the tree; I knew it from the first,"said the voice of the guide, Ross, over their shoulders. He had come sosoftly that they did not notice him before.
Henry did not reply, but laughed again the dry chuckle that made Lucytremble she scarcely knew why, and ran his hand lovingly along theslender barrel of his rifle.
"At least you do not complain of it," he said presently.
"No, we do not," replied Ross, "an' I guess we won't. You saved us,that's sure. I've lived on the border all my life, but I never saw suchshootin' before."
Then Henry gave some details of his work and Lucy Upton, watching himclosely, saw how he had been engrossed by it. Paul Cotter too noticed,and feeling constraint, at least, demanded that Henry doff his savagedisguise, put on white men's clothes and get something to eat.
He consented, though scarce seeing the necessity of it, but kept theIndian blanket close to hand, saying that he would soon need it again.But he was very gentle with his mother telling her that she need have nofear for him, that he knew all the wiles of the savage and more; theycould never catch him and the outside was his place, as then he could beof far more service than if he were merely one of the garrison.
The news of Henry Ware's return was throughout the village in fiveminutes, and with it came the knowledge of his great deed. In the faceof such a solid and valuable fact the vague charge that he was arenegade died. Even Braxton Wyatt did not dare to lift his voice to thateffect again, but, with sly insinuation, he spoke of savages herdingwith savages, and of what might happen some day.
When night came Henry resuming his Indian garb and paint slipped outagain, and so skillful was he that he seemed to melt away like a mist inthe darkness.
The savage army beleaguering the colony now found that it was assailedby a mysterious enemy, one whom all their vigilance and skill could notcatch. They lost warrior after warrior and many of them began to thinkManitou hostile to them, but the leaders persisted with the siege. Theywished to destroy utterly this white vanguard, and they would not returnto their villages, far across the Ohio, until it was done.
They no longer made a direct attack upon the walls, but, forming acomplete circle around, hung about at a convenient distance, waiting andhoping for thirst and famine to help them. The people believedthemselves to have taken good precautions against these twin evils, butnow a terrible misfortune befell them. No rain fell and the well insidethe palisade ran dry. It was John Ware himself who first saw the comingof the danger and he tried to hide it, but it could not, from its verynature, be kept a secret long. The supply for each person was cut downone half and then one fourth, and that too would soon go, unless thewelcome rains came; and the sky was without a cloud. Men who feared nophysical danger saw those whom they loved growing pale and weak beforetheir eyes, and they knew not what to do. It seemed that the place mustfall without a blow from the enemy.
CHAPTER XVI
A GIRL'S WAY
Lucy left her father's house one of these dry mornings, and stood for afew moments in the grounds, inclosed by the palisade, gazing at the darkforest, outlined so sharply against the blue of the sky. She could seethe green of the forest beyond the fort, and she knew that in the openspaces, where the sun reached them, tiny wild flowers of pink andpurple, nestled low in the grass, were already in bloom. From the west awind sweet and soft was blowing, and, as she inhaled it, she wanted tolive, and she wanted all those about her to live. She wondered, if therewas not some way in which she could help.
The stout, double log cabins, rude, but full of comfort, stood in rows,with well-trodden streets, between, then a fringe of grass around all,and beyond that rose the palisade of stout stakes, driven deep into theground, and against each other. All was of the West and so was Lucy, atall, lithe young girl, her face tanned a healthy and becoming brown bythe sun, her clothing of home-woven red cloth, adorned at the wrists andaround the bottom of the skirt with many tiny beads of red and yellowand blue and green, which, when she moved, flashed in the brilliantlight, like the quivering colors of a prism. She had thrust in her haira tiny plume of the scarlet tanager, and it lay there, like a flash offlame, against the dark brown of her soft curls.
Where she stood she could see the water of the spring near the edge ofthe forest sparkling in the sunlight, as if it wished to tantalize her,but as she looked a thought came to her, and she acted upon it at once.She went to the little square, where her father, John Ware, Ross andothers were in conference.
"Father," she exclaimed, "I will show you how to get the water!"
Mr. Upton and the other men looked at her in so much astonishment thatnone of them replied, and Lucy used the opportunity.
"I know the way," she continued eagerly. "Open the gate, let the womentake the buckets—I will lead—and we can go to the spring and fill themwith water. Maybe the Indians won't fire on us!"
"Lucy, child!" exclaimed her father. "I cannot think of such a thing."
Then up spoke Tom Ross, wise in the ways of the wilderness.
"Mr. Upton," he said, "the girl is right. If the women are willing to goout it must be done. It looks like an awful thing, but—if they die weare here to avenge them and die with them, if they don't die we are allsaved because we can hold this fort, if we have water; without it everysoul here from the oldest man down to the littlest baby will be lost."
Mr. Upton covered his face with his hands.
"I do not like to think of it, Tom," he said.
The other men waited in silence.
Lucy looked appealingly at her father, but he turned his eyes away.
"See what the women say about it, Tom," he said at last.
The women thought well of it. There was not one border heroine, butmany; disregarding danger they prepared eagerly for the task, and soonthey were in line more than fifty, every one with a bucket or pail ineach hand. Henry Ware, looking on, said nothing. The intended actappealed to the nature within him that was growing wilder every day.
A sentinel, peeping over the palisade, reported that all was quiet inthe forest, though, as he knew, the warriors were none the lesswatchful.
"Open the gate," commanded Mr. Ware.
The heavy bars were quickly taken down, and the gate was swung wide.Then a slim, scarlet-clad figure took her place at the head of the line,and they passed out.
Lucy was borne on now by a great impulse, the desire to save the fortand all these people whom she knew and loved. It was she who hadsuggested the plan and she believed that it should be she who shouldlead the way, when it came to the doing of it.
She felt a tremor when she was outside the gate, but it came fromexcitement and not from fear—the exaltation of spirit would not permither to be afraid. She glanced at the forest, but it was only a blurbefore her.
The slim, scarlet-clad figure led on. Lucy glanced over her shoulder,and she saw the women following her in a double file, grave andresolute. She did not look back again, but marched on straight towardthe spring. She began to feel now what she was doing, that she wasmarching into the cannon's mouth, as truly as any soldier that ever leda forlorn hope against a battery. She knew that hundreds of keen eyesthere in the forest before her were watching her every step, and thatbehind her fathers and brothers and husbands were waiting, with ananxiety that none of them had ever known before.
She expected every moment to hear the sharp whiplike crack of the rifle,but there was no sound. The fort and all about it seemed to be inclosedin a deathly stillness. She looked again at the forest, trying to seethe ambushed figures, but again it was only a blur before her, seemingnow and then to float in a kind of mist. Her pulses were beating fast,she could hear the thump, thump in her temples, but the slim scarletfigure never wavered and behind, the double file of women followed,grave and silent.
"They will not fire until we reach the spring," thought Lucy, and nowshe could hear the bubble of the cool, clear water, as it gushed fromthe hillside. But still nothing stirred in the forest, no rifle cracked,there was no sound of moving men.
She reached the spring, bent down, filled both buckets at the pool, andpassing in a circle around it, turned her face toward the fort, and,after her, came the silent procession, each filling her buckets at thepool, passing around it and turning her face toward the fort as she haddone.
Lucy now felt her greatest fear when she began the return journey andher back was toward the forest. There was in her something of thewarrior; if the bullet was to find her she preferred to meet it, face toface. But she would not let her hands tremble, nor would she bendbeneath the weight of the water. She held herself proudly erect andglanced at the wooden wall before her. It was lined with faces, brown,usually, but now with the pallor showing through the tan. She saw herfather's among them and she smiled at him, because she was upheld by agreat pride and exultation. It was she who had told them what to do, andit was she who led the way.
She reached the open gate again, but she did not hasten her footsteps.She walked sedately in, and behind her she heard only the regular treadof the long double file of women. The forest was as silent as ever.
The last woman passed in, the gate was slammed shut, the heavy bars weredropped into place, and Mr. Upton throwing his arms about Lucyexclaimed:
"Oh, my brave daughter!"
She sank against him trembling, her nerves weak after the long tension,but she felt a great pride nevertheless. She wished to show that a womantoo could be physically brave in the face of the most terrible of alldangers, and she had triumphantly done so.
The bringing of the water, or rather the courage that inspired the act,heartened the garrison anew, and color came back to men's faces. Theschoolmaster discussed the incident with Tom Ross, and wondered why theIndians who were not in the habit of sparing women had not fired.
"Sometimes a man or a crowd of men won't do a thing that they would doat any other time," said Ross, "maybe they thought they could get us allin a bunch by waitin' an' maybe way down at the bottom of their savagesouls, was a spark of generosity that lighted up for just this once.We'll never know."
Henry Ware went out that night, and returning before dawn with the samefacility that marked all his movements in the wilderness, reported thatthe savage army was troubled. All such forces are loose and irregular,with little cohesive power, and they will not bear disappointment andwaiting. Moreover the warriors having lost many men, with nothing inrepayment were grumbling and saying that the face of Manitou was setagainst them. They were confirmed too in this belief by the presence ofthe mysterious foe who had slain the warriors in the tree, and who hadsince given other unmistakable signs of his presence.
"They will have more discouragement soon," he said, "because it is goingto rain to-day."
He had read the signs aright, as the sun came up amid the mists andvapors, and the gentle wind was damp to the face; then dark cloudsspread across the western heavens, like a vast carpet unrolled by agiant hand, and the wilderness began to moan. Low thunder muttered onthe horizon, and the somber sky was cut by vivid strokes of lightning.
Nature took on an ominous and threatening hue but within the villagethere was only joy; the coming storm would remove their greatest danger,the well would fill up again, and behind the wooden walls they coulddefy the savage foe.
The sky was cut across by a flash of lightning so bright that it dazzledthem, the thunder burst with a terrible crash directly overhead, andthen the rain came in a perfect wall of water. It poured for hours outof a sky that was made of unbroken clouds, deluging the earth, swellingthe river to a roaring flood, and rising higher in the well than everbefore. The forest about them was almost hidden by the torrents of rainand they did not forget to be thankful.
Toward afternoon the fall abated somewhat in violence, but became asteady downpour out of sodden skies, and the air turned raw and chill.Those who were not sheltered shivered, as if it were winter. The nightcame on as dark as a well, and Henry Ware went out again. When he cameback he said tersely to his father:
"They are gone."
"Gone?" exclaimed Mr. Ware scarcely able to believe in the reality ofsuch good news.
"Yes; the storm broke their backs. Even Indians can't stand an all-daywetting especially when they are already tired. They think they cannever have any luck here, and they are going toward the Ohio at thisminute. The storm has saved us now just as it saved our band in theflight from the salt works."
They had such faith in his forest skill that no one doubted his word andthe village burst into joy. Women, for they were the worst sufferersgave thanks, both silently and aloud. Henry took Ross, Sol and others tothe valley in the forest, where the savages had kept their war camp.Here they had soaked in the mire during the storm, and all about weresigns of their hasty flight, the ground being littered with bones ofdeer, elk and buffalo.
"They won't come again soon," said Henry, "because they believe that theManitou will not give them any luck here, but it is well to be always onthe watch."
After the first outburst of gratitude the people talked little of theattack and repulse; they felt too deeply, they realized too much thegreatness of the danger they had escaped to put it into idle words. Butnearly all attributed their final rescue to Henry Ware though some sawthe hand of God in the storm which had intervened a second time for theprotection of the whites. Braxton Wyatt and his friends dared saynothing now, at least openly against Henry, although those who loved himmost were bound to confess that there was something alien about him,something in which he differed from the rest of them.
But Henry thought little of the opinion, good or bad in which he washeld, because his heart was turning again to the wilderness, and he andRoss went forth again to scout on the rear of the Indian force.
CHAPTER XVII
THE BATTLE IN THE FOREST
Henry and Ross after their second scouting expedition reported that thegreat war band of the Shawnees was retreating slowly, in fact wouldlinger by the way, and might destroy one or two smaller stationsrecently founded farther north. Instantly a new impulse flamed up amongthe pioneers of Wareville. The feeling of union was strong among allthese early settlements, and they believed it their duty to protecttheir weaker brethren. They would send hastily to Marlowe the nearestand largest settlement for help, follow on the trail of the warriors anddestroy them. Such a blow, as they might inflict, would spread terroramong all the northwestern tribes and save Kentucky from many anotherraid.
Ross who was present in the council when the eager cry was raised shookhis head and looked more than doubtful.
"They outnumber us four or five to one," he said, "an' when we go out inthe woods against 'em we give up our advantage, our wooden walls. Theycan ambush us out there, an' surround us."
Mr. Ware added his cautious words to those of Ross, in whom he had greatconfidence. He believed it better to let the savage army go. Discouragedby its defeat before the palisades of Wareville it would withdraw beyondthe Ohio, and, under any circ*mstances, a pursuit with greatly inferiornumbers, would be most dangerous.
These were grave words, but they fell on ears that did not wish tolisten. They were an impulsive people and a generous chord in theirnatures was touched, the desire to defend those weaker than themselves.A good-hearted but hot-headed man named Clinton made a fiery speech. Hesaid that now was the time to strike a crushing blow at the Indianpower, and he thought all brave men would take advantage of it.
That expression "brave men" settled the question; no one could afford tobe considered aught else, and a little army poured forth from Wareville,Mr. Ware nominally in command, and Henry, Paul, Ross, Sol, and all theothers there. Henry saw his mother and sister weeping at the palisade,and Lucy Upton standing beside them. His mother's face was the last thathe saw when he plunged into the forest. Then he was again the hunter,the trailer and the slayer of men.
While they considered whether or not to pursue, Henry Ware had saidnothing; but all the primitive impulses of man handed down from lostages of ceaseless battle were alive within him; he wished them to go, hewould show the way, the savage army would make a trail through theforest as plain to him as a turnpike to the modern dweller in acivilized land, and his heart throbbed with fierce exultation, when thedecision to follow was at last given. In the forest now he was again athome, more so than he had been inside the palisade. Around him were allthe familiar sights and sounds, the little noises of the wilderness thatonly the trained ear hears, the fall of a leaf, or the wind in thegrass, and the odor of a wild flower or a bruised bough.
Brain and mind alike expanded. Instinctively he took the lead, not fromambition, but because it was natural; he read all the signs and he ledon with a certainty to which neither Ross nor Shif'less Sol pretended toaspire. The two guides and hunters were near each other, and a lookpassed between them.
"I knew it," said Ross; "I knew from the first that he had in him themaking of a great woodsman. You an' I, Sol, by the side of him, are justbeginners."
Shif'less Sol nodded in assent.
"It's so," he said. "It suits me to follow where he leads, an' since weare goin' after them warriors, which I can't think a wise thing, I'mmighty glad he's with us."
Yet to one experienced in the ways of the wilderness the little armythough it numbered less than a hundred men would have seemed formidableenough. Many youths were there, mere boys they would have been back insome safer land, but hardened here by exposure into the strength andcourage of men. Nearly all were dressed in finely tanned deerskin,hunting shirt, leggings and moccasins, fringes on hunting shirt andleggings, and beads on moccasins. The sun glinted on the long slender,blue steel barrel of the Western rifle, carried in the hand of everyman. At the belt swung knife and hatchet, and the eyes of all, now thatthe pursuit had begun, were intense, eager and fierce.
The sounds made by the little Western army, hid under the leafy boughsof the forest, gradually died away to almost nothing. No one spoke, saveat rare intervals. The moccasins were soundless on the soft turf, andthere was no rattle of arms, although arms were always ready. In frontwas Henry Ware, scanning the trail, telling with an infallible eye howold it was, where the enemy had lingered, and where he had hastened.
Mr. Pennypacker was there beside Paul Cotter. A man of peace he was, butwhen war came he never failed to take his part in it.
"Do you know him?" he asked of Paul, nodding toward Henry.
Paul understood.
"No," he replied, "I do not. He used to be my old partner, Henry Ware,but he's another now."
"Yes, he's changed," said the master, "but I am not surprised. I foresawit long ago, if the circ*mstances came right."
On the second morning they were joined by the men from Marlowe who hadbeen traveling up one side of a triangle, while the men of Wareville hadbeen traveling up the other side, until they met at the point. Theirmembers were now raised to a hundred and fifty, and, uttering one shoutof joy, the united forces plunged forward on the trail with renewedzeal.
They were in dense forest, in a region scarcely known even to thehunters, full of little valleys and narrow deep streams. The Indianforce had suddenly taken a sharp turn to the westward, and the knowledgeof it filled the minds of Ross and Sol with misgivings.
"Maybe they know we're following 'em," said Ross; "an' for that reasonthey're turnin' into this rough country, which is just full of ambushes.If it wasn't for bein' called a coward by them hot-heads I'd say it wastime for us to wheel right about on our own tracks, an' go home."
"You can't do nothin' with 'em," said Sol, "they wouldn't stand withouthitchin', an' we ain't got any way to hitch 'em. There's goin' to be ascrimmage that people'll talk about for twenty years, an' the best youan' me can do, Tom, is to be sure to keep steady an' to aim true."
Ross nodded sadly and said no more. He looked down at the trail, whichwas growing fresher and fresher.
"They're slowin' up, Sol," he said at last, "I think they're waitin' forus. You spread out to the right and I'll go to the left to watch ag'inambush. That boy, Henry Ware'll see everything in front."
In view of the freshening trail Mr. Ware ordered the little army to stopfor a few moments and consider, and all, except the scouts on the flanksand in front, gathered in council. Before them and all around them laythe hills, steep and rocky but clothed from base to crest with denseforest and undergrowth. Farther on were other and higher hills, and inthe distance the forests looked blue. Nothing about them stirred. Theyhad sighted no game as they passed; the deer had already fled before theIndian army. The skies, bright and blue in the morning, were nowovercast, a dull, somber, threatening gray.
"Men," said Mr. Ware, and there was a deep gravity in his tone, asbecame a general on the eve of conflict, "I think we shall be on theenemy soon or he will be on us. There were many among us who did notapprove of this pursuit, but here we are. It is not necessary to saythat we should bear ourselves bravely. If we fail and fall, our womenand children are back there, and nothing will stand between them andsavages who know no mercy. That is all you have to remember."
And then a little silence fell upon everyone. Suddenly the hot-headsrealized what they had done. They had gone away from their wooden walls,deep into the unknown wilderness, to meet an enemy four or five timestheir numbers, and skilled in all the wiles and tricks of the forest.Every face was grave, but the knowledge of danger only strengthened themfor the conflict. Hot blood became cool and cautious, and wary eyessearched the thickets everywhere. Rash and impetuous they may have been;but they were ready now to redeem themselves, with the valor, withoutwhich the border could not have been won.
Henry Ware had suddenly gone forward from the others, and the greenforest swallowed him up, but every nerve and muscle of him was now readyand alert. He felt, rather than saw, that the enemy was at hand; and inhis green buckskin he blended so completely with the forest that onlythe keenest sight could have picked him from the mass of foliage. Hisgeneral's eye told him, too, that the place before them was made for aconflict which would favor the superior numbers. They had been coming upa gorge, and if beaten they would be crowded back in it upon each other,hindering the escape of one another, until they were cut to pieces.
The wild youth smiled; he knew the bravery of the men with him, and nowtheir dire necessity and the thought of those left behind in the twovillages would nerve them to fight. In his daring mind the battle wasnot yet lost.
A faint, indefinable odor met his nostrils, and he knew it to be the oiland paint of Indian braves. A deep red flushed through the brown ofeither cheek. Returning now to his own kind he was its more ardentpartisan because of the revulsion, and the Indian scent offended him. Helooked down and saw a bit of feather, dropped no doubt from some defiantscalp lock. He picked it up, held it to his nose a moment, and then,when the offensive odor assailed him again, he cast it away.
Another dozen steps forward, and he sank down in a clump of grass,blending perfectly with the green, and absolutely motionless. Thirtyyards away two Shawnee warriors in all the savage glory of their warpaint, naked save for breechcloths, were passing, examining the woodswith careful eye. Yet they did not see Henry Ware, and, when they turnedand went back, he followed noiselessly after them, his figure stillhidden in the green wood.
The two Shawnees, walking lightly, went on up the valley which broadenedout as they advanced, but which was still thickly clothed in forest andundergrowth. Skilled as they were in the forest, they probably neverdreamed of the enemy who hung on their trail with a skill surpassingtheir own.
Henry followed them for a full two miles, and then he saw them join agroup of Indians under the trees, whom he knew by their dress andbearing to be chiefs. They were tall, middle-aged, and they woreblankets of green or dark blue, probably bought at the British outposts.Behind them, almost hidden in the forest, Henry saw many other darkfaces, eager, intense, waiting to be let loose on the foe, whom theyregarded as already in the trap.
Henry waited, while the two scouts whom he had followed so well,delivered to the chief their message. He saw them beckon to the warriorsbehind them, speak a few words to them, and then he saw two savageforces slip off in the forest, one to the right and one to the left. Onthe instant he divined their purpose. They were to flank the littlewhite army, while another division stood ready to attack in front. Thenthe ambush would be complete, and Henry saw the skill of the savagegeneral whoever he might be.
The plan must be frustrated at once, and Henry Ware never hesitated. Hemust bring on the battle, before his own people were surrounded, andraising his rifle he fired with deadly aim at one of the chiefs who fellon the grass. Then the youth raised the wild and thrilling cry, which hehad learned from the savages themselves, and sped back toward the whiteforce.
The death cry of the Shawnee and the hostile war whoop rang togetherfilling the forest and telling that the end of stealth and cunning, andthe beginning of open battle were at hand.
Henry Ware was hidden in an instant by the green foliage from the sightof the Shawnees. Keen as were their eyes, trained as they were tonoticing everything that moved in the forest, he had vanished from themlike a ghost. But they knew that the enemy whom they had sought to drawinto their snare had slipped his head out of it before the snare couldbe sprung. Their long piercing yell rose again and then died away in afrightful quaver. As the last terrible note sank the whole savage armyrushed forward to destroy its foe.
As Henry Ware ran swiftly back to his friends he met both Ross and Sol,drawn by the shot and the shouts.
"It was you who fired?" asked Ross.
"Yes," replied Henry, "they meant to lay an ambush, but they will nothave time for it now."
The three stood for a few moments under the boughs of a tree, threetypes of the daring men who guided and protected the van of the whitemovement into the wilderness. They were eager, intent, listening, bentslightly forward, their rifles lying in the hollow of their arms, readyfor instant use.
After the second long cry the savage army gave voice no more. In all thedense thickets a deadly silence reigned, save for the trained ear. Butto the acute hearing of the three under the tree came sounds that theyknew; sounds as light as the patter of falling nuts, no more, perhaps,than the rustle of dead leaves driven against each other by a wind; butthey knew.
"They are coming, and coming fast," said Henry. "We must join the mainforce now."
"They ought to be ready. That warning of yours was enough," said Ross.
Without another word they turned again, darted among the trees, and in afew moments reached the little white force. Mr. Ware, the nominalleader, taking alarm from the shot and cries, was already disposing hismen in a long, scattering line behind hillocks, tree trunks, brushwoodand every protection that the ground offered.
"Good!" exclaimed Ross, when he saw, "but we must make our line longerand thinner, we must never let them get around us, an' it's lucky nowwe've got steep hills on either side."
To be flanked in Indian battle by superior numbers was the most terriblething that could happen to the pioneers, and Mr. Ware stretched out hisline longer and longer, and thinner and thinner. Paul Cotter was full ofexcitement; he had been in deadly conflict once before, but his was amost sensitive temperament, terribly stirred by a foe whom he could yetneither see nor hear. Almost unconsciously, he placed himself by theside of Henry Ware, his old partner, to whom he now looked up as a sonof battle and the very personification of forest skill.
"Are they really there, Henry?" he asked. "I see nothing and hearnothing."
"Yes," replied Henry, "they are in front of us scarcely a rifle shotaway, five to our one."
Paul strained his eyes, but still he could see nothing, only the greenwaving forest, the patches of undergrowth, the rocks on the steep hillsto right and left, and the placid blue sky overhead. It did not seempossible to him that they were about to enter into a struggle for lifeand for those dearer than life.
"Don't shoot wild, Paul," said Henry. "Don't pull the trigger, until youcan look down the sights at a vital spot."
A few feet away from them, peering over a log and with his rifle everthrust forward was Mr. Pennypacker, a schoolmaster, a graduate of acollege, an educated and refined man, but bearing his part in the darkand terrible wilderness conflict that often left no wounded.
The stillness was now so deep that even the scouts could hear no soundin front. The savage army seemed to have melted away, into the airitself, and for full five minutes they lay, waiting, waiting, alwayswaiting for something that they knew would come. Then rose the fiercequavering war cry poured from hundreds of throats, and the savage horde,springing out of the forests and thickets, rushed upon them.
Dark faces showed in the sunlight, brown figures, naked save for thebreechcloth, horribly painted, muscles tense, flashed through theundergrowth. The wild yell that rose and fell without ceasing ran off indistant echoes among the hills. The riflemen of Kentucky, lying behindtrees and hillocks, began to fire, not in volleys, not by order, buteach man according to his judgment and his aim, and many a bullet flewtrue.
A sharp crackling sound, ominous and deadly, ran back and forth in theforest. Little spurts of fire burned for a moment against the green, andthen went out, to give place to others. Jets of white smoke roselanguidly and floated up among the trees, gathering by and by into acloud, shot through with blue and yellow tints from sky and sun.
Henry Ware fired with deadly aim and reloaded with astonishing speed.Paul Cotter, by his side, was as steady as a rock, now that the suspensewas over, and the battle upon them. The schoolmaster resting on oneelbow was firing across his log.
But it is not Indian tactics to charge home, unless the enemy isfrightened into flight by the war whoop and the first rush. The men ofWareville and Marlowe did not run, but stood fast, sending the bulletsstraight to the mark; and suddenly the Shawnees dropped down among thetrees and undergrowth, their bodies hidden, and began to creep forward,firing like sharpshooters. It was now a test of skill, of eyesight, ofhearing and of aim.
The forest on either side was filled with creeping forms, white or red,men with burning eyes seeking to slay each other, meeting in strife moreterrible than that of foes who encounter each other in open conflict.There was something snakelike in their deadly creeping, only the movinggrass to tell where they passed and sometimes where both white and reddied, locked fast in the grip of one another. Everywhere it was acombat, confused, dreadful, man to man, and with no shouting now, onlythe crack of the rifle shot, the whiz of the tomahawk, the thud of theknife, and choked cries.
Like breeds like, and the white men came down to the level of the red.Knowing that they would receive no quarter they gave none. The whiteface expressed all the cunning, and all the deadly animosity of the red.Led by Henry Ware, Ross and Sol they practiced every device of forestwarfare known to the Shawnees, and their line, which extended across thevalley from hill to hill, spurted death from tree, bush, and rock.
To Paul Cotter it was all a nightmare, a foul dream, unreal. He obeyedhis comrade's injunctions, he lay close to the earth, and he did notfire until he could draw a bead on a bare breast, but the work becamemechanical with him. He was a high-strung lad of delicate sensibilities.There was in his temperament something of the poet and the artist, andnothing of the soldier who fights for the sake of mere fighting. Thewilderness appealed to him, because of its glory, but the savageappealed to him not at all. In Henry's bosom there was respect for hisred foes from whom he had learned so many useful lessons, and his heartbeat faster with the thrill of strenuous conflict, but Paul was anxiousfor the end of it all. The sight of dead faces near him, not the lack ofcourage, more than once made him faint and dizzy.
Twice and thrice the Shawnees tried to scale the steep hillsides, andwith their superior numbers swing around behind the enemy, but the linesof the borderers were always extended to meet them, and the bullets fromthe long-barreled rifles cut down everyone who tried to pass. It wasalways Henry Ware who was first to see a new movement, his eyes readevery new motion in the grass, and foliage swaying in a new directionwould always tell him what it meant. More than one of his comradesmuttered to himself that he was worth a dozen men that day.
So fierce were the combatants, so eager were they for each other's bloodthat they did not notice that the sky, gray in the morning, then blue atthe opening of battle, had now grown leaden and somber again. The leavesabove them were motionless and then began to rustle dully in a raw wetwind out of the north. The sun was quite gone behind the clouds anddrops of cold rain began to fall, falling on the upturned faces of thedead, red and white alike with just impartiality, the wind rose,whistled, and drove the cold drops before it like hail. But the combatstill swayed back and forth in the leaden forest, and neither side tooknotice.
Mr. Ware remained near the center of the white line, and retainedcommand, although he gave but few orders, every man fighting for himselfand giving his own orders. But from time to time Ross and Sol or Henrybrought him news of the conflict, perhaps how they had been driven backa little at one point, and perhaps how they gained a little at anotherpoint. He, too, a man of fifty and the head of a community, shared theemotions of those around him, and was filled with a furious zeal for theconflict.
The clouds thickened and darkened, and the cold drops were driven uponthem by the wind, the rifle smoke, held down by the rain, made soddenbanks of vapor among the trees; but through all the clouds of vaporburst flashes of fire, and the occasional triumphant shout or death cryof the white man or the savage.
Henry Ware looked up and he became conscious that not only clouds abovewere bringing the darkness, but that the day was waning. In the west afaint tint of red and yellow, barely discernible through the grayness,marked the sinking sun, and in the east the blackness of night was stilladvancing. Yet the conflict, as important to those engaged in it, as agreat battle between civilized foes, a hundred thousand on a side, andfar more fierce, yet hung on an even chance. The white men still stoodwhere they had stood when the forest battle began, and the red men whohad not been able to advance would not retreat.
Henry's heart sank a little at the signs that night was coming; it wouldbe harder in the darkness to keep their forces in touch, and thesuperior numbers of the Shawnees would swarm all about them. It seemedto him that it would be best to withdraw a little to more open ground;but he waited a while, because he did not wish any of their movements tohave the color of retreat. Moreover, the activity of the Shawnees rosejust then to a higher pitch.
Figures were now invisible in the chill, wet dusk, fifty or sixty yardsaway, and the two lines came closer. The keenest eye could see nothingsave flitting forms like phantoms, but the riflemen, trained toquickness, fired at them and more than once sent a fatal bullet. Therewere two lines of fire facing each other in the dark wood. The flashesshowed red or yellow in the twilight or the falling rain, and the Indianyell of triumph whenever it arose, echoed, weird and terrible, throughthe dripping forest.
Henry stole to the side of his father.
"We must fall back," he said, "or in the darkness or the night, theywill be sure to surround us and crush us."
Ross was an able second to this advice, and reluctantly Mr. Ware passedalong the word to retreat. "Be sure to bring off all the wounded," wasthe order. "The dead, alas! must be abandoned to nameless indignities!"
The little white army left thirty dead in the dripping forest, and, asmany more carried wounds, the most of which were curable, but it was asfull of fight as ever. It merely drew back to protect itself againstbeing flanked in the forest, and the faces of the borderers, sullen anddetermined, were still turned to the enemy.
Yet the line of fire was visibly retreating, and, when the Shawneeforces saw it, a triumphant yell was poured from hundreds of throats.They rushed forward, only to be driven back again by the hail ofbullets, and Ross said to Mr. Ware: "I guess we burned their facesthen."
"Look to the wounded! look to the wounded!" repeated Mr. Ware. "See thatno man too weak is left to help himself."
They had gone half a mile when Henry glanced around for Paul. His eyes,trained to the darkness, ran over the dim forms about him. Many werelimping and others already had arms in slings made from their huntingshirts, but Henry nowhere saw the figure of his old comrade. A fever offear assailed him. One of two things had happened. Paul was eitherkilled or too badly wounded to walk, and somehow in the darkness theyhad missed him. The schoolmaster's face blanched at the news. Paul hadbeen his favorite pupil.
"My God!" he groaned, "to think of the poor lad in the hands of thosedevils!"
Henry Ware stood beside the master, when he uttered these words,wrenched by despair from the very bottom of his chest. Pain shot throughhis own heart, as if it had been touched by a knife. Paul, thewell-beloved comrade of his youth, captured and subjected to thetorture! His blood turned to ice in his veins. How could they ever havemissed the boy? Paul now seemed to Henry at least ten years younger thanhimself. It was not merely the fault of a single man, it was the faultof them all. He stared back into the thickening darkness, where theflashes of flame burst now and then, and, in an instant, he had takenhis resolve.
"I do not know where Paul is," he said, "but I shall find him."
"Henry! Henry! what are you going to do?" cried his father in alarm.
"I'm going back after him," replied his son.
"But you can do nothing! It is sure death! Have we just found you tolose you again?"
Henry touched his father's hand. It was an act of tenderness, comingfrom his stoical nature, and the next instant he was gone, amid thesmoke and the vapors and the darkness, toward the Indian army.
Mr. Ware put his face in his hands and groaned, but the hand of Rossfell upon his shoulder.
"The boy will come back, Mr. Ware," said the guide, "an' will bring theother with him, too. God has given him a woods cunnin' that none of uscan match."
Mr. Ware let his hands fall, and became the man again. The retreatingforce still fell back slowly, firing steadily by the flashes at thepursuing foe.
Henry Ware had not gone more than fifty yards before he was completelyhidden from his friends. Then he turned to a savage, at least inappearance. He threw off the raccoon-skin cap and hunting shirt, drew uphis hair in the scalp lock, tying it there with a piece of fringe fromhis discarded hunting shirt, and then turned off at an angle into thewoods. Presently he beheld the dark figures of the Shawnees, springingfrom tree to tree or bent low in the undergrowth, but all followingeagerly. When he saw them he too bent over and fired toward his owncomrades, then he whirled again to the right, and sprang about as if hewere seeking another target. To all appearances, he was, in the darknessand driving rain, a true Shawnee, and the manner and gesture of anIndian were second nature to him.
But he had little fear of being discovered at such a time. His solethought was to find his comrade. All the old days of boyishcompanionship rushed upon him, with their memories. The tenderness inhis nature was the stronger, because of its long repression. He wouldfind him and if he were alive, he would save him; moreover he had whathe thought was a clew. He had remembered seeing Paul crouched behind alog, firing at the enemy, and no one had seen him afterwards. Hebelieved that the boy was lying there yet, slain, or, if fate werekinder, too badly wounded to move. The line of retreat had slantedsomewhat from the spot, and the savages might well have passed, in thedark, without noticing the boy's fallen body.
His own sense of direction was perfect, and he edged swiftly away towardthe fallen log, behind which Paul had lain. Many dark forms passed him,but none sought to stop him; the counterfeit was too good; all thoughthim one of themselves.
Presently Henry passed no more of the flitting warriors. The battle wasmoving on toward the south and was now behind him. He looked back andsaw the flashes growing fainter and heard the scattering rifle shots,deadened somewhat by the distance. Around him was the beat of the rainon the leaves and the sodden earth, and he looked up at a sky, whollyhidden by black clouds. He would need all his forest lore, and all theprimitive instincts, handed down from far-off ancestors. But never werethey more keenly alive than on this night.
The boy did not veer from the way, but merely by the sense of directiontook a straight path toward the fallen log that he remembered. The dinof battle still rolled slowly off toward the south, and, for the moment,he forgot it. He came to the log, bent down and touched a cold face. Itwas Paul. Instinctively his hand moved toward the boy's head and when ittouched the thick brown hair and nothing else, he uttered a littleshuddering sigh of relief. Dead or alive, the hideous Indian trophy hadnot been taken. Then he found the boy's wrist and his pulse, which wasstill beating faintly. The deft hands moved on, and touched the wound,made by a bullet that had passed entirely through his shoulder. Paul hadfainted from loss of blood, and without the coming of help would surelyhave been dead in another hour.
The boy lay on his side, and, in some convulsion as he lostconsciousness, he had drawn his arm about his head. Henry turned himover until the cold reviving rain fell full upon his face, and then,raising himself again, he listened intently. The battle was still movingon to the southward, but very slowly, and stray warriors might yet passand see them. The tie of friendship is strong, and as he had come tosave Paul and as he had found him too, he did not mean to be stoppednow.
He stooped down and chafed the wounded youth's wrists and temples, whilethe rain with its vivifying touch still drove upon his face. Paulstirred and his pulse grew stronger. He opened his eyes catching onevague glimpse of the anxious face above him, but he was so feeble thatthe lids closed down again. But Henry was cheered. Paul was not onlyalive, he was growing stronger, and, bending down, he lifted him in hispowerful arms. Then he strode away in the darkness, intending to pass ina curve around the hostile army. Despite Paul's weight he was able alsoto keep his rifle ready, because none knew better than he that all thechances favored his meeting with one warrior or more before the curvewas made. But he was instinct with strength both mental and physical, hewas the true type of the borderer, the men who faced with sturdy heartthe vast dangers of the wilderness, the known and the unknown. At thatmoment he was at his highest pitch of courage and skill, alone in thedarkness and storm, surrounded by the danger of death and worse, yetready to risk everything for the sake of the boy with whom he hadplayed.
He heard nothing but the patter of the distant firing, and all aroundhim was the gloom, of a night, dark to intensity. The rain pouredsteadily out of a sky that did not contain a single star. Paul stirredoccasionally on his shoulder, as he advanced, swiftly, picking his waythrough the forest and the undergrowth. A half mile forward and his earscaught a light footstep. In an instant he sank down with his burden, andas he did so he caught sight of an Indian warrior, not twenty feet away.The Shawnee saw him at the same time, and he, too, dropped down in theundergrowth.
Henry did not then feel the lust of blood. He would have been willing topass on, and leave the Shawnee to himself; but he knew that the Shawneewould not leave him. He laid Paul upon his back, in order that the rainmight beat upon his face, and then crouched beside him, absolutelymotionless, but missing nothing that the keenest eye or ear mightdetect. It was a contest of patience, and the white youth brought tobear upon it both the red man's training and his own.
A half hour passed, and within that small area there was no sound butthe beat of the rain on the leaves and the sticky earth. Perhaps thewarrior thought he had been deceived; it was merely an illusion of thenight that he thought he saw; or if he had seen anyone the man was nowgone, creeping away through the undergrowth. He stirred among his ownbushes, raised up a little to see, and gave his enemy a passing glimpseof his face. But it was enough; a rifle bullet struck him between theeyes and the wilderness fighter lay dead in the forest.
Henry bestowed not a thought on the slain warrior, but, lifting up Paulonce more, continued on his wide curve, as if nothing had happened. Noone interrupted him again, and after a while he was parallel with theline of fire. Then he passed around it and came to rocky ground, wherehe laid Paul down and chafed his hands and face. The wounded boy openedhis eyes again, and, with returning strength, was now able to keep themopen.
"Henry!" he said in a vague whisper.
"Yes, Paul, it is I," Henry replied quietly.
Paul lay still and struggled with memory. The rain was now ceasing, anda few shafts of moonlight, piercing through the clouds, threw silverrays on the dripping forest.
"The battle!" said Paul at last. "I was firing and something struck me.That was the last I remember."
He paused and his face suddenly brightened. He cast a look of gratitudeat his comrade.
"You came for me?" he said.
"Yes," replied Henry, "I came for you, and I brought you here."
Paul closed his eyes, lay still, and then at a ghastly thought, openedhis eyes again.
"Are only we two left?" he asked. "Are all the others killed? Is thatwhy we are hiding here in the forest?"
"No," replied Henry, "we are holding them off, but we decided that itwas wiser to retreat. We shall join our own people in the morning."
Paul said no more, and Henry sheltered him as best he could under thetrees. The wet clothing he could not replace, and that would have to beendured. But he rubbed his body to keep him warm and to inducecirculation. The night was now far advanced, and the distant firingbecame spasmodic and faint. After a while it ceased, and the wearycombatants lay on their arms in the thickets.
The clouds began to float off to the eastward. By and by all went downunder the horizon, and the sky sprang out, a solid dome of calm,untroubled blue, in which the stars in myriads twinkled and shone. Amoon of unusual splendor bathed the wet forest in a silver dew.
Henry sat in the moonlight, watching beside Paul, who dozed or fell intoa stupor. The moonlight passed, the darkest hours came and then up shotthe dawn, bathing a green world in the mingled glory of red and gold.Henry raised Paul again, and started with him toward the thickets, wherehe knew the little white army lay.
John Ware had borne himself that night like a man, else he would nothave been in the place that he held. But his heart had followed his son,when he turned back toward the savage army, and, despite the reassuringwords of Ross, he already mourned him as one dead. Yet he was faithfulto his greater duty, remembering the little force that he led and thewomen and children back there, of whom they were the chief and almostthe sole defenders. But if he reached Wareville again how could he tellthe tale of his loss? There was one to whom no excuse would seem good.Often Mr. Pennypacker was by his side, and when the darkness began tothin away before the moonlight these two men exchanged sad glances. Eachunderstood what was in the heart of the other, but neither spoke.
The hours of night and combat dragged heavily. When the waning fire ofthe savages ceased they let their own cease also, and then sought groundupon which they might resist any new attack, made in the daylight. Theyfound it at last in a rocky region that doubled the powers of thedefense. Ross was openly exultant.
"We scorched 'em good yesterday an' to-night," he said, "an' if theycome again in the day we'll just burn their faces away."
Most of the men, worn to the bone, sank down to sleep on the wet groundin their wet clothes, while the others watched, and the few hours, leftbefore the morning, passed peacefully away.
At the first sunlight the men were awakened, and all ate cold food whichthey carried in their knapsacks. Mr. Ware and the schoolmaster satapart. Mr. Ware looked steadily at the ground and the schoolmaster,whose heart was wrenched both with his own grief and his friend's, knewnot what to say. Neither did Ross nor Sol disturb them for the moment,but busied themselves with preparations for the new defense.
Mr. Pennypacker was gazing toward the southwest and suddenly on thecrest of a low ridge a black and formless object appeared between himand the sun. At first he thought it was a mote in his eye, and he rubbedthe pupils but the mote grew larger, and then he looked with a new andstronger interest. It was a man; no, two men, one carrying the other,and the motion of the man who bore the other seemed familiar. Themaster's heart sprang up in his throat, and the blood swelled in a newtide in his veins. His hand fell heavily, but with joy, on the shoulderof Mr. Ware.
"Look up! Look up!" he cried, "and see who is coming!"
Mr. Ware looked up and saw his son, with the wounded Paul Cotter on hisshoulder, walking into camp. Then—the borderers were a pious people—hefell upon his knees and gave thanks. Two hours later the Shawnees infull force made a last and desperate attack upon the little white army.They ventured into the open, as venture they must to reach thedefenders, and they were met by the terrible fire that never missed. Atno time could they pass the deadly hail of bullets, and at last, leavingthe ground strewed with their dead, they fell back into the forest, andthen, breaking into a panic, did not cease fleeing until they hadcrossed the Ohio. Throughout the morning Henry Ware was one of thedeadliest sharpshooters of them all, while Paul Cotter lay safely in therear, and fretted because his wound would not let him do his part.
The great victory won, it was agreed that Henry Ware had done the bestof them all, but they spent little time in congratulations. Theypreferred the sacred duty of burying the dead, even seeking those whohad fallen in the forest the night before; and then they began theirmarch southward, the more severely wounded carried on rude litters atfirst, but as they gained strength after a while walking, though lamely.Paul recovered fast, and when he heard the story, he looked upon Henryas a knight, the equal of any who ever rode down the pages of chivalry.
But all alike carried in their hearts the consciousness that they hadstruck a mighty blow that would grant life to the growing settlements,and, despite their sadly thinned ranks, they were full of a pride thatneeded no words. The men of Wareville and the men of Marlowe parted atthe appointed place, and then each force went home with the news ofvictory.
CHAPTER XVIII
THE TEST
The people of Wareville had good reason alike for pride and for sorrow,pride for victory, and sorrow for the fallen, but they spent no time ineither, at least openly, resuming at once the task of founding a newstate.
Henry Ware, the hero of the hour and the savior of the village, laidaside his wild garb and took a place in his father's fields. The workwas heavy, the Indian corn was planted, but trees were to be felled,fences were to be cut down, and as he was so strong a larger share thanusual was expected of him. His own father appreciated these hopes andwas resolved that his son should do his full duty.
Henry entered upon his task and from the beginning he had misgivings,but he refused to indulge them. He handled a hoe on his first day fromdawn till dark in a hot field, and all the while the mighty wildernessabout him was crying out to him in many voices. While the sun glowedupon him, and the sweat ran down his face he could see the deep coolshade of the forest—how restful and peaceful it looked there! He knew asheltered glade where the buffalo were feeding, he could find the deerreposing in a thicket, and to the westward was a new region of hills andclear brooks, over which he might be the first white man to roam.
His blood tingled with his thoughts, but he never said a word, onlybending lower to his task, and hardening his resolve. The voices of thewilderness might call, and he could not keep from hearing them, but heneed not go. The amount of work he did that day was wonderful to all whosaw, his vast strength put him far ahead of all others and back of hisstrength was his will. But they said nothing and he was glad they didnot speak.
When he went home in the dusk he overtook Lucy Upton near the palisade.She was in the same red dress that she wore when she ran the gantlet andin the twilight it seemed to be tinged to a deeper scarlet. She waswalking swiftly with the easy, swinging grace of a good figure and goodhealth, but when he joined her she went more slowly.
He did not speak for a few moments, and she gave him a silent glance ofsympathy. In her woman's heart she guessed the cause of his trouble, andwhile she had been afraid of him when he appeared suddenly as the Indianwarrior yet she liked him better in that part than as she now saw him.Then he was majestic, now he was prosaic, and it seemed to her that hispresent rôle was unfitting.
"You are tired," she said at last.
"Well, not in the body exactly, but I feel like resting."
There was no complaint in his tone, but a slight touch of irony.
"Do you think that you will make a good farmer?" she asked.
"As good as the times and our situation allow," he replied. "Wanderingparties of the savages are likely to pass near here and in the course oftime they may send back an army. Besides one has to hunt now, as for along while we must depend on the forest for a part of our food."
It seemed to her that these things did not cause him sorrow, that heturned to them as a sort of relief: his eyes sparkled more brightly whenhe spoke of the necessity for hunting and the possible passage of Indianparties which must be repelled. Girl though she was, she felt again alittle glow of sympathy, guessing as she did his nature; she couldunderstand how he thrilled when he heard the voices of the forestcalling to him.
They reached the gate of the palisade and passed within. It was fulldusk now, the forest blurring together into a mighty black wall, and theoutlines of the houses becoming shadowy. The Ware family sat awhile thatevening by the hearth fire, and John Ware was full of satisfaction. Aworthy man, he had neither imagination nor primitive instincts and hevalued the wilderness only as a cheap place in which to make homes. Hespoke much of clearing the ground, of the great crops that would come,and of the profit and delight afforded by regular work year after yearon the farm. Henry Ware sat in silence, listening to his father'soracular tones, but his mother, glancing at him, had doubts to which shegave no utterance.
The days passed and as the spring glided into summer they grew hotter.The sun glowed upon the fields, and the earth parched with thirst. Inthe forest the leaves were dry and they rustled when the wind blew uponthem. The streams sank away again, as they had done during the siege,and labor became more trying. Yet Henry Ware never murmured, though hissoul was full of black bitterness. Often he would resolutely turn hiseyes from the forest where he knew the deep cool pools were, and keepthem on the sun-baked field. His rifle, which had seemed to reproachhim, inanimate object though it was, he hid in a corner of the housewhere he could not see it and its temptation. In order to create acounter-irritant he plunged into work with the most astonishing vigor.
John Ware, in those days, was full of pride and satisfaction, herejoiced in the industrial prowess of his son, and he felt that his owninfluence had prevailed, he had led Henry back to the ways ofcivilization, the only right ways, and he enjoyed his triumph. But theschoolmaster, in secret, often shook his head.
The summer grew drier and hotter, it was a period of drought again andthe little children gasped through the sweating nights. Afar they sawthe blaze of forest fires and ashes and smoke came on the wind. Henrytoiled with a dogged spirit, but every day the labor grew more bitter tohim; he took no interest in it, he did not wish to calculate the resultin the years to come, when all around him, extending thousands of miles,was an untrodden wilderness, in which he might roam and hunt until theend, although his years should be a hundred.
It was worst at night, when he lay awake by a window, breathing the hotair, then the deep cool forest extended to him her kindest invitation,and it took all his resolution to resist her welcome. The wind among thetrees was like music, but it was a music to which he must close hisears. Then he remembered his vast wanderings with Black Cloud and hisred friends, how they had crossed great and unnamed rivers, the days inthe endless forest and the other days on the endless plains, and of themighty lake they had reached in their northernmost journey—how cool andpleasant that lake seemed now! His mind ran over every detail of thegreat buffalo hunts, of those trips along the streams to trap the beaverand the events in the fight with the hostile tribe.
All these recollections seemed very vivid and real to him now, and thenarrow life of Wareville faded into a mist out of which shone only thefaces of those whom he loved—it was they alone who had brought him backto Wareville, but he knew that their ways were not his ways, and it washard to confine his spirit within the narrow limits of a settlement.
But his long martyrdom went on, the summer was growing old, with thework of planting and cultivating almost done and the harvest soon tofollow, and whatever his feelings may have been he had never flinched asingle time. Nourished by his great labors the Ware farm far surpassedall others, and the pride of John Ware grew. He also grew more exactingwith his pride, and this quality brought on the crisis.
Henry was building a fence one particularly hot afternoon, and hisfather coming by, cool and fresh, found fault with his work, chiefly toshow his authority, because the work was not badly done—Mr. Ware was agood man, but like other good men he had a rare fault-finding impulse.The voices in the woods had been calling very loudly that day andHenry's temper suddenly flashed into a flame. But he did not give way toany external outburst of passion, speaking in a level, measured voice.
"I am sorry you do not like it," he said, "because it is the last work Iam going to do here."
"Why—what do you mean?" exclaimed his father in astonishment.
"I am done," replied Henry in his firm tones, and dropping the fencerail that he held he walked to the house, every nerve in him thrillingwith expectation of the pleasure that was to come. His mother was there,and she started in fear at his face.
"It is true, mother," he said, "I am not going to deceive you, I amgoing into the forest, but I will come again and often. It is the onlylife that I can lead, I was made for it I suppose; I have tried theother out there in the fields, and I have tried hard, but I cannot standit."
She knew too well to seek to stop him. He took his rifle from itssecluded corner, and the feeling of it, stock and barrel, was good tohis hands. He put on the buckskin hunting shirt, leggings and moccasins,fringed and beaded, and with them he felt all his old zest and pridereturning. He kissed his mother and sister good-by, shook hands with hisyounger brother, did the same with his astonished father at the door,and then, rifle on shoulder, disappeared in the circling forest.
That night Braxton Wyatt sneered and said that a savage could not keepfrom being a savage, but Paul Cotter turned upon him so fiercely that hetook it back. The schoolmaster made no comment aloud, but to himself hesaid, "It was bound to come and perhaps it is no loss that it has come."
Meanwhile Henry Ware was tasting the fiercest and keenest joy of hislife. The great forest seemed to reach out its boughs like kind arms towelcome and embrace. How cool was the shade! How the shafts of sunlightpiercing the leaves fell like golden arrows on the ground! How thelittle brooks laughed and danced over the pebbles! This was his worldand he had been too long away from it. Everything was friendly, the hugetree trunks were like old comrades, the air was fresher and keener thanany that he had breathed in a long time, and was full of new life andzest. All his old wilderness love rushed back to him, and now after manymonths he felt at home.
Strong as he was already new strength flowed into his frame and he threwback his head, and laughed a low happy laugh. Then rifle at the trail heran for miles among the trees from the pure happiness of living, butnoting as he passed with wonderfully keen eyes every trail of a wildanimal and all the forest signs that he knew so well. He ran many milesand he felt no weariness. Then he threw himself down on Mother Earth,and rejoiced at her embrace. He lay there a long time, staring upthrough the leaves and the shifting sunlight, and he was so still that ahare hopped through the undergrowth almost at his feet, never takingalarm. To Henry Ware then the world seemed grand and beautiful, and ofall things in it God had made the wilderness the finest, lingering overevery detail with a loving hand.
He watched the setting of the sun and the coming of the twilight. Thesun was a great blazing ball and the western sky flowed away from it incircling waves of blue and pink and gold, then long shadows came overthe forest, and the distant trees began to melt together into a giganticdark wall. To the dweller in cities all this vast loneliness anddesolation would have been dreary and weird beyond description; he wouldhave shuddered with superstitious awe, starting in fear at the slightestsound, but there was no such quality in it for Henry Ware. He saw onlycomradeship and the friendly veil of the great creeping shadow. His eyecould pierce the thickest night, and fear, either of the darkness orthings physical, was not in him.
He rose after a while, when the last sign of day was gone, and walkedon, though more slowly. He made no noise as he passed, stepping lightly,but with sure foot like one with both genius and training for thewilderness. He knelt at a little brook to slake his thirst, but did notstop long there. His happiness decreased in nowise. The familiar voicesof the night were speaking to him. He heard the distant hoot of an owl,a deer rustled in the bush, a lizard scuttled over the leaves, and herejoiced at the sounds. He did not think of hunger but toward midnighthe raked some of last year's fallen leaves close to the trunk of a bigtree, lay down upon them, and fell in a few moments into happy anddreamless sleep.
He awoke with the first rays of the dawn, shot a deer after an hour'ssearch, and then cooked his breakfast by the side of one of the littlebrooks. It was the first food that had tasted just right to him in manyweeks, and afterwards he lay by the camp fire awhile, and luxuriated. Hehad the most wonderful feeling of peace and ease; all the world was histo go where he chose and to do what he chose, and he began to think ofan autumn camp, a tiny lodge in the deepest recess of the wilderness,where he could store spare ammunition, furs and skins and find afrequent refuge, when the time for storms and cold came. He would buildat his ease—there was plenty of time and he would fill in the intervalswith hunting and exploration.
He ranged that day toward the north and the west, moving withdeliberation, and not until the third or the fourth day did he come tothe place that he had in mind. In the triangle between the junction oftwo streams was a marshy area, thickly grown with bushes and slim trees,that thrust their roots deep down through the mire into more solid soil.The marsh was perhaps two acres in extent; right in the heart of it wasa piece of firm earth about forty feet square and here Henry meant tobuild his lodge. He alone knew the path across the marsh over fallenlogs lying near enough to each other to be reached by an agile man, andon the tiny island all his possessions would be safe.
He worked a week at his hut, and it was done, a little lean-to of barkand saplings, partly lined with skins, but proof against rain or snow.On the floor he spread the skins and furs of animals that he killed, andon the walls he hung trophies of the hunt.
Two weeks after his house was finished he used it at its full value.Summer was gone and autumn was coming, a great rain poured and the windblew cold. Dead leaves fell in showers from the trees, and the boughsswaying before the gale creaked dismally against each other. But it allgave to Henry a supreme sense of physical comfort. He lay in his snughut, and, pulling a little to one side the heavy buffalo robe that hungover the doorway, watched the storm rage through the wilderness. He hadno sense of loneliness, his mind was in perfect tune with everythingabout him, and delighted in the triumphant manifestation of nature.
He stayed there all day, content to lie still and meditate vaguely ofanything that came of its own accord into his mind. About the twilighthour he cooked some venison, ate it and then slept a dreamless sleepthrough the night.
The rain ceased the next day but the air became crisp and cold, andautumn was fully come. In a week the forest was dyed into the mostglowing colors, red and yellow and brown, and the shades between. Theheavens were pure blue and gold, and it was a poignant delight tobreathe the keen air. Again he ranged far and rejoiced in the hunting.His infallible rifle never missed, and in the little hut in the marshthe stock of furs and skins grew so fast that scarcely room for himselfwas left. He hid a fresh store at another place in the forest, and thenhe returned to Wareville for a day. His father greeted him with someconstraint, not with coldness exactly, but with lack of understanding.His mother and his sister wept with joy and Mrs. Ware said: "I wasexpecting you about this time and you have not disappointed me."
He stayed two days and his keen eyes, so observant of material matters,noted that the colony was not doing well for the time, the droughthaving almost ruined the crops and there was full promise of scanty foodand a hard winter. Now came his opportunity. He had looked upon hismonth in the forest as in part a holiday, and he never intended to throwaside all responsibility for others, roving the wilderness absolutelyfree from care. He knew that he would have work to do, he felt that heshould have it, and now he saw the way to do the kind of work that heloved to do.
He replenished his supply of ammunition, took up his rifle again andreturned to the forest. Now he used all his surpassing knowledge andskill in the chase, and game began to pour into the colony, bear, deer,buffalo and the smaller animals, until he alone seemed able to feed theentire settlement through the winter.
He experienced a new thrill keener and more delightful than any that hadgone before; he was doing for others and the knowledge was mostpleasant. Winter came on, fierce and unyielding with almost continuoussnow and ice, and Henry Ware was the chief support of that littlevillage in the wilderness. The game wandering with its fancy, or perhapstaking alarm at the new settlement had drifted far, and he alone of allthe hunters could find it. The voices that had been raised against him asecond time were stilled again, because no one dared to accuse when hissingle figure stood between them and starvation.
He took Paul Cotter with him on some of his hunts, but never even toPaul did he tell the secret of his hut in the morass; that was to beguarded for himself alone. He was fond of Paul, but Paul able though hewas fell far behind Henry in the forest.
The debt of Wareville to him grew and none felt privileged to criticisehim now, as he appeared from the forest and disappeared into it again onhis self-chosen tasks.
The winter broke up at last, but with the spring came a new and moreformidable danger. Small parties of Indians, not strong enough to attackWareville itself but sufficient for forest ambush, began to appear inthe country, and two or three lives that could be ill spared were lost.Now Henry Ware showed his supreme value; he was a match and more than amatch for the savages at all their own tricks, and he became the rangerfor the settlement, its champion against a wild and treacherous foe.
The tales of his skill and prowess spread far through the wilderness.Single handed he would not hesitate in the depths of the forest toattack war parties of half a dozen, and while suffering heavilythemselves they could never catch their daring tormentor. These taleseven spread across the Ohio to the Indian villages, where they told of ablond and giant white youth in the South who was the spirit of death,whom no runner could overtake, whom no bullet could slay and who ragedagainst the red man with an invincible wrath.
As his single hand had fed them through the winter so his single handprotected them from death in the spring. He seemed to know by instinctwhen the war parties were coming and where they would appear. Always heconfronted them with some devious attack that they did not know how tomeet, and Wareville remained inviolate.
Then, in the summer, when the war bands were all gone he came back toWareville to stay a while, although, everyone, himself included, knewthat he would always remain a son of the wilderness, spending but partof his time in the houses of men.
CHAPTER XIX
AN ERRAND AND A FRIEND
Two stalwart lads were marching steadily through the deep woods, somemonths later. They were boys in years, but in size, strength, alertnessand knowledge of the forest far beyond their age. One, in particular,would have drawn the immediate and admiring glance of every keen-eyedfrontiersman, so powerful was he, and yet so light and quick ofmovement. His wary glance seemed to read every secret of tree, bush andgrass, and his head, crowned by a great mass of thick, yellow hair, roseseveral inches above that of his comrade, who would have been called bymost people a tall boy.
The two youths were dressed almost alike. Each wore a cap of raccoonfur, with the short tail hanging from the back of it as a decoration.Their bodies were clad in hunting shirts, made of the skin of the deer,softly and beautifully tanned and dyed green. The fine fringe of theshirt hung almost to the knees, and below it were leggings also ofdeerskin, beaded at the seams. The feet were inclosed in deerskinmoccasins, fitting tightly, but very soft and light. A rifle, atomahawk, and a useful knife at the belt completed the equipment.
They were walking, but each boy led a stout horse, and on the back ofthis horse was a great brown sack that hung down, puffy, on either side.The sacks were filled with gunpowder made from cave-dust and the twoboys, Henry Ware and Paul Cotter, were carrying it to a distant villagethat had exhausted its supply, but which, hearing of the strange new wayin which Wareville obtained it, had sent begging for a loan of thiscommodity, more precious to the pioneer than gold and jewels. Theresponse was quick and spontaneous and Henry and Paul had been chosen totake the powder, an errand in which both rejoiced. Already they had beentwo days in the great wilderness, now painted in gorgeous colors by thehand of autumn, and they had not seen a sign of a human being, white orred.
They walked steadily on, and the trained horses followed, each justbehind his master, although there was no hand upon the bridle. Theystopped presently at the low rounded crest of a hill, where the forestopened out a little, and, as if with the same impulse, each looked offtoward the vast horizon with a glowing eye. The mighty forest, vividwith its gleaming reds and yellows and browns, rolled away for miles,and then died to the eye where the silky blue arch of the sky came downto meet it. Now and then there was a flash of silver, where a brook ranbetween the hills, and the wind brought an air, crisp, fresh and full oflife.
It was beautiful, this great wilderness of Kaintuckee, and each boy sawit according to his nature. Henry, the soul of action, the boy of thekeen senses and the mighty physical nature, loved it for its own sakeand for what it was in the present. He fitted into it and was a part ofit. The towns and the old civilization in the east never called to him.He had found the place that nature intended for him. He was here thewilderness rover, hunter and scout, the border champion and defender,the primitive founder of a state, without whom, and his like, our Unioncould never have been built up. Henry gloried in the wilderness andloved its life which was so easy to him. Paul, the boy of thought, wasalways looking into the future, and already he foresaw what would cometo pass in a later generation.
Neither spoke, and presently, by the same impulse, they started onagain, descending the low hill, and plunging once more into the forest.When they had gone about half a mile, Henry stopped suddenly. Hiswonderful physical organism, as sensitive as the machinery of a watch,had sounded an alarm. A faint sound, not much more than the fall of adying leaf, came to his ears and he knew at once that it was not anatural noise of the forest. He held up his hand and stopped, and Paul,who trusted him implicitly, stopped also. Henry listened intently withears that heard everything, and the sound came to him again. It was afootfall. A human being, besides themselves, was near in the forest!
"Come, Paul," he said, and he began to creep toward the sound, the twodarting from tree to tree, and making no noise among the fallen leaves,as they brushed past, with their soft moccasins. The trained horsesremained where they had been left, silent and motionless.
Henry, as was natural, was in front, and he was the first to see theobject that had caused the noise. A man stepped from the shelter of atree's great trunk, and, although armed, he held up one hand, in themanner of a friend. He was an Indian of middle age and dignified look,although he was not painted like any of the tribes that came down tomake war in Kentucky.
Henry recognized at once the friendly signal, and he too stepped fromthe cover of the forest, walking slowly toward the warrior, who wasundoubtedly a chief and a man of importance. Twenty feet away, the boystarted a little, and a sudden light leaped into his eyes. Then hestrode up rapidly, and took the warrior's hand after the white custom.
"Black Cloud! My friend!" he said.
"You know me! You have not forgotten?" replied the chief and his eyesgleamed ever so quickly.
"You have come far from your people and among hostile tribes to see me?"said Henry who instantly divined the truth.
"It is so," replied the chief, "and to ask you to go back with me. Ourwarriors miss you."
Henry was moved to the depths of his nature. Black Cloud had come athousand miles to ask him this question, and he had a far, sweet visionof a life utterly wild and free. Again he saw the great plains, andagain came to his ears, like rolling thunder, the tread of themyriad-footed buffalo herd. He was tempted sorely tempted and he knewit, but, with a mighty effort he put the temptation away from him andshook his head.
"It cannot be, Black Cloud," he said. "My people need me, as yours needyou."
A shadow passed over the eyes of the chief, but it was gone in a moment.He knew that the answer was final, and he said not another word on thesubject.
Black Cloud went on with Henry and Paul half a day, then he bade themfarewell. They watched him go, but it could be only for a minute or two,because his form quickly melted away into the forest. Then the two boys,turning their faces steadily toward duty, marched on, and the greatwilderness, gleaming in its reds and yellows and browns curved aboutthem.
***END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE YOUNG TRAILERS***
******* This file should be named 19477-h.txt or 19477-h.zip *******
This and all associated files of various formats will be found in:
http://www.gutenberg.org/1/9/4/7/19477
Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editionswill be renamed.
Creating the works from public domain print editions means that noone owns a United States copyright in these works, so the Foundation(and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United States withoutpermission and without paying copyright royalties. Special rules,set forth in the General Terms of Use part of this license, apply tocopying and distributing Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works toprotect the PROJECT GUTENBERG-tm concept and trademark. ProjectGutenberg is a registered trademark, and may not be used if youcharge for the eBooks, unless you receive specific permission. If youdo not charge anything for copies of this eBook, complying with therules is very easy. You may use this eBook for nearly any purposesuch as creation of derivative works, reports, performances andresearch. They may be modified and printed and given away--you may dopractically ANYTHING with public domain eBooks. Redistribution issubject to the trademark license, especially commercialredistribution.
*** START: FULL LICENSE ***THE FULL PROJECT GUTENBERG LICENSEPLEASE READ THIS BEFORE YOU DISTRIBUTE OR USE THIS WORKTo protect the Project Gutenberg-tm mission of promoting the freedistribution of electronic works, by using or distributing this work(or any other work associated in any way with the phrase "ProjectGutenberg"), you agree to comply with all the terms of the Full ProjectGutenberg-tm License (available with this file or online athttp://www.gutenberg.org/license).Section 1. General Terms of Use and Redistributing Project Gutenberg-tmelectronic works1.A. By reading or using any part of this Project Gutenberg-tmelectronic work, you indicate that you have read, understand, agree toand accept all the terms of this license and intellectual property(trademark/copyright) agreement. If you do not agree to abide by allthe terms of this agreement, you must cease using and return or destroyall copies of Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works in your possession.If you paid a fee for obtaining a copy of or access to a ProjectGutenberg-tm electronic work and you do not agree to be bound by theterms of this agreement, you may obtain a refund from the person orentity to whom you paid the fee as set forth in paragraph 1.E.8.1.B. "Project Gutenberg" is a registered trademark. It may only beused on or associated in any way with an electronic work by people whoagree to be bound by the terms of this agreement. There are a fewthings that you can do with most Project Gutenberg-tm electronic workseven without complying with the full terms of this agreement. Seeparagraph 1.C below. There are a lot of things you can do with ProjectGutenberg-tm electronic works if you follow the terms of this agreementand help preserve free future access to Project Gutenberg-tm electronicworks. See paragraph 1.E below.1.C. The Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation ("the Foundation"or PGLAF), owns a compilation copyright in the collection of ProjectGutenberg-tm electronic works. Nearly all the individual works in thecollection are in the public domain in the United States. If anindividual work is in the public domain in the United States and you arelocated in the United States, we do not claim a right to prevent you fromcopying, distributing, performing, displaying or creating derivativeworks based on the work as long as all references to Project Gutenbergare removed. Of course, we hope that you will support the ProjectGutenberg-tm mission of promoting free access to electronic works byfreely sharing Project Gutenberg-tm works in compliance with the terms ofthis agreement for keeping the Project Gutenberg-tm name associated withthe work. You can easily comply with the terms of this agreement bykeeping this work in the same format with its attached full ProjectGutenberg-tm License when you share it without charge with others.1.D. The copyright laws of the place where you are located also governwhat you can do with this work. Copyright laws in most countries are ina constant state of change. If you are outside the United States, checkthe laws of your country in addition to the terms of this agreementbefore downloading, copying, displaying, performing, distributing orcreating derivative works based on this work or any other ProjectGutenberg-tm work. The Foundation makes no representations concerningthe copyright status of any work in any country outside the UnitedStates.1.E. Unless you have removed all references to Project Gutenberg:1.E.1. The following sentence, with active links to, or other immediateaccess to, the full Project Gutenberg-tm License must appear prominentlywhenever any copy of a Project Gutenberg-tm work (any work on which thephrase "Project Gutenberg" appears, or with which the phrase "ProjectGutenberg" is associated) is accessed, displayed, performed, viewed,copied or distributed:This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and withalmost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away orre-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License includedwith this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org1.E.2. If an individual Project Gutenberg-tm electronic work is derivedfrom the public domain (does not contain a notice indicating that it isposted with permission of the copyright holder), the work can be copiedand distributed to anyone in the United States without paying any feesor charges. If you are redistributing or providing access to a workwith the phrase "Project Gutenberg" associated with or appearing on thework, you must comply either with the requirements of paragraphs 1.E.1through 1.E.7 or obtain permission for the use of the work and theProject Gutenberg-tm trademark as set forth in paragraphs 1.E.8 or1.E.9.1.E.3. If an individual Project Gutenberg-tm electronic work is postedwith the permission of the copyright holder, your use and distributionmust comply with both paragraphs 1.E.1 through 1.E.7 and any additionalterms imposed by the copyright holder. Additional terms will be linkedto the Project Gutenberg-tm License for all works posted with thepermission of the copyright holder found at the beginning of this work.1.E.4. Do not unlink or detach or remove the full Project Gutenberg-tmLicense terms from this work, or any files containing a part of thiswork or any other work associated with Project Gutenberg-tm.1.E.5. Do not copy, display, perform, distribute or redistribute thiselectronic work, or any part of this electronic work, withoutprominently displaying the sentence set forth in paragraph 1.E.1 withactive links or immediate access to the full terms of the ProjectGutenberg-tm License.1.E.6. You may convert to and distribute this work in any binary,compressed, marked up, nonproprietary or proprietary form, including anyword processing or hypertext form. However, if you provide access to ordistribute copies of a Project Gutenberg-tm work in a format other than"Plain Vanilla ASCII" or other format used in the official versionposted on the official Project Gutenberg-tm web site (www.gutenberg.org),you must, at no additional cost, fee or expense to the user, provide acopy, a means of exporting a copy, or a means of obtaining a copy uponrequest, of the work in its original "Plain Vanilla ASCII" or otherform. Any alternate format must include the full Project Gutenberg-tmLicense as specified in paragraph 1.E.1.1.E.7. Do not charge a fee for access to, viewing, displaying,performing, copying or distributing any Project Gutenberg-tm worksunless you comply with paragraph 1.E.8 or 1.E.9.1.E.8. You may charge a reasonable fee for copies of or providingaccess to or distributing Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works providedthat- You pay a royalty fee of 20% of the gross profits you derive from the use of Project Gutenberg-tm works calculated using the method you already use to calculate your applicable taxes. The fee is owed to the owner of the Project Gutenberg-tm trademark, but he has agreed to donate royalties under this paragraph to the Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation. Royalty payments must be paid within 60 days following each date on which you prepare (or are legally required to prepare) your periodic tax returns. Royalty payments should be clearly marked as such and sent to the Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation at the address specified in Section 4, "Information about donations to the Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation."- You provide a full refund of any money paid by a user who notifies you in writing (or by e-mail) within 30 days of receipt that s/he does not agree to the terms of the full Project Gutenberg-tm License. You must require such a user to return or destroy all copies of the works possessed in a physical medium and discontinue all use of and all access to other copies of Project Gutenberg-tm works.- You provide, in accordance with paragraph 1.F.3, a full refund of any money paid for a work or a replacement copy, if a defect in the electronic work is discovered and reported to you within 90 days of receipt of the work.- You comply with all other terms of this agreement for free distribution of Project Gutenberg-tm works.1.E.9. If you wish to charge a fee or distribute a Project Gutenberg-tmelectronic work or group of works on different terms than are setforth in this agreement, you must obtain permission in writing fromboth the Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation and MichaelHart, the owner of the Project Gutenberg-tm trademark. Contact theFoundation as set forth in Section 3 below.1.F.1.F.1. Project Gutenberg volunteers and employees expend considerableeffort to identify, do copyright research on, transcribe and proofreadpublic domain works in creating the Project Gutenberg-tmcollection. Despite these efforts, Project Gutenberg-tm electronicworks, and the medium on which they may be stored, may contain"Defects," such as, but not limited to, incomplete, inaccurate orcorrupt data, transcription errors, a copyright or other intellectualproperty infringement, a defective or damaged disk or other medium, acomputer virus, or computer codes that damage or cannot be read byyour equipment.1.F.2. LIMITED WARRANTY, DISCLAIMER OF DAMAGES - Except for the "Rightof Replacement or Refund" described in paragraph 1.F.3, the ProjectGutenberg Literary Archive Foundation, the owner of the ProjectGutenberg-tm trademark, and any other party distributing a ProjectGutenberg-tm electronic work under this agreement, disclaim allliability to you for damages, costs and expenses, including legalfees. YOU AGREE THAT YOU HAVE NO REMEDIES FOR NEGLIGENCE, STRICTLIABILITY, BREACH OF WARRANTY OR BREACH OF CONTRACT EXCEPT THOSEPROVIDED IN PARAGRAPH F3. YOU AGREE THAT THE FOUNDATION, THETRADEMARK OWNER, AND ANY DISTRIBUTOR UNDER THIS AGREEMENT WILL NOT BELIABLE TO YOU FOR ACTUAL, DIRECT, INDIRECT, CONSEQUENTIAL, PUNITIVE ORINCIDENTAL DAMAGES EVEN IF YOU GIVE NOTICE OF THE POSSIBILITY OF SUCHDAMAGE.1.F.3. LIMITED RIGHT OF REPLACEMENT OR REFUND - If you discover adefect in this electronic work within 90 days of receiving it, you canreceive a refund of the money (if any) you paid for it by sending awritten explanation to the person you received the work from. If youreceived the work on a physical medium, you must return the medium withyour written explanation. The person or entity that provided you withthe defective work may elect to provide a replacement copy in lieu of arefund. If you received the work electronically, the person or entityproviding it to you may choose to give you a second opportunity toreceive the work electronically in lieu of a refund. If the second copyis also defective, you may demand a refund in writing without furtheropportunities to fix the problem.1.F.4. Except for the limited right of replacement or refund set forthin paragraph 1.F.3, this work is provided to you 'AS-IS,' WITH NO OTHERWARRANTIES OF ANY KIND, EXPRESS OR IMPLIED, INCLUDING BUT NOT LIMITED TOWARRANTIES OF MERCHANTIBILITY OR FITNESS FOR ANY PURPOSE.1.F.5. Some states do not allow disclaimers of certain impliedwarranties or the exclusion or limitation of certain types of damages.If any disclaimer or limitation set forth in this agreement violates thelaw of the state applicable to this agreement, the agreement shall beinterpreted to make the maximum disclaimer or limitation permitted bythe applicable state law. The invalidity or unenforceability of anyprovision of this agreement shall not void the remaining provisions.1.F.6. INDEMNITY - You agree to indemnify and hold the Foundation, thetrademark owner, any agent or employee of the Foundation, anyoneproviding copies of Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works in accordancewith this agreement, and any volunteers associated with the production,promotion and distribution of Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works,harmless from all liability, costs and expenses, including legal fees,that arise directly or indirectly from any of the following which you door cause to occur: (a) distribution of this or any Project Gutenberg-tmwork, (b) alteration, modification, or additions or deletions to anyProject Gutenberg-tm work, and (c) any Defect you cause.Section 2. Information about the Mission of Project Gutenberg-tmProject Gutenberg-tm is synonymous with the free distribution ofelectronic works in formats readable by the widest variety of computersincluding obsolete, old, middle-aged and new computers. It existsbecause of the efforts of hundreds of volunteers and donations frompeople in all walks of life.Volunteers and financial support to provide volunteers with theassistance they need, is critical to reaching Project Gutenberg-tm'sgoals and ensuring that the Project Gutenberg-tm collection willremain freely available for generations to come. In 2001, the ProjectGutenberg Literary Archive Foundation was created to provide a secureand permanent future for Project Gutenberg-tm and future generations.To learn more about the Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundationand how your efforts and donations can help, see Sections 3 and 4and the Foundation web page at http://www.gutenberg.org/fundraising/pglaf.Section 3. Information about the Project Gutenberg Literary ArchiveFoundationThe Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation is a non profit501(c)(3) educational corporation organized under the laws of thestate of Mississippi and granted tax exempt status by the InternalRevenue Service. The Foundation's EIN or federal tax identificationnumber is 64-6221541. Contributions to the Project GutenbergLiterary Archive Foundation are tax deductible to the full extentpermitted by U.S. federal laws and your state's laws.The Foundation's principal office is located at 4557 Melan Dr. S.Fairbanks, AK, 99712., but its volunteers and employees are scatteredthroughout numerous locations. Its business office is located at809 North 1500 West, Salt Lake City, UT 84116, (801) 596-1887, emailbusiness@pglaf.org. Email contact links and up to date contactinformation can be found at the Foundation's web site and officialpage at http://www.gutenberg.org/about/contactFor additional contact information: Dr. Gregory B. Newby Chief Executive and Director gbnewby@pglaf.orgSection 4. Information about Donations to the Project GutenbergLiterary Archive FoundationProject Gutenberg-tm depends upon and cannot survive without widespread public support and donations to carry out its mission ofincreasing the number of public domain and licensed works that can befreely distributed in machine readable form accessible by the widestarray of equipment including outdated equipment. Many small donations($1 to $5,000) are particularly important to maintaining tax exemptstatus with the IRS.The Foundation is committed to complying with the laws regulatingcharities and charitable donations in all 50 states of the UnitedStates. Compliance requirements are not uniform and it takes aconsiderable effort, much paperwork and many fees to meet and keep upwith these requirements. We do not solicit donations in locationswhere we have not received written confirmation of compliance. ToSEND DONATIONS or determine the status of compliance for anyparticular state visit http://www.gutenberg.org/fundraising/pglafWhile we cannot and do not solicit contributions from states where wehave not met the solicitation requirements, we know of no prohibitionagainst accepting unsolicited donations from donors in such states whoapproach us with offers to donate.International donations are gratefully accepted, but we cannot makeany statements concerning tax treatment of donations received fromoutside the United States. U.S. laws alone swamp our small staff.Please check the Project Gutenberg Web pages for current donationmethods and addresses. Donations are accepted in a number of otherways including checks, online payments and credit card donations.To donate, please visit: http://www.gutenberg.org/fundraising/donateSection 5. General Information About Project Gutenberg-tm electronicworks.Professor Michael S. Hart is the originator of the Project Gutenberg-tmconcept of a library of electronic works that could be freely sharedwith anyone. For thirty years, he produced and distributed ProjectGutenberg-tm eBooks with only a loose network of volunteer support.Project Gutenberg-tm eBooks are often created from several printededitions, all of which are confirmed as Public Domain in the U.S.unless a copyright notice is included. Thus, we do not necessarilykeep eBooks in compliance with any particular paper edition.Each eBook is in a subdirectory of the same number as the eBook'seBook number, often in several formats including plain vanilla ASCII,compressed (zipped), HTML and others.Corrected EDITIONS of our eBooks replace the old file and take overthe old filename and etext number. The replaced older file is renamed.VERSIONS based on separate sources are treated as new eBooks receivingnew filenames and etext numbers.Most people start at our Web site which has the main PG search facility:http://www.gutenberg.orgThis Web site includes information about Project Gutenberg-tm,including how to make donations to the Project Gutenberg LiteraryArchive Foundation, how to help produce our new eBooks, and how tosubscribe to our email newsletter to hear about new eBooks.EBooks posted prior to November 2003, with eBook numbers BELOW #10000,are filed in directories based on their release date. If you want todownload any of these eBooks directly, rather than using the regularsearch system you may utilize the following addresses and justdownload by the etext year.http://www.gutenberg.org/dirs/etext06/ (Or /etext 05, 04, 03, 02, 01, 00, 99, 98, 97, 96, 95, 94, 93, 92, 92, 91 or 90)EBooks posted since November 2003, with etext numbers OVER #10000, arefiled in a different way. The year of a release date is no longer partof the directory path. The path is based on the etext number (which isidentical to the filename). The path to the file is made up of singledigits corresponding to all but the last digit in the filename. Forexample an eBook of filename 10234 would be found at:http://www.gutenberg.org/dirs/1/0/2/3/10234or filename 24689 would be found at:http://www.gutenberg.org/dirs/2/4/6/8/24689An alternative method of locating eBooks:http://www.gutenberg.org/dirs/GUTINDEX.ALL*** END: FULL LICENSE ***
