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Title: The Pioneer Boys of the Ohio
or Clearing the Wilderness
Author: Harrison Adams
Illustrator: Charles Livingston Bull
Release Date: September 7, 2014 [EBook #46794]
Language: English
*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE PIONEER BOYS OF THE OHIO ***
Produced by Beth Baran, Emmy and the Online Distributed
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[Transcriber's Note: Bold text is surrounded by =equal signs= and
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THE PIONEER BOYS OF THE OHIO
[Illustration]
OR: CLEARING THE WILDERNESS
THE YOUNG PIONEER SERIES
BY HARRISON ADAMS
ILLUSTRATED
[Illustration]
=THE PIONEER BOYS OF THE OHIO=,
Or: Clearing the Wilderness $1.25
=THE PIONEER BOYS ON THE GREAT LAKES=,
Or: On the Trail of the Iroquois 1.25
=THE PIONEER BOYS OF THE MISSISSIPPI=,
Or: The Homestead in the Wilderness 1.25
=THE PIONEER BOYS OF THE MISSOURI=,
Or: In the Country of the Sioux 1.25
=THE PIONEER BOYS OF THE YELLOWSTONE=,
Or: Lost in the Land of Wonders 1.25
=THE PIONEER BOYS OF THE COLUMBIA=,
Or: In the Wilderness of the Great Northwest 1.25
[Illustration]
THE PAGE COMPANY
53 Beacon Street Boston, Mass.
[Illustration: "'HERE WE ARE AT THE SPOT I PICKED OUT FOR YOUR
SETTLEMENT.'" (_See page 119._)]
The Young Pioneer Series
THE PIONEER BOYS OF THE OHIO
OR: CLEARING THE WILDERNESS
By HARRISON ADAMS
Author of "The Pioneer Boys on the Great Lakes," etc.
[Illustration]
Illustrated and Decorated by
CHARLES LIVINGSTON BULL
BOSTON [Illustration] THE PAGE
COMPANY [Illustration] PUBLISHERS
[Illustration]
_Copyright, 1912, by_
THE PAGE COMPANY
_All rights reserved_
First Impression, July, 1912
Second Impression, October, 1913
Third Impression, May, 1916
THE COLONIAL PRESS
C. H. SIMONDS & CO.
BOSTON, U. S. A.
PREFACE
MY DEAR BOYS:--As doubtless you well know, the early pioneer days were
times that tried men's souls. And boys, hardly in their teens, were
taught, in the bitter school of experience, that they must always live
up to the old Puritan motto, "Trust in the Lord; but _keep your powder
dry_." These same lads early learned to be self-dependent, and to fight
their own battles.
Steeped in this atmosphere, the names of many heroic early settlers
have come down to us through the pages of history. We all delight to
read of their bold achievements, for they were men of whom the country
must ever be proud.
But those stirring times before the Revolution also gave birth to many
a valiant soul whose daring and sacrifices have never been recorded on
the scroll of Fame. Some of these heroes were mere striplings in point
of years, yet capable, in times of great stress, of proving themselves
"chips of the old block."
It is to record the intensely interesting adventures of several
of these young pioneers, whose axes helped to blaze the way of
civilization in the then unknown region beyond the Alleghanies, that I
have started to write this series of books. I sincerely trust that if
you enjoy reading the present and first volume, you will welcome the
story to follow, to be called: "The Pioneer Boys on the Great Lakes;
or, On the Trail of the Iroquois."
Cordially yours,
HARRISON ADAMS.
_May 20th, 1912._
[Illustration]
[Illustration]
CONTENTS
CHAPTER PAGE
PREFACE v
I. AFTER FRESH VENISON 1
II. THE CABIN IN THE CLEARING 13
III. CAUGHT IN THE SNOW-STORM 25
IV. THE WOLF PACK 36
V. WHEN KATE CAME HOME 47
VI. THE DIE IS CAST 59
VII. INTO THE UNKNOWN LAND 68
VIII. THE PERILS OF THE WILDERNESS 77
IX. ALONG THE BUFFALO TRAIL 88
X. ATTACKED BY INDIANS 97
XI. ON THE BANK OF THE OHIO 106
XII. BOONE, THE CAPTAIN OF PIONEERS 118
XIII. BLUE JACKET 129
XIV. A NEW HOME IN THE WILDERNESS 141
XV. THE SUDDEN PERIL 152
XVI. CHASED BY THE FLAMES 167
XVII. A STRANGE PRISON 178
XVIII. AFTER THE FOREST FIRE 189
XIX. CAPTURED BY THE SHAWANEES 200
XX. THE COUNCIL FIRE 211
XXI. TIT FOR TAT 223
XXII. THE ESCAPE 235
XXIII. A CANOE TRIP IN THE STARLIGHT 245
XXIV. THE FEATHERED MESSAGE 255
XXV. AFLOAT ON THE FLOOD 266
XXVI. THE SINKING CRAFT 277
XXVII. BOB 286
XXVIII. A RESCUE 295
XXIX. WONDERFUL TIDINGS 306
XXX. CONCLUSION 315
NOTES 327
[Illustration]
[Illustration]
LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS
PAGE
"'HERE WE ARE AT THE SPOT I PICKED OUR FOR YOUR
SETTLEMENT'" (_see page_ 119) _Frontispiece_
"DISCOVERED A HALF CIRCLE OF GLEAMING YELLOW EYES
WATCHING HIM" 35
"KICKING FURIOUSLY AT A LEAN BLACK BEAR, JUST
BELOW HIM" 49
"SLIPPING ADROITLY AROUND THE BEECH AS FAST AS THE
BUFFALO COULD CHASE AFTER HIM" 89
"THE FIRE WAS . . COMING ON AT HEADLONG SPEED" 170
"A PAIR OF MUSCULAR BRONZED ARMS SUDDENLY CLOSED
ABOUT THE BOY" 202
[Illustration]
The Pioneer Boys of the Ohio
CHAPTER I
AFTER FRESH VENISON
"SHALL we give it up for to-day, Sandy?"
"But the afternoon is only half spent, Bob, and we have had such poor
luck hunting."
"Just so; but it might have been worse. Two hickory-fed squirrels and a
plump 'possum make a fair bag after such a hard winter."
"Not so very much where there are five mouths to fill. Oh! Bob, if only
we _could_ get the deer that made these tracks! I'm tired of jerked
venison." (Note 1.)[A]
Robert Armstrong, sixteen years of age, looked down upon the ground
where the trail of the deer was well defined, and evidently he, too,
felt some of the eagerness that possessed his more impulsive brother.
It was the days previous to the Revolution. Around the two youths
stretched the great primeval Virginia wilderness, sparsely settled,
and hedged in by the chain of Alleghany Mountains, beyond which only a
few venturesome spirits had ever dared journey; and some of these bold
pioneers had never come back to tell the tale of their discoveries and
exploits.
The two boys had started from their cabin home, just outside a small
Virginia town, determined to secure fresh food for the family, at that
time facing unusual privation.
Alexander, or Sandy, as he was always called, the impetuous one,
seldom looked any distance ahead, so that it was Robert who many times
found himself compelled to pull his younger brother out of serious
difficulties.
Still, both lads, having been born and reared on the Virginia frontier,
were really older through experience than their years would indicate.
In those strenuous days of pioneering, boys had to learn how to take
care of themselves very soon after they began to walk. Their daily life
brought them in touch with the perils of the wilderness. They were
taught how to handle a gun at five years of age, and the tracks made
by all wild animals soon became as plain to them as the pages of a
printed book to a scholar.
Sandy, seeing his more cautious brother hesitate, renewed his pleading.
"We need this deer very much, Bob," he went on, eagerly. "Since father
lost his place with old Jason Diggett, things have gone hard with us at
home. Mother tries to smile and cheer us up, but every door has been
shut against poor father since that tobacco barn burned down, and he
was accused of setting fire to it."
"Yes," said the other, a frown crossing his young face as though
painful memories had been stirred up by his brother's words, "but they
were not able to prove anything against father, and we know that he
could never have done such a thing."
"But the deer," continued Sandy, persistently; "why not try for it?
Perhaps it may be feeding close by, in some glade where the trees have
sheltered the grass, or where there are tender twigs to be nipped off.
Say yes, Bob, and let us start right away."
The older boy cast a quick look upward, and his gaze rested longest in
the quarter where the forest wall was broken, allowing a view of the
gray sky.
"The air is raw, and I'm sure a storm is coming, late though the season
is," he remarked, slowly.
"Well, what of that?" declared Sandy, impatiently. "We are neither
sugar nor salt, to be washed away by rain or snow. Just think how
mother would smile if she saw us carrying home a nice fat buck, or even
a doe? Bob, say yes! This chance is too good to be lost."
Apparently his argument carried the day. That last stroke swept the
more cautious Robert quite off his feet, for he loved his dear little
mother above all things on earth, and the thought of pleasing her made
him ignore his inner warnings.
"All right, then, Sandy; let's call it a go. Just to be able to carry
home a store of fresh meat we'll take chances. And now to follow the
tracks."
With that he bent his keen gaze upon the ground, and immediately
started along the trail left by the deer, Sandy following close at his
heels.
Both lads carried the old-time flint-lock muskets, such as were in
general use during those early days. They served their purpose fairly
well, especially when in the steady hands of those who knew life often
depended on accuracy of aim. Many woodrangers and trappers, however,
had guns with longer barrels, which they called rifles, and capable of
sending a patched bullet with unerring skill a great distance.
In and out among the trees the two boys moved along. Not a single word
passed between them until at least a mile had been covered. Then Sandy
could restrain his impatience no longer. It was always a difficult
thing to keep him "bottled up" when speech was concerned, and his
brother Bob often declared he would make a good lawyer, or a parson, he
liked to hear himself talk so much.
"Are we getting closer, Bob? Is the trail any fresher than before? Oh!
I thought I saw something move just then!" he whispered in the other's
ear.
"Where?" demanded Bob, instantly, as he turned his head around, a look
of concern on his face; for, while the Indians of Virginia gave little
trouble to the settlers at that day, they were not always to be trusted.
"Never mind," returned Sandy, with a little chuckle; "for I see now it
was only a poor, scared rabbit bounding away. But how about the deer,
brother?"
"We must be near him," said Bob, gravely; "and I believe he will turn
out to be a five-prong buck, to judge from the size of his hoofs.
Silence, now, and we will go on. Remember to keep a close watch ahead,
and, if you get a good sight, send your lead back of his foreleg sure."
"You can depend on me, Bob," replied the younger lad; and it was not
boastfulness that made him say this, for he had long since developed
into a remarkably clever marksman.
In the fall, when the first snows drifted down through the valleys of
Virginia, the settlers always held shooting matches, where the best
shots of the country competed for prizes, usually some wild turkeys
that had been trapped alive. And more than a few times Sandy had held
his own with the celebrated sharpshooters among the buckskin-clad
hunters from the trails. No eye was quicker than his to glance along
the shiny barrel of a musket; and when he pulled the trigger his lead
usually found its mark, even though the target were but the ever moving
head of a turkey, whose body was hidden in the ground, fully an
hundred yards distant from the marksman.
Once more the two boys pushed on. Before five minutes passed Bob
noticed something that gave him a little concern. He had caught sight
of the first snowflake that came scurrying along on the wings of
the rising wind. A little thing in itself, but which might mean a
tremendous lot to these boys, miles away from home, and surrounded by a
trackless forest. In another five minutes, just as he had feared, the
snow was beginning to descend heavily, so that his task of following
the trail of the deer promised to come to a speedy end, as the ground
began to be covered with a white mantle.
There was only one thing that could be done now, if they meant to
pursue the hunt any further. Bob of late had been noting the general
direction taken by the deer; and they could keep pushing on, each pair
of eyes on the alert for signs of the expected quarry.
Now it became necessary to bring to the fore all the knowledge of
woodcraft the boys possessed. They must judge at a glance just how a
deer would proceed while pushing through the forest, avoiding such
dense thickets as promised to entangle his antlers, and at the same
time seeking shelter from possible enemies.
Suddenly Bob came to a stop, and whispered:
"Look ahead to where that pawpaw jungle ends! Something moved there;
and blest if I don't think it must be our game!"
Even as he finished speaking, out of the screening hedge leaped a
gallant buck, his head thrown back, and every muscle in his frame
answering to his fear of human kind.
It was a pretty sight, and one calculated to make the blood bound more
quickly through the veins of a hunter; but neither of the boys delayed
even one second in order to admire the scene. Their one thought was of
the possibility of their eagerly anticipated supply of meat making off
on its own rapidly flying hoofs.
Sandy was a bit the quicker in firing, for, being nervous by nature,
he knew how to aim more by instinct than by going through a set habit.
Still, the two discharges seemed to roll into one; and, with their
hearts in their mouths, the young marksmen looked to ascertain what the
result of the shots might be.
"Huzza! he is down!" almost shrieked Sandy, as the big buck made a
tremendous bound into the air, and came crashing upon the snow-covered
earth, where he tried in vain to regain his feet.
"Stop! Remember what old Reuben told you always to do!" cautioned Bob,
as he thrust himself in front of Sandy, already in the act of leaping
forward.
"I forgot," murmured the other, as with trembling hand he started to
reload his gun, some of the powder from his horn slipping out of his
shaking fingers as he attempted to pour it into the muzzle of the
barrel.
Then came a greased bullet in a patch of linen, being pushed down after
the powder had been rammed good and hard. To prime the flint-lock gun
was no great difficulty, though constant vigilance was needed in order
to make sure that the priming, so essential to a discharge, be not
shaken from the pan by accident.
"Now let us go up," said Sandy, after both had reloaded.
"He's kicking his last," remarked his brother, quietly, "and there
is no fear of our losing him. I wonder now if I missed. You were, as
usual, ahead of me in firing, Sandy. And I saw him quiver even before
I pulled trigger, so I know you hit him."
When they bent over the now motionless quarry it was found that there
were _two_ bullet-holes in the deer. (Note 2.)
"Yours is the one behind the shoulder, Sandy, and that killed him
instantly. He could have run a mile or more with the wound through
the body that I gave him. But never mind, we have had great luck, and
mother will be pleased when we carry this meat home."
Bob lost no time in bleeding the game. They were so far away from the
cabin that it would be impossible to "tote" the deer there intact; so
it was quickly determined to cut up the venison and select the choice
portions.
Both boys carried hunting knives, and they set to work without delay.
As they labored they became so interested in what they were doing that
neither seemed to pay any particular attention to the remarkable change
that had come over the weather, until after a while Sandy started to
complain that it was getting so dark he could hardly see how to work.
Then an exclamation from his brother caused him to raise his head.
What he saw was anything but reassuring. The snow was coming down
between the trees in blinding sheets, driven before a cold wind, that
seemed to be growing stronger with every passing minute.
"No getting back to the cabin for us to-night, Sandy," declared the
older one, with a shake of his head. "This promises to be as bad a
storm as we've had all winter, and even at the shortest you know we'd
have a five-hour tramp back home. So we must make the best of a bad
bargain and camp here in the woods."
"Well," remarked Sandy, whom no danger ever daunted, "anyhow, we've got
plenty to eat, and can keep warm, unless both of us forgot to bring
flint and steel along, which I know is not so, for here are mine in my
pouch, and some dry tinder as well."
By the time they had finished the task of cutting up the deer, and
secured all the choice portions in the skin, the forest was swathed
in a mantle of white; and, on the wind that screeched so noisily
while hurrying past, came new armies of scurrying snowflakes that
beat against the faces of the lads until they fairly stung with the
pain. Evidently the young pioneers were in for an experience besides
which all previous encounters with snow-storms would pale into utter
insignificance.
FOOTNOTES:
[A] The notes will be found at the end of the book.
CHAPTER II
THE CABIN IN THE CLEARING
DAVID ARMSTRONG, the father of the two young hunters, was descended
from a fine old Scotch family. At the death of his father he inherited
a considerable estate, but the loss of his parent made the thought
of remaining in the old home too painful to him, and he decided to
leave Scotland and seek a new home. He consequently sold everything he
possessed and, with his young wife and little children, sailed for the
new country beyond the sea, and settled at Richmond, where he engaged
in the tobacco business.
For some years he prospered, but trouble finally overtook him. A
relative, whom he had taken into partnership, betrayed his confidence,
with the result that one day David awoke to find that he had the
experience, while this cousin possessed the money that had been
invested.
Even in those primitive days there were courts where those who believed
they had been wronged could seek redress, and David would have failed
to do credit to his Scotch ancestry had he not been a fighter. He
believed he had a good case against this relative who had swindled him,
and he tried to press the matter.
But, somewhat discouraged by the constant delays, he made up his mind
at last to leave for a point further west, and begin life anew under
more humble conditions.
He had come westward from the region around Richmond, and settled near
a small town, where he secured employment at the tobacco warehouse of
a certain Jason Diggett, the richest man in that region. He did his
work faithfully as the days and months went by, seldom complaining,
so long as he had his dearly beloved wife, and his three children to
comfort him; yet never ceasing to hope that he would hear good news
from Richmond, and receive his own again from the clever relative who
had tricked him.
He was anxious to do all he could for his three children, Kate, Robert
and Alexander; and sent them regularly to the little schoolhouse, where
they learned the rudiments of reading and figuring, which among many
persons in those days were considered all the education required to
carry one through life.
The family spent some very happy years in the little cabin that stood
in a clearing. The boys knew nearly every one in the town; and as they
grew older began to show themselves capable of assisting in the task of
supporting the family. Often they brought in game from the forest, and
in the season their traps yielded them quite a little harvest in the
pelts of otter, muskrat, mink, fox, badger and wildcat.
Suddenly, like a bolt out of the blue sky, trouble swooped down upon
the Armstrongs. David had some difficulty with his employer, and was
discharged, since he was too proud to seek a reconciliation, when he
fully believed himself to be in the right.
Then, one night, the tobacco barn of Jason Diggett burned to the
ground, entailing quite a loss. Suspicion alighted on David, simply
because it was known that between the two men ill feelings existed.
So David was arrested, and held in the town blockhouse for a whole
week; but, there being no actual proof against him, he was allowed to
go free. That had been more than a month before, and, ever since, most
of the people who had once called themselves his friends had turned
their heads aside when by chance they met. The odor of guilt clung to
his skirts, for, even though the law had declared it had no evidence
upon which to base conviction, people _believed_ he must be guilty,
since some one had surely set fire to the barn, and who besides David
had any grudge against Jason Diggett?
Armstrong fretted greatly over the injustice of such action, and it
took all the tact of his wife, Mary, to keep him from doing some rash
act.
"If this keeps up much longer, wife," he would say, after a fresh
exhibition of coldness and aloofness on the part of those who had once
called him friend, "we must leave here for good, and go further into
the wilderness. It is useless for me to look further for work, since no
one wishes to employ a _barn-burner_!"
His loving wife would labor to cheer him up as only a loyal woman
could. Possessed of a sunny disposition, trusting by nature, and above
all imbued with a strong sense of God's goodness, Mary Armstrong
refused to lose heart.
"It will surely come out all right, husband," she would say, as her
loving hands smoothed the frown away from his forehead; "we must have
patience, and do our part. To-morrow, perhaps the day after; but in His
good time it will all be well."
And, although David had vowed he would not again seek work in that
bitter community, when another day arrived, her sweet influence over
him was so great that once more he would stalk forth, moodily, but with
his spirit still uncrushed.
It was a momentous time in the history of the colonies. For many months
there had been heard mutterings of the storm that was later to break at
Lexington and Bunker Hill. Already people were taking sides, even in
the more distant settlements, and were either patriots or loyalists,
according to the way they looked at things.
But David Armstrong gave little thought to such matters, for his own
troubles were so exceedingly weighty that he could think of little else.
There was much talk of daring pioneers journeying still further into
that wonderful country beyond the great mountains; and again and again
did he brood over the possibilities that might await the forerunners
of civilization there.
Those who had made the trip, and returned, gave such glowing
descriptions of the amazing fertility of the black soil, and the
astounding number of game animals to be had for the mere shooting, that
it was small wonder the harassed borderer's mind turned westward many
times, and he was only waiting for some climax to arrive ere packing up
and moving toward the land of the setting sun.
On the very morning that the two boys started out on their memorable
hunt for fresh venison, David had taken new courage, and once more
ventured to look for work.
"The very last time, wife, mark you," he had solemnly declared as he
kissed her good-bye, and she knew that finally he had indeed reached
the parting of the ways; for, if his quest was now in vain, he would
never ask a favor of these town people again.
During the month when David had been idle, and the one that followed
his release from the blockhouse strong-room, it can be understood that
things were at low ebb in the home of the Armstrongs.
At no time had they been able to accumulate any amount ahead of their
constant needs; so that very soon they hardly knew where to turn for
money with which to purchase the few necessities of life.
Robert and Sandy sold what few skins they had collected; then they
busied themselves hunting, and trying to trap more animals; but the
winter had been unusually severe, and trappers reported a scarcity of
pelts.
Recently even little Kate, just fourteen, had hired out to a
neighboring family, as the daughters of the pioneers often did, without
losing any of their self-respect, or standing.
Mrs. Armstrong worked at her various tasks as the day advanced. Noon
came and went, and the sky clouded up with evil portents of snow,
for the air was raw and had all the ominous attributes which these
woods-dwellers knew presaged a storm.
Frequently she would step outside the humble log cabin to look around,
and see whether either the boys or her husband could be coming. Then
her troubled eyes would scan the bleak heavens, and note that already
the first flakes of snow, forerunners of the mighty storm to come,
were drifting along on the rising wind that was moaning through the
sentinel oak at the back of the cabin.
She wished the boys were safe at home, though she was so confident
of their ability to take care of themselves, no matter under what
difficulties, that she did not as yet once allow herself to fear actual
danger to them.
They had all their lives been accustomed to roaming the woods, and knew
how to grapple with such emergencies as hunters may expect to meet.
The afternoon had begun to decline, and the snow was coming down
heavily, when David arrived home. Little need for his wife to look
twice to understand what his dejected manner indicated.
"It's no use, wife," he said, moodily, a frown on his strong face;
"everything's working against me here, and I doubt if I have a single
real friend in all the community. The poison has done its work, and
there is no employment here for a man suspected of being a barn-burner.
I've been turned away by a man I believed would take my word as quick
as my bond. And I tell you I'm done. Never again will I demean myself
asking favors on my knees, just because my family may be in need."
And wise Mary Armstrong, realizing that the strong man had indeed gone
to the limit of his strength, knew that there must come a change. It
were folly to continue to beat one's head against the wall. Better find
some way of less resistance, and allow the current to carry them on.
"We have each other, David," she said, sturdily, as became a pioneer
wife and mother; "and as long as health remains we must not complain.
See, I give in entirely to you. Let us leave here at the very first
chance, and in a new country try to secure contentment, even though
we may not find happiness as long as this cloud hangs over your head.
Cheer up! With three fine children, and a husband whom I respect and
love, I am content. The darkest cloud has a silver lining. Wait, and
hope!"
"Then you consent that we shall emigrate to the land beyond the
mountains, to the banks of that beautiful stream they call the Ohio, of
which we have heard so much?"
It had been a vague dream with David for some time, and the prospect of
being able to carry it into actual execution in the near future began
to arouse him; so that he threw off his moody spirits, and showed
rising animation.
"Yes, anything that you think wise," Mary went on calmly, though her
heart was sore, "I am ready to undertake. But, of course, we could not
think of starting until some caravan arrives here in the spring, headed
that way. You were telling of one that was expected."
"Yes," said David, eagerly, "the last time Pat O'Mara, the trapper, was
here, he was speaking of that famous hunter, Daniel Boone, and how he
had organized an expedition in Carolina that was to pass up along this
way in the spring, headed for the mountain passes and the bank of the
great Ohio. We must be ready to throw our poor fortunes in with them
when they reach here. I only hope and pray that new friends may be more
merciful than old ones."
"I wish the boys were safe at home, for it promises to be a hard storm,
from the looks of things," said the fond mother, anxiously.
David's eyes sparkled with a look of pride in his offspring.
"Fear nothing for those two lads. To Robert the secrets of the woods
are as an open book; and I would trust them to even go over the great
mountain trail alone. They have their guns, and will know how to
protect themselves from the storm. In due time we shall see them again,
Heaven willing."
It was his turn now to comfort, a new role for David Armstrong; but he
knew, better than did his wife, how those half-grown boys had become
familiar with the perils of the wilderness, and understood how to meet
them almost as well as the oldest and most experienced forest ranger.
The day gradually came to a close, and when evening had drawn near, so
that the kettle was singing over the flames, and supper cooking, Mary
Armstrong went often to the door to peer out into the howling storm, as
if still hoping that her brave boys would show up, like white ghosts,
to join them at the humble and scanty repast.
But presently the time came when she and her husband had to sit down
to the board alone, for no cheery hail came out of the gloomy night;
but even then the mother would not let David see how worried she felt.
She insisted upon talking about the Promised Land beyond the mountain
chain, and asked him scores of questions concerning it, so that he
could not dream how her mother heart felt cold with new-born fears,
and how her ears were ever attuned to the wild music of the raging
storm, in which, _somewhere_, far away, she realized her two boys must
be caught.
Later grew the hour. David had brought in a goodly supply of firewood,
for so long as they could wield an axe there was always a bountiful
amount of this at their very door, to be had for the cutting. Then they
prepared to retire for the night, the settler in a better humor than he
had been exhibiting for weeks; for at last he began to see a way out of
the terrible difficulty that had so long been confronting them.
And while he slept, and dreamed of that wonderful land of plenty along
the border of the Ohio River, Mary lay awake, her gentle heart filled
with unspoken prayers concerning the safety of their boys.
CHAPTER III
CAUGHT IN THE SNOW-STORM
"WHAT makes it so dark, Bob?" asked the younger brother, as they
finished tying up the best part of the venison in the skin which had
been removed from the deer.
"Night is coming on ahead of time, and I reckon it will be one we'll
not forget in a hurry, either," replied the other, calmly; for Robert
seldom gave way to excitement, leaving that to Sandy.
"Then the sooner we find some place for a camp the better," remarked
the latter. "The wind keeps growing colder all the while, and it bites
like a knife when it drives the hail against your face. Do you know, I
think I heard a wolf howl a little while ago?"
"That would hardly be surprising," was Bob's reply as he shouldered the
meat wrapped up in the deerskin, leaving to his brother the two muskets
and the small game. "It was only a few days ago that Amiel Teene had
an adventure with the pests not ten miles away from his cabin."
"Yes, and he said he had never seen them so savage," declared Sandy,
glancing around at the snowy forest, as if in imagination he could
already see a host of gaunt gray forms leaping toward them.
"The winter has been unusually long and hard, and, as we happen
to know, Sandy, game has been scarce. Perhaps it was so up in the
mountains, and the animals have been pushed to venture nearer the
settlements than at most times. This storm will make them even worse."
"Then, if we should meet a pack to-night, the scent of this fresh meat
would make them crazy to get at us," said Sandy, reflectively, as he
fell in alongside his brother.
"Yes, I can easily believe it," grunted the larger youth, who had quite
a load on his back, and could afford just then to expend little of his
wind in conversation.
"And perhaps we might have to take to a tree, just as I did two years
ago, waiting for dawn to drive the critters away; eh, Bob?"
"Not on such a night as this, brother," remarked the one addressed.
"You forget that it was not bitter cold weather when you met with your
little experience. To-night, if we climbed into a tree, we might freeze
to death before morning."
"Then what can we do? I am sure I heard a far-off howl again just then;
and perhaps those sharp-nosed rascals have already scented a dinner,"
and Sandy pushed a little closer to his companion, deeply stirred.
It was no imaginary peril that hung over their heads. A single wolf
might play the part of a coward, and shrink from mankind; but when
gathered in a pack the beasts became an object of dread to every
settler on the border. More than one man, in the history of Virginia,
had been dragged down by starving wolves; and of all times of the year
the end of a hard winter was the worst.
"I had thought of that, Sandy," the elder brother went on; "and
remembered that, just before we sighted the deer, I had seen a place
that offered us a refuge. It is toward that point I am now trying to
lead the way. Keep your eyes open for a fallen tree. I think we must be
near the spot right now."
"And there it is," announced Sandy, joyfully, as he pointed ahead.
They were in fact right upon it, though the sifting, driving snow
had, up to that moment, hidden from their eager eyes all signs of the
wished-for goal.
And when Sandy saw what a fortress was afforded them by the hole in the
ground, where the roots of the tree had once grown, he was ready to
throw up his cap and shout with satisfaction.
At some time in the remote past a great wind storm had evidently
uprooted this forest monarch; but, in falling, it had not quite
lain flat, so that, twenty feet from the roots, one might even walk
underneath the trunk.
A great cavity had been torn in the earth, and, as it happened that the
upturned roots and the trunk were toward the storm, the barrier would
afford a fine shelter against its biting force.
There, in the opening left by the uprooting of the great tree, they
could make themselves fairly comfortable. Sandy even saw possibilities
for fortifying themselves within the hole, so that they might defy an
attack on the part of the fiercest pack of wolves that ever roamed
through those woods.
The boys immediately set to work with a vim. They had travelled many
miles during the progress of the hunt, and it might reasonably be
expected that both would be tired; but one would never dream of such
a thing, judging from the vigor with which they hewed firewood, and
proceeded to arrange their novel camp.
Accustomed to roughing it from early childhood, Bob and his brother
asked but little in order to find a reasonable degree of comfort. Given
a fire and a warm bite to eat, they envied not a king his crown. And,
if the bite were lacking, why, the fire was not to be sneezed at. In
those early days boys knew nothing of luxuries.
While Sandy labored with the heavy camp hatchet, the elder brother
began to get the fire underway, for long practice had made him an
expert with flint and steel. Some small sticks were heaped up in
a loose manner, and a bit of dry tinder shoved under it; then,
with several deft strokes of the steel, sparks were sent into its
inflammable heart, and a tiny blaze sprang up, which was fostered until
it had seized upon the larger wood.
Things began to look much more comfortable to the young pioneers after
that fire shed its ruddy glow upon their camp. And when Bob had sliced
several fair portions of the fresh venison, and had thrust them near
the fire on the ends of long splinters of wood, the odor that presently
began to arise made Sandy sniff the air, and try to restrain his
voracious appetite.
They had nothing to drink with the meal. Tea was worth too much at that
time for boys to carry any of the precious stuff off on their tramps;
and as for coffee, it was an almost unknown beverage with the colonists.
After all, as the famous Daniel Boone was often heard to declare, it
was astonishing what few actual necessities primitive man must have
in order to keep him in fighting trim. And Boone patterned his life
after the redmen of that country beyond the mountain chain, of whom he
probably knew more than any living border man of the day.
"This is fine," observed Sandy, a little later.
They were sitting close to the fire and devouring their roast venison
with infinite gusto. No doubt the pampered boy of to-day might hardly
have relished the rude fare; but these pioneer lads were made of
different stuff, and thankful for exceedingly small things.
"Yes," replied Bob quietly; "but we must get to work quickly, and add
to the pile of firewood, as well as barricade the open side of the
hole."
"Did you hear it, too?" demanded his brother, instantly.
"Yes, and more than one wolf answered the long howl. They are sending
signals across the forest. I think we will have visitors before the
night is over."
Sandy hurried through the remainder of his primitive supper, almost
bolting the last few morsels. Then he once more started to make good
use of the sharp hatchet. While he worked after this fashion his
brother began to search for objects with which to fill up the gap to
leeward as much as possible.
"Good!" Sandy presently heard him exclaim from the midst of the
blinding snow close by. "Here lie several old logs. This way, and give
me a hand. They will make a grand fort."
It required considerable effort to drag the half-rotted logs into
position; but where there is a will there is nearly always a way, and
in the end the object of their desires was accomplished.
"Could hardly be much better, I take it," was Sandy's enthusiastic
comment, as he stood back and surveyed the result of their labors.
"No, and I wager it would be a pretty rash wolf that would dare try to
leap that barrier," remarked his brother, now taking a turn with the
hatchet, as the size of the pile of fuel did not altogether please him,
with a long night ahead and that bitter wind rushing through the woods.
Finally both were too wearied to attempt anything more, so they sat
down alongside the cheery blaze, to rest ere trying to sleep. One
might think it rather a hazardous thing to lose themselves in slumber
without any covering; but they knew many of the tricks of the pioneers
of the day, and that, if they kept their feet warm, all would be
well. Besides, both boys had been warmly clad when starting forth
on their search for game, for they had an industrious mother, whose
spinning-wheel seldom knew a day's rest. (Note 3.)
It was decided that a watch must be kept, since they were surrounded
by so many perils. If the fire went out they might have a foot or hand
frozen, and the absence of the blaze must encourage the forest howlers
to make an attack, eager to secure a share of that fresh venison.
Bob had placed the meat, again wrapped up in the skin, as far back as
possible under the matted roots of the fallen monarch of the forest.
Both boys were grimly determined that they would fight desperately to
retain possession of their prize, since that store of food meant much
to the dear ones back at the humble cabin home.
"What are you thinking about, Bob?" asked Sandy, as he watched the
play of the fire across his brother's resolute face, and noted the
expression, almost wistful, that came upon it at times.
"It was about father," he replied, speaking the word tenderly, for
David Armstrong had ever been a kind and affectionate parent, and was
fairly worshipped by his little flock.
"Yes, I knew that was it," said Sandy, quickly. "Oh! I do hope he has
been successful in finding work to-day, for he declared it would be the
last time he would try. What do you suppose we can do if he fails, Bob?"
"There is only one thing," came the reply, with compressed lips; "we
must leave here, and go further west. I know father is thinking
seriously about it. The last time that jolly trapper, Pat O'Mara,
was here, father questioned him often about the stories he had heard
Colonel Boone tell of that wonderful country beyond the mountains, and
the beautiful Ohio River."
[Illustration: "DISCOVERED A HALF CIRCLE OF GLEAMING YELLOW EYES
WATCHING HIM."]
"I think I should like that," observed the impetuous Sandy, always
eager to see new sights, and filled with the enthusiasm of a
light-hearted boy. "If half they say about that country be true, it
must be glorious. And the hunting and trapping we could do, Bob! Yes, I
hope father decides to join fortunes with the first company of people
passing through here."
Bob said no more. He knew that the little mother would be sorry to
break many ties; but also that she would utter no word to dissuade her
husband, when the time came. And perhaps the more thoughtful Bob could
also foresee better than Sandy what new perils might await the daring
pilgrims who ventured into the hunting-grounds of the warlike Shawanee
Indians.
Presently he made Sandy lie down to snatch an hour's sleep, when he
promised to awaken him so that he in turn might watch. This rule
was carried out, and each of them had managed to secure quite a little
sleep by the time the night was two-thirds passed.
It was Sandy's turn on guard. The fire was burning briskly, the storm
seemed to be slackening up somewhat, and everything looked so promising
that the boy grew a trifle careless. He allowed himself to doze beside
the fire, his musket between his knees. This was, after all, hardly
to be wondered at, as any one knows who, being desperately in need of
sleep, tries to withstand the soothing heat of a warm blaze.
Perhaps Sandy may have been dreaming of boyish troubles with some of
the young fellows of the town, once their warm friends, but just now
commencing to ape their parents in turning the cold shoulder toward the
Armstrong family.
Be that as it may, Sandy awoke with a start. He found the fire had gone
down so that only now and then a tongue of flame shot upward from the
log that had been burning so fiercely the last thing he remembered.
And, as some grinding sound caught his ear, he glanced up and
discovered a half circle of gleaming yellow eyes watching him from over
the top of the barricade!
CHAPTER IV
THE WOLF PACK
"BOB! Wake up! The wolves!"
The shout rang out above the noise of the still whining wind. Aroused
from a sound sleep by the startling cry, Bob struggled to a sitting
position. Fortunately, he was a boy not easily rattled. The sight of
those gleaming eyes told him what had happened, and it was perhaps more
through instinct than anything else that he immediately pushed his
musket forward and let fly at the nearest pair.
Sandy was not far behind, and the double report made a crash that
seemed to produce a temporary panic among the gaunt callers. They
hastily withdrew, though with many snarls and long-drawn howls.
Both boys were now on their feet, ready to swing their guns by the
barrels if necessary, and use them as a further means of defence.
Seeing that their enemies had beaten a temporary retreat, Bob sprang to
the fire, and, kicking the partly burned log with his foot, stirred
the flame into new life.
"Throw on some small wood, Sandy!" he called, as he bent over the
barricade to ascertain whether their lead had been wasted, or found its
mark.
"Did we get anything?" demanded the younger boy, understanding the
object of Robert's survey, and being possessed of the frontier hunter's
instinct, which looked upon the loss of a charge of powder and shot as
next door to a sin.
"One is lying here, and from the snarling over yonder I take it they
are tearing the wounded fellow to pieces," replied the older boy, as he
proceeded to reload his musket.
"Well, I want that skin the worst way," ventured Sandy; "and if we
leave the beggar outside the fort they will spoil it. So keep a watch
while I climb over and drag the wolf inside."
"Be careful," warned Bob, who knew his brother's rash inclinations only
too well. He stood ready, with both guns within reach, so that, if at
any time Sandy seemed to be in peril, he could pour in a hot fire that
must frighten the four-footed enemy away again.
But Sandy, himself, knew better than to take too much risk. No sooner
had he seized hold of the dead animal than he started to move backward
toward the logs that had been piled up to form a rampart.
"Hurry!" cried the voice of the one on guard. "They are coming with
a rush, and from three quarters! Leave the hide to them, and save
yourself, brother!"
But Sandy was an obstinate lad. He had made up his mind to possess the
skin of the dead wolf, and did not want to relinquish it to the tender
mercies of the pack.
Having dragged it close to the logs, he exerted himself to the utmost
to give the weighty animal a toss that would accomplish his purpose.
Nevertheless, but for the prompt assistance of Bob, who clutched the
beast and dragged it over, Sandy must have failed in his endeavor.
"Quick! Climb up! They are here!" he heard shrilled in his ear.
In his hurry his foot slipped and he fell backward to the ground.
Just above him there burst out a flash, and a heavy report instantly
followed. Sandy knew what it meant, and that his faithful brother was
firing at the advancing pack in order to stop their rush.
He struggled to his feet, and commenced once more to clamber up the
rude fortification, at the same time shouting at the top of his voice.
This was done with a purpose, for he understood full well that, like
most cowardly animals, wolves greatly fear the voice of man.
Bob, too, was exerting himself to the utmost. Again came that
tremendous crash, as the second musket was discharged close to Sandy's
ear.
Then an eager hand laid hold of him, and he felt himself dragged over
the topmost log!
Both boys were panting for breath, but, thrusting one gun into Sandy's
hands, Bob started to hastily reload the other. They could hear their
enemies not ten feet away, snarling and snapping terribly. It needed no
explanation to tell Sandy what was going on out there in the snow; for
he knew that wolves are cannibals if pressed with hunger.
"It was a pretty close shave, Bob!" he exclaimed, after he had rammed a
bullet home in his gun, and fixed the priming in the pan.
"And a foolhardy act," returned the other, gravely. "If you had missed
your footing a second time you would have been pulled down in spite of
all I could do, and that would have been the end of us."
Sandy felt abashed. He knew perfectly well that he had been guilty of
a reckless feat that might have cost both of them their lives; for
without doubt Bob would have leaped over the barrier to his assistance,
and shared his sad fate.
Perhaps thoughts of the dear ones at home, who would have mourned them
so grievously, may have caused the boy to resolve upon a wiser course
the next time he found himself tempted to take hazardous chances.
They stood on guard, and waited to see what their enemies would do when
they had finished their meal.
"I hope they will go away, and leave us alone," said Sandy, uneasily.
"That would be almost too good to be true," remarked Bob, who knew more
about the habits of animals than his brother. "Instead, I fear that the
taste of food they have had will only make them more savage."
"Look! they are beginning to creep closer again!" exclaimed Sandy, a
minute later, with a feeling of renewed uneasiness.
"Then we had better begin to shoot again, and make every bullet count.
Let me start the ball rolling, boy," said Bob, as he picked out a dark
form advancing slowly over the white snow.
Resting his musket across the upper log, he took a careful aim and
fired. With the report a series of howls burst forth, and many forms
were seen dashing this way and that. Some fled, only to come back again
when they scented a new feast, and in another minute the wolf that had
fallen before the gun of the young pioneer was affording his mates an
additional scrap of dinner.
"Now, wait until I have reloaded, and then you do as well," remarked
the calm Bob, who had learned many valuable lessons from older hunters;
and he knew how dangerous it would be for them to be caught with empty
guns, should their foes attempt to rush the shelter in a body.
Sandy, nothing loth, picked out his victim, and when his brother gave
the word he pressed the trigger with more or less delight.
"That is one the less, I reckon," he remarked, as he quickly dropped
the butt of the musket on the frozen ground, and commenced to handle
his powder horn, to measure out sufficient of the precious black
grains for another charge.
"But I fear that for every beast we drop two new ones come out of the
woods," said Bob, believing that they should understand the worst, and
not deceive themselves with false hopes.
Sandy was for keeping up the fusillade, but his wiser brother had
already recognized the folly of wasting their scanty ammunition so
hastily.
"How many more bullets have you in your pouch?" he asked, quietly.
"Just three," replied the other, his enthusiasm checked.
"And I have only four," Bob went on; "so you see at the most we can
only account for seven of the beasts. After that it would be hand to
hand. We must hold off as long as we can, reserving our ammunition for
a desperate extremity."
"How long will it be before dawn comes?" asked Sandy, anxiously.
Of watches or clocks the pioneers had none; but most boys knew how to
tell time from the stars, or from mere instinct; just as one accustomed
to arousing at a certain hour realizes that the time has come,
although all may be darkness about him.
Bob scanned the dull heavens through the branches of the trees. And as
it happened there came a little break in the clouds just then, through
which he caught a glimpse of the moon.
"I think that it will only be an hour now before daylight comes," he
said with a sense of satisfaction in his voice; "and, besides, the
storm is at an end, for there the moon shows through the clouds."
"But the wolves are creeping closer all the time," declared Sandy, as
he looked over the barrier. "Just see, there must be an awful heap of
the critters, Bob. Do you think they will try to climb over here?"
"It may be," replied the other, "but so long as we can wield our guns
they shall not get a footing inside our fort. Shoot only as a last
resort. And if the very worst comes--"
"Yes, what then, Bob?"
"Try to climb up to the topmost root above. Perhaps we might manage to
hold out until daylight frightens them away. But here they come, Sandy!"
In another minute the two boys were striking at the heads of such
daring animals as ventured to show above the top of the low rampart.
The heavy muskets were fair weapons of offence for such work; though
more than once Bob warned his impulsive brother to be careful, lest he
strike a log and break his gun, which would be a serious catastrophe,
indeed.
Their quarters were so confined that it was only with considerable
difficulty they managed to strike fairly. But many a venturesome wolf
was knocked back when those rising and falling muskets came in contact
with his hairy head, and, amidst the savage howls that arose without
the barricade, snarls of pain might have been distinguished.
At times the work slackened somewhat, allowing the panting boys a
chance to catch their breath, but only to go at it again with renewed
energy.
How the long minutes dragged by, with all this tremendous excitement
stirring their blood to fever heat! Sandy cast many a despairing look
up at the moon, now plainly seen in the clearing heavens, as though he
fancied that it must be remaining stationary, and the night becoming
interminable.
Would morning never come? Must they carry on this bitter struggle only
to be overwhelmed by superior numbers in the end?
Three times now one of them had found it necessary to fire, when things
seemed to have reached a state approaching desperation.
"Courage!" shouted Bob, as he brought his gunstock down on the head of
a hungry wolf. "Look to the east, boy! The dawn has come at last!"
It was even so, and, thrilled with renewed hope, Sandy was enabled to
keep up the good fight until by degrees the wolves began to sneak away,
until finally the last of the savage horde had gone.
Would they ever forget that stirring night? Sandy believed nothing
could exceed the excitement through which they had just passed; but,
perhaps, if they migrated to that mysterious country beyond the great
chain of mountains, there amid new scenes he might find an opportunity
to change his mind.
Over the fire they cooked another meal of the fine venison which they
had saved from the half-starved wolves.
"And now to head for home!" cried Sandy, as he took up the pack to show
that he wished to do his share of the burden-carrying.
Forgotten were the aches of the night in the thought of once more
rejoining those so dear to them about the family hearth, where the fire
blazed in the wide-throated chimney, and the brass kettle bubbled on
the hob.
They had been tramping for half an hour, steadily onward, when Bob
called a halt, declaring that it was high time Sandy turned the bundle
of meat over to him.
This the other was really not at all loth to do, for he had been
staggering of late through the deep snow, as his burden began to tell
on him. Still, not for worlds would the proud boy have confessed that
he was actually tired.
Bob fashioned the hitch a little better, so that it would rest easier
across his shoulder. He had just leaned forward, intending to give the
bundle a sudden hoist, when he stopped in the act.
From some point not a great way off there came the sudden report of,
not a musket with its heavy boom, but a hunter's clear-toned rifle.
And accompanying the sound they caught a loud voice raised in an
excited shout, as though some one was striving against difficulties
that threatened to overcome him.
CHAPTER V
WHEN KATE CAME HOME
"SOME one is in trouble, Bob!" cried the younger Armstrong boy, as
these sounds came floating to their ears.
"Yes, and a white man, too," said Bob, as he tossed the bundle of
venison up into the crotch of a big oak tree close at hand. "We must
see if we can help him."
Sandy was nothing loth. He knew full well that the unwritten law of
the woods compelled every man to extend assistance when he met with
one in need, and from the nature of the racket they could imagine that
something quite out of the ordinary must be taking place.
The two lads set off on a run, eager to reach the spot as quickly as
possible. True, they were rather short of ammunition just then, but so
long as a single load remained to their guns they were ready to use it
in behalf of any one in distress.
"Listen, brother," said Sandy, when they had covered some little
distance; "surely we have heard that voice before."
[Illustration: "KICKING FURIOUSLY AT A LEAN BLACK BEAR, JUST BELOW
HIM."]
"Yes," returned Bob, with a little laugh, "it is our old friend, Pat
O'Mara, without a doubt; but what can he have stumbled into now? Pat is
always looking for a 'ruction,' as he calls it, and generally finding
what he wants."
"Perhaps the wolves, after leaving us, may have treed him," suggested
Sandy, with something like a broad grin appearing on his freckled face.
But the other shook his head in the negative. He seldom jumped at
conclusions as did Sandy, and usually weighed his words before speaking.
"Hardly that, boy," he observed; "we would have heard their howls
before this. And besides, we have good reason to know that wolves are
arrant cowards in the daytime."
"Well, let us run on again, for evidently Pat is in need of help. This
may pay him back for dragging me out of that quicksand last summer,
when I thought my last hour had arrived," and Sandy once more started
on a trot in the direction of the spot whence the shouts arose.
Soon another sound mingled with the cries of the Irish trapper.
"It must be a bear!" said Sandy over his shoulder, as he ran.
Bob was of the same opinion, for the ferocious growls that came down
the breeze could surely have been produced by no other among the woods
creatures.
Then they burst through a thicket, and suddenly came in sight of a
spectacle so remarkable that both boys stood still to gape and grin.
A rather stout man was sitting up in the wreck of an old tree, kicking
furiously at a lean black bear, just below him, that was striking with
his claws in the endeavor to fasten upon the legging of the other's
foot.
While he thus kicked, the man in fringed buckskin was constantly
talking, often giving vent to a shout of joy when his foot chanced to
land against the head of his hairy enemy.
On the ground lay a rifle; but the bear did not seem to be seriously
wounded in any way, which fact puzzled the boys not a little, because
Pat O'Mara had the reputation of being a marvellous shot, and they
remembered having heard the report of the gun a short time back.
When he saw the new arrivals, the trapper let out a cheer that told of
solid satisfaction. And indeed, to tell the truth, his situation was
anything but pleasant, and the end uncertain, with that wicked old bear
determined to get him by fair means or foul.
"Haroo!" shouted the trapper, waving his coonskin cap vigorously above
his red head; "sure yees are the byes to hilp me out av throuble, so ye
be! Alriddy he scents me frinds, and is backin' down out av the three.
Just take up alongside the fut av the same, and put a flea in his ear
before he can turn to do yees any harrm. Haroo! Make a clane job av the
same, remimber. An' wan at a time, av ye plaze!"
"You take him first, Sandy," said Bob, with his usual thoughtfulness,
always willing that his brother should carry off the honors when there
was a choice.
He stood alongside, and held his musket in readiness, so that in case
the first leaden missile failed to finish old Bruin he might join in
the affair.
The bear, while still angry, was evidently considerably concerned over
the coming of reinforcements.
Sandy knew how to do the part of the business that had been entrusted
to him.
"Stiddy, lad, stiddy!" warned the trapper, already following the bear
down the tree. "Make a sure job av it now; and don't spile the pelt!"
Bang! went the heavy charge which was in Sandy's flint-lock musket. The
bear immediately fell in a heap on the ground. Bob stood there, ready
to add the finishing touch if absolutely necessary; but among hunters
it is always understood that there shall be no interference at such
times unless positively needed; and the game had been placed in Sandy's
hands.
And in this case there was no need, for the bear, after making a
desperate attempt to struggle to his feet, dropped, and lay still;
whereupon Sandy and the good-natured Irish trapper united in a cheer
that made the woods ring again and again.
"Afther all, it is Sandy's pelt, and it's glad I am he had the good
sinse to sind his bullet back av the forelig instid av liftin' the
baste's hid," declared the man who had been rescued from the tree.
"But how comes it that we found you in such a queer scrape, Pat?"
asked Bob, with a twinkle in his eye; for he knew very well something
must have gone amiss, or the usually clever woodsman would not have
found himself in so sore a strait.
"Arrah! it's ashamed I am to till yees, me byes; but sure thot was a
time Patsy found himself up the wrong tree," admitted the other, who
was so good-natured that he could even laugh at a joke on himself.
"And not much of a tree at that, I should say," remarked Sandy dryly,
as he surveyed the stump which had been the scene of the trapper's
adventure. "Seems to me, Pat, that if I wanted to climb a tree, and
fight it out with a bear, I would pick a bigger one than this rotten
old thing."
"Oh! ye wud, eh? Phat if the bear was so clost till yer heels that ye
had to shin up anything at all?" objected Pat, with a comical grin.
"Well, in that case no one could blame you," returned Bob. "Tell us how
it came you failed to kill the beast when you fired."
"Sure, and ye are mistaken, Bob; niver a shot did I take at the ould
beggar," said the other, positively.
The boys looked at each other.
"But surely we heard a shot," observed Sandy.
"Yis, but thot was the bear shootin', I give ye my word," the man in
buckskin avowed.
"Do you mean to tell us that the bear fired your gun at you?"
questioned Sandy, who knew the joking propensity of the jolly Irish
trapper.
"Whirra! now, who said he fired _at_ me? Afther chasing me up here the
ugly ould baste took a notion to scratch at me gun down on the ground;
and as by bad luck the hammer was back, bedad if he didn't manage
somehow to pull the trigger. Sure, if ye look here, yees can see the
hole the bullet made in the butt av the tree!"
At this frank declaration on the part of the trapper Sandy was unable
to keep a straight face any longer, but broke out into a roar. Nor was
Pat long in joining him, seeming to think it a fine joke.
"But afther all it was the bear that hild the small ind av the sthick,"
the hero of the adventure remarked as, with knife in hand, he started
to remove the heavy skin of the victim. Sandy tramped back to secure
the venison from the crotch in the oak, while Bob aided the trapper.
Pat was a roving blade. He loved the wide expanse of wilderness, and
had made several long trips into the west, though as yet never as far
as Colonel Boone and his party had gone. He had always been a good
friend of the Armstrongs, and was particularly fond of the two brothers.
After about an hour's delay the boys, accompanied by O'Mara, made
a start for the cabin in the clearing, each one well loaded with
packages of meat. The bear had not been in very good condition,
having hibernated all winter, and lived upon his fat; but still the
experienced trapper knew just what portions to carry along, such as
would afford good stews to the hungry Armstrongs.
It was just noon when they came in sight of the cabin. Of course it
was the anxious mother who sighted the boys first, as she stood within
the open doorway, shading her eyes with her hand so as to shut out the
glare of the sun on the snow.
Soon the newcomers were sitting in front of the big blaze in the
yawning fireplace, where a pot bubbled and gave out appetizing odors,
telling the story of their adventures; while David, the look of concern
gone for the time being from his face, undid the packages of supplies
that had been secured.
Indeed it was a happy little party that sat around the plain deal
table. What mattered it that the chairs were home-made, that Sandy
even had to utilize a three-legged stool; that instead of boards the
cabin had only a hard earthen floor; while there was an utter absence
of anything beyond the absolute necessities of existence, as lived in
those primitive times? (Note 4.)
Love dwelt there, and smoothed all the rough edges. Looking into the
proud and apparently happy face of the little mother the two boys were
pleased to think fortune had been so very kind, and allowed them to
bring home such a goodly supply of meat; for the larder was almost bare.
Pat was always the life of any party. When he chose to exert himself
things went on with a whirl, and there was much merriment. If Mr.
Armstrong meant to ask his advice about the plans he was forming
connected with their emigration to the new country beyond the horizon
in the west, he held his peace just then, not wishing to arouse the
boys as yet; for he knew Sandy's impetuous ways, and how the facts must
soon become public property once he learned them.
The thing that worried David Armstrong most was his uncertainty as to
where he could secure money enough to fit out for the long journey.
They really needed at least two horses, upon which the bedding and
extra clothing, as well as cooking utensils, could be loaded; for no
one would think of carrying anything else over such an unknown road,
hundreds of miles into the untrodden wilderness, where most of the
travelling must be done over the winding buffalo trails.
However, he had a plan, thanks to a suggestion on the part of his
thoughtful wife, and with the assistance of Pat O'Mara he fancied he
could secure what he wished so earnestly, a loan from a man he had once
befriended, and who was now well-to-do.
They had just finished their meal when Sandy discovered something
through the little window near which he happened to be sitting.
"Why, would you believe it, mother, here comes sister Kate!" he
exclaimed.
All of them made a start to leave the table; and then, influenced
perhaps by some hidden fear, they turned to exchange glances. Could
anything have happened that the girl was coming home at this unusual
hour; for the cabin where she had been employed was half a mile away?
The door opened to admit a pretty little girl with flaxen curls, just
now sadly awry; and the eye of Mrs. Armstrong saw instantly that Kate
had certainly been indulging in a good cry, something she was seldom
guilty of doing, being possessed of a sunny disposition very like her
mother's, though perhaps she had also a dash of her father's peppery
nature.
At sight of the family Kate was unable to restrain her feelings any
longer, for again the tears began to flow down her rosy cheeks.
"Why, Kate, my child, what has happened? Why are you here, when your
duty is at the Hodgkins?" asked Mrs. Armstrong, hastening to throw
a reassuring arm around the shoulders of the slight figure that was
shaking with emotion.
The girl looked up, the tears shining in her blue eyes. There was
also a flash of temper to be seen there, and evidently Kate had been
recently aroused to a point where she could stand things no longer.
"I am done with the Hodgkins," she cried, stamping her little foot on
the clay floor; "I will never go back there again! I hate them, every
one! Oh! it was so mean, so cowardly to say that!"
Mrs. Armstrong turned pale, and her husband said something under his
breath, as they exchanged uneasy glances.
"Tell us, what did they dare say to you?" demanded Sandy, gritting his
teeth.
"They mocked me, and said my father was a barn-burner!" sobbed the
girl, bitterly.
CHAPTER VI
THE DIE IS CAST
"SAY it again, child!" roared the head of the little family, as he
jumped to his feet, his strong features working.
"David, be careful; let me mother the girl a bit, until she gets over
her cry!" said Mrs. Armstrong; and as usual her soothing voice gained
the mastery over the temper of the impulsive man.
Bob and Sandy exchanged looks. Already smarting under the injustice
of many who had called themselves friends in times past, this new
indignity aroused all the Scotch combativeness in their natures.
Instinctively they clenched their fists, and drew together, as though
by mutual sympathy. The same thought had flashed into each mind--that
_something_ must be done to check this rising tide before it utterly
overwhelmed the Armstrong family.
The mother saw that look, and in her heart understood. Proud she might
be of the love that influenced her boys; still there was something
higher than loyalty by which she must be governed, and this was duty.
She managed to draw the whole sad story from the girl, amid several
little tear-storms. Then she soothed and quieted Kate, who in the
shelter of that motherly breast found comfort and presently dried her
tears.
The Irish trapper was a witness of this little excitement. He frowned,
too, for his nature was impulsive, and he keenly sympathized with his
friends. But at the same time more than once a ghost of a smile would
chase across his jovial face. Evidently Pat O'Mara was thinking of the
plans which he had been forming, and by means of which he hoped to
influence the Armstrongs to leave this hateful community, where their
worth was not appreciated.
A short time later Bob gave Sandy a sly dig in the ribs, and made a
quick motion with his head. Apparently the younger brother understood
what was meant, for soon afterwards, when he thought he was unobserved,
he slipped out of the cabin.
Just as he expected, he found Bob awaiting him under the trees where
bubbled up the spring which, winter and summer, supplied them with the
clearest of water.
And Bob was evidently in a mighty serious frame of mind, even for him.
His face looked gloomy and forbidding, while he continually gnawed his
upper lip, after a fashion he had when deeply aroused.
Sandy recognized the signs. He had seen them on several occasions
before. Once a settlement bully--for they had them in those early days
just the same as now--was engaged in the, to him, delightful task of
abusing a lad much smaller than himself, when the Armstrongs came upon
the scene. The bully had a crony at hand, just as big as himself, and
snapped his fingers at Bob when the other asked him to desist. Then it
was that Sandy had seen his brother's face assume the same expression
that it carried now.
Unable to stand the sight of such cowardly practices, Bob had attacked
the fellow, and, spurred on by the righteousness of his cause,
succeeded in giving him the beating he so richly deserved, while Sandy
and the abused boy took care of the bully's friend.
There were other cases of a similar character, too, and Sandy would
never forget a single one of them. To him his brother Bob was the
embodiment of all that was noble in a boy.
"There is no other way, Sandy," said the older one, shaking his head,
as though he had a disagreeable duty to perform, which could not be
evaded.
"You are right," declared Sandy, hotly. "I know, and you know, who is
to blame for those children saying such things. Did not we hear their
father, Abner Hodgkins, say almost the same thing just three days ago,
when we passed him at the door of the alehouse?"
"Yes," said Bob, between his teeth, "and how red he turned when he knew
that we must have heard him. And he is the man our father once helped
when he was sorely distressed! This insult can only be wiped out in one
way."
"In only one way, brother," breathed Sandy.
"And since mother has brought father to her way of thinking, it falls
on us to give Abner Hodgkins his lesson," went on Bob, his eyes taking
on a steely glitter at thought of the many ill turns that had of late
been showered on their heads.
"But we must not let mother know," ventured the younger brother.
"Surely not. Mother would never consent. In her eyes only the last
necessity excuses fighting. After it is all over she will forgive us,"
said Bob, his voice unconsciously becoming very tender.
"Perhaps they will have some care how they let their wicked tongues wag
after they hear what has happened to one tattler," went on Sandy.
"Then you are with me?" asked the elder brother, eagerly.
"The sooner the better!" cried Sandy, impulsive as usual; "let us go
now, and strike while the iron is hot!"
"Agreed. For Kate said he had arrived home just as she left, for he
called out after her to know where she was going. I am ready, Sandy!"
The fact that the man under discussion was one of the most muscular
in all that border community did not seem to worry the two boys at
all, for they were fairly burning with a desire to avenge the constant
insults cast upon their loved ones.
Grasping the arm of Sandy, Bob turned around to hurry away ere any one
could see them, and, guessing their mission, bring it to a halt. Then
he caught his breath, and his pale face took on the color of confusion.
For he found himself confronted by his mother, the very last person in
all the world whom he would have wished to see under such conditions.
While listening to Kate's pitiful story she had observed the signal
that passed between them. Understanding her boys, she knew what
thoughts must be passing through their heated brains. And when they
slipped away, unobserved as they believed, that fond heart had lost no
time in following.
"I hope, my sons," she said sweetly, as she placed a hand on an arm of
each, "that you are not thinking of doing aught that would only add to
our troubles. Heaven knows that we have enough to bear now. Two wrongs,
you know, never yet made a right. We must bear our cross, knowing that
in good season this bitter cloud will pass away. Promise me that you
will neither of you seek Abner Hodgkins, nor have one word to say to
him should you meet!"
The two confused boys looked at each other rather whimsically. They
knew they could refuse their mother nothing. And perhaps, too, at that
moment they realized the utter folly of the course they had mapped out.
So they promised, and, with an arm about the waist of each, she
accompanied them back to the cabin.
The balance of that day passed slowly. Every one was uneasy save
possibly Pat O'Mara, whose jolly disposition could never be cast down.
And that evening, after supper, as they gathered around the blazing
fire, he exerted himself as never before to sway the minds of these
good friends.
The boys sat there on the bench that stood against the wall, and
listened with wide-open ears when by degrees the trapper came around to
the entrancing subject of that magical country whose beauties he seemed
never to tire of telling. David Armstrong and his wife harkened also,
but said little, leaving it to Bob and his brother to ask questions.
It was a cozy picture. The flames darted up the wide-throated chimney
and took the place of the customary candle in lighting the room,
glancing from the walls, where the chinks between the roughly hewn logs
had been filled with hardened clay, and then whitewashed.
Herbs hung from the rafters overhead. High up alongside the chimney
several packages of the dried venison Sandy disliked so much had their
places. The shiny brass kettle, an heirloom in the family, stood upon
the hob near the flames, and occasionally sang a low accompaniment to
the trapper's enticing tales.
Would the new country offer them as comfortable a home as this? After
all, so long as the mother were spared, it must ever be her deft hand
that made home what it was; and no matter whether here in Virginia, or
far off on the banks of the storied Ohio, it would be the same.
"But how about the Indians, Pat?" asked Sandy finally. "You have told
us little of the red men. Are they disposed to be friendly; or would we
have to fight whenever we ran across them?"
"That is the only darrk spot to the picture, me byes," returned the
trapper, with a sigh. "Sorry am I to say the same, but the rid divels
are all for makin' throuble. But 'tis numbers that may hould thim in
check. Troth, if enough whites iver r'ach the shore of that enchantin'
river, they kin bid the Injuns defiance. In union there is strength, ye
know, Sandy, bye. 'Tis thim same rid divils that gives me pain in me
hearrt."
To the boys, however, this was not so serious a drawback. In common
with most young fellows of the day they had a contempt for the valor of
the native sons of the forest. It was not so with the gentle mother;
and her eyes involuntarily sought those of her husband, while she
shivered at the thought of the loneliness that must encompass pilgrims
who emigrated beyond the mountain chain, losing themselves in the
untracked wilderness.
But David was himself rapidly coming around. It is human nature not to
compare the ills we know not of with those visible ones by which we
find ourselves confronted on every hand.
And when Mary saw the way in which his face was set, she knew, just as
well as if he had spoken, that the die was cast. They would go into the
wilderness, and hew out a new home _somewhere_. The sturdy spirit of
the early pioneers had been fully awakened, and the call of the west
could no longer be ignored. Destiny was pushing them on.
CHAPTER VII
INTO THE UNKNOWN LAND
DURING the following two days peace reigned around the humble home of
the Armstrongs; but this was partly because no one went into the town
again save the father, who came home on the second afternoon leading
two horses, at sight of which the boys could hardly repress their
shouts of satisfaction.
This told them that the die was indeed cast, for little need they would
have of horses, save as beasts of burden in case of migration. Wagons
could not be used, so O'Mara had declared, because much of the long
journey must be accomplished along those winding buffalo trails that
traversed the forest, for of roads there were absolutely none.
It was at this time there arose a necessity for some supplies, and the
brothers were told to go into town to obtain the same. Apparently David
had succeeded in securing the funds he so badly needed, showing that
one staunch friend must have stood by him.
The mother looked wistfully after her boys when they hurried away,
filled with new enthusiasm because of the nearness of the time when
they would depart from the scene of all their woes.
"I do hope they will restrain themselves, and not get into any
trouble," she said to her husband, who was busily engaged with the
horses, a new feature in their experience, and one that gave them much
concern.
David smiled back, for it seemed to be his turn to comfort.
"Have no fear of the lads, wife," he said heartily. "They are good
boys, and true, of whom we can well be proud. Sandy is o'er impulsive,
it is true; but Robert possesses the balance. We have need to be
thankful to Providence that we possess two such sons when about to
start upon such a hazardous journey as this."
An hour or so later Pat O'Mara saw the brothers returning. They carried
several packages, which constituted their purchases of necessities,
simple though these were. But the sharp eyes of the trapper saw
something more which they were carrying. Several scratches marked their
faces, and Sandy's left optic seemed to be in a degree of mourning,
all of which told the astute Irish trapper that there must have been
a fracas of some sort. He knew well those signs; and it was with
difficulty he managed to conceal the grin that forced itself upon his
genial face.
Of course there could be no concealing these evident marks of battle.
Nor did the boys attempt to do so.
"You have been in trouble, son," said the mother, as she took the
package from Sandy, and looked upon the cuts and scratches on his cheek.
It was Bob of course who showed signs of contrition; Sandy, on the
other hand, threw his head back, as though proud of his scars. To him
every one stood for an honor mark.
"I could not help it, mother dear," he said. "They taunted me, three of
them, and began to strike me. Then Bob came, and it was better, though
still uneven. But we were furious, and would not give in; would we,
Bob?"
"Who could have been so cowardly and cruel?" asked Mary, as she hurried
to get warm water in a basin, so that the wounds might be properly
bathed, and some homemade liniment put upon them.
"Who but that same bully, Armand Whalen," Sandy went on, eagerly. "Once
before, Bob whipped him until he cried for mercy, and he has never
forgiven us. But never mind, mother; we gave the cowards all they
deserved. They look much worse than we do; and besides, they ran away
in the end. These little cuts are nothing to us. Surely we have had
others many times worse."
"Indeed, I am sorry to have displeased you, mother," said Bob; "but
they were all picking on Sandy, and my blood fairly boiled. Had there
been twice as many it could have made no difference. At any rate, they
will often think of us when we are gone, which is a satisfaction."
At which naive remark the mother found herself compelled to smile. She
could not be provoked with the boys. And besides, she knew very well
what affronts they had continually suffered.
Again she found her eyes drawn irresistibly toward those of her
husband. Upon his face was a set look, as though his mind had been made
up now beyond recall.
"It is the last straw," he said, bitterly; "and the end cannot come any
too soon now to please me. I shall be glad when we have wiped the dirt
of this place from our shoes. Boys, you did what any manly lad would
find himself compelled to do. I am not blaming you one bit. But after
this you must remain at home."
"But father, there is news," said Bob, as he suddenly remembered.
"They are coming here then, those brave souls from Carolina, who head
toward the setting sun?" asked David, showing the eagerness that
possessed his soul.
"Yes," returned the boy; "a messenger has arrived in town from the head
man in charge of the expedition, warning all who mean to accompany them
that they will arrive in three days, and only stop twenty-four hours.
This is the last settlement. When they leave here, it will be to enter
the wilderness."
"Glory be!" exclaimed the trapper, upon hearing this. "Then we will
soon be on our way, with all our troubles behind."
The good wife sighed. She did not anticipate such glorious things as
beckoned the others on. Perhaps she had forebodings in her gentle
heart that the new perils all pioneers must face might prove even more
formidable than those they were leaving behind; and that perchance one
of her loved ones might find an early grave in that new land, a victim
to the treachery of the red men.
But not for worlds would she utter one discouraging word. There seemed
no other course open to them; and the women of that day were every one
of them heroines, capable of enduring untold suffering in the search of
a place they could call home.
Two days afterwards, as promised, the emigrants made their appearance.
David had gone out to meet them on one of the horses.
"Fetch them here to camp beside our spring," his wife had told him;
"for we may be the only family meaning to join our fortunes with
theirs."
And sure enough, they camped near the cabin in the clearing, a round
three dozen in all, including some five more or less sturdy boys with
whom Bob and Sandy fraternized at once.
Then began a period of bustle, as the last preparations were undertaken
by the Armstrongs. Some of their things they gave in charge of the one
faithful neighbor who had remained true to them through good and evil
report. Perhaps at some day an opportunity might arise whereby these
precious, if bulky, heirlooms in the way of furniture could be brought
out to their new home. Just now such a thing was not to be considered
for a moment.
And then the last morning broke.
The brothers were brimming over with excitement, nor did they feel any
particular pain over quitting the place they had for so long called
home. It had ceased to have attraction for them since this shadow had
fallen; and they believed they would be happy to leave it forever.
David Armstrong, too, managed to conceal what feeling he may have had.
But with the little mother it was different. That humble log cabin
meant much to her, for inside those stout walls she had spent several
fairly happy years; but she put these sad thoughts away with a resolute
hand whenever David was near. They would do to dream over when utterly
alone, perhaps in the dark watches of the night, in a new country, and
amid strangers.
All was bustle and confusion. A few of the town people had come out to
see the start of the expedition, and many were the remarks that were
made concerning the possibilities that awaited the daring travellers.
In this hour of parting some of the neighbors, possibly overcome by
contrition, tried to make amends for their recent cruel conduct, but
David ignored all signs of friendly handshakes, and would have none of
them. The iron had eaten too deeply into his soul.
The pack train of horses looked quite formidable when lined up for the
start.
"Twelve of them in all!" Sandy sang out, as he stood ready to urge his
animal on when the leader gave the order to start.
A hardy gathering of valiant souls the emigrants looked just then.
Fortune beckoned to them, and all seemed delightful. If they could only
have looked ahead a few months, and seen the terrible dangers that lay
in wait, doubtless many a smile would have faded from the faces that
now looked so cheerful.
"Hurrah!" shouted the boys, when finally the word passed along the
line, and those in the lead began to move.
But there were no cheers. Those grave-faced men realized only too well
that in thus putting their fortunes to the touch, by venturing into
that unknown world of which so much had been told, they were carrying
not only their own lives, but also those dear to them, in the hollow of
their hands.
The caravan moved away amid the sound of many voices, as the boys urged
their pack steeds along. Never once did Sandy glance back toward the
home he was leaving; he seemed given up entirely to the witchery of the
adventure.
But one pair of eyes turned for a last wistful look at the familiar log
cabin, with the grand old oak hovering above its humble roof, that had
sheltered her little brood so faithfully these years. And then a turn
in the trail shut out the view. Mary Armstrong heaved a sigh, and then
resolutely strove to think only of what might be in store for them in
the new world to which they were journeying.
CHAPTER VIII
THE PERILS OF THE WILDERNESS
"DID you see that, Bob?"
Sandy clutched his brother by the arm as he whispered these words, and
both of them sank back lower behind the fringe of bushes.
Some weeks had gone by since they had left the old home. By slow
degrees the mountains had been surmounted, and they were now nearing
the region of the Ohio, on the banks of which the settlers hoped to
find homes.
There were eleven men in the party, with seven women, and a round dozen
children of varying ages.
Day by day the party of settlers had plodded onward, with their faces
ever toward the west. Often they saw the prowling panther near the
camp; and it was a common thing to have a deer or a buffalo spring up
in advance of the caravan, to go bounding or lumbering away, startled
by this first glimpse of white men.
As there was no road it had been utterly impossible to make use of such
clumsy vehicles as the early settlers knew. Upon the backs of the
horses was piled all their possessions; and besides, frequently the
women and children had to be added to the loads.
The settlers considered themselves fortunate in having with them a man
who had gone over this trail before. Pat O'Mara kept at the head of the
column throughout each long day.
Many times they had to make detours in order to overcome obstacles in
the way that could not be directly overcome. Sometimes these took the
form of deep ravines, the banks of which were too steep to allow the
horses to obtain a foothold; then again they might be windfalls, where
the grand forest trees had been razed, along a track half a mile broad,
by some fierce tornado.
When night drew near O'Mara selected some favorable place for a camp
which offered opportunities for defence. For they never allowed
themselves to fall into a state of security that might induce fatal
carelessness.
Some days the settlers made fair progress under favoring conditions;
then again they would strike a section of country where every mile had
to be won, with patient effort, foot by foot. And they were always
vigilant, believing in that motto of the Puritans: "Trust in the Lord;
but _keep your powder dry_!"
Each night, as the cheerful fires crackled, and the women gathered
around to prepare the evening meal, the tired men would bring in wood
for use while the darkness lasted; and then throw together some sort of
defence.
While as yet these preparations had been apparently needless, still
the cautious O'Mara warned them that they were now nearing the hunting
grounds of the warlike Shawanees; and that any day some party might
discover the caravan, and carry the news of their coming to the nearest
Indian village.
As yet they had really seen little of the red men. Twice hunters, who
were out securing fresh food for the party, had reported catching
glimpses of dusky figures darting in and out among the trees; but no
attack had as yet been made upon any members of the little expedition.
Bob and his brother were in the habit of going out on alternate days,
and looking for game. As this was plentiful they had little trouble in
securing a deer whenever the larder got low.
One day they had tramped ahead of the party, following the old buffalo
trail which the horses would take as they came along and which led
westward. In this way, if they secured game, it would not be necessary
to carry it far in order to join the others.
As yet they had seen nothing worth shooting, when Sandy made the remark
with which this chapter begins.
His brother stared in his face, and there was a serious look in his
eyes, as he made answer.
"Yes, I saw it; and I'm afraid it was an Indian, brother."
"With feathers in his scalp-lock, which means war!" continued Sandy,
who was always questioning Pat O'Mara, and hence had picked up
considerable knowledge concerning the red men and their habits.
Again did the two boys exchange uneasy looks.
"Do you suppose he is alone?" whispered Sandy, presently.
"Let us try to see. Raise your head, inch by inch, until you can look
over the tops of these bushes; but be careful," continued the other.
Back to back they started to do this, intending to cover the entire
surrounding woods with a close scrutiny.
Suddenly there was an odd twanging sound heard. Bob knew instinctively
that it was the recoil of a bow-string, and he dragged his brother down
instantly.
Then came a heavy thud close by their ears. Looking around, the
brothers saw a feathered shaft quivering, with its flint head buried in
the trunk of a tree.
It was the first time in all their lives that either of them had been
under fire. The mere thought that some human being was endeavoring to
do them deadly injury caused a momentary thrill. But, in those early
days, boys were made of sterling material; and, after that involuntary
shudder, they faced the danger resolutely, with a spirit that would
have well become their father.
"We must get out of here," whispered Bob, as he prepared to crawl along
in the shelter of the bushes.
"But which way?" demanded Sandy, confused; for how were they to know
just where the unseen enemy might be hidden?
"That arrow came from yonder; therefore we must turn the other way,"
was the convincing argument Bob advanced, and his brother immediately
saw the logic of it.
Bob led the retreat, with Sandy trailing close at his heels. Each lad
clutched his gun in a nervous grip, and strained his ears to catch the
slightest suspicious sound near by.
So they crept on, for ten minutes, without anything happening, and by
degrees Sandy felt his courage return. Perhaps, after all, there had
only been a single savage; and, again, he may have been as frightened
as they were, making off immediately after discharging that lone arrow!
Their hearts still beating faster than was their wont, the boys came to
the termination of the line of dense bushes. If they expected to go on
from this point they must of necessity change their tactics entirely,
and expose themselves to the gaze of any lurker.
"Let's run for it!" suggested Sandy, at a loss for any other plan.
"No, I have another idea," returned his resourceful brother.
"Then let us have it, quick, Bob!" whispered the other, to whom
inaction was always more or less irksome.
"You start off as though meaning to escape, dodging this way and that.
He will perhaps believe that I was cut down by that hissing arrow.
Then, if he shows himself, I can get him, perhaps," Bob ventured.
Sandy fell in with the idea at once, although he realized the danger.
"Give the word, then, Bob, and let me go. Anything is better than this
suspense," he said, immediately, starting to get on his feet.
"If you hear me shout, drop flat," the elder brother said,
impressively. "That will mean he is trying to shoot at you. And if you
hear the report of my gun, seek shelter behind some tree."
The last thing Sandy heard as he gained a half-erect position, and
started off on a lope, was the click of Bob's gun-lock as he prepared
for business. No doubt the boy's heart was pounding like a hammer as
he thus exposed himself to the aim of an enemy; but, nothing daunted,
he kept right on, looking to the right and to the left as he scurried
along.
And Bob, left behind amid the bushes, lifted his head slowly, so that
he could see all that transpired, a grim expression on his young face,
such as the stern realities of those early days stamped upon many a
boyish countenance.
Ha! There was a movement not far away that his keen ear caught. Not
turning his head a particle he twisted his eyes around to the left,
and immediately discovered a bent figure that was skulking along, now
dodging behind a tree, and anon crouching flat, as Sandy threatened to
look around.
It was an Indian, rigged out in all the horrid paint and feathers that
marked a Shawanee brave on the warpath. He gripped a short, but stout,
bow in his hands; and even as Bob caught sight of him seemed to be
fitting a feathered shaft to the tense gut that served as a cord.
Undoubtedly it was his intention to shoot again, and this time, as
Sandy's back would be turned, there was a strong probability that the
arrow might find a victim.
Bob looked no further; his mind was made up, and, raising his
flint-lock musket to his shoulder, he glanced hastily along the barrel.
The red man was in the very act of letting fly his arrow when the bang
of the heavily charged musket awoke the echoes of the forest. Sandy had
not forgotten his part in the programme, for no sooner did he hear that
discharge than he made a quick spring to a neighboring beech tree,
back of which he crouched, ready to do his part in the game.
The Indian fell down, but, immediately scrambling to his feet with a
whoop, ran off like a frightened deer. He was holding his right arm as
he went, from which fact Bob gained the opinion that his hastily sent
bullet must have struck that part of the enemy's anatomy.
Then he vanished in the depths of the forest, while Bob reloaded as
fast as he could work his hands.
"Are there any more of them?" called Sandy, as he poked his gun out
from behind the beech, ready to make use of the same at the slightest
provocation.
"I do not think so," replied Bob, considerably relieved at not
discovering a horde of dusky figures rushing toward them, as he had
feared would be the case.
Nor did they notice any signs of enemies around them. Sandy insisted
upon going over to the spot where the Indian had dropped his bow and
arrow, at the time he received Bob's bullet in his arm.
"Some of them might refuse to believe that we had met a real Indian,
and got the better of him," he said, after picking up his trophies;
"but these will be the proof."
"Let us go on," observed Bob, who had now finished the labor of
recharging his gun.
"Then you do not mean to give up looking for game?" asked Sandy,
eagerly.
"Why should we?" observed his brother, sturdily. "That Indian has run
off, and we need fear nothing further from him. Perhaps there is no
other within miles of this spot, and we need fresh meat very much. If
my shot has not frightened everything away, we may get a chance at a
deer yet."
"Perhaps a buffalo!" remarked Sandy, with eagerness in his voice; for
as yet no one in the company had been successful in shooting a specimen
of those huge, shaggy monsters, about which they had heard so much, and
whose beaten trails they followed so persistently in making their way.
They kept on, Bob careful all the while to observe the direction they
took, for he did not wish to get lost. He was moving up against the
wind, so that even the most suspicious game might not scent their
presence.
"Look! What is that?" whispered Sandy, as they made their way through
a screen of bushes, and some bulky object was observed trotting along
ahead.
"A buffalo at last! Get ready, and we will fire together!" said Bob,
trying to stifle his excitement as he dropped on one knee, the better
to aim his gun.
"Ready? Shoot!"
The two reports sounded almost as one.
"He went down! Oh! we got him!" shrilled the sanguine one, ready to
rush forward.
"Hold on!" Bob quickly cried; "see, you're mistaken, for he has
scrambled to his feet. Wounded as he is, if he sees us there will be
trouble. There, he is heading this way, Sandy! Jump for a tree, lad,
jump for a tree!"
CHAPTER IX
ALONG THE BUFFALO TRAIL
SANDY jumped according to orders. With that furious-looking beast
coming on the trot, with lowered, massive head, and uttering savage
bellows as he advanced, no boy would have hesitated in seeking safety.
[Illustration: "SLIPPING ADROITLY AROUND THE BEECH AS FAST AS THE
BUFFALO COULD CHASE AFTER HIM."]
Bob swung himself into the lower branches of the tree under which he
chanced to be at the time the attack came. On the other hand, Sandy
did not understand it in that light. He expected to use the trunk of a
beech as a shield, behind which he might find shelter from the bison
bull.
Apparently the animal had only sighted Sandy, since he made direct for
the tree back of which the boy crouched.
"Look out for him, Sandy!" shouted the occupant of the tree, as he
kicked his moccasined feet, and in other ways tried to attract to
himself the attention of the infuriated beast.
In this he did not seem to be successful, for the charging bull kept
straight on, and came up against the trunk of Sandy's refuge with a
thump that staggered him not a little.
"You see what you get!" called the boy, tauntingly, hovering behind the
tree, and ready to glide around it at the first sign of pursuit.
"Take care, he's going to chase after you! Keep close to the tree, and
be sure you don't slip!" called Bob; who, his hands trembling with
excitement, was trying to get a charge of powder into the barrel of his
musket, no easy task while he sat perched on a limb.
Meanwhile there was a scene of action close by. Sandy showed a clean
pair of heels to the enemy, slipping adroitly around the beech as fast
as the buffalo could chase after him. If he kept his footing all would
be well; but, should he ever trip on one of the roots that cropped
out of the ground, perhaps the ugly horns of the beast would gore him
before he could roll out of reach.
So, while he continued to load his gun, Bob kept up a succession of
outcries, intended to encourage his brother, and at the same time
disconcert the stubborn bison.
"Keep moving, Sandy! Don't let him get a swipe at you, boy! Oh! I came
near dropping that bullet then. Will I ever get this gun loaded? Be
careful, lad! That time you were nearly down. He is tiring, Sandy; but
unless I make haste something dreadful may happen. I must finish this
job. Look out again, he's meaning to turn on you suddenly. There! just
what I feared; but you were too quick for him!"
By this time the boy who was spinning around the tree so rapidly had
begun to realize that it was not so much fun, after all, this being
pursued by a monster with wicked horns, and the power of a tornado in
his thick-set neck. At times he could almost feel the hot breath of
the animal upon his neck, which showed how very close the buffalo must
be. Had Sandy chanced to be alone his condition must have been doubly
desperate. As it was, his only hope seemed to lie in the ability of his
brother to get his gun loaded in time to put an end to the crazy bison.
"Keep it up just ten seconds longer, Sandy, and I'll be ready! The
priming, boy, that's all! Now look out, here goes!"
As Bob said this he discharged his musket, after securing a fair aim,
as the animal's flank came around in full view.
"Hurrah! he's down again!" gasped poor Sandy with almost his last
breath, for he seemed on the verge of exhaustion from the whirl around
that tree.
"Climb up out of reach, quick!" shouted Bob, jumping down so as to
attract the attention of the bull toward himself should the animal
manage to stagger to his legs again, for he saw his brother was
exhausted and would now prove an easy victim.
But Sandy was on the ground, and he saw something that his brother did
not. The last bullet had reached a vital spot, and already the big
animal was quivering in the last expiring throes.
"Get your gun, and load up as fast as you can!" said Bob, himself
suiting the action to the word.
"But see, he is dead!" expostulated the other, pointing to the buffalo,
which by now had ceased to struggle and lay quite still.
"Never mind. Load the gun as fast as you can!" repeated Bob. "A hunter
with an empty shooting-iron is an easy mark for every prowling redskin.
Surely Pat has said that to us many times. And we now know there are
Indians around here."
Thus urged, the younger boy hastened to comply.
"Just to think," he could not help saying, when this important business
had been attended to, and both of the guns were placed in shape for
further service, "we've actually brought down a big buffalo. And it is
the first one shot by any of our party. But all the honor is yours,
Bob. If it had been left to me perhaps the old sinner might have got
me. I was getting blown to a certainty."
"But we can share the honor, Sandy; for if you had not kept running
round and round as you did, how else could I have shot him?"
That was Bob's generous way, and Sandy knew it would be utterly useless
trying to escape taking half the credit.
"You watch while I use the knife and take off the skin," Bob went on;
for he knew that the hide, if properly cured, would make a valuable
robe, to insure warmth when the winter snows came again. "And watch out
for Indians," he added suggestively.
These boys had served their apprenticeship at trapping animals, and
there was little in the science of removing and preserving pelts that
they did not know. So now, while Bob had never before seen a dead
buffalo, and only had a glimpse of a live one close at hand, he knew
just how to go to work.
"Plenty of good meat here for the whole camp," remarked Sandy, with
kindling eyes, as he saw the large buffalo hams exposed by the removal
of the hide.
"Yes, and they say it is fine. If it can beat that bear we shot early
last winter, before all its fat was gone, I'll be glad we ran across
him," Bob remarked, as he now prepared to cut the carcass up, so that
the best portions might be reserved.
"I wonder when the folks will be along?" said the younger lad, allowing
his gaze to travel between the thick trees in that quarter where it
might be expected the pack-horses would sooner or later appear.
"Listen!" remarked Bob just then, raising his head, "I thought I heard
a shout far away."
Sandy began to look anxious.
"Oh! I hope nothing has gone wrong," he observed.
"Nonsense!" expostulated the other, "what could have happened? Just
because we saw an Indian, and he tried to put an arrow in one of us,
is no sign of danger to the camp. The only thing that bothers me is
that perhaps they have halted far back there for the night. In that
event, see where we would have to carry all this meat."
"We might hang it up out of reach of wolves, and bring some of the men,
with a horse, to tote it in," suggested Sandy.
"That is so, and a clever idea, too. Wait and see. Perhaps they may
come on, and pass near us here," Bob remarked, "for we are close to the
trail, which I am sure lies over by that leaning sycamore tree."
So they sat down to wait and listen for more signs.
"This certainly beats our woods back in Virginia," remarked Bob, as he
looked around at the great primeval forest that surrounded them, the
trees of tremendous girth and beginning to show a new crop of bright
green leaves.
"Yes," responded his brother, reflectively, "it is indeed a wonderful
country, and, from the signs, just overflowing with game. There was
that salt-lick we ran across two days ago; why, from the marks,
thousands of deer and buffalo must visit it every year. That very
night we shot three fine stags and a doe, you remember."
"Yes, and I was sorry we killed that last one, for she had a little,
spotted fawn running at her heels, and of course it will die, being
left uncared for."
Bob was a true sportsman. He loved to hunt game, but something within
always prevented him from killing more than he could use. And that is
ever the mark of one who truly loves Nature. Believing that these good
things are provided by an all-wise Creator for the enjoyment of man,
they look on it as a sin to waste any such bounties.
"There, that was a shout, and close by, too. I think it must have been
Darby calling to that lazy beast of his, which wants to lie down in
every little stream we have to ford. Yes, there he breaks out again,"
said Sandy.
"And from the row that is going on, and the laughing, I fear the beast
has done what he's been threatening to do this long while, and rolled
over in a brook. But I can see them now, over yonder," said Bob,
pointing.
Presently the straggling line of pack-horses came along. When the head
man saw what a fine supply of meat the two young Nimrods had awaiting
them, he gave the word to pitch camp.
"The afternoon is going, and we could hardly find a better spot than
right here," he observed; at which there was a bustle all around, for
camp always meant a period of ease and rest from the weary tramping
over rough ground.
"But what is that you are carrying, Sandy?" demanded David Armstrong,
as he came along with his two horses, his wife and Kate tramping
at their side with the steadiness of squaws, for they had become
accustomed to such vigorous and healthy labor.
"An Indian's bow and arrow which we picked up after Bob shot and
wounded the owner, who was trying to get me," the boy quickly replied.
At the word "Indian" others came to stare at the weapon with curiosity,
not unmixed with alarm, for they knew only too well that now they had
burned their bridges behind them, for there could be no going back, and
every day carried them further and further into the debatable country
of the Shawanees, which later on would be known as the "dark and bloody
ground."
CHAPTER X
ATTACKED BY INDIANS
"IT looks as if Pat expected trouble to-night, Bob."
"Well, the men have been holding a council, and father says it is best
to be on the safe side; so the guard after this will be doubled."
The two brothers were sitting on the outskirts of the camp. It did
not look like the cheerful spectacle that up to now had marked every
stopping place on the journey.
A fire had been made late in the afternoon, and all the cooking done
before it grew dark; then the blaze was allowed to die out. This had
been done through the advice of the Irish trapper, who knew that the
eyes of Indians are especially keen, and that, when darkness came,
they could see a light like a camp-fire a long distance off. Even this
precaution might not prevent their being attacked before dawn; but it
was reducing the chances to a minimum.
From where the brothers sat they could just make out the camp, with the
horses quietly feeding, and the rude shelters erected to protect the
women and children from the damp night air. The more hardy men, when
not on duty, were accustomed to dropping down anywhere, and going to
sleep.
On one side several fallen trees had been formed into a rude sort of
rampart, behind which, in a pinch, the members of the expedition might
find shelter from plunging arrows, should the worst come.
All these preparations were just what they had been expecting must
come sooner or later. Nevertheless, they naturally gave the boys
considerable uneasiness, not so much on account of themselves, as
because of those loved ones, their mother and Kate.
"There are several scouts out, too, to discover the approach of any
hostiles, and bring warning," remarked Bob.
"Oh! I hope nothing happens," said Sandy, with a sigh; for, now that
they were face to face with the long-anticipated trouble, somehow
things looked different from when he surveyed them before leaving that
Virginia home in the valley of the Shenandoah.
"Pat says these redskins are not accustomed to the sound of firearms,"
the older boy continued. "Few among them have guns; and those have
been sold to them by the treacherous French traders, who are always
setting the Indians on the English."
"Just because they want to have a line of trading posts stretching
between their possessions up in Canada, and down in Louisiana,"
remarked Sandy, bitterly; for this was a subject that all the colonists
felt deeply; because the French traders lost no opportunity for
causing ill blood between the Iroquois, Shawanees, Delawares, Sacs and
Pottawatomies on the one side, and the English on the other.
"Yes," replied Bob, "that is supposed to be the reason. Then, again,
these Indian tribes see the end of their hunting grounds if the
palefaces keep coming across the mountains year by year, and they will
fight. Sooner or later we must encounter them. Father knew it; yes, and
that is why mother has that sad look in her eyes."
No longer did the boys belonging to the camp venture upon any of their
sports and games while the expedition rested for the night. On other
occasions they had wrestled, run races afoot, and engaged in various
small rivalries, though there had been no shooting at a mark, since
ammunition was far too valuable to be thus wasted.
To-night they hung around, listening to the subdued talk, and imbued
with some of the same spirit that cause the women to huddle together
around their little ones and speak in hushed voices.
A silence seemed to be upon the very forest itself, though at this
early period in the spring there were usually few birds moving, and
animated nature had not as yet wholly issued forth after the winter
hibernation, so that this in itself was not so strange.
"Shall we go in and try to sleep?" asked Sandy, after two hours had
passed with no alarm being given.
"You might," returned Bob; "but I mean to stay up as long as I can."
"But, you know, Pat was telling us that these red men of the west
usually attack just before dawn, when sleep hangs heaviest and the
darkness is strongest!" remarked Sandy, shrewdly.
"All very true," Bob hastened to say; "but this once they may see fit
to change their tactics. Besides, I do not feel at all sleepy. You go
in and lie down; but keep your gun close beside you, and remember what
the orders are in case of an alarm."
"I have not forgotten. Every man has his position; and, as we can
handle a gun, we count for the same. But, if you expect to stay right
here, why should I not lie down and sleep under this tree, as well as
in there?"
Bob being unable to advance any plausible reason why this would not
answer, the younger boy curled himself up in a knot right there on the
bare ground, and inside of five minutes his regular breathing announced
that he was asleep.
Sitting there, Bob allowed his thoughts to wander far afield, and
of course, in spite of himself, they went back to the home of his
childhood, to that familiar old cabin under the wide-spreading oak.
But he had no regrets. The bitterness caused by the unkind conduct of
those one-time friends and neighbors still swayed him; and he was glad
at the thought of being gone forever from such unhappy surroundings.
What was that? He certainly had heard a sound like some one running;
and, even as he started up to listen, a figure brushed past, and went
on into the camp!
Bob's heart began to beat more rapidly. He knew that this must be
one of the scouts. What news did he bring? Were the Indians about to
descend upon them?
"Wake up, Sandy!" he said, as he laid a hand on the sleeping boy.
The other sat up, rubbing his eyes as though hardly understanding where
he was; but suddenly he seemed to comprehend.
"What is it, Bob?" he asked, eagerly, "are they coming; and must we
fight in the dark?"
"I do not exactly know," returned the other; "only, some one hurried by
us, and I think he brings news. Yes, see, the men are quietly rising up
all around. The signal must have been given. Come, let us get back into
camp before we are cut off by the enemy."
The two boys soon joined the rest, when they learned that the scout
had indeed brought startling news. The Indians were coming in force,
and advancing secretly to try to take the settlers by surprise. At any
minute they might spring up and send a cloud of missiles into the camp.
All preparations as yet undone must now be hurriedly looked after. The
women and children were placed behind the shelter of the log rampart.
Each, man took the position that had been marked out for him; then,
with bated breath, they waited for what was coming.
None would ever forget that night! It was their first real experience
with the wily and treacherous red foe, with whom they were fated in
after years to become so familiar, and to hate so cordially.
Pat O'Mara was perhaps the only one among them fully acquainted with
the tricky ways of the redskins; and he had endeavored to put every man
on his guard against being caught unawares. Besides, he had laid out a
shrewd plan of campaign, by means of which it was hoped to demoralize
the assailants.
After what seemed like an interminable wait there was a sudden shot.
One of those on guard had possibly caught sight of an enemy creeping
closer to the outskirts of the camp.
It was enough to tell the prowling Indians that their plans were no
secret; for immediately the forest resounded with their shrill whoops.
They seemed to spring up from every direction. Seeing their numbers in
the faint light of the stars, the defenders of the camp might well be
excused for feeling new alarm.
Then guns began to sound and to join their ringing reports with the
awful shouts of the enemy. The arrows flew like hail, and lucky the
white who had found shelter in time behind some friendly tree.
It was in this exciting moment that Pat O'Mara proved his worth.
Above the dreadful clamor his brave Irish voice rang out, cheering the
men on.
"Hurroo! give it till 'em, me byes! Shoot straight ivery toime, and
make each bit av lead count! Remimber the wimmen and childer, it
is; and knock ivery head ye say!" he kept shouting, seeming to be
everywhere at once.
He had arranged it so that the men fought in couples. While one fired
the other was reloading his gun; and thus there was always a detail
capable of sending in a volley, should it be desperately needed.
Bob and Sandy crouched low, doing manful work, though filled with
unspeakable dread lest the Indians should rush the camp, carrying all
before them.
"Are they retreating, brother?" asked Sandy at length, after this riot
of terrible sounds had been going on for what seemed an age.
"I think it must be so," returned Bob, hardly able to believe the
truth himself. "Their shouts seem to be further away; and the arrows
have stopped falling!"
"Oh! I wonder what damage has been done, and if--" But even the
stout-hearted Sandy dare not voice the fear that was in his soul, for
his thoughts had turned to the beloved father and the two others who
crouched back of that poor shelter of logs.
Were any of them injured?
"Lights! Start the fire, so that we can see what damage has been done!"
called the leader of the emigrant band; and almost like magic tinder
was ignited, to be applied to the fires prepared against this time of
need.
CHAPTER XI
ON THE BANK OF THE OHIO
"COME with me, Bob!" said the younger boy, unable to undertake the
mission alone.
"Courage!" cried the other in his ear; "I am sure all is well, and
that I heard Kate's voice in the song of hallelujah that arose from
the women when it was known the Indians had fled. All must be well,
brother!"
Yes, all was well; and in another moment the boys were encircled in
the loving arms of their anxious mother, while David, bleeding from a
slight wound where an arrow had struck him, stood by with thanksgiving
written on his bearded face.
If the boys had felt worried about the mother and Kate, fancy her
feelings, knowing as she did that her loved ones were on the firing
line and taking a thousand risks!
But it was all over now. Pat O'Mara declared that the red men had
received a lesson they would not soon forget. Doubtless the valiant
little company of home-seekers would not be troubled again while on
the way to the Ohio.
They had not come out of the battle entirely unscathed. True, Heaven
had been kind, and no one had been mortally hurt; but there were
several suffering grievous wounds, who would have to be tenderly nursed
for a time.
"It's lucky for us," declared the redoubtable Irish trapper, after the
extent of the damage had been discovered, "thot the Shawanees niver
poison their war arrows. Troth, but it would be a sorry day for the
loike av us if thot same were thrue, as I've knowed some Injuns to do."
And every poor fellow who had received a more or less painful wound
echoed his words.
When the pioneers came to look around in the early morning light,
expecting to find many dead Indians, for those guns had poured a hail
of bullets directly into the midst of the onrushing foe, to their great
surprise they failed to discover a single one. Their dusky comrades
must have crept up in the darkness and removed both dead and wounded,
fearing lest they fall into the hands of the whites.
It was high noon before the expedition could get started that day,
there were so many things to be done toward repairing damages,
attending the wounded, and waiting to hear the report of scouts sent
out to learn whether the Indians had really left the vicinity.
Satisfied at length that it would be safe to travel, they made a
start. But it might be noticed that from now on there would be no
long straggling line of burdened horses, strung out along the buffalo
trail. They huddled together in a bunch, and every man clung to his gun
constantly, while eyes were kept on the alert for the slightest sign of
the cunning enemy.
Several times there were alarms that sent a quiver throughout the
entire line. Once a woman discovered a branch moving in a tree, and was
sure that their relentless foes must have secreted themselves among the
sprouting foliage of the oaks, or amid the dense pines, ready to drop
down upon the little caravan as it passed.
Forming in a compact mass, with the horses and women in the centre, and
the armed men circling the whole, they waited until Pat O'Mara himself
crept forward to investigate. Then it was found that a wildcat had
jumped from one branch to another, causing the swaying movement that
brought about the alarm.
Altogether it was a day never to be forgotten. When night drew near,
the leader, after conferring with the trapper, selected a place for
camping which could readily be defended. Half an hour's work among the
loose rocks, and the pioneers had constructed quite a fort.
Bob and his brother worked with the rest; but both of them keenly felt
this new necessity for being shut up with the others, for they loved
dearly to roam.
"To-morrow, if all is well, we must get out ahead again," said Sandy,
as they watched the night shades gather around the new camp.
"Pat says there is little danger," added Bob, reflectively. "He knows
these Indians like a book, and declares that they will not recover from
their licking in a hurry. Besides, we need not go far away in order to
strike game in this country where it is so plentiful."
"It looks as if they meant to keep the fires going to-night."
"Yes, that is to show the enemy that we do not fear them. Pat says you
can cow Indians by appearing to have a contempt for them. Once let
them believe you are _afraid_ and they will be very brave. Besides, you
know we have men out yonder watching. No danger of a surprise to-night.
Every trail is guarded."
"Well, it looks more cheerful, I must say," declared Sandy; "and there
is surely something in what Pat says. Who knows the ways of these
redskins better than he? Twice has he been with Colonel Boone, far
down in the regions of the Kentucky River. I would trust his word in
anything."
"He seems to be everywhere, and hardly sleeps. But," and Bob sighed
as he spoke, "I know I shall be glad, for one, when we reach the spot
where we mean to make our new home, and can build a cabin to cover the
heads of mother and Kate."
"Just what I was thinking," echoed the younger lad. "After all,
there is nothing like home, no matter if it be in Virginia or in the
wilderness, so long as _she_ is there. But, oh! listen! Is that not the
signal agreed upon with the sentinels out in the timber? Can the enemy
be coming down on us now?"
"Impossible," said Bob, after listening intently. "According to all we
have ever heard about their ways they do not make an attack before
late in the night, and never at dusk. It must mean something else."
"But there it goes again, and closer. One of the men is coming in.
Perhaps he does not wish to take chances of being fired upon by some
hasty fellow."
"Now I hear voices," declared Bob, raising his hand, "and some of them
do not sound familiar, though they speak good English. Oh! I wonder
if it can be--look at Pat hurrying forward, and see how his face is
covered with a broad grin! Brother, it must be he recognized a familiar
sound in--Look, several men are coming, and they are hunters, too!"
"That one in front, Bob, with the bold air--I have not forgotten that
Pat told us how one man he knew seemed born to command. Did you ever
see a face like that? It is,--it must be Colonel Boone himself!"
All was now excitement in the emigrant camp. Dogs barked, horses
neighed, men shouted, and women laughed; while children added their
shrill cries to the general clamor. Just the coming of five men clad in
buckskin had caused this uproar; but such men!
"Come!" cried Sandy, seizing hold of his brother by the sleeve. "Let
us go forward and meet them. See, there is father shaking hands with
Colonel Boone, just as if he had known him before. And look at Pat
dancing around like a crazy man! Did you ever know him to be so happy?
Now we shall surely reach the Ohio without being set upon again by the
red men."
It was a period of great rejoicing. Daniel Boone (Note 5) and his
fellow hunters were once more on their way to the region where the
great pioneer had determined to locate his future home, in the heart of
the country below the Ohio, and to be known later on as Kentucky.
As the hunters had not supped, the women were soon employed getting
them a good meal. Meanwhile the story of the recent fight was told.
But there was little that was new to these readers of Indian signs; for
they had passed over the scene of the fight just a few hours back, and,
not finding any signs of fresh graves, knew that death could not have
visited the pioneers.
Both Bob and Sandy felt proud to shake the hand of the man of whom they
had heard so much from the Irish trapper; and, when they looked into
his bold face, with its wonderfully magnetic eyes, they understood how
it was that Colonel Boone had such a strange influence with the Indians
along the Ohio.
"He has promised to stay wid us until we reach the river," said Pat
O'Mara, as he joined the Armstrong family a little later, as they were
comparing notes.
"And the others also?" asked David. "Daviess, Hardin, Harlan and the
young man, Simon Kenton (Note 6), of whom Boone seems to be so fond,
will they also remain in our company that long?"
"Sure they will," replied the trapper, quickly, "an' only too glad av
the chanct. It isn't often they happens to run acrost white paple in
this blissed wilderness. The sight av a lady must be a plisure till men
as are exiled from home. Sure they mane to stay by us. And by the same
token 'tis little we nade fear from the pesky rid varmints after this."
It seemed to Sandy that he could not sleep, much as he was in need of
rest after the wakefulness of the previous night. He hovered around
wherever Colonel Boone chanced to be, listening to his musical voice,
and hanging upon his words.
The forest rangers were all dressed pretty much alike, after the custom
in vogue at that day. The outside garment was a hunting shirt, or loose
open frock, made of tanned deerskins. Leggins of the same material
covered the lower limbs, fancifully fringed along the outside seam; the
collar, or cape, of the shirt was also fringed. The feet were clad in
beaded moccasins, no doubt made in some Indian wigwam.
Each man carried a hatchet or tomahawk suspended from his belt, while
a keen-edged hunting knife reposed in a leather sheath. Besides, there
were a powder-horn, bullet-pouch, and a little bag containing tinder,
flint and steel, and such indispensables as a nomad, wandering day by
day through unknown forests, would need for his comfort.
Sandy, even after he was induced to lie under a blanket, kept watching
the imposing figure of Boone, as he moved about the camp. It was a
plain case of hero worship on the boy's part. He had heard so much
about this wonderful man, and now that he had seen him there was not
the least disappointment connected with the reality.
Finally Sandy fell asleep, his last thought being a sincere wish that
some day he too might possess a portion of the power over men that was
given to Daniel Boone.
It was morning when the boy awoke. There had been no alarm during the
night, and Pat O'Mara's prediction concerning the Indians seemed coming
true. The defeat they had received at the hands of the whites had cowed
them for the time being, though of course no one was so simple as to
believe that this state of affairs, however pleasant it might seem,
would last long.
An early start was made, for they had high hopes that they might arrive
at the bank of the mighty Ohio River before another night.
"If you put your best foot forward," Boone had told them the previous
night, as he conferred with Pat and the leading spirits in the camp,
"it may be possible to look upon the Ohio before dark sets in again. Jo
Daviess here, who has a better knowledge of distances than the rest of
us, since he has been a surveyor, tells me it can be done. And I have
never known him to make a mistake."
That day marked a vast difference in the attitude of the pioneers.
No longer did they huddle together like a hunch of scared quail,
anticipating trouble from every quarter. The very presence of those
five experienced hunters and Indian fighters seemed a tower of strength
to them.
Sandy and his brother took advantage of the opportunity to resume their
usual hunting expedition, and managed to bring down a fine five-pronged
buck that was a welcome addition to the larder.
It was about four in the afternoon, as told by the sun in the western
heavens, for none of them had any other means of ascertaining the
flight of time, when, passing through an unusually dense patch of
timber, the pioneers came out upon a high bank, and saw a sight that
tingled their blood.
Before them flowed a majestic stream, wooded down to the edge of the
water, and with the westering sun gilding the little wavelets until
they seemed tipped with gold. It was the sublime Ohio, at that time the
most beautiful of streams, for its hilly shores were covered with the
virgin forest.
Loud rang the cheers from that little band of pioneers.
The Armstrongs' long and arduous journey was at an end. Somewhere along
the river they would select the spot upon which to erect their cabin.
The surrounding country fairly teemed with game; and, if the Indians
would only leave them in peace, they had reason to believe that in this
wilderness they might find the haven for which they sighed when leaving
their Virginia home.
CHAPTER XII
BOONE, THE CAPTAIN OF PIONEERS
THAT night the hunters passed again with the settlers. On the following
morning it was the intention of Boone and his companions to start
further west; for the lure of Kentucky was in his veins, and he felt
that no other place could satisfy him, after having once seen that rich
soil and hunted in the majestic woods along the Kentucky River.
Before leaving the pioneers the mighty hunter gave them much good
advice. He knew of a very desirable plateau just a few miles further
west, looking out upon the river, where he himself would locate if he
had not already decided on a site on the Kentucky River; and here he
hoped they would settle.
Bob and Sandy had decided that they would accompany the hunters a
little way when they left. They wished to see as much of them as
possible, and, besides, it was down the river the rest would soon be
coming, in search of the spot marked out by the discerning eye of
Boone.
"Glad to have your company, lads," said Daniel Boone, when Bob made
the request, "for I have taken much interest in both of you. Friend
Armstrong is a lucky man to have his family with him from the start,"
and he sighed slightly, for it had been so fated that in much of his
pioneer work Boone was compelled to be separated from those he loved.
That was a morning those lads would never forget as long as they lived.
Side by side they walked with the man who knew more about Indian
craftiness than any other along the entire frontier; and in his own
pleasant way Boone gave the boys much valuable advice.
"Always keep a charge in your gun if possible," he said, "and sleep
with one eye open, when you have reason to believe there are Indians
around; for, next to a cat, I believe the red varmints to be the
trickiest things in all creation. But here we are at the spot I picked
out for your settlement. It would not be wise for you to go any
further, lads. What do you think of my choice? Do you believe you can
make a happy home here?"
When they looked around, and noted the natural beauty of the location,
commanding a fine view of the river as it did, the two boys were loud
in its praise.
"I'm glad you like it," observed Boone; "for the first time I struck
this place I determined that some day it must be covered with the homes
of white men. Once an Indian village stood here, and why they moved
away I never learned; but you will find many signs where their lodges
stood, and there are burial places back in the hills."
"Must you go now, Colonel Boone?" asked Bob, who felt a sense of keen
regret because their pleasant relations must be severed so soon.
"It is necessary that we lose no more time," came the reply; "already I
fear that some who await us far beyond may be in difficulties, for the
Indians were beginning to grow troublesome at the time I left. But we
will come again. Here we shall hope to find a warm welcome when passing
back and forth."
So the boys shook hands with each of the five buckskin-clad rangers.
The young man, Simon Kenton, had interested them very much.
"He has the making of a second Colonel Boone in him," Bob said, as his
eyes followed the little band of pioneers, walking along in Indian
file, with Kenton bringing up the rear; "I wish he would only take a
notion to join his fortunes with us here."
Then the figures of the five were hidden in the dense undergrowth. The
last they saw of Daniel Boone was when he turned, before plunging into
the thicket, to wave a hand to them in good-bye.
"What shall we do now?" asked Sandy, rather gloomily; for somehow he
seemed to feel the departure of these valiant frontiersmen keenly,
though he had only known them such a brief time.
"Stay around here until our folks come. We promised Colonel Boone not
to follow after him, you remember," returned Bob, with whom his word
was as good as his bond.
"But that may not be for some hours," protested the impatient Sandy;
"because, you know, they were not near ready to start when we left
camp; and then they will move much slower than we did, led by men who
know every trail."
"But it ought to be enough for us to just sit here and look out on that
grand river," remarked Bob, admiration in his eyes, as he turned them
upon the silently flowing stream, still bank-full from the spring rains.
"It is a fine sight, I'm ready to say," Sandy admitted; "and after we
get a cabin built we ought to be mighty well contented here, with fish
to be had for the taking at the door, and game coming up almost asking
to be shot."
"Think of the use for our traps back in those wooded hills. Why, I
wager we shall lay in a store of pelts the first winter five times as
great as ever happened in Virginia. But how glad I am the dreadful
journey is done. Kate and mother both stood it better than father
expected. How brave they are, and what a blessing it is to have such a
mother and sister."
Bob's eyes filled while he was speaking; but they were tears of
gratitude, not sorrow.
Sitting there, and gazing as if fascinated out upon the broad and
majestic stream which from this time on was fated to enter so deeply
into their new life, Bob did not notice that his younger brother was
wandering around the place. Sandy had always been as curious as any
woman, and this propensity had more than a few times brought him face
to face with trouble.
It was perhaps half an hour after the five hunters had left them when
Bob suddenly aroused to the fact that for some time he had not heard
anything from his brother.
"I wonder where he can be?" he said to himself a little anxiously as
he scrambled to his feet to glance around. "Strange that he is not in
sight. Perhaps after all he did lie down, and in this warm sunshine has
gone to sleep."
The idea pleased him, and he started to search for some sign of the
missing one.
Three minutes, five passed, and still he had not discovered Sandy. He
had not as yet called, thinking that there was no need.
"Perhaps I can track him," Bob said to himself, as he once more reached
the spot where he had been reclining.
It was not very difficult to ascertain where the footprints of his
brother made a distinct trail, for, although Sandy wore moccasins, the
soil was soft, and he had not been at any pains to hide his tracks.
So Bob moved along, to the right and to the left, just as Sandy had
happened to make his way when investigating the site for the proposed
settlement. Thus by slow degrees he found himself doubling on their own
trail.
At discovering this Bob smiled.
"I think I can see now," he remarked. "While we promised Colonel Boone
not to go any further than this, nothing was said about the back
country. And Sandy has been unable to resist the temptation to wander
around, looking for game. But he could not have found anything worth
while, or surely I should have heard a gun-shot. Perhaps I had better
give him a hail."
So saying he raised his hand to his mouth, after a fashion which they
had long followed when in the woods, or following their line of traps,
and immediately through the woods rang his shout:
"Ho! Sandy! Hello!"
To his astonishment a voice immediately answered, and he saw his
brother advancing hurriedly toward him. But he carried no game; and no
sooner had Bob set eyes upon the other's face than he realized that
Sandy brought news of some sort, for he looked excited.
"What is it,--Indians?" asked the older boy, involuntarily half raising
his musket, and casting an apprehensive glance around at the frowning
and mysterious forest by which they were almost entirely surrounded.
But Sandy shook his head in the negative, much to the relief of his
brother.
"Then have you found a bear's den, or perhaps a wolf's whelps?" he went
on.
"You would never guess it in a week, Bob," declared Sandy, with a
smile; "but come with me. I am sure you can do him good, with your
knowledge of surgery, which is going to make you a wonderful man some
fine day."
"Surgery! What have you found, Sandy? Is there any one wounded near
here?"
Sandy nodded his head.
"Yes, and pretty badly hurt, I fear."
"Not a white man, surely?" went on the other, falling into step with
the impatient one.
"It is an Indian," replied Sandy, soberly.
"Perhaps one of those who were wounded in the fight. He may have come
thus far on his way to his village, and given out," and now it was Bob
who urged the pace, for his professional instinct had been aroused.
True, it was only an Indian who was injured, and in those days the
settlers on the frontiers had a very low estimation of the red man as
a human being. But then Bob was a boy, and his love for relieving pain
amounted almost to a mania with him. Many a time had he set the broken
limb of some little wild animal, across which he had accidentally come
in the forest; and his operations had always been very successful; so
much so that both father and mother were proud of him.
Sandy had apparently taken particular notice of the place where he had
found the injured Indian, for he seemed to experience no trouble in
leading the way back there.
"Here he is," he suddenly remarked, as he swept aside a screen of
pawpaws.
Bob looked down upon a painted face, and felt a pair of glittering
black eyes fastened intently upon him.
"Why, he is a young fellow, hardly more than a boy," he remarked in
some surprise; but his words must have been understood by the wounded
one, for he tried to draw his slender figure up in pride.
"Me brave--me Blue Jacket!" he said, almost fiercely, smiting himself
several times on the chest.
The peculiar name caused Bob to notice for the first time that the
young Indian was indeed wearing a hunting shirt fancifully decked with
the quills of the blue-jay, and from which he doubtless took his name,
although in the Indian tongue it would probably be of an altogether
unpronounceable nature.
The Indian did not wholly trust them, it was plain to be seen. Unable
to fight, he seemed ready to stoically meet his fate without a whimper,
for, perhaps, he fully expected these enemies to knock him on the head,
because it was evident from the nature of his wound that he had been in
the recent engagement.
"Let me look at your hurt, Blue Jacket," said Bob, bending down over
the recumbent figure.
The other set his teeth hard, but beyond a grunt gave no sign, while
the white lad carefully drew away the cloth which was tied about the
leg in which a bullet had become imbedded.
In some way the wounded brave must have become separated from his
fellows, and, while trying to get to his village alone, had fallen here
through weakness caused by the loss of blood.
"He would have been dead by morning if some one had not found him,"
declared Bob as he started to cleanse the wound as well as possible
just then, meaning to repeat the operation when he could have warm
water in plenty.
Those beady eyes followed each gentle action with perplexity that
gradually grew into confidence. Blue Jacket was learning a new lesson
in warfare. His savage conception of how a fallen enemy should be
treated had received a rude jolt.
"Here, Sandy," said the young surgeon, presently, "take hold of his
feet, and we will carry him over to where we expect to camp on the site
of the coming settlement. The poor fellow shall not die if I can help
it. You found him, and he belongs to us. Remember that, if anybody
wants to do him an injury. Pat will stand by us, I'm sure; and mother
must, for has she not always told us we should do good even to them
that persecute us. Now, gently, Sandy. An Indian can suffer, if he does
refuse to show it."
CHAPTER XIII
BLUE JACKET
"How will this place do?" asked Bob, coming to a halt, and the boys
gently lowered their burden to the ground.
"Just the place where I'd like to see our cabin raised, with that fine
view of the river up and down," declared the other, enthusiastically.
"And that is why I chose it," answered Bob with a smile. "If we are
already at work here, father and mother will naturally come along to
us, and the thing is done without any fuss."
The young Indian had not said a single word since making the assertion
that his name was Blue Jacket, and that he was a brave, not a boy.
Those keen black eyes had observed all that the Armstrong lads did with
an ever-increasing knowledge of what it meant. There was something in
their manner of handling him that spoke louder than words to the wild
heart of this child of the forest; and already he had begun to feel
confidence in them.
"Now, start a blaze as soon as you like, Sandy. By the time they get
here the fire will be good and hot, so that water will heat in a jiffy."
They had made the wounded Indian as comfortable as possible; and he
lay there, apparently content to watch them work. Possibly he expected
that, when the white men, against whom his hand had so recently been
raised, should arrive on the scene, his fate must be a matter of
minutes; but an Indian never shows emotion, and fear, in his eyes, is
the symptom of a coward.
Sandy immediately gathered some wood. He had had long experience in
making fires, and gloried in the opportunity to show his skill.
"There, how does that look?" he demanded presently, when, after having
used his flint and steel with good results, the flying sparks quickly
caught in the dry tinder, and flames began to creep up amidst the
gathered wood.
"As fine as the finest," returned his brother, who knew Sandy's
weakness, and never let a chance to cater to it pass by; "and unless
my ears deceive me I think I heard voices just then up-river."
"You are right, brother," declared the younger lad, pointing; "for
there they come, with Pat O'Mara, bless his heart, at the head of the
line."
The wounded Indian never even started, and yet a quiver of alarm must
certainly have passed through his agonized frame. He simply turned his
gaze toward the setting sun, as though, if the worst came, he wished to
feast his eyes for the last time on that glorious spectacle. For the
clouds floating in space had begun to take on a most gorgeous tint,
as though the mysterious unknown country beyond might be putting on a
holiday dress to welcome him to the Happy Hunting Grounds of the red
man.
Then the long line of horses and pioneers arrived on the spot that had
been picked out by Colonel Boone as the prettiest site for a settlement
he knew of along the upper Ohio.
Various exclamations of rapture and delight broke forth. The magical
beauty of the scene overpowered all alike. Men and women stood there,
drinking in the river view as seen in the fading light of the sun;
and, when they turned to exchange sentiments, they were unanimously
favorable.
"It is Paradise!" cried one woman, who had suffered greatly during the
long pilgrimage across mountains and wilderness.
Pat O'Mara was the happiest of the whole group. He did not expect to
put up a cabin home, for his nature compelled him to be a rover; but,
since he had guided these pioneers along the way into the Promised
Land, naturally he felt elated because they were thrilled and pleased
with their new homeland.
And then again, Pat had the greatest admiration for that chief of
pioneers, Daniel Boone, who had selected this site as the proper spot
for a future white man's town.
"Now, plase lave all thot till another day," he called out, presently;
"and pay attintion till the juties av the hour. Sure, they be fires to
sthart, fuel to chop, and some protiction to be made aginst an attack
av the rids. To worrk thin, iverybody!"
Seeing their two boys standing at a certain point, David Armstrong, his
good wife, and Kate, leading the two horses, made toward them. From the
fact that there was already quite a heap of firewood piled up they took
it for granted that Bob wished them to camp on that particular spot
for some reason or other.
Suddenly Kate gave utterance to a bubbling cry of alarm.
"What is it!" demanded her father, startled, since he could only
imagine that the young girl might have turned her ankle at just the
last stage of their long journey.
"Look behind the boys, father! An Indian!" she exclaimed, pointing a
trembling finger toward Bob.
David, too, discovered the form just at that moment, and was also
visibly disturbed. But he noticed that both boys were showing not the
least sign of any alarm, and from that understood there could be no
danger.
Perhaps, also, his renewed confidence arose from the fact that the
Indian was lying on his back, and not in the act of creeping forward,
as if intent on sinking his tomahawk into the bodies of the lads.
"What is this, Bob, Sandy?" he asked, as he stood over the form of the
Shawanee, who met his gaze without a flicker of emotion.
"We found the poor fellow near by, father. He is wounded, and was
slowly bleeding to death," said Bob hastily, and not a little
anxiously.
"And Bob couldn't keep from helping him; you know his failing, father.
What we want now is a kettle in which to heat some water," remarked
Sandy, making a movement to secure the implement he had in mind, and
which, in company with other cooking utensils, dangled from the back of
the leading horse.
"Stop! what is this you mean to do?" asked David Armstrong uneasily.
"Save the poor fellow's life, perhaps. He has an even chance if I
can cleanse that ugly wound," replied Bob, meeting his father's eye
steadily.
"But he must have been one of those savages who tried to rush our camp
night before last; the wound is from one of our own bullets!" David
went on, shaking his head, as though he did not wholly believe it right
they should nurse a viper only to have him sting them.
Bob looked appealingly at his mother. Well he knew where to go for
backing in a case like this; nor did he make any mistake.
"David, for shame! Would you let the poor boy die, even though his skin
be different from ours? Do we learn this in the Good Book? Is it not
written that we bind up the hurts of our enemies, and thus cover their
heads with ashes of reproach? What if it were one of our dear lads,
in an Indian village--would you wish him to be treated like a dog? We
have come here to live, and it becomes us to set a Christian example to
these poor heathen."
David Armstrong was far from being a hard man at heart. Like most of
the early pioneers he had imbibed strong ideas concerning the heroic
measures necessary to hold their own against the grievous perils that
menaced them on every side. And, doubtless, he, in common with most
of the men in the ranks of those who invaded the wilderness, believed
that the "only good Indian was a dead Indian." But, as always, he was
dominated by the sweet influence of his gentle wife.
"Boys, your mother knows best," he said, presently; "and it is better
that you take pattern from her, than follow in my footsteps. Do what
you think is right, and we will hope no evil follows."
Of course the young Indian had listened to all this talk closely. He
might not understand what sentiment influenced the wife and mother;
but he could see the noble pity that shone in her eyes as she bent
above him.
Still, not by the slightest expression did he betray any satisfaction
that may have passed through his heart at the knowledge that he was
not to be ruthlessly put to death as he had anticipated. That would
have ill become a warrior, which, boy though he seemed to be, he had so
proudly proclaimed himself.
Meanwhile Sandy made his way down to the edge of the flowing river
and filled his kettle with water which he placed upon the stones
composing the rude but effective fireplace. It would only take five or
ten minutes to heat this sufficiently for the purpose of the amateur
surgeon.
David busied himself relieving the animals of their several loads,
in which both Bob and Kate assisted. Rude shelters in the shape of
tents would have to serve them for the present, until cabins could
be provided; but, ere another sun set, the chances were that several
houses would be started, for these pioneers were quick workers, once
they set their shoulders to anything.
Bob knew that no time should be lost in washing that inflamed wound,
and applying some of the wholesome soothing lotion which his mother
prided herself in making. Well he knew its wonderful properties in a
case of this kind, and he believed that it would allay the dangerous
stage of that injury as nothing else might, hence his desire to make
haste in applying it. The others could in the meantime be erecting the
tent and gathering their scanty household goods under its friendly
shelter.
When he found the water warm enough for his purpose he went to work.
Most of the pioneers were too busily engaged just then in settling on
locations for the night to bother hanging around to see what occupied
the attention of the Armstrong lads; but, of course, the smaller
children quickly discovered the presence of a real Indian in the camp,
and the news speedily circulated around.
Pat O'Mara himself came over to assist his particular friends, and when
he saw what task was being done his eyes opened round with wonder.
"Begorra! an' is it a horsepital ye've stharted already, Bob?" he
asked, as he leaned over to look, and then started at seeing a
copper-colored face with a pair of snapping black eyes fastened
defiantly on his own countenance. "Phat! a ridskin it is ye are afther
havin' here? Sure, it's the first toime I iver saw a white lad nurse a
sick Injun bye!"
When the prospect of death itself could not induce the Shawanee to show
signs of emotion, this likening him to a youth, as in the previous
instance, seemed to arouse him. An Indian hates above all things to
be called a squaw or a child. He sat up, despite the restraining hand
of Bob, and smote himself proudly on the chest, once again exclaiming
angrily:
"Blue Jacket, him no boy--warrior--big brave, ugh!"
"Well," remarked Pat with a quizzical smile, "I reckons as how what
ye sez is all quite thrue, Blue Jacket. And if so be this foine lad
chooses to coddle yees back to loife agin, phat business is it av ours?
On'y it sames till me 'tis a great waste av toime an' liniment. But,
Bob, look out ye don't lose yer patient, lad."
"Lose him, Pat?" echoed the other, pausing in the act of binding up the
limb, after having used the precious, magical ointment given to him
by his mother. "What can you mean? I feel sure he'll come around all
right. He's young, and with good blood in his veins. Surely the chances
are ten to one--"
Bob stopped right there. Suddenly he comprehended what the kindly Irish
trapper meant, when he spoke in that way. Following the meaning look of
the other he saw that a man was hurriedly approaching them. He carried
a gun in his hand, and there was an ugly expression on his bearded face.
This man was a pioneer named Brady. He had come from the section of
Carolina where the Boone family had lived, and was meaning to hew
himself a new home in the great western wilderness.
Anthony Brady was the father of a family, and a fair sample of the
early pioneer, but he hated Indians above all living things, looking
upon them as only fit to be shot and hewed down whenever possible.
Bob knew that Anthony had had a brother dangerously wounded in that
warm engagement when the Shawanees attempted to carry the camp. This
must have aggravated Brady's already bitter feeling for the red men,
and, hearing that the Armstrong boys were meaning to nurse one of the
wounded foemen back to life, he was filled with rage that such a thing
should ever be allowed.
And Bob felt that Blue Jacket was in more peril right then than when he
lay on the ground, weakened by his wound, and left to perish.
CHAPTER XIV
A NEW HOME IN THE WILDERNESS
"SANDY!"
The younger lad heard his name called and, looking up, caught
the beckoning finger of his brother. One look told him what was
threatening, for the face of the advancing settler betrayed the ugly
thoughts that filled his mind.
Sandy immediately sprang over to join forces with his brother, for
whatever Bob did was right, in his mind, and he stood ready to back him
up to the end.
"What does all this foolishness mean?" demanded the tall pioneer as
he came to where Bob was still kneeling beside his patient, with the
bandage just secured by a strip of narrow linen which his mother was
never without, since every housewife in those days had to be ready for
emergencies.
Bob did not answer. He waited until Mr. Brady saw the young Indian, who
met the angry glare in the settler's eyes with a defiant look. Blue
Jacket even hastened to sit up, and fold his sinewy arms across his
chest. It was the attitude which he conceived a true warrior ought to
assume when ready to chant his death song, and laugh at Fate.
"An Injun!" roared the furious man, making a threatening movement with
his long musket. "They told me so, but I couldn't hardly believe it. A
red viper in our camp, to be nursed back to life so that he can bring
his fellows down on us some fine night, and scalp the whole company.
We'll soon settle that!"
"Hold on, Mr. Brady," said Bob calmly. "What do you mean to do?"
He had placed himself in front of the wounded Indian, shielding his
painted body with his own. Sandy stood close at hand, ready to clutch
the arm of the infuriated man should he dare venture to extremes. And
Mr. Armstrong came hurrying up, urged on by his alarmed wife.
"Shoot the snake as he deserves, if you must know!" shouted the man,
who had worked himself up into a condition bordering on hysteria. "Who
knows but what it was him that wounded my poor brother, Caleb! One
Injun more or less can never matter much, anyway. So stand aside, Bob
Armstrong, and let me put him out of his misery, like you would a mad
dog."
But he greatly mistook the temper of Bob, if he thought that threats
like this could have any influence over him. On the contrary the young
pioneer only spread himself more squarely in front of his helpless
charge.
"No, you shall not hurt him, Mr. Brady. Sandy and I found him, and he
belongs to us. Pat O'Mara is still in charge of this company, and he
has told us we could do what we wanted with him. Besides, he is only
one lone Indian, and can do us no harm. Perhaps, if we help him now, he
may not forget it some time in the future. For we are come here to stay
always, and his people belong here."
The man dared not attempt to fire while Bob thus interposed his body
between; besides, he had a healthy respect for the redoubtable Irish
trapper.
"Is that true, O'Mara?" he demanded. "Have you given these foolish
lads permission to keep this varmint alive when he's better off if
dispatched?"
"'Tis a fact that they prejudiced me in favor av thot same ijee, aven
though I was opposed to the same in the sthart," responded the genial
Pat, winking at Sandy while he spoke. "And p'raps it's best thot ye do
be mindin' yer own business, Mr. Brady, meanin' no offence at all."
"And," said David, laying a heavy hand on the other's shoulder, "they
have the approval of both their mother and myself, Brady, so please pay
no more attention to what we are doing here. The redskin will be able
to travel in a few days. Perhaps he may take a message to his people
from us, and be the means of bringing about a lasting truce--who knows?
At all events he is going to be doctored by Robert, and no one will lay
a finger on him without accounting to me!"
Anthony Brady was no fool, though doubtless a most impulsive man. He
knew that the conditions were most unfavorable for a continuance of the
argument, so, shrugging his broad shoulders, and with a last scowl at
the impassive face of the young Shawanee brave, he turned on his heel
in disgust.
"Well, have your way, Armstrong," he said, moodily. "But, if I happen
to run across this young savage in the forest, he will never return to
his people to tattle about our weakness."
"And if you attempt any treachery, Brady, you will answer to me for
it, remember," declared David, sternly.
"An' to me, by the pipers!" echoed O'Mara, shaking his head
aggressively.
"Have no fear as long as he is in your charge, neighbor, for I am
not the man to stir up strife over one wretched Injun; but, after he
_leaves_ you the case is different, and he can be safely potted by any
white with a ready gun," and with this dark threat Brady stalked away.
And the one who had been the cause for all this excitement did not
utter a single word to show that he understood what a world of
gratitude he owed to the two boys. But there was a look of intelligence
in his face. He understood, and would not forget.
The night was now gathering around them. Fires had been started, and
every soul in the new settlement seemed to be busily engaged.
Already had the Armstrong tent been raised, and things were assuming
rather a cheery look around them. And, while they worked, many times
did the eyes of those pioneers wander down to the placid surface of
that broad and swift river, concerning which they had heard such
extravagant tales.
Supper was presently ready. It consisted of the simplest of fare, for
luxuries were utterly unknown among these early settlers along the
Ohio; but there was plenty and to spare, and their good wives knew how
to cook it in an appetizing manner.
Nor was the young Indian forgotten. He sat up and ate in silence.
Not one word did he speak to express any gratitude, save when he was
through, and ready to lie back again, at which time he gave a grunt,
and remarked:
"Ugh! good!"
"I guess he doesn't know much English," observed Sandy, chuckling.
"That may be," replied his brother; "but I've heard Pat say that these
Indians never tell what they think. I reckon he _feels_ it all right,
for I can see something in those snapping black eyes of his that tells
me so every time he looks at either of us."
"Yes, and you in particular, Bob," declared Sandy; "because he just
can't understand why you treat him so fine, when he expected to be
knocked on the head, like we do a lynx or a fox we find in our traps."
The customary precautions were taken that night to guard against a
surprise. The gloomy mysterious forest surrounded them on every side
save the river, and who could say what terrible perils it concealed?
Here roved fierce beasts of prey, the bear, the panther, and the wolf,
besides possibly other species of animals the nature of which they did
not know.
But still more to be feared ten times over were those dusky hordes of
savages, whose country they had invaded, if not with hostile intent, at
least meaning to take it for the use of the white man.
But there was no night alarm. Doubtless more than one among the women
trembled as she lay awake during that first night on the bank of the
Ohio, and listened to various sounds from the forest that might not
be familiar to her ears, and which her fears magnified into signals
exchanged between different parties of prowling Indians waiting for a
chance to attack the intruders.
But morning dawned, bright and rosy, and all was well.
Bob had slept close to where his patient lay on a spare blanket. He
entertained some anxiety lest Brady, or another of the same stripe,
might deem it a duty to creep up in the darkness and finish the wounded
Indian. Perhaps he did the man an injustice in suspecting anything of
the sort; but Bob had inherited his forefathers' Scotch caution.
All was soon animation. While the women prepared breakfast the hardy
men selected the sites upon which they expected to begin erecting their
future cabin homes.
The Armstrongs were able to retain possession of the spot which had so
pleased the boys, and David had even marked the dimensions of his new
home upon the rich soil; after which he took his axe and started to hew
down a tree that interfered with the raising of the cabin.
Every soul in camp had plenty to do that wonderful day. The men worked
early and late, assisting each other with the heavier labor of lifting
the logs, after they had been properly hewn to fit. Even Pat swung a
spare blade with more or less skill, for he intended to stay about
until he had seen his good friends snugly installed in their new home.
The wounded Indian seemed to be getting along splendidly. His was a
tough constitution, and able to withstand a shock that would have
easily been fatal to one less accustomed to privations and hardships.
He passed a few words with Bob now, though his accomplishments in the
line of English seemed limited. Indeed, it was a mystery where he had
ever picked up what he did know; though later on Bob discovered that
there had been a white woman taken prisoner by his tribe a year or
two previous, and that before she died from some fever she had taken
especial interest in young Blue Jacket, for some reason or other,
teaching him many things.
When again night closed around the new settlement there were a dozen
cabins in process of being erected. If the good work kept up, more than
one might have a roof completed by another sunset.
A feeling of contentment reigned. Every one seemed delighted with the
location, and expressed a feeling of gratitude toward Colonel Boone,
in that he had guided them to this place, rather than allowed them to
settle elsewhere further up the river.
And, when another day was spent, the Armstrong cabin was among the
three that had the roof completed, so that they could actually move
their belongings inside, and feel as though their period of pilgrimage
were at an end, since once more they had a place to call home.
Trust that wife and mother to quickly add the delicate little
touches that would give it the familiar air to which all of them were
accustomed. It was commodious enough to allow of the wounded Indian's
being carried within, which task was performed by the two boys,
assisted by David himself; and the little mother superintended the job
of making him comfortable.
He was improving rapidly, and Bob knew that it would not be many days
before his patient would be able to walk, for the wound had started to
heal in a magical way.
Though Blue Jacket said little, he watched all the while. Not a thing
went on but that those beady black eyes saw it.
"I wonder what he thinks of it all," Mrs. Armstrong said several times,
as she noticed how he followed her around with his gaze, while she was
engaged in some of her household duties.
"I only hope he appreciates what you are doing for him enough not to
bring any of his friends down on us some fine night," said David, who
was only half reconciled to this state of affairs, and had little use
for the copper-colored sons of the wilderness.
As the days passed on, and there was no alarm of any kind, the new
settlers found reason to hope that the Indians, having been taught a
severe lesson in that battle of the night, meant to leave them alone.
"Niver belave thot," said the wise O'Mara, when he heard this opinion
expressed, "they do be the most treacherous av varmints. 'Tis the lot
av thim wud lull yees to slape, an' then take yees be surprise. Watch
always, me friends! Kape wun eye open whin yees slape! An' niver, niver
go away from home widout a gun an' plenty av powder an' ball. Faith,
I wudn't giv sixpence for the life av the man as niglected the proper
precautions whin dalin' wid ridskins."
More than a whole week had now gone since the little company of daring
souls came to a halt in this chosen spot; and then, one morning, there
fell in the midst of the Armstrong family an unexpected shock that took
every one by surprise.
CHAPTER XV
THE SUDDEN PERIL
"OH! he's gone!"
Bob uttered these words one morning just after daybreak. Being the
first to awaken, he had thought to start the fire so that his mother
might prepare an early breakfast, since all of them were so full of
business.
For he and Sandy had planned to go into the woods that day, hoping to
secure a deer, since the stock of provisions was growing low.
"What ails you, Bob?" grunted Sandy, as he sat up on his blanket and
dug his knuckles into a pair of heavy eyes.
"Blue Jacket--he's disappeared!" exclaimed the other, still looking as
though he could not just grasp the fact that was so apparent.
Whereupon Sandy sprang up and stared at the corner where the wounded
Indian had been accustomed to lying. The blanket was there, but no Blue
Jacket!
"What can have happened to him, Bob?" exclaimed the younger boy,
staring at his brother. "You don't think that ugly Anthony Brady did
it? Oh! he surely could not have dragged him away to do him harm?"
"Well, hardly," said the wiser Bob, with a negative shake of the head;
"because you see, Sandy, I was sleeping not five feet away from him all
night, and you know I am not a hard sleeper. They couldn't have dragged
him away and I not know it."
"But what do you think happened?" queried the puzzled Sandy.
"Blue Jacket crept away while we slept. He believed he was well enough
to make the journey to his village home," Bob went on saying, just as
though he understood it all perfectly now.
"And without saying good-bye to any of us? Did you ever hear of such
ingratitude?" exclaimed the other, throwing up both hands in disgust.
"Wait. You do not know. Pat is still in the settlement, and we can ask
him what he thinks about it. Anyhow, Indians are queer fish. They never
do things the same way we do;" and Bob smiled at the angry look on his
brother's face.
"But if he wanted to go home why didn't he tell us, and say good-bye in
the right sort of way, instead of sneaking off like a sly mink!" Sandy
kept on saying.
"Listen, and I'll tell you what I think. You know what Mr. Brady said
about his meaning to shoot an Indian every time he saw one in the
woods! Blue Jacket heard that, and he must have understood what it
meant."
"Of course he did, for I saw him watching Mr. Brady," Sandy admitted.
"Well," said Bob, "you see, he believed that man was on the watch for
the time he would leave us. Now you and I understand Brady has changed
his mind a little about all Indians being bad. But Blue Jacket didn't
know that. No doubt he suspected that, if he went away in the daytime,
some one would slip after him and lay him low. And so he determined to
go while we were asleep. What do you think of my guess now, Sandy!"
"It sounds all right," declared Sandy, enthusiastically; "yes, I'd
wager a shilling that you have struck the truth, Bob. It takes you to
see through things. But here is father; let us put it up to him."
Mr. Armstrong, upon hearing what had happened, immediately declared
that the young Shawanee must have considered it the part of wisdom
to slip away unnoticed while the settlement was wrapped in peaceful
slumber.
"Go out and ask the sentinels whether any of them saw him," he said to
the two boys; "but I wager you will find that nobody knows the first
thing about him."
This proved to be the case, for, although the young pioneers made the
rounds of the men who had been on guard duty during the entire night,
in no quarter could they learn that a single flitting figure had really
been seen.
One man had believed he saw something, but reached the conclusion,
after an investigation, that it had only been a prowling raccoon or an
opossum, both of which animals were to be found in plenty near the new
settlement.
On the way back they ran across the genial Irish trapper. He was oiling
some of his traps, as though ready to put them away until another
season.
"The ridskin gone, is it, me byes?" he observed, after Sandy had told
him why they were going around asking questions. "Well, upon me honor
I'm not wan bit surprised, knowin' the sly ways av the animal so well.
But, by yer lave, I'll go wid yees till the home, an' say if the
ungrateful skunk had the good manners to lave a sign to till what he
thought."
So it was Pat's eyes that discovered something fastened to a crevice
between two of the logs, as yet unfilled by mud. It seemed to be a
bit of inner bark which Blue Jacket must have obtained possession of
recently, after he was able to limp around the interior of the new
cabin, and even venture outside a little way.
Upon this he had scratched various rude signs. To the ignorant boys
they looked like the crude work of a little child attempting to
draw a pig, and some other domestic animals; but with Pat O'Mara it
was different. Every little mark had a meaning of its own in his
experienced eyes, for he had seen much of this Indian picture writing.
"Sure, 'tis just what I thought, byes," he declared, as he scanned this
piece of bark with its cipher message. "He knowed wan av us min would
be able to rade this missage."
"But what does it say, Pat?" demanded the impatient Sandy.
"In so many worrds thin," began the other, wrinkling his brows, "that
he will niver, niver forgit what yees have done for him; and that
some day perhaps he may have a chanct to repay ye for it all. Begorra,
afther all the rid sarpint did have some falin' in him! I takes back
all I iver sed aginst the lad. Who knows but thot this may be the
interin' wedge whereby we may make a treaty av pace wid the bloody
Injuns?"
Both boys were sorry that Blue Jacket was gone. Bob in particular had
begun to feel quite drawn to the young Indian. Of late they had spent
considerable time trying to converse. The Shawanee had told him more or
less about his tribe, and in turn had learned that the motives of the
invading whites were not at all warlike, if they were only let alone.
The axes sounded through the livelong day, as the settlers continued
to clear away the woods which shut them in so closely. The further
the fringe of nearest trees could be moved back, the freer would they
breathe; for it seemed as though enemies must ever be lurking in the
gloomy depths of the dense forest.
Fish were taken from the river with the utmost ease, and furnished many
a fine meal, though many of them were of a species utterly unknown
to any of the settlers. Blue Jacket had said they were good to eat,
however, and so they had been found on testing them.
The cabins continued to arise, as it were, in a night. In this duty the
new settlers always assisted one another when the time came for the log
raising, since what was the interest of one must ever be the interest
of all.
As fast as the trees were cut down, the virgin soil was turned over,
rich as it was in valuable leaf mold, and some of the seeds, so
carefully hoarded during the long journey from their Virginia starting
place, were planted.
It was wonderful what rapid changes took place in that favored spot.
Every sunset saw new cabins being topped with such rude shingles as the
newcomers could hew from the timber which was so plentiful. No sooner
was a cabin finished than the fortunate family would move in. Little
they cared that there was not a piece of furniture awaiting them; and
that tables and seats would all have to be made. A sound roof over
their heads in case of storm was the main thing; besides, no doubt the
women naturally felt safer behind stout walls, rather than settled in
tents, or make-shift shelters of branches. They could not easily forget
the terrors of that awful night when the Indians had attacked the
camp, and looked eagerly forward to the day when the entire settlement
might have a strong blockhouse where all could find safety in case of
sudden need.
Then, by degrees, came the work of making things more comfortable for
the women. Nearly every man could use fairly well the primitive tools
of the day; and where this skill were lacking he might exchange his
abilities in some other line with a more accomplished neighbor, so that
the necessary deal table, and the benches, as well as bunks, or rude
beds, for sleeping, were secured.
Certain of the members of the little community were given other tasks.
Food had to be secured, and fortunately there was no lack, with the
adjacent river to supply plenty of fresh fish for the taking, and the
bountiful store of game awaiting the coming of the marksman.
Thus, in a very brief space of time, things began to take on a homelike
appearance. Outdoor cooking might still be indulged in to a great
extent; but there would also be times when the tempting venison roast
would again be made ready for the table by the turning of the familiar
spit over a fire of red ashes on the big hearth.
These hardy pioneers seldom had need of medicine, such was their active
life, and plain wholesome fare; nevertheless, every family always kept
a store of certain dried herbs used for fevers and other ailments. As
a rule accidents alone required medical care; but there was always
some woman in a settlement more highly favored than her companions in
knowledge of nursing; and to her they looked in times of need.
Many of their cooking utensils they made themselves out of clay, which
was baked after a rude fashion, just as the Indians did. These vessels,
while not very fine looking, answered most admirably the purposes to
which they were put, and many of them have been handed down to the
descendants of these early Ohio settlers, to be treasured with due
reverence.
Salt they could obtain readily enough. In Kentucky and Ohio in these
days there were what were called "salt licks," because deer and buffalo
frequented the places in order to gratify their longing for this almost
indispensable commodity. Here they were able to secure with little
effort whatever quantity of salt was needed.
Bob and Sandy were always on the lookout for such "licks." They knew
from Daniel Boone and O'Mara that, whenever they wanted deer, it was
simplest to hide close to one of these salt licks, and wait until buck
or doe came to gratify its craving; when they could usually secure
their game by a single shot.
It might seem rather hard that the poor deer should be taken advantage
of in this way; but these men of the border looked upon the stocking of
the limitless forest with various kinds of game as a wise provision of
Nature, intended primarily for their good while peopling the land, and
extending civilization westward toward that wonderful river of which
they never tired of talking, the Mississippi.
David Armstrong had considered the situation carefully before starting
from Virginia on this long journey. He also talked it over with Pat
O'Mara. Consequently he had utilized every bit of money he could lay
hands on to purchase certain articles which the Irish trapper assured
him could be traded to the friendly Indians for their precious pelts of
mink, fox, beaver, bear and other kinds of wild animals.
The French traders had, up to now, monopolized this business along the
frontier all the way from the great inland seas, of which so little
was known, down to the great province of Louisiana on the Gulf. They
understood that their day would soon be brought to an end once the
English invaded this vast territory; and consequently they were forever
endeavoring to arouse the savages against Daniel Boone and those other
hardy spirits who meant to chop out trails through the new country, and
found a race of English-speaking settlers.
Mr. Armstrong intended to become a trader. In this way he believed he
might earn enough to support his little family; especially since he had
two such industrious boys, who could do so much to help out by bringing
in game in season, tilling the little garden around the new home, and
making good use of the few rusty and cumbersome traps they had brought
all the way from Virginia.
In their hunts the boys had already learned that there was an
apparently endless supply of small fur-bearing animals among the
valleys within ten miles of their new home.
"Just think what great times we can have next winter," said Sandy, as
they prepared for another jaunt into the timber, and this subject was
brought up by the sight of Pat's rusty traps hanging from a peg on
the side of the inner wall; for Pat was now ready to take one of his
periodical lonely trips deeper into the unknown region further down the
great river.
Just then the Irish trapper himself came out from the inner room, where
he had been saying good-bye to their mother.
"Sure it's off I am, me byes," he observed, as he held out a hand to
each, while his humorous blue eyes twinkled as he strove to keep back
the tear which tried desperately to break loose. "Take good care av
yersilves, now. And whist, lads; until the spring rains do be comin' to
wit down the dead laves in the forest, it wud pay yees to be careful
how ye set a fire goin'. Wanst caught in a forest fire was enough for
me, thank ye."
"Why, of course we will, Pat," said Bob, shaking the honest hand of the
trapper warmly; "and we all hope you will be back this way before long."
"And if you run across Colonel Boone," remarked Sandy, "as I reckon you
mean to, tell him how glad we are to be here."
To all of which Pat promised faithfully; after which he shouldered
his long barrelled rifle, gave a hitch to his leather trousers, waved
his hand to Kate, who was looking out of the window, her pretty
face bedewed with tears, and then, whistling merrily to hide his own
emotion, he strode away.
A minute later he waved to them from the border of the dense woods;
then he was gone, and no one could say whether they would ever again
look upon the genial face of the happy Irish trapper. For his life was
one constant succession of perilous adventures amidst wild beasts and
even wilder human beings, so that he actually held his existence in the
hollow of his hand.
"Come on, let us make a start," said Sandy, as impatient as ever.
Presently the two lads found themselves tramping along through the
woods, on the alert for any game worth wasting precious powder and lead
upon.
It had been quite mild of late, but to-day the wind had veered back
into the old quarter where the ice king dwelt, and was growing
stronger all the time. To the young hunters, however, the air was only
invigorating, and gave tone to their efforts.
"Queer that we have seen nothing worth shooting up to now," remarked
Sandy, after they had been tramping a full hour. "What do you think is
the matter, Bob? Can the Indians be about, and have they frightened all
the deer and buffalo away?"
Bob shook his head.
"I was just wondering," he said, "if we made too much noise stalking
through all these dead leaves. Did you ever see such a thick mass? And
as dry as tinder, too. See, when the wind catches them up, how they
whirl like mad."
"Goodness!" remarked Sandy, remembering the caution of the trapper;
"wouldn't it just be awful if they caught fire? We must be miles away
from home, and could never reach it. What in the world would we do,
Bob?"
Then, as he glanced up at his brother when asking this question, he
discovered that Bob was standing there, sniffing the air suspiciously!
In the present excited condition of Sandy's nerves that, of course, was
enough to set him wild.
"What is it? You smell something--oh! Bob, please don't tell me that it
is smoke!" he exclaimed, his voice trembling with sudden alarm.
"That is just what I do smell," replied Bob, uneasily, though, seeing
the distress of his brother, he immediately tried to laugh it off.
"But perhaps it comes from some campfire started by the Indians. How do
we know but what we may be close to a village, since no one has ever
come this way before?"
"Now I get it," cried Sandy, "and, Bob, listen, what can that roaring
sound mean? Are we near the river, and is that a rapids of any sort?"
In spite of his bravery, and his desire not to frighten Sandy, Bob felt
that his face turned pale, for he knew instinctively what that strange
sound meant.
"Come, perhaps we had better turn around, and walk this way," he said,
suiting his action to the words.
"You know something, and you're trying to keep it from me, brother.
That isn't fair. Tell me the worst, Bob! That rushing sound up on the
wind--_does that mean the woods are on fire_?"
"That is just what it means, Sandy," said the other, "and we must run
like mad now!"
CHAPTER XVI
CHASED BY THE FLAMES
"BUT this way is not the way home, Bob!" expostulated the younger lad,
even as he clung close to the flying feet of his brother.
"True," Bob flung over his shoulder, while he ran on; "but it is away
from the fire, and that must be enough for us now. Can you go any
faster, Sandy?"
"I know what it is!" cried the other, his voice trembling under the
great strain; "you mean that the noise is getting louder all the while!
Then the fire must be gaining on us! We will be caught!"
"Oh! I do not say that," and Bob fell back a trifle so as to run
alongside his companion; "but it is certainly advancing very fast and
furiously. This wild wind whips it along much quicker than any man can
run."
"Look!" cried Sandy, suddenly, "what is that over yonder? Surely it is
a buffalo--two, three of them! And see how they gallop along, with
their heads lowered, and the hot steam pouring from their nostrils!"
"They smell the smoke and hear the noise," Bob replied, speaking in
jerks as he ran. "Perhaps they may never have seen a fire before, but
they know what it means. And there goes a stag! Look at the tremendous
leaps he is taking! No danger of his being caught by the flames!"
"Don't I wish we could run as fast! What a pair of horns for this time
of year!" said Sandy, who knew that it was the season when stags lose
their antlers, to be replaced with a new pair.
"Too bad we could not get one of those buffalo," observed Bob; "but it
would be wicked to kill the poor beast when we could never save the
meat. Let them live to another day."
"Yes, we have all we want to do now, trying to save ourselves," panted
Sandy, who was not his brother's equal in running, and was already
beginning to show evident signs of exhaustion.
Bob noticed this with increasing uneasiness.
"We can never get away by running," he declared, as he shortened his
pace; and Sandy hastened to do likewise, with evident relief.
"Would it do to climb high up in a tree?" the latter hazarded at a
venture.
"Not at all, for we should be smothered with the smoke, even if we
managed to keep from being cured like bacon. But I was thinking that
if only we could run across a hollow tree we might find refuge in it,"
said Bob, looking eagerly to the right and left.
Already the smoke, driven ahead of the flames, was beginning to make
objects indistinct around them. It burned their eyes, and caused a
shortness of breath that was a sample of what it might be when the full
force of the forest fire swept down upon them.
"But suppose the tree caught fire, and burned," said Sandy, in
bewilderment; "how could we save ourselves then?"
"You don't understand, Sandy," returned the other, quickly. "The trees
will hardly burn at this season of the year, being full of sap. This
fire is made up of all the dead leaves and ground stuff. It is fierce
while it lasts; but it burns out in a short time. All we need is some
shelter that can hold out against that wall of flame coming down on us."
Something in his brother's words caused Sandy to glance back just then.
What the alarmed lad saw was a terrifying spectacle indeed. The fire
was in sight, and coming on at headlong speed. The vast amount of dry
material waiting to be snatched up by the leaping tongues of flame
caused the fire to mount upward fully twenty feet in the air.
[Illustration: "THE FIRE WAS ... COMING ON AT HEADLONG SPEED."]
"It lies in both directions as far as I can see!" gasped Sandy,
surprised at the extent of the conflagration that menaced them.
"Yes. I knew it, and that was why we could not get beyond the end of
the line. That wind is something terrible. Look out for that herd of
deer, brother; they are heading straight for us, crazed with fear!"
Just in time did Bob whirl in his tracks and fire his gun, almost in
the faces of the onrushing group of maddened animals, and this action
caused them to veer, so that they passed by without doing injury.
"Oh! what a narrow escape!" cried Sandy, who had been almost paralyzed
by the nature of the sudden peril confronting them.
And now they saw all manner of frightened animals speeding away as fast
as their legs could carry them. Besides, a flock of wild turkeys sprang
up with a furious whirring of wings, and were gone like magic.
Partridges sailed past the two boys in coveys. Here a pair of red foxes
fairly flashed by, making incredible speed.
Everything seemed capable of getting out of the way of those greedy
flames save the two young pioneers. It appeared at times to poor,
impatient Sandy that they were having one of those ugly nightmares,
where one's feet are glued to the ground, and all the while the peril
plunges along toward the wretched dreamer.
"If we could only find a cave of any kind, it might keep us from
getting scorched!" ventured Sandy presently, though he found he had to
raise his voice considerably in order to be heard, so loud were those
terrible noises that accompanied the rush of the fire wall.
"But there are none around here, for I have been looking," answered Bob.
"I saw lots a while ago, all sorts of queer holes in the ground and
rocks. Oh! don't I wish we could find just one now!" cried the other.
"Ha! here is what we are looking for, a hollow tree trunk!" Bob
shouted, just at that moment, when hope had well nigh deserted poor
Sandy.
He dragged his brother over to the left, to where a rather large oak
stood.
"I just happened to look back, and saw the opening. The tree is hollow,
brother! Push in, and try to close the opening all you can, so as to
keep out the smoke!"
Almost before he knew what Bob was about, Sandy found himself shoved
through the rather narrow opening.
"But it is not big enough for two! We can never stay here, Bob. Help me
out!" for all at once the lad realized what his brother meant to do.
Did he not know only too well the self-sacrificing devotion of Bob? The
other meant that he should find possible safety in this snug retreat,
while he took chances of discovering another hole in which to burrow.
And if the fire rushed down upon him before this discovery could be
made, what then? There would be only one of them go back to the new
cabin in the clearing that looked out on the clear waters of the Ohio.
"Stay where you are, and do not move, on your life, or you will ruin
all! There is another hollow tree for me! Remember mother, and do what
I say!" And, giving Sandy a last push, Bob darted away.
Eagerly the boy, encased in the hollow tree, tried to follow his
brother with his smarting eyes; but the smoke was growing very dense as
well as pungent now, and he could hardly see at all for the tears that
blinded him. So, not daring to disobey that last injunction on the part
of Bob, whom he was accustomed to minding, he could only press his back
into the cleft, to shut out the choking smoke, and count the seconds as
they passed.
The fire was quickly all around him, and he could feel the fierce heat
of the burning leaves. Fear for his own safety was almost entirely lost
sight of in his anxiety concerning Bob. What if he had not been able to
find a hiding-place after all, and was exposed to the full fury of that
scorching blast!
The very thought made Sandy feel weak. He groaned in anguish, and, from
the very depths of his boyish heart, a prayer went up for the safety of
the brother whom he loved so well.
Meanwhile, what of Bob, who took his life in his hand, content to feel
assured that at the worst Sandy would be saved?
When Bob declared so vehemently that there was another hollow tree for
him near by he said that of which he was by no means certain. He did
this in order that Sandy might not push out from his refuge, and insist
on sharing his fate.
Of course he still had hopes that he might yet find some friendly
shelter from the flames; and, as he rushed along, his eyes sought every
tree he passed, hoping thus to discover an opening, into which he might
crowd himself, and bid the flames defiance.
But the precious seconds were passing, and, as yet, he had found no
shelter.
Twice had he caught sight of what seemed a chance; but upon rushing up
to the tree, his heart beating high with anticipation, it was only to
discover that the split was not nearly large enough to allow of the
passage of his body, and seconds were too valuable just then to dream
of trying to slash at the wood with his sharp hunting knife in the hope
of enlarging the opening.
Long before he could do this the threatening billow of fire must have
reached the spot, and passed over him, so, in despair, he rushed along,
his eyes now even scanning the ground for some log behind which he
might crawl.
"Oh!" cried Bob suddenly, as his glance caught a dark opening in a
half-dead tree trunk.
It was some little distance from the ground, possibly ten feet or more,
but as a few limbs remained on the decayed forest monarch, once blasted
by a wind-storm while in its prime, he believed he might readily
reach the friendly crevice ere the flames took hold upon his buckskin
garments.
Bob was almost exhausted from his violent exertions; but he certainly
gave no evidence of the fact, to judge from the way in which he ran to
that tree and commenced to clamber into the lower branches.
Burning leaves were already being swept past him on the breath of the
wind, to drop into new magazines of dry tinder, and start additional
fires ahead of the main blaze.
Madly did he climb upward, and never would he forget the sight that
met his eyes while making for that promised haven of refuge. As far as
he could see, both to the east and to the west, that bank of leaping
roaring flame held sway. Once Bob had been taken down to the sea
by his father, and he had never forgotten how the great waves came
sweeping resistlessly on, to break with a crash on the shore. So, in
his mind, appeared those onrolling billows of fire.
He could hardly breathe now. That was because of the heat and smoke
combined. A great fear possessed him that perhaps after he had reached
this dark cleft in the tree he might find it utterly impossible to push
his way past the guarding portals. In that case all was lost, and he
need not even mind dropping back to the ground, for the end would find
him where he was.
But at least that fear was quickly laid to rest.
"It's plenty big enough!" he cried aloud in his new delight, for the
opening was now only a couple of feet away from his hands.
After that all he had to do was to cram his body through the hole, and
find the shelter he craved.
"Hurrah!"
Somehow he could not help giving vent to that boyish shout at the
prospect of cheating the fire out of its anticipated prey, although
he really had little breath to spare just then. He even fixed it in
his mind just how he must first of all thrust his lower limbs through
the opening, and then allow himself to slide downwards, for he could
already see that the hole extended toward the earth.
It was not the first time Bob Armstrong found his nice little
calculations upset by circumstances utterly beyond his control. Perhaps
it would not be the last, either, since he expected to spend the major
portion of his life roving the wilderness, in search of game, and in
such labor as became a true pioneer.
Just as Bob reached the hole in the tree he became conscious of the
fact that the old stump was being violently agitated, as though some
one were climbing up below him. He even glanced down, filled with a
dread lest Sandy had after all disobeyed, and chased after him.
Then something else attracted his attention and he raised his eyes, to
make a most unpleasant discovery.
The hole in the tree was no longer vacant, but a bristling black head
and a pair of very frightened eyes met his startled gaze!
CHAPTER XVII
A STRANGE PRISON
THE bear looked at Bob; and Bob stared at the bear.
It was a mutual surprise, though on the whole, perhaps, the animal was
the more astonished, since up to this time he could not have had any
inkling of the tremendous things that were occurring so near his home.
He blinked his little eyes as the glare of the great conflagration
dazzled his vision; but at the same time there was not the faintest
indication that Mr. Bruin thought of dropping back into his snug
retreat.
Here was a pretty kettle of fish, with the bear wanting to come out,
and Bob just as set upon going in. Evidently there was a conflict of
opinions as to the proper thing to do when the forest took to blazing.
Bruin believed flight might serve him best; while the young pioneer
knew positively that in his case it would not answer at all.
Of course, when he first caught sight of that black muzzle, the boy
had given a low cry of alarm. Possibly Mr. Bear had never up to now
heard a human voice save, it might be, the war whoop of the red man. It
did not seem, however, to deter him in the least from trying to carry
out his original plan.
He began to move upward, and Bob could hear his sharp claws digging
into the interior of the stump, assisting his progress.
The situation needed prompt measures for relief. To drop down again to
the ground was not to be considered for a moment, since there was the
advancing fire to consider.
Fortunately Bob was a quick thinker, and often did things on the spur
of the moment, as though acting from intuition rather than after
deliberation and planning.
Let the bear come out, if that was his intention! Not for the whole
world would he offer the slightest objection to such a process, for he
wanted that snug den in the stump, and he wanted it more, apparently,
than the beast did.
At the same time a collision was not at all to his liking. He had his
gun strapped to his back, and was therefore in no condition to defend
himself.
The only way to avoid a meeting was to give the beast plenty of room.
Undoubtedly the bear was growing frantic with fear at sight of the
fire. Some inward sense told Bruin that the gravest danger of his whole
life now faced him, and, unable to understand that the safest course
would have been to drop back inside his fortress and let the hurricane
of fire sweep past, he was bent on fleeing before the gale.
Of course it would prove a fatal error of judgment for the animal, but
what was Bruin's loss might be Bob's gain.
Already his head and shoulders had issued from the hole, and he was
surging forward, intent on one thing, which was to quit his quarters as
speedily as his huge bulk would permit it.
Bob swung himself half way around the trunk of the tree. He found it
rather difficult to hang on, but, being tenacious by nature, and a good
climber, he clung desperately to what stubs of branches he found there.
Would the beast follow after him, bent on making an attack on the bold
two-legged enemy that had ventured to brazenly face him at the mouth of
his private castle?
Bob had little fear of this. He believed the bear was too much alarmed
by the unusual spectacle of the woods afire, and was seized with the
same sort of panic that had sent buffalo, stags, wolves, foxes and even
a gray panther bounding along to leeward as fast as their muscles could
drive them.
He knew when Bruin had managed to drag his entire bulk out from the
enclosure, for the scene was by this time as well lighted up as though
the sun shone through the eddying smoke clouds, only it was a red,
angry glare, peculiarly terrifying.
Yes, thank goodness, the beast was scurrying down the trunk of the old
tree as fast as he possibly could. Fright urged him on, and Bob could
not help adding to the situation by giving a shrill whoop.
"Thank you, sir; with your leave I will tumble into your late berth,"
he exclaimed, as he struggled to pass around the stump again, in order
to reach the opening.
Short as was the time consumed in doing this, when he reached the gap
in the trunk the bear had already tumbled to the ground. Bob heard the
beast give utterance to a subdued roar, as though some of the flying
leaves that were afire might have alighted on his hairy hide; then the
black beast galloped madly off, heading in a direct line away from the
approaching fire.
But well did Bob know that, unless Bruin had some near-by cave in mind
when he thus scampered off, the chances were ten to one he would roast
in the conflagration, since he could never hope to outstrip its onward
rush.
Bob did not stop to see anything more just then. The air was already
scorching, the smoke blinding, and there was danger lest his garments
take fire unless he speedily dropped out of reach of the flying leaves.
Of course there was only one way in which to properly enter that hole
in the old tree trunk. That was feet first, just as the original
proprietor of the den had been in the habit of doing.
Regardless of almost everything else save the fact that he was in a
tremendous hurry, the boy pushed his figure through the aperture. Since
there was nothing to which he could apply his moccasined toes, in order
to stay his downward movement, the consequence of haste was that Bob
took a quick passage to the very bottom of the tree trunk.
Beyond a few minor scratches, however, he did not think that he had
received any hurt, and such trifles were not to be considered, when he
had such a serious problem at stake as saving his life.
Looking upward he could see the opening, for through it glowed the
light of the conflagration. From this he was able to judge that the
aperture must be some five feet above his head.
There was ample room in the stump's interior for the boy to move
around, and, on the whole, he did not doubt but that it had formed
quite a pleasant den in which a bear could hibernate through the long
winter.
Already could he hear the roar of the flames all around him. Really,
the sound was rather terrifying, though he knew full well it would be
quickly over.
At least there was now no fear of the bear returning. That possibility
had worried Bob for a brief period, since it would be very inconvenient
to have had the singed animal dropping down upon him in that confined
space.
"Phew! but it's getting warm in here!" he could not help exclaiming,
as the perspiration began to ooze from his pores, and he found himself
actually panting for breath.
He judged that by now he was in the worst of the fire. This meant that
it would have swept past the tree in another couple of minutes, and
after that the heat must gradually decrease.
Yes, already he felt sure that the loud roaring was growing sensibly
less. The wave of fire had passed on, snatching up new supplies of dry
fuel as it rushed along its way on the teeth of the wind.
More than once his thoughts had gone out to Sandy.
"Oh! I hope he stayed where I put him, and that all is well," he kept
repeating to himself, as he sweltered in his hot oven.
Surely it ought to be getting much more comfortable by now; and yet Bob
could not positively say that he felt any cooling influence.
Perhaps he would be wise to climb upward toward the exit, ready to
thrust his head out, and see how the land lay. No sooner had this idea
flashed upon him than he started to carry it out, only to make a very
unpleasant discovery.
He groped around him, seeking to find some projection that would give a
grip or a foothold, but only to meet with grievous disappointment.
"Why, what shall I do?" he cried aloud, in his sudden chagrin. "The
inside of this old tree is as smooth as an otter slide! And I have no
claws, like the bear, to help me climb up!"
He tried pushing his back against one side of the hollow, while with
his knees and hands he pressed against the opposite wall. It was a
favorite trick which Bob had carried out successfully on more than one
occasion. Somehow it did not seem to work now.
Whether in his excitement he failed to take advantage of every little
gain, or because the bear in his frequent passage up and down had
polished the chute so that it was impossible for the boy to hold on,
was a question Bob never found himself fully qualified to answer.
All he knew was that three times he managed to get up a little
distance, only to suddenly slide down again and land in a heap at the
bottom.
His failures were discouraging, to say the least. The worst of it all
was that there did not seem to be any hope that, even given time, he
could manage to accomplish the task, unless he took out his knife and
deliberately hacked notches in the sides of his prison upon which he
could rest his toes.
That would take hours of time; and meanwhile what of Sandy?
"I'll give it another try," he muttered, loth to confess himself
beaten, "and then, if I fail to make it, something else must be done,
for out of this I'm going to get, by hook or by crook!"
This time he took particular pains in his movements. Inch by inch he
kept advancing by that shuffling movement that always pushed his figure
away from the ground.
Hope even began to find a lodgment in his breast, for the bottom of the
aperture seemed now within a foot of his reach, and, once let him get a
grip on that, he could count the battle won.
Then again there came a miscalculation, a trifling slip that upset his
gravity, and once more poor Bob went plunging down to the bottom, worse
off than ever.
He actually grunted and groaned as he sat there, feeling to see if he
had received any more damage than a few bruises from this heavy fall.
And, strange to say, his back seemed to trouble him more than any other
part of his body.
"Feels as if I had started to roast along my spine," he said, as he
found his buckskin tunic exceedingly hot when he laid a hand on it.
Then, all at once, the truth burst upon him.
"The old stump is afire! That's what that flashing means I saw through
the opening! Why, I may be roasted here after all! What can I do?" he
asked himself, once more struggling to his feet, and forgetting all his
minor injuries as he contemplated this serious condition.
To find out if his suspicion were true he started placing his hand at
various spots along the inside of the tree trunk, and, from the intense
heat, he found little hope that he had made a mistake.
Was it worth while trying again to mount upward? Could he dig his toes
into the smooth walls with enough vigor to sustain his weight? Four
failures rather dampened his ardor along this line.
His groping hand came in contact with his musket, which he had thrown
aside on first finding himself caged in this trap. It had been leaning
against the side of his prison all the while. To fire it would be
useless, for who was there to come to his assistance?
Suppose he managed to climb up again as far as on the last disastrous
occasion, could he get any support by placing the butt of the gun
upward, as a rest for one foot?
It was a last desperate resort, and poor Bob shuddered at pressing his
already tortured back against that heated wooden funnel. If there were
only some other way by which he might hope to gain the outer air, how
gladly would he welcome it!
Just then he noticed something--he had really seen it before, but paid
little attention to the fact, being wholly taken up with the idea of
reaching the hole above.
And, while this new sight did not seem to hold out any positive chances
for an escape from his burning prison, Bob believed that it might be
worth throwing all his last efforts into this new channel.
CHAPTER XVIII
AFTER THE FOREST FIRE
THE old tree trunk was slowly giving way to the demands of Nature. It
had a split up and down one side, where doubtless the wood was rotting
away. Bob could see out of it--see the gray, smoky landscape, still
lighted by flashes of fire. During the progress of the fire he had even
watched the roaring whirlwind sweep past; and then forgotten all about
this crevice in his mad desire to climb up to the hole that served as
the bear's exit.
The thought that came to him was this--that perhaps with the aid of his
sharp hunting knife, and a set determination to bring about results,
he might manage to enlarge this narrow opening enough to admit of his
bursting forth!
He did not lose another second in wondering whether it could be done.
There was absolutely nothing else for him to try, if he hoped to keep
from being slowly suffocated in that prison cell. He could do it, he
_must_ do it!
When he set to work, he found at once that the wood was inclined to be
soft and wormy, especially close to the crack. Time had overcome the
hardness of the oak, and under his vigorous assault it fairly crumbled
away in sections.
After what may have been a minute's labor but which seemed much longer,
Bob was able to thrust his whole arm through the cleft he had made.
At that rate he would soon be free. The very thought gave him new
energy, and he went at the task even more fiercely than before. But
somehow his rate of progress did not seem to increase in proportion to
the extra vim he threw into the work.
Evidently the deeper he cut, the harder the wood became. It was decayed
only along the crevice!
Realizing this, he now turned his attention to the other side, and for
a brief time all went smoothly, progress being rapid. Now he could even
thrust a leg out of his cell. Twice that dimension, and the gap would
be large enough to admit of the passage of his entire body.
But surely it was getting much hotter inside the stump. The fire had
taken hold in earnest. He believed that the flames must be curling
around the old tree, and mounting upward while they fed upon the dead
wood.
It mattered not just then that his hand grew sore from constant
friction with the rough buck-horn handle of his knife. Such little
things could not count when everything depended on his making a success
of his effort.
Just then Bob needed all the encouragement he could find. He realized
this, and to try and cheer up his drooping spirits he started talking
to himself while he worked, even laughing from time to time.
It encouraged him, and could do no harm.
"That was a good slice, Bob!" he went on, just as though it might be
his mother speaking, "Keep it up, my boy! You're just bound to break
out of this smoke-stack soon! Nothing can stop you, now you've got
started in the right direction. Hey! almost dropped my knife outside
that time. Gracious! what if it had gone beyond my reach! You must be
more careful after this, Robert, my lad!"
He sliced away, and the opening grew wider; but, oh! how slowly its
dimensions increased, and how much hotter did the air seem all around
him!
Was it fated that he should be smothered here, suffocated by the
pungent smoke that caught his breath, and seemed to choke him? He would
not allow himself to give way to even the thought of such a horrible
thing.
"Sure you will get through, Bob!" he shouted, as he kept working away
with every atom of strength. "Why, the hole must be mighty near big
enough now for you to slip through. Sandy could do it, I know, and I'm
not much stouter than he. Just hold out a little longer, boy! Keep at
it, and success must come."
His knife was no longer keen, since its working edge had been worn away
against the tough wood; but, under the efforts Bob put into his work,
it still sliced off shavings with every downward movement.
He thrust his head forward, more in the desire to suck in some of the
outer air than because he expected to be able to pass it through the
opening.
A thrill shook his whole frame when he found that he could thus thrust
his head completely out of the prison cell. Seized with a new hope he
began wriggling his body sideways, his right shoulder first of all
being pushed through.
And though it proved a tremendous task, and a tight fit, Bob managed
to press completely through the narrow aperture! He fell in a heap on
the ground, almost done for, yet with a feeling of thanksgiving. And
his second thought was of that mother who he knew full well would be
heartbroken should anything happen to either Sandy or himself.
Although Bob had apparently collapsed after bursting out from his
strange prison, he did not long remain there on the earth.
"I must be up and doing," he cried, as he struggled to gain his feet.
There was Sandy to think of, and, besides, it was quite too hot so
close to the burning stump. How he longed for a cool drink to moisten
his parched throat!
"My gun! I could not think of leaving that behind!" he exclaimed,
turning back once more, after starting to leave the scene of his
singular adventure.
Throwing himself down on the ground, he pushed close up to the tree and
inserted his arm, groping in the quarter where he remembered his musket
had last stood. At first he failed to touch it.
"Why, that's odd," he exclaimed, dismayed at the idea of losing his
precious weapon, for another could not probably have been obtained in
its place for long, weary months.
Perhaps, after all, it happened to be just out of reach of his fingers.
Thinking thus, Bob snatched up a piece of wood that had escaped the
ground conflagration. It was about a foot or so in length, and afforded
him the assistance he needed.
"There it is, if I can only start it coming this way!" he observed,
still imbibing renewed courage from his habit of talking to himself.
It proved that he could readily manage to move the heavy gun; and
almost immediately his eager fingers were clutching the butt of the
musket.
"Now, after all, I'm little the worse off for it all," declared Bob,
as he hastened to scramble further away from the pillar of fire before
rising to his feet; "and the next thing is--Sandy!"
He seemed to feel a sudden sinking in the region of his heart just
at thought of his brother, and yet, if the boy had followed his
instructions to the letter, surely no ill could have overwhelmed him.
"That tree was sounder than the one where the bear had his den," he
kept muttering to himself as he hurried along over the blackened
ground in the direction where he believed he must find the hollow oak
given over to Sandy; "and after it was all over he could come out much
easier than I did. But why have I not heard his signal call? Would he
not follow after the fire, seeking some sign of me?"
Bob had just come through a very extraordinary adventure, for some time
his life had actually hung in the balance; but he quickly forgot all
about this in the new anxiety about his brother.
More than once he had to cast about him to be sure that he was heading
the right way. Somehow, since the fire had burned over the ground,
eating up the masses of dead leaves and other inflammable growths,
things did not look the same as before.
"But the wind came down from the north," he kept saying, as he pushed
doggedly on over the smoking ground; "and that is the way I'm going
back now. Only, I seem to be in a new part of the forest, things look
so different. But hold on, Bob, there's that cross formed by two trees
that fell toward each other. I remember that plainly, and it was just
after I left Sandy, too."
Now he was sure that the hollow tree must be somewhere close by. He
raised his voice, and called the name of his brother.
"Sandy! Hello! where are you?"
Through the desolate forest, with its blackened carpet, the sound of
his voice came back to mock him. Nothing else responded to his hail.
Louder than before he shouted, but there was no answering call. Bob
again felt that terrible chill in the region of his heart. A brief time
before, and he had been apparently burning up; now he was shivering.
"There it is!" he suddenly cried, as he happened to let his wandering
gaze fall upon a tree that seemed to have a gap in its side.
He hurried forward. Even as he advanced other familiar things greeted
him, so that his last lingering doubt vanished.
"It's the tree, surely," he muttered, straining his eyes to see within,
and almost holding his very breath lest he discover a motionless figure
in the cavity.
But it was empty!
At least Sandy had not been smothered by the dense smoke; he must have
left his retreat.
"Oh! I hope he stayed here until the worst was over!" was the cry that
burst from the boy, as he stood there, staring into the empty _cache_,
which he had intended to be a means of life-saving to his brother.
He turned and looked around. There did not seem to be a living thing in
sight. Animals and birds had all been driven away by the fire, which
was doubtless still rushing through the woods far to the south.
Was it worth while to call out again? Surely if Sandy had been within
half a mile of him he must have heard that last shout!
Puzzled, and sorely distressed, Bob hardly knew what to do. He even
looked again into the hollow tree, as though in that way he might
receive an answer to his question as to what had become of his brother.
And he did.
For, when he looked down, he saw that there had gathered quite a
quantity of dead wood within the cavity. It had not dried out since the
last rain, some time before, which must have driven into the cleft. And
plainly he could see marks there that must have been made by Sandy!
This gave him an idea, and he wondered why he had not thought of it
before. Of what use was his forest training if he could not ascertain
whether Sandy had issued from the tree before, or after, the fire?
Down he dropped on his hands and knees. The very first thing he
discovered was the positive impression made by one of his brother's new
moccasins, given to him by Colonel Boone before the great hunter had
said good-bye.
It was plainly made after the fire had passed, of that Bob felt
certain; and the fact gave him the keenest of pleasure, since it
assured him of Sandy's having passed through the siege unharmed.
But why had he not answered his shouts? Where could he have wandered
to, that he failed to hear a far-reaching hail, such as the strong
lungs of his brother had sent sounding through the forest?
Bob began to follow the footprints. At least Sandy must have intended
to seek him, for he had commenced to chase _after_ the fire.
"Oh!" gasped the boy, suddenly coming to a stop, and gazing in alarm at
some new marks that met his eyes.
They were also moccasin tracks! More than that, they seemed to mingle
with the smaller ones made by Sandy. Bob bent closer, his heart
seeming to leap into his throat as a dreadful fear clutched him.
One thing he noted that gave him this new chill--every one of the new
footprints _toed in_! He knew what this signified. White men seldom
tread that way, but it is the universal custom of Indians to walk after
the fashion called "pigeon-toe" as nature undoubtedly intended should
be done.
Then Indians had been here,--after the fire, too; and poor Sandy must
have fallen into their hands!
CHAPTER XIX
CAPTURED BY THE SHAWANEES
"GLORY! but that was a hot time!"
Sandy thrust his head out of the hollow tree as he gasped these words.
The fire had swept past as he crouched there, trying to hold his
breath, and wondering if it would reach into the aperture and seize
hold of his garments.
And now it was gone. He could hardly believe the truth, and that he had
really escaped without any injury. Down the wind he could see the angry
glow that marked the fire line. Here and there little blazes still
remained, where a winrow of the dead leaves had offered fat pickings
for the flames. And smoke curled up everywhere, sickening smoke that
made the eyes smart.
"But what of Bob?"
That was the chief thought that surged through the mind of the boy as
he crouched there inside his refuge and stared out at the strange scene.
"Oh! what if he did not find a place to hide? What if he was caught in
the open? I can stand this suspense no longer. I _must_ know the worst!"
As he said this with a quavering voice, he issued from the tree. The
earth was still hot after its recent burning; but, by picking his
way, Sandy believed that he might find it possible to walk on in the
direction the fire had swept along.
He called to Bob as he moved. Once his heart seemed to leap into his
mouth, for he thought he saw something move ahead; but, though he
turned a little aside so as to advance that way, he failed to see it
again.
Then he stopped to consider. Was it wise for him to wander off in
this manner, without a definite plan? Had not Bob told him to stay
where he was until he came? He might get lost, and only add to their
troubles. Yes, perhaps he had better restrain his impatience, and wait
a reasonable time to see whether Bob would not show himself.
It was while he stood thus, close to an unusually large tree, that
something came to pass, possibly the very last thing in all the world
Sandy was thinking about.
A pair of muscular bronzed arms suddenly closed about the boy.
Struggling hard, and twisting his head back, he found to his horror
that he was looking into the painted face of an Indian warrior.
[Illustration: "A PAIR OF MUSCULAR BRONZED ARMS SUDDENLY CLOSED ABOUT
THE BOY."]
Then he heard the brave give vent to a screech, which must have been
some sort of signal, for immediately three other feathered heads popped
into view, one of them from behind the very tree where Sandy had
believed he saw something move.
In vain the boy struggled with all his might; his strength was not
equal to that of the man who held him, and, when the four ugly looking
red men had gathered around him, the nearest snatched his musket away.
"Ugh!" grunted his captor, suddenly releasing his arms.
Sandy stood there in their midst, white and alarmed, but trying to
summon all his resolution. And, indeed, if ever the boy needed his
courage it was at that moment, when he realized that he was alone and
powerless in the hands of the hostile Shawanees.
Would they proceed to kill him then and there? He had heard terrible
stories about the cruelty of these copper-colored sons of the
wilderness.
Now they were jabbering away in an unknown tongue. Occasionally they
would point at him, as though he must be the subject of their talk, as
he had no doubt was the case.
"Oh! I wonder if they really mean to do it," was what Sandy was saying
to himself, as he listened to the vigorous language, which to him was
utterly without sense, although he felt sure that Colonel Boone could
have understood every word of it.
Then he saw one fellow, who seemed to scowl, fingering his tomahawk in
a suggestive manner that made Sandy's very blood run cold.
Thinking he saw a chance to bolt, the boy suddenly sprinted off. But
ere he had gone twenty feet his arm was clutched in a dusky hand, and
his flight brought to a halt.
At least one of his captors could speak some English, and he shook his
knife in Sandy's face:
"No run--paleface boy try more, we kill!"
Sandy managed to pluck up a little fresh hope. From what the painted
brave said, if he tried again to escape they would do something
desperate. Did that mean they would let him live if he gave in, and
allowed himself to be made a prisoner?
The man who gripped him held his hands behind, while another secured
his wrists together with buckskin thongs. That looked as though they
meant to take him along with them, perhaps to their village.
And so presently Sandy found himself marching along over the blackened
ground, hedged in by a quartette of vicious looking Indians.
They paid little attention to him, though if at any time he seemed to
slacken his pace, which was a jog-trot, such as Indians can keep up
all day, he received, as a gentle reminder that he was to put on fresh
speed, a dig in the ribs from one of those in the rear.
Sandy never forgot that little excursion. While he may not have covered
a great many miles, his spirits were so low that it seemed the most
miserable period of his whole life.
What had happened to Bob? That was the burden of his thoughts. He even
found himself wondering whether his brother could have fallen in with
these red men, and met with disaster. Then he noticed that one of the
four carried a gun, and that it was such a weapon as the French traders
used in dealing with the Indians, and not a staunch musket like the
English possessed.
If Bob had escaped both the peril of the fire and that of the Indians,
would he discover what had happened to his brother and carry the news
home?
By degrees they had edged away from the burned tract. The wind had died
out, and finally, after crossing a line of flickering flames that was
making but poor progress, Sandy discovered that they no longer walked
through blackened stuff, but upon leaves that had not felt the touch of
fire.
"Why, there must have been a shower over this way," he said to himself,
noticing that the ground seemed wet; and that was exactly what had
happened.
He heard his captors exchanging remarks again, and from their manner
guessed that the end of their pilgrimage must be close at hand.
"Perhaps it is a village they are taking me to," he said, remembering
what he had heard from Blue Jacket.
Surely that was a dog barking somewhere ahead. Did the Indians have
dogs? Yes, he remembered that this was so. Blue Jacket had told him how
they had been bred from wolves, that long ago had been taken captive,
so that they still possessed many of the savage traits that had marked
their ancestors.
And then as they pushed out of the forest he suddenly set eyes on the
Shawanee village. It stood on the bank of a small stream, no doubt a
tributary to the great Ohio. There were scores of skin lodges, each one
gaudily painted with rude scenes representing some stirring incidents
in the lives of the braves who owned them.
In spite of the distressing condition in which he found himself placed,
Sandy could not help feeling interested in the strange spectacle, for
never before had he so much as looked upon a genuine Indian wigwam.
He was not allowed to enjoy it long, however. As soon as the news that
a prisoner had been brought in was circulated among the dusky occupants
of the lodges, the utmost confusion abounded.
Braves came thronging out to meet the returning warriors, squaws
chattering, papooses squalling, and even half-naked youngsters adding
to the clamor.
Poor Sandy was pinched and poked and pushed about at the hands of the
throng until he really feared for his life. Angry looks were cast upon
him. Apparently there had been braves who had gone forth from this
village upon the warpath to return no more. They seemed to want to vent
their anger upon the head of the white boy who had fallen into their
hands.
Sandy was glad when they thrust him inside a lodge. So roughly was this
done that the boy, rendered partly helpless by his bonds, reeled and
fell on his face on the ground. Fortunately, however, the earth proved
yielding, so that he was not seriously injured.
Struggling to a sitting position, he tried to bolster up his courage
by remembering all that he had ever heard about Indian villages from
Pat O'Mara, and also from Daniel Boone himself, during that day's tramp
through the forest.
"And they said that these redskins like to burn their prisoners at the
stake," Sandy whispered to himself, as he shook his head dolefully.
"Oh! I hope they will never try that! I'm sure that was roast enough
for me in that old tree. Perhaps now that old hag means to adopt me.
She acted like it, when she threw her wrinkled arms around me, and
jabbered so. And Colonel Boone told me how he was adopted into an
Indian tribe, not long ago. She is a horrible looking old squaw; but
better be made her son than--the other thing!"
The day slowly died, and Sandy looked to the coming of night with new
terror. He could not exactly remember whether it was in the evening or
the morning that the Indians always burned their prisoners.
"It would make some difference if I only knew," he said, with hope
still fluttering in his boyish heart.
He had some difficulty in creeping to the entrance of the lodge, but
was determined to peep out again and see if there were any grim signs,
such as the planting of a stake or the gathering of brush.
"I can see nothing out of the way," he muttered, after carefully
looking as well as the circumstances allowed.
Fires had been lighted, and the squaws seemed to be getting a meal
ready, though, from what he had heard, Sandy understood that the red
men have really no set time for eating, like their paleface brothers;
simply waiting until they are hungry, and then satisfying the demands
of nature with food.
It was a scene of bustle, with many dusky figures flitting about the
fires.
"I wonder if I could manage to get away from here, in case I got my
hands free?" Sandy was saying; but almost immediately he discovered
that close by was a squatting figure, evidently a guard, for he held
a gun in his hands and seemed to be intently watching the head of the
prisoner.
So Sandy with a sigh drew back and waited for something to turn up. He
was a most disconsolate figure as he crouched there, anticipating the
worst; yet, while thinking of home and mother, trying to hope for the
best.
Then suddenly he started. Surely that was not the voice of an Indian he
heard! Again he scrambled to the opening and thrust out his head.
A neighboring fire lighted up the scene. It was of unusual size, and
the boy immediately conceived the idea that the Indians meant to
hold some sort of council, perhaps to decide his fate, for many were
gathering around, with braves in the middle, and the squaws and boys on
the outer fringe.
And standing close by, in earnest conversation with one who seemed to
be something of a chief, was a man in buckskin, a white man at that.
At first Sandy felt a quick pulsation of fierce joy. Just to see a
white man among all these dusky sons of the wilderness seemed to give
him fresh courage.
Then a spasm of chagrin passed over him, for he had remembered the
stories told by Daniel Boone of those renegades, such as Simon Girty,
who had turned their hand against their kind, and fought side by side
with the savages, more cruel even than the Indians they had taken to be
their brothers.
"But no, he must be a French trader," he said immediately, as he
listened to the voice of the man in buckskin; "like that Jacques Larue
we met when we stopped at Will's Creek on the way from Virginia. It is
the same! Yes, now I can see his face plainly. Oh! I wonder if he would
help me get away!"
Filled with this newly-awakened hope the boy prisoner lifted his voice
and called out:
"Monsieur Larue! oh! come this way, if you please!"
CHAPTER XX
THE COUNCIL FIRE
"WHO calls me?" exclaimed the French trader, looking around him in some
surprise.
Evidently, although he must have known that the Indians had a prisoner,
whose fate was to be decided at the council that was even then
gathering, he could never have dreamed, up to now, that it was any one
who knew him.
"This way, please, monsieur. I am here in the lodge! Just to your
right; now, if you look down you will see me!" cried Sandy, eagerly,
though, if asked, he could not have told just why he fancied the
Frenchman would assist him in the least.
"Sacre! what haf we here? A young Eenglish viper, it seems. Ha! and
surely ve haf before now met! Is it not so?" said the trader, as by the
light of the council fire he saw Sandy's face.
"Oh! yes, it was at Will's Creek. You remember we came into the place
just before you left there, monsieur? You asked my father ever so
many questions about what his business was. I am Sandy Armstrong, the
youngest of his boys."
"So, zat ees the vay ze vind blows? You belong to zat Eenglish colony
zat mean to cheat honest men out of zere bread and butter. Worst of
all, you own to being ze son of ze very man who would take away our
trade with ze red men! Ho! Sandy Armstrong, say you? A very good
evening to you, Sandy. It ees quite varm, but perhaps not yet so varm
as it may be, eh?"
The words were filled with much more of bitterness than seemed possible
on the surface. Although he had not yet appealed to the trader for
assistance, Sandy understood that no matter what he said, it would
never touch the stony heart of the Frenchman. Jacques Larue was one of
those frontiersmen who, having spent much of their lives amid scenes of
turmoil and violence, could not listen to a plea for mercy, especially
when uttered in an English voice.
"But I am a prisoner here, and these Indians may mean to put me to
death?" the boy went on, making a last effort to touch the trader.
With a shrug of the shoulders the indifferent Frenchman answered back:
"Zat would be a great pity--for ze muzzer. But what would you haf me
do? Zese Indians haf been my good friends. Zey haf lost many of zere
best braves in zat battle with your people. It is ze habit of ze red
men to put prisoners to ze death. I am sorry for you, boy; but my
business it ees too valuable to reesk it by offending zese friends. So
again, I bid you ze good evening, young Armstrong."
Trembling with indignation, Sandy cast discretion to the winds.
"Yes, I know why you will not lift a finger to try and save me!" he
cried aloud; "you hate my father just because he expects to trade
honestly with the friendly Indians. I have heard Colonel Boone speak of
you and your breed. You set the redskins against the English--you fill
them with firewater, and start them out on the warpath, to burn and
murder. You are like a snake in the grass, Jacques Larue. And some day
the rifle of a true borderer like Boone will lay you low!"
The Frenchman could hardly believe his ears. For a mere youth to brave
him thus to his face staggered him. He took a step toward the lodge,
and half raised his arm as though tempted to strike the boy.
"Yes, that would be just like a man of your stripe, Monsieur Larue.
Helpless, a prisoner, and with my hands tied behind my back, hit me if
it please you!" dared the impetuous lad, not even deigning to move back
into the recesses of his lodge.
"Sacre! I forgot!" muttered the Frenchman, bringing himself up with a
round turn; and, whirling on his heel, he strode off toward the circle
of braves.
Presently several warriors were dispatched to convey the captive to the
council ring. One of them Sandy recognized as the fellow who had spoken
a few words of English at the time of his capture.
"Cut my hands loose," he pleaded, backing up to this brave in a
suggestive manner. "Surely you need not be afraid of my running away.
But my arms are so tired of being cramped in this way. Use your knife,
Mr. Eagle Feather!" for, though he had no idea of what the name of the
brave might be, he recognized the three feathers in his scalp-lock as
belonging to the king of birds.
"Ugh! paleface boy say true. No danger run away!" and with the words
the other drew his knife, the same with which he had once threatened
Sandy, across the stout buckskin thongs.
"That feels better; and thank you for it," observed the boy, with a
nod, as his hands fell apart, and he could chafe his numb wrists into a
state of feeling.
"Ugh! paleface boy much brave! Tell Swift Bullet him fool! Ugh!" said
the warrior, as he took hold of Sandy's right arm, a companion leading
him on the left.
From these few words the boy understood, first, that the French trader
must go by the name of Swift Bullet among the Shawanees; second, that
the brave had heard all that had just passed between them; and, last
of all, that possibly he did not chance to bear the best of feelings
toward the French trader, since he evidently admired the stripling who
dared defy Larue.
When he found himself in the midst of that great throng Sandy's heart
misgave him. Every face around the triple circle of braves looked dark
and forbidding. In fact, aside from this single warrior who had helped
capture him, he did not seem to have a single friend in the village.
The French trader was present, sitting cross-legged beside the head
chief. He smiled most of the time, as though simply amused at what was
going on. Evidently Jacques Larue cared precious little whether the
council decided upon the death of the young English pioneer or not. He
looked upon all such as a breed of vipers, to be treated with scant
ceremony whenever encountered.
Of course Sandy could not understand what was said, so far as words
went; but there was no mistaking the gestures of the speakers, some of
which were passionate and striking. They were calling for his blood!
Those who had fallen in battle must be avenged. Boy or not, he belonged
to the hated English, and was not their country, given to them by the
Great Spirit, being invaded by these bold compatriots of Boone and
Harrod?
Those very names were mentioned, and by Indian lips. Somehow, in his
great extremity, the imperilled lad seemed to draw new inspiration from
just hearing that magical name of Boone. He noted that every time the
chief uttered it there was an uneasy movement that passed through,
the entire assemblage; while many a head was half turned, as though a
sudden fear had sprung into being lest the famous borderer make his
appearance there before them, demanding that the prisoner be released.
What manner of man could this be, that even the mention of his name
should cause a shiver to pass through an Indian council?
"I believe they're going to do it!" Sandy whispered to himself, when he
saw how still more threatening looks were cast upon him.
Then came the medicine man, dressed in most fantastic garb, and wearing
a head of a bear, that had attached to it the horns of a buffalo. Into
the circle he danced, waving his hands, and crooning some weird song
that seemed to hold his hearers entranced, though to Sandy it sounded
like the worst gibberish he had ever heard.
But soon he, too, was following the movements of the old charmer with
deepest anxiety; for it became impressed upon his mind that, after all,
much depended on what he might decide. The medicine man was believed
to be in direct communication with the Great Spirit, and could, after
certain incantations, learn what the will of the Manitou might be.
If he said that the prisoner must be burned, nothing could save Sandy.
On the contrary, should the medicine man declare that the voice of
Manitou declared that some other fate be meted out to the paleface
captive, his word was law.
Just then Sandy had his attention called to a movement in another
quarter.
"Oh! there is the old squaw who hugged me!" he exclaimed, almost
holding his breath in suspense; "and she seems to be wanting to jump
forward when the right time comes. All may not be lost. Perhaps I could
never love her; but I'd be grateful if she saved my life!"
Once the boy had been seized with a sudden hope, and had eagerly
scanned each and every face in all that triple circle.
"No, he is not here," he muttered in a disappointed tone; "perhaps he
never got back home. Perhaps his wound broke out again, and he fell by
the way! Such hard luck!"
He was thinking of Blue Jacket, the young brave whom he and Bob had
nursed back from the border of the grave. But Blue Jacket was certainly
not there; or, if so, realizing his inability to help his young white
friend, he kept his face hidden in his blanket of buffalo skin.
And now the dancing medicine man's movements grew more rapid. He
whirled his arms more violently above his head, and the various metal
ornaments which were hung about his person jangled not unmusically,
adding to the weird aspect of the scene.
Apparently he had reached a point where he was about to launch his
decision at the waiting warriors. Just then the harsh voice of a squaw
was heard, and the old woman whom Sandy had noticed jumped into the
ring, speaking eagerly, and making all sorts of impressive gestures
with her talon-like hands.
The prisoner shuddered as he gazed; but something like gratitude
entered his heart. Repulsive as she appeared, the old squaw was trying
to save his life!
He watched the actions of the medicine man closely, as though he could
tell in that way whether the request of the bereaved squaw would be
granted, and the prisoner turned over to her to take the place of the
son who would never again bring home to her lodge a share of the spoils
of the hunt.
Then the boy's very heart seemed to turn cold. Something about the
manner of the entire assemblage seemed to say that the sentiment of
the council was adverse. And doubtless the wily old medicine man
usually gave the answer just as he saw it expressed on the faces of the
warriors!
They would condemn the prisoner, then, to be put to death! Brave lad
though Sandy had shown himself on more than one occasion, he might
easily be pardoned for experiencing a cold chill when the truth broke
upon him.
He seemed to feel a choking sensation in his throat, as though he could
hardly breathe. Somehow, just at that moment his mind flew far away to
the bank of the great Ohio, to a new cabin he could picture, where a
grieving woman sat beside the large fireplace, and there was an empty
stool at the rough table.
"Mother!" he whispered, softly.
And then he shut his teeth hard. At least they should not see him
quail, these copper-colored men of the wilderness. Always had he heard
that, above everything else, Indians admired bravery. When death in its
more terrible aspect faced them, they pretended to show utter contempt,
laughing their enemies in the face, and mocking them with their last
breath.
Well, he was an Armstrong! They had ever been a hardy race, and
across the water had always taken a share in all the wars that rent
Old England. He would show that, though but a boy in years, he had
inherited the spirit of his ancestors. Not one groan, not one cry for
mercy, would they hear falling from his lips!
The squaw ceased to implore. She had fallen back to wait for the
decision of the wizard, who was once again beginning to wave his arms
about, and fix his mincing steps to keep time with his singsong words.
Sandy was keeping his eyes glued upon the swaying figure. There was a
sort of fascination about it all, just as though his own life did not
hang in the balance.
"It's coming!" he muttered, presently, as he saw the heads of the
warriors inclined eagerly toward the magician.
Sandy was conscious of a little confusion near by. He could not tear
his eyes away from the dancer long enough to ascertain what it meant.
Perhaps some prowling dog had been caught by a squaw stealing from her
lodge, and was being soundly kicked and berated in consequence.
The sounds were really coming closer. Loud voices could be heard,
excited voices too, but in the Indian tongue. Sandy was not much
interested, because he fancied that it was only some late comers, who
were demanding to be told what the council was about, not knowing of
the capture of a white.
Now he could not help noticing, because there was a swaying of the
outer lines, where the squaws and boys congregated. Louder grew the
voices. Even the medicine man paused in the act of delivering the
decree of Manitou, and every face was turned toward the quarter whence
the growing clamor sounded.
And as Sandy, half starting to his feet, stared, and held his breath,
he saw a figure he knew only too well come limping into the lighted
arena.
It was Blue Jacket!
CHAPTER XXI
TIT FOR TAT
YES, it was Blue Jacket, but apparently a wreck of the young Indian
whom Sandy had last seen under the friendly roof of the new Armstrong
cabin.
He was blackened with smoke, his buckskin garments showing holes that
the forest fire had burned; the proud feather that had once adorned his
scalp-lock hung low over his ear, and broken; he seemed hardly able to
drag himself past the wondering squaws, and reach the centre of the
triple ring of warriors.
But it was Blue Jacket, alive and in the flesh, for all that.
"Glory! he has come home just in time to save me!" Sandy kept saying to
himself, as he stared. "And that terrible old medicine man was going to
seal my fate! Glory! could there be any greater luck? And didn't dear
old Bob say the bread we cast upon the waters might return ere many
days? Yes, it has come back, principal and interest!"
Every eye was fastened upon the figure of the young brave. Not one
present at the council fire but knew he had a story to tell that would
thrill their souls. Even the squaws, seldom allowed to listen to the
serious councils around the sacred fire, bent forward, the better not
to lose a single word.
Blue Jacket began to speak. At first his manner was sedate. He was
telling of how he had fought in that night battle, of the wound that
had left him on the field and how he crept away, hoping to return to
his lodge among his people.
Then Sandy, who could fairly interpret from his manner, knew that he
spoke of finding himself alone, weakened from loss of blood, and unable
to even call for assistance.
Expecting to become the prey of wild beasts during the night, he had,
with the stoicism of the red man, awaited the end calmly. Then came the
paleface boys. His bronzed face lighted up as he told how they tenderly
carried him to the brow of the hill overlooking the river, and cared
for his wounds.
Now he became dramatic in his recital, and held his hearers spellbound.
Surely he was speaking of that white mother now, telling how she
advised that he be cared for and made well. It was such a revelation,
so entirely different from all that the savage Indian nature
understood, that the old men wagged their heads from time to time, and
looked at one another helplessly.
Blue Jacket went on. Now he was telling of one paleface warrior who
had sought his life, and how those boys stood between. Sandy guessed
this. He was hanging on the excited words of the young Shawanee just as
though he could fully grasp the full sense of the harangue.
Suddenly Blue Jacket ceased. Striding forward as well as his lame leg
would permit, he threw a protecting arm across the shoulders of Sandy,
as he faced once more the throng of red men.
"My brother!"
That was all he said, but his manner told the story. He stood ready
to sacrifice his life, if need be, to save this paleface lad from the
stake. Simple, yet eloquent beyond description, was his attitude as he
thus stood there.
Would his will prevail? Had his rough eloquence reached the hearts of
those sons of the wilderness?
In years to come the name of Blue Jacket was fated to pass into the
pages of history as a famous Indian orator, who could sway the minds
of his people as few others were able. And in this fierce harangue,
delivered in his youth, he made a reputation as a leader which was to
follow him in all after years.
The old men exchanged looks. They nodded their heads gravely.
"I surely believe he has turned the scale!" breathed the anxious Sandy,
noting these significant signs.
The shrewd old medicine man could not always foretell the weather; but
he was able to discern a sudden change in the wind of popular approval.
Before this dramatic coming of the young and wounded brave he knew the
consensus of opinion ran strongly toward putting the prisoner to the
stake. It was different now!
And so the wily old fellow once more started his incantations and
whirlings, just as though he were taking them up at the point where he
had been interrupted; but with a decided difference that even Sandy
could notice.
His manner now was not fierce and ugly; he no longer made swift
downward strokes with his extended arms, but extended them upward in a
beseeching manner, as though imploring Manitou to have mercy.
Then, after a supreme exhibition of his powers, with a great rattling
of wampum belt, and jangling metal discs that were strung about his
person, he moved over to where Sandy stood, with the dusky protecting
arm of Blue Jacket still flung about his shoulders.
Holding his hands above the white prisoner, the medicine man uttered
a string of words, amid much bobbings of the head. Although he could
interpret not a single expression, Sandy knew full well that in this
way the wizard was declaring he had been taken under the especial
charge of the Great Spirit, and that henceforth no Shawanee hand should
be raised against a member of the Armstrong family.
The French trader had listened to all this with a sneer on his lips,
while his face grew dark as though it pleased him not a bit.
Sandy had little discretion, as we have seen more than once. With his
usual impetuosity he could not restrain himself from flashing a look of
triumph toward Jacques Larue. The trader saw it, and gritted his teeth.
After that, he would doubtless feel more than ever a vicious spite
against anything that bore the brand of an Armstrong.
"Come!" said Blue Jacket, leading Sandy away.
"With the greatest of pleasure," replied that worthy, feeling as though
a tremendous weight had been taken from his shoulders, as indeed was
the case.
The young Shawanee led his white brother to his lodge, where an old
squaw, his mother undoubtedly, proudly awaited them. Nothing was too
good for the paleface who had saved the life of her boy. But first of
all, Sandy insisted upon the wounds of the young warrior being dressed.
"You must have been caught in the fire, too, Blue Jacket!" he declared,
as he noted the condition of the warrior's scanty garments, which at
least had been whole at the time he was in the new settlement.
"Much time, Sandy. Near gone when reach creek and dive in!" replied the
other, simply.
And that was all he could be persuaded to say about his adventure,
yet Sandy felt positive that the young brave must have gone through a
thrilling experience, with the fire surrounding him, and wounded in the
bargain. He could picture what Blue Jacket declined to relate.
"They have spared my life, Blue Jacket," observed the white boy, after
a time, when he had assisted the squaw to bind up the reopened wound
of the brave once more; "but do they mean to keep me here a prisoner?
Am I to never see my people again--dear old Bob, Kate, father, and my
mother?"
The budding warrior looked at him, and actually a faint smile came upon
his face. Sandy could not remember having ever seen him show so much
feeling before.
"You wait, Sandy," he said in a low voice; "leave that to Blue Jacket.
Give word Bob you be free. Me no fail! Never forget him mother, not
much!"
But Sandy had caught one word that riveted his attention.
"When did you promise Bob to save me? Where did you see him, Blue
Jacket?" he demanded, eagerly.
"Me leave since sunset. Bob fix best can," and saying this the young
Indian pointed down at his injured limb.
"Do you mean that you have been with my brother since the fire?" cried
Sandy, his face lighting up with a great joy, for that would tell him
Bob could not have been injured in the forest conflagration, as he had
greatly feared.
Blue Jacket nodded gravely in the affirmative. English words did not
come readily to his lips, and, when he could make a gesture take their
place, he seldom failed to do so.
"Bob find in creek. Him help 'long. Leg bad; much limp. Blue Jacket
make like papoose. Get here just in time. Not much good. Ugh!" he
grunted.
"Then Bob came along with you?" persisted Sandy, determined to drag the
whole truth out by degrees.
"Come 'long, yes. No think safe enter village. Hide in woods. Wait till
fox him bark three times. Bob know. Bob safe!"
"Hurrah! that's good news you're telling me, Blue Jacket!" exclaimed
Sandy, exultantly. "So Bob is safe, and near at hand right now! Why,
he never even went back to the settlement to tell the story, and get
assistance. Surely he is a brother to be proud of. Tell me, Blue
Jacket, did he send any message by you? Have you got any of the white
man's writing to give me?"
Whereupon the other gravely drew something from the bosom of his torn
hunting shirt, and extended it to Sandy.
"Me forget. Bob say all right. No can understand spider crawl on bark.
Sandy know. Bob tell," he said quaintly.
There were not many words, and these had been scratched by some
sharp-pointed flint, so that it was only with an effort that the boy
could make them out by the light of the fire in front of the lodge.
"SANDY:--Keep up a brave heart. We are going to get you out
of there to-night. Trust Blue Jacket. He is true as steel.
Bring gun.
"BOB."
Sandy smiled as he saw that reference to the old musket; and yet, after
all, it was not so strange that cautious, wise Bob should remember how
much of their anticipated pleasure in hunting during the months that
were ahead would be taken away if Sandy were without a weapon.
He read the message aloud to his friend. Blue Jacket evidently saw
nothing singular about that mention of a gun. He knew what it meant to
be without the means of obtaining food in that great wilderness. What
bow and arrows, a tomahawk, or a crude knife, meant to an Indian, a gun
stood for in the eyes of a white man. And so Blue Jacket only nodded
his head gravely as he listened, saying finally:
"Get gun all right. No fear. Much skins here. Swap with brave for gun.
Go now."
He evidently believed in striking while the iron was hot, for, stooping
down, he gathered in his arms several valuable skins, among them some
beautiful otter pelts, and started out.
The squaw never raised a finger to interfere, yet she knew that Blue
Jacket was very weak and sore from his tremendous exertions in trying
to escape from the pursuing fire. And she was his mother, too. But then
Sandy realized that Indian mothers differed in many respects from those
of white boys. Blue Jacket, was he not a warrior now, and as such fully
competent to decide for himself? The old squaw no doubt would have held
her tongue had he declared it to be his intention to start back to the
white settlement with Sandy, even though she knew it must be the means
of bringing about his death.
Sure enough, Blue Jacket must have gauged well the temper of the
brave who had obtained the old flintlock musket, and knew just how
to wheedle him out of his recent prize, for, when the young Indian
returned, he placed in Sandy's eager hands not only the gun, but all
other things taken from the prisoner at the time he fell into the
hands of the four Shawanee warriors--his powder horn, carved with
considerable rude skill by Bob, the bullet pouch decorated with colored
porcupine quills, his hatchet, knife, and even the little bag, in which
Sandy was accustomed to keeping his flint and steel, some dry tinder
for starting fires, and a few trifling odds and ends.
"Why, my brother!" cried the delighted white boy, "you are a bigger
medicine man than the old fellow who danced, and shook those hollow
gourds with the dried beans inside. Here are all my belongings, with
not one thing missing. Oh! I tell you, it was a fine day I discovered
you there in the grass, Blue Jacket. For you have returned what little
we did a dozen fold!"
But evidently the young Indian had his own ideas about that, for he
shook his head, and made a grimace. He would never forget how those
boys had stood between when the irate settler, Anthony Brady, demanded
his blood!
"No can repay. Armstrong name never can forget. You see. To-night we go
away. Bob wait to show way home. Blue Jacket him not able go far. Much
sorry!" he said, as he limped about the lodge to try his poor limb.
But Sandy gripped the Shawanee's hand, while his boyish face fairly
beamed with the affection he felt toward the gallant young savage.
CHAPTER XXII
THE ESCAPE
"WHEN can we go, Blue Jacket?" asked the boy, with his usual impatience.
"No can get away yet some time. Sandy look out," came the reply.
"Well, I see what you mean," admitted the prisoner, reluctantly. "There
does seem to be considerable of a stir around. Everybody is moving
about. Even the dogs seem to be prowling around sniffing at things."
"Ugh! much stir. Talk heap. French trader try to palaver with chiefs.
Make think English bad men. Steal Indian country, kill squaws,
papooses, all. Ugh!" and, from the way Blue Jacket said this, it was
evident that he feared the influence of the smooth-voiced Jacques Larue
would undo all the good his harangue had accomplished.
Not that his people would think of putting Sandy to the stake. That
bugbear had been effectually squelched after he had told how kind the
two Armstrong boys had shown themselves to him. But they might refuse
to let the prisoner go free, demanding that he be forced to join the
tribe. The lodge was still to be a prison, for the squaw had betaken
herself off, and Blue Jacket had said he would not be allowed to stay
with his white brother.
Even Sandy understood something of his danger. Perhaps it had to do
with his impatience to get away from the village, with its clamor and
its strange inhabitants.
He remembered the skinny old crone who had wanted to adopt him as her
own son. She meant it all in kindness, perhaps, but the very thought
made poor Sandy shiver.
"But look here, Blue Jacket, what about Bob?" he said, presently, after
he had turned away from peeping out at the exit of the lodge.
"Bob wait," replied the Indian with his customary taciturnity.
"Yes, but when time passes, and I fail to come, he may get impatient
and do something that will get him into trouble?"
At this the young Indian shrugged his shoulders. Perhaps he had caught
the manner from the French traders, oily men who often visited the
Shawanees in their villages to barter poor guns and powder for their
valuable pelts.
"Bob no Sandy!" was his only comment; and it struck home, too, for the
one who heard gave a little chuckle, as he hastened to reply:
"You are right about that, Blue Jacket; and perhaps it's just as well
that he is not. One hothead in the family is quite enough. But you
think, then, Bob will bide his time patiently, and wait to hear from
you?"
"Him say," answered the other, calmly.
"Oh!" observed Sandy; but he saw a great light.
It told him what a distinct impression that sober brother of his must
have made on the observing young Indian during the week of their
intercourse. Accustomed to reading people just as Sandy might the pages
of a printed book, Blue Jacket knew that, when Bob Armstrong said a
thing, that was just what he meant. His simple word was, in the eye of
this native of the woods, as good as another's bond.
Presently Sandy spoke again, for he could not keep his mind long off
that fascinating subject.
"Is he near the border of the village, Blue Jacket?" he asked.
"Much close. Blue Jacket him hide Bob. No can find. P'raps dog smell
him. Not much danger that. You wait. Sleep. Time come bimeby. Blue
Jacket crawl in lodge, wake. Make not noise, but move like snake. Ugh!"
With that the young Indian abruptly left him.
Sandy threw himself down on the blanket and bearskin which he found in
his prison. Perhaps what the Indian suggested would be a wise thing for
him to do. He was very tired, and trembling with excitement. Of course,
he hardly hoped to sleep any; but even lying there would rest him more
or less.
But, despite his fears, he must have passed away into dreamland very
shortly after dropping on the soft robes, for he could not remember
doing any great amount of thinking over his past troubles and the
uncertain future.
A cold hand touching his face awakened him.
Before he could utter a sound he heard a low hiss that warned him
against making a single exclamation. It was well Blue Jacket adopted
this course, because naturally Sandy supposed himself safe at home, in
his own newly-fashioned bed, and that it was Bob who had disturbed his
dreams.
Instantly he understood. The skin lodge was almost in darkness. Still,
something of a flickering light seeped in through little openings at
the entrance; and he could just manage to make out a bending figure
that crouched beside him.
"Is it you, Blue Jacket?" he whispered softly, as his hand went out to
feel of this figure.
Again that warning hiss greeted him. Then there was a gentle pull at
his buckskin tunic, which Sandy could not mistake. His ghostly visitor
wanted him to follow his lead.
Expecting some such summons, Sandy had made all preparations for a
quick departure. His precious gun was lying close beside him; moreover,
he had secured powder-horn, bullet pouch, and all other belongings, so
that nothing would be left behind.
Blue Jacket turned and crawled away. To Sandy's surprise the young
Shawanee did not head toward the opening of the lodge; but common sense
told him why. There was a fire still burning out there, and possibly
some brave might awaken just at the critical moment when they were
passing.
Evidently Blue Jacket had crept in at the rear, and meant to return
the same way. He knew the possibilities of his own wigwam. Sandy
wriggled his body under the tightly drawn skin that, with its fellows,
formed the wigwam. He could just barely see the figure of his guide
moving off ahead. And, when Blue Jacket had said they must glide like
the snake that goes upon its belly, he certainly hit the truth, for
Sandy could not discover the slightest movement of either arms or legs.
Still the other made fair progress.
Between lodges, avoiding the smouldering fires, they went. Surely the
red guide must have figured every inch of the route in advance. Not
even a dog seemed to be along the course; and Sandy's admiration for
his friend increased by bounds with every yard that they advanced.
He had been wise enough to observe the location of Blue Jacket's lodge,
and hence knew that they were now heading in a general way toward the
bank of the small stream near which this temporary hunting camp of the
Shawanees had been located.
This gave him a sudden and brilliant idea. Bid Blue Jacket mean that
they should make their escape by water? It would save many weary miles
of tramping, which task Sandy was not in very good physical condition
to undertake.
More than once the dark figure ahead came to a pause, and lay as still
as a log. Sandy was keenly awake to the situation, and copied his
actions to the letter. On one occasion a couple of dogs came running
past, having evidently been hunting on their own account in the
forest. They stopped to sniff the air, but luckily they were not on
the windward side of the crouching figures; and so the presence of a
paleface was not discovered; for soon they went on among the lodges, to
lie down and rest after their long chase.
Another time it was a moving warrior who caused alarm. But he seemed to
have only been down to the river for a drink, for he walked past the
spot where the two shadows lay without any suspicion that anything was
amiss.
It was an exciting time for poor Sandy, and his heart seemed to be up
in his throat with suspense as he kept his agonized eyes fastened on
that tall, dusky figure, until it was lost among the neighboring lodges.
All now seemed well, and the coast clear. Rapidly Blue Jacket
advanced. No longer was he content to wriggle like the rattlesnake. He
had first arisen to his knees, and finally to his feet. True, he limped
sadly, and Sandy knew that, with an Indian's stoicism, his guide must
be repressing the groans that a white boy would have uttered.
"He's game, all right," Sandy was saying to himself, filled with
gratitude toward the young Indian; "good Blue Jacket! Will I ever
forget this? May my right arm wither if I should! And now, I wonder
where Bob is?"
They had gone some little distance from the village, so that there no
longer seemed to be any danger that they would be seen if they walked
erect. Sandy had impulsively thrown an arm about his companion, meaning
to help him. Perhaps at another time the proud young Shawanee might
have indignantly declined to accept any assistance; but he was weak,
and he had learned to feel a singular affection for his two white
brothers.
They came to a stop near a tangle of thickets.
"Listen!" said Blue Jacket.
Then close by, so that it actually startled the white boy, came the
bark of the red fox, twice repeated. And he remembered what his guide
had said about the signal which Bob was to recognize. Anxiously Sandy
waited, every nerve on edge for fear lest his brother might have gone.
There was a stir in the thicket, and then came a low voice saying:
"Sandy! Blue Jacket, is it you?"
"Here!" exclaimed the escaped prisoner, unable to longer restrain his
feelings; and in another moment he was clasped in a brother's sturdy
embrace.
"No time lose," observed the practical Indian. "Come long me. River
close by. Canoe p'raps wait. Paddle home. Tell white squaw Blue Jacket
much glad."
In two minutes they had arrived at the border of the little stream,
where Blue Jacket produced his canoe, hidden for this very purpose late
that evening.
"Go quick! No time lose. Mebbe alarm come. Who can tell?" said the
Indian.
Sandy had crept into the frail boat made of skins, and Bob was about
to do so, after squeezing the hand of their red friend, when a smooth
voice suddenly said:
"Sacre! it ees just as I thought when I saw him paddle his canoe here.
Not so quick, young messieurs. You are not yet out of ze woods."
CHAPTER XXIII
A CANOE TRIP IN THE STARLIGHT
IT was Jacques Larue!
The keen-eyed and suspicious French trader had by chance seen Blue
Jacket slip away from his people and silently paddle his canoe down the
river a short distance. He had followed, and watched him hide the bark
here in the rushes bordering the shore.
And of course the trader had no difficulty in guessing what this meant.
He knew Blue Jacket intended that the white prisoner should escape by
this means.
Why Larue did not go at once to the head men, and tell of his
discovery, will never be known. Perhaps he fancied that Sandy would
come alone to the boat, and it struck him as a fine chance to frustrate
the designs of the boy just when doubtless his heart would beat high
with hope.
At any rate here he was, possibly somewhat surprised that three dark
figures confronted him instead of one shrinking lad.
"What would you?" demanded Bob, turning quickly around, just as he was
in the act of entering the canoe, which was floating among the rushes.
"So, you are zere, too, it seems?" sneered the man. "I remember zere
was also ze second Armstrong cub. Zis is vat I call neat. Two new
Shawanee boys, adopted into ze tribe! Perhaps ze new Eenglish trader
like to exchange hees goods for sons! Sacre! suppose you come back to
lodges wiz me. I haf got ze gun pointed straight; and my fingair, it
press on ze trigger. You refuse, and pouf! bang, down you go!"
"What! do you mean that you would force us to go back to captivity; and
you a white man at that? Shame on you, Jacques Larue! Better paint your
face, and stick feathers in your hair; for you are more savage than the
reddest Indian!" cried the reckless Sandy.
The trader gave vent to a low cry of anger. Bob feared that the
Frenchman might be urged to shoot by these taunts, for he was
undoubtedly hot-blooded, like most of his countrymen.
It was surely a time for action. The young pioneer made a sudden lunge
forward and struck out with his right arm. Long handling of the axe
had given Bob the muscles of an athlete; and when his clenched fist
came in contact with the jaw of the French trader the result was
disastrous to Larue.
He went floundering on his back. His gun was discharged; but the
missile that it had contained did no more damage than to shoot a hole
through the atmosphere, for it was aimed at the time at the sky.
"Away!" cried Blue Jacket, pushing Bob toward the boat; for the boy
had acted as though tempted to follow up his one blow by giving the
insulting trader the whipping he deserved.
Prudence prevailed, and Bob hastened to leap aboard. Then the young
Shawanee gave the canoe a shove that sent it out through the rushes,
and upon the bosom of the flowing stream.
Jacques Larue struggled to his feet, and wildly pranced up and down
on the shore, shouting threats of what he would do if ever he came
in contact with either of those Armstrong "cubs" again. But Bob gave
little heed to what he said, being much more concerned with other
matters.
Of course the report of the heavily-charged gun, together with the
cries of the angry French trader, must by this time have aroused the
village.
"I wonder if they will pursue us?" ventured Sandy, as he worked away
valiantly at the paddle which he had taken up.
"The current of this stream is swift, and the shores so filled with
underbrush that we can make faster time than any brave could afoot,"
remarked Bob, while he, too, bent to the task before him, so that the
little boat fairly danced along on the starlit stream, heading down
toward the junction with the big Ohio.
"But they have other canoes, for I saw three at least?" ventured Sandy.
"But Blue Jacket knew that," returned the other, shrewdly; "and depend
on it he saw to it that they were hidden away where they could not be
found in a hurry. We may be pursued, but I am not afraid."
They could hear some sort of hubbub taking place back toward the place
where the village stood. No doubt the greatest confusion ensued when
the absence of all the canoes was discovered.
"I only hope he will not be made to suffer for what he did," mused
Sandy; "because Blue Jacket is our red brother now, and he thinks a
heap of you, Bob."
"Yes, and of you, too, Sandy, because he said as much. How nice it has
all turned out after all! And it pays, sometimes, brother, just as our
mother says, to be kind toward an enemy. If we had let the poor fellow
die, think what would be your condition to-night."
Sandy worked for a long time in silence; but he was undoubtedly
thinking over the stirring events of the last few hours, and the lesson
must have sunk deep into his heart, never to be forgotten.
"I believe we are close to the big river!" remarked Bob, after a time.
"Why, you took the very words out of my mouth," returned Sandy; "for I
can see much water ahead, and the waves seem to be getting larger. We
must keep to the right, and paddle close to the shore."
Presently they entered upon the vast expanse of the Ohio, and their
progress became much slower, since now they were compelled to fight
against a strong current, instead of having the benefit of one.
"Jacques Larue seems to be in mortal fear about father taking his
trade away from him," said Sandy, after a time.
"That is because he has been robbing the Indians," observed the
thoughtful Bob. "He knows that the English do not trade after that
style, but believe in giving more for the pelts. And, brother, I
believe that what has happened may assist father very much in his
trade. You heard what the chief said--that never would the Shawanees
war upon the family of Armstrong. That means they will be our friends,
even though at war with the whites."
"The skies seem to be brightening all around," remarked Sandy. "If only
the truth would come out about that barn burning! It is the one black
blot on our name, and father feels it keenly, though he tries to be so
brave. His honor is very dear to him."
"As it should be," cried Sandy. "But mother never loses hope. Does she
not constantly say that in God's good time all must be made clear? And
I believe that mother knows best. I keep hoping that some fine day we
shall have news from our old home in Virginia, and that word will come
to tell us father's name is cleared."
They said no more for some time. Indeed, all of their breath was
needed in the violent exertion of forcing the canoe against that
current, running six miles or more an hour.
"Oh! I believe we must be near home now!" cried Sandy suddenly,
pointing with his extended paddle toward the nearby shore. "See, that
bunch of trees on the hill-top looks like the one we can look at from
our cabin. Yes, it must be, Bob! Shall we land here, and climb up?"
"Ten minutes more ought to do it, brother," said the other, quietly.
"So dip deep, and push hard. It is nearly over; and think of the joy of
being home again."
"Oh! yes. They must be dreadfully worried after knowing about that
fire. How fortunate that it did not sweep this way," declared Sandy,
between gasps; for he was very nearly done up, not having all the
rugged physique of his brother.
"We have much to be thankful for," replied Bob, working away.
When the time set by Bob had expired the canoe was turned toward the
shore, and the two landed, securing the frail craft, for they hoped to
have many a trip in it on the broad bosom of the mighty Ohio.
After this they mounted the hill. Bob, knowing that there were always
sentinels on duty, and not wishing to be fired on by mistake, gave a
signal that would be recognized; and presently they were met by one
whom they knew well, being ushered by the guard into the settlement.
There was a light burning in the Armstrong cabin, and they could easily
understand that sleepless eyes reigned there. As they drew near, the
door opened, and the two lads saw a well-known figure appear. It was
the anxious mother who stood there, shading her eyes with her hand, for
a fire burned near by. She had heard voices that thrilled her soul.
Impulsive Sandy gave a shout and rushed forward, to be crushed to that
loving breast, and kissed again and again. Then came the wide-eyed
Kate, and the delighted father, to renew the tender caresses.
Neighbors who had been aroused also flocked into the Armstrong cabin,
eager to hear of the boys' adventures. So for an hour, or until nearly
dawn, they had to relate the strange things that had befallen them
since leaving home on that eventful hunt.
Looking around the big room, where the fire burned so cheerily, and
the kettle sang its home-like tune, Sandy heaved a great sigh of
happiness.
"It's just Heaven to be here!" he said; and, while his good mother
shook her head in mild reproof at his words, she smiled with pleasure
to realize that her boys thought so much of their home, humble though
it might be, and devoid of many things others would deem necessities.
After a warm meal the boys were compelled to go to bed, and secure some
rest, of which both of them were certainly in sore need. Later on that
day, when the full particulars of the captivity were told, David turned
to his wife and said:
"Yes, your way was the best way after all, Mary. See how blessed a
return that poor wounded and almost dying Shawanee has made. With his
life, if need be, he was determined to repay the debt. And to think
that they call us _friends_, these red men with whom I expect to do
much trading after a while! Son, that was surely the best day's work
you ever did when you bound up the wounds of Blue Jacket, and took him
in by our fireside. I will never forget the lesson, wife. Our bread
cast upon the waters _did_ return, and that before many days."
And the gentle Mary only said in reply:
"Still have faith that the other cloud will yet be lifted in good time,
David!"
CHAPTER XXIV
THE FEATHERED MESSAGE
"LOOK up there on the roof of the cabin! What can it be?"
It was about a week after the return of the two boys from the Shawanee
village. During this time they had made several trips into the great
forest, and never failed to bring home game, for there seemed a great
abundance around the new settlement on the Ohio.
The men had used their keen-edged axes well, and the trees were falling
fast. It was even hoped that the small gardens would prove profitable,
and that they might have other crops, besides the Indian corn that grew
so well in this climate.
The brief visit of Daniel Boone and his comrades had had one natural
effect upon the two brothers. They began to copy the frontiersman style
of dress, as the best fitted for the life they expected to lead from
this time forward.
Moccasins they had already; but now their mother was called upon to
fashion for her boys hunting tunics of tanned buckskin, which in turn
were fringed, as had been those worn by Kenton and the others. Besides,
covering for their legs was made from the same material, and appeared
similarly decorated.
Bob had made a cap for himself out of the well-tanned skins of several
raccoons he had trapped, with one of the beautifully marked tails
dangling down the back, like that of his hero, Simon Kenton.
Sandy, on his part, had done the same with some skins of gray
squirrels, also using the bushy tails to complete the adornment, so
that together the Armstrong boys presented a hunter-like appearance by
the time these various additions to their wardrobe were completed.
When they appeared in these new outfits both lads felt that they could
now begin to call themselves pioneers in earnest.
On this particular day Bob and Sandy had planned a delightful trip up
the river in their canoe, seeking new fields for hunting; and looking
into the possibilities of the region for the trapping season, that
would begin when the leaves were dropping from the trees in October.
It was Sandy who had given utterance to the exclamation with which this
chapter opens. Bob had followed him out of the cabin. The sun was just
peeping above the wooded hills away off in the east, and they sniffed
the early morning air with delight; but one who could read the signs
of the weather might have seen something about the coppery hue of that
rising orb that showed that the long delayed Spring rains would soon
burst upon the country.
Seeing where Sandy was pointing, Bob also looked, and his surprise
exceeded that of his younger brother when he saw the object that was
sticking in the middle of the sloping roof.
"Why, it is a feathered Indian arrow!" he cried.
"How strange! And what can that be tied to it, Bob?" asked the other.
"Here, boost me up and I will get it; then we can tell all about it,"
answered Bob, who did not believe in wasting time in talk when the
solution of the mystery was so easy to learn.
So Sandy gave him a hand, and the agile lad quickly gained the low
roof; for the new cabin, while commodious, was only one story high,
with a low loft above the living room and just under the roof.
Bob took the arrow from the roof. He seemed to use more or less vigor
in order to extract the flint head, showing that it had come down with
considerable force after its aerial flight.
"Oh! I remember now," said Sandy, suddenly arousing.
"What?" demanded the other, as he prepared to jump to the ground,
holding the feathered missile carefully in one hand.
"Why," said Sandy, eagerly, "something seemed to arouse me just about
daybreak. It sounded like a stone thrown against the house. But I
thought father was up, and getting the fire ready, so mother could cook
breakfast; and I went to sleep again. Bob, that must have been the time
the arrow dropped on the roof!"
"Yes, that was the time," answered Bob; "for the one who held the bow
could never have seen how to aim in the night, even though there was a
moon."
"Aim, do you say, brother? Is it possible then he meant to stick that
arrow in our roof rather than any other?" demanded Sandy, startled.
"I surely do believe it. See, here is a message fastened to the shaft
by little threads drawn from the fibre of cane!" and Bob held up the
piece of birch bark, which Sandy now saw contained various rude designs
possibly drawn with a sharp-pointed eagle quill, dipped in the juice of
the poke berry.
"Blue Jacket!" he exclaimed involuntarily, for suddenly he remembered
that other unique message which the young Shawanee warrior had left, at
the time he had slipped away from the cabin of the Armstrongs.
"Yes, that is the plainest thing of all," remarked Bob, "for you see
here at the end there is what is meant to be the figure of a man, an
Indian, too, for he has feathers in his hair; and his jacket is daubed
with a blue stain. But what puzzles me is to read these signs. Come,
sit down here. Perhaps two heads may prove better than one, and you are
quick at such things."
"Oh! if only Pat O'Mara were here now, how quickly he would read it
all," said Sandy, screwing up his forehead as he scanned the several
lines of strange figures.
"This must mean the sun, all right," remarked Bob, pointing to the
first rude representation in the line.
They both turned to look at the king of day as though understanding
that the Indian artist meant to call their attention that way.
"Well," remarked Sandy, "the old fellow does look angry this morning.
And then the sky all around has a coppery hue. That must mean more dry
weather, brother."
But Bob shook his head. He had seen something more in those queer
picture paintings that caught his attention.
"No, I think you are wrong, Sandy," he observed slowly. "See, here is
what he surely means for rain pouring down. And further along is what
must be the river rushing along, bank-full. I begin to see what it is,
brother."
"A warning to the white settlers?" said Sandy quickly.
"What else can it mean? And look at this figure standing here; what do
you make of him?" asked the other, pointing.
"Oh! I know!" cried Sandy, his face lighting up. "See how he is decked
out with all sorts of things, bells and such! And in his hands he holds
gourds that contain dried beans, to rattle when he shakes them. Yes,
that must be the old medicine man I told you about. But what has he got
to do with the rains?"
"Now I understand it all," declared Bob, with a smile.
"Then I wish you would tell me," remarked his brother, "for to tell the
truth I don't seem able to grasp it."
"The old medicine man has been talking again with the Manitou," said
Bob, "and has learned that the rain will soon come along, making a
flood of the river. Perhaps he knows this from some sign, like the
angry sun; but he pretends that the information was given to him from
the Great Spirit."
"And Blue Jacket," cried Sandy, "believing all he says, has thought it
worth while to come all the way over here, lame as he is, to warn us!
That was good of him. He is afraid some of us may be caught napping.
But how much better if he had only slipped into the settlement, and
talked with us."
"But Blue Jacket is an Indian, with all the cunning and caution of the
red men," Bob replied. "He knows that all palefaces do not think alike;
and he feared lest a guard should shoot him on sight. No, I am glad he
was wise. Think how we should grieve if he were killed in our midst."
"But about the warning? Shall you tell father, and have him spread the
news?" asked the younger boy.
"To be sure. It can do no harm, even if it prove to be a false alarm.
They will understand the motive that sent Blue Jacket over here again.
And, Sandy, perhaps father may want us to give up that long canoe trip
we had planned for to-day."
At that Sandy's face fell.
"Oh! I hope not!" he exclaimed, quickly. "For I have been looking
forward ever so much to exploring that country away to the east, and
up the river. Pat told us that on the other shore, above, the game was
thicker than any place he knew. We must get off to-day, brother! What
if the rain does come, we are neither sugar nor salt, but strong enough
to stand much."
"Well, perhaps father may not think much of the old medicine man's
belief. And, as you say, surely we are able to take care of ourselves.
I am hoping myself that father may not forbid our going," said Bob.
So Sandy, with an object in view, made it a point, when they told
their father of the strange warning sent by their good friend Blue
Jacket, to speak of the medicine man as a great fraud, who was
certainly not worth considering.
Whether David was influenced by what he said, or really believed the
danger to be over-rated, he did not offer any particular objections to
the boys' expedition.
"Hurrah!" cried Sandy, as they reached the place where the canoe was
hauled up on the sandy beach. "Now for a jolly paddle up the river, and
a visit to that unknown shore over the water, where buffalo and deer
are as thick as peas, and asking to be shot."
Bob was not as enthusiastic, although doubtless he, too, anticipated
more or less pleasure from the excursion. They did not expect to be
back that night, unless their plans miscarried; but before another sun
had set they meant to at least be on their way homeward.
Soon they were paddling merrily up the river. There was not a cloud
overhead, and the sun seemed to give promise of exerting unusual warmth
for so early in the season.
"Poor old medicine man," laughed Sandy, as he glanced around at the
bright picture, and then thought of the warning message. "So we are to
beware of the river's rising wrath, are we? Seems to be quiet enough
just now, brother!"
"Yes," was all that Bob replied; for somehow he seemed to have some
foreboding of coming trouble, though he did not want to tell Sandy of
this, lest the light-hearted one laugh at his fears, which after all
might come to nothing.
About noon they crossed to the other shore. Out in the middle of the
river they found that it required considerable muscle to keep the canoe
from losing in the fight with the swiftly gliding, though noiseless,
current.
They determined not to land just yet. Sandy remembered how Pat O'Mara
had told about a certain wonderful cove further up the stream, where
they could hide their boat while they hunted. Besides, there was less
danger of running across any hostiles the further they went in the
direction of Fort Pitt; since after the last great Indian battle the
red tribes had retreated westward.
It proved much further than they had been led to believe from what the
Irish trapper had said; or else progress against that current was
slower than they had calculated. At any rate, the hour was not far from
sunset when they finally sighted the cove that was to be their landing
place.
CHAPTER XXV
AFLOAT ON THE FLOOD
"NOW to land!" cried Sandy, as they turned the head of the canoe toward
shore.
"Less noise, brother," whispered Bob; for the impetuous one was forever
forgetting that a frontiersman must learn that silence is the price of
safety when in the woods where the red man dwells.
"But why do you keep looking up at the sky so much?" went on Sandy.
"Just because it has clouded up, is no sign it will rain. Have we not
heard that all signs fail in dry weather? And, even if that old humbug
of a medicine man pretends he has had it direct from Manitou, I see no
reason for being alarmed. Let it rain if it chooses. We can hunt in wet
clothes as well as in dry."
"Surely," replied Bob, pretending to throw aside his doubts, for he saw
no reason why Sandy should share them; if trouble came they would know
how to meet it.
So they landed in the snug little cove.
"Shall we stake the canoe out here in the rushes?" asked Sandy.
"Not this time," replied Bob. "Take hold, and we will carry it up to
that clump of bushes yonder. It can lie there safe until we come again."
"Oh!" laughed Sandy, "I see you still believe the river will rise
suddenly, and threaten to carry off our only means of getting home!"
"Who knows?" replied the other, quite unmoved by the accusation; "and,
if it did come, we would be very glad that we had taken time by the
forelock. Besides, it is not much further."
Having secreted the boat and both paddles, they concluded to go some
little way back, to camp for the night.
"We must do what Pat says all borderers do when in the enemy's
country--make a very small fire to cook with, and hide that so that not
even the keenest eye could discover it," observed Bob, as they walked
on through the forest, both on the watch for game of any sort.
"Well, it will be highly amusing, at least," admitted Sandy; "though,
unless we are lucky enough to run across game very soon, we shall have
to make our supper off that dried venison; and that I do not like."
"Hist!"
Bob suddenly caught the sleeve of his brother's hunting shirt.
Following the direction in which the other seemed to be looking, Sandy
caught a glimpse of some moving object to leeward.
"A buffalo! Two, _three_ of them! Oh! Bob, what a chance!" he gasped.
The other drew him down instantly, so that the bushes screened them.
"Now let us crawl up as close as we dare. When we get within good
gunshot we will both fire at the same time," he whispered in the ear of
his companion.
Bob, as usual, seemed perfectly calm, while of course the younger boy
was fairly quivering with eagerness. Still, this would not prevent
Sandy from giving a good account of himself when the time came to
shoot, for he always fired off-hand at any rate, rather than by long
sight, as some marksmen do.
It was fortunate that the wind, what little seemed to be stirring
through the forest just then, was coming from the feeding buffalo,
and toward the hunters. This prevented the suspicious animals from
scenting their human enemies.
The boys made fair progress, taking advantage of clumps of bushes,
trunks of trees, and fallen timber.
"Slower," whispered Bob in his brother's ear. "They are getting uneasy.
Notice how often that old bull throws up his head and sniffs the air?
He trots away, only to come back again to his family. Now, again
forward. This log will give us a good boost, I think."
"We don't want the old bull," Sandy managed to say in the other's ear.
"Hardly. He'd be too tough eating. You take the half-grown calf, and
leave the cow to me," said the older hunter; and then made a gesture
that prohibited further communications.
Presently Bob realized that they had crept as close as seemed necessary.
He caught the eye of Sandy, and nodded his head. Knowing what the
programme was to be, for they had gone through it many times together,
the other gradually managed to raise himself to a position where he had
one knee on the ground. This was an ideal position for shooting, as
it gave him a chance to rest his elbow on the other knee, to steady
himself at the final instant.
To Bob it was given to pick the time of firing. He had to watch
closely, in order to make sure that both animals selected were free
from trees, so that they might not uselessly waste precious ammunition.
"Shoot!" he said, quickly.
Bang! roared his own heavily-charged musket. The cow went floundering
down, and never again arose, for Bob's aim had been true.
Sandy was not quite so fortunate. Just at the second when Bob gave the
word to fire, the half-grown young buffalo chanced to step behind a
large tree trunk, so that it was out of the question to dispose of him
while standing still.
With the report the alarmed animals started to run wildly away. But
Sandy had of course been expecting this, and was quick to shoot.
He gave a shout as he saw the prize fall. Bob, on his part, was a
little worried lest the bull charge them; but that old worthy was
already in full flight, doubtless in the belief that the others of his
family would rejoin him, when their little fright, concerning those
lightning flashes and thunder crashes coming from the bushes, had died
away.
Here was great luck truly. All the game they could possibly carry home,
and within carrying distance of the spot where the canoe had been
secreted.
They made camp at once. There was no tent to erect, so when Bob had
removed the two hides, a laborious task even with Sandy's help, and
started to cut the carcasses up, Sandy erected a lean-to of branches,
bark and leaves, that would serve fairly well in case it did rain. Then
came a little fire, built as Bob directed, in a cavity, where its light
would never be seen beyond ten paces.
After that supper was begun. And some of the meat from the young
buffalo bull proved most tender eating.
"Hark!" said Bob, as they were browning their fourth helping at the end
of long wooden splinters thrust into the ground near the little mass of
red embers.
Sandy made an involuntary dive for his gun, as he ejaculated:
"What did you hear? Was it the whoop of an Indian? Have they discovered
us after all?"
"It has begun to rain, that is all," answered Bob, smiling; for he had
heard the first drops beginning to patter among the dead leaves.
"Is that all? Why, it is hardly worth mentioning. And you did give me a
start, to be sure. I'm glad we finished our supper before those clouds
took to leaking."
It seemed a trifling thing just then; but in the end it was freighted
with momentous happenings connected with the fortunes of those two
young pioneers of the Ohio.
Presently the rain was coming down hard, so that the two lads were only
too glad to crawl under the shelter that had been built.
In less than an hour Sandy was bemoaning the fact that he had not,
while he was about it, made the wattled roofing twice as thick, as it
would have shed the rain to better advantage.
That was certainly a night they would not soon forget; and of course it
was Sandy who complained the most, for Bob could take his punishment in
grim silence, Indian fashion.
"When morning comes, we must try to get home!" declared the younger
pioneer, as he crouched there and shivered.
"We are so wet now that nothing could make us feel any worse," declared
Bob. "I am going to try to weave a heavier roof, for the night is
hardly half over."
"A good idea," echoed Sandy.
They set to work; and by the time an hour had gone by, were able to
keep the furious rain from beating in on their guns.
Sleep was entirely out of the question, and they could only sit there
exchanging a few words to cheer one another up, and praying for the
morning to come.
It seemed never to dawn, and Sandy really began to declare that it was
three nights wrapped in one, when his brother called his attention to a
faint gray light in the east.
The rain was still falling in sheets, so that the prospect looked poor
indeed. Again was the voice of Sandy heard, lamenting the fact that in
all likelihood they must go without any breakfast, which, in the eyes
of a growing and always hungry boy, was next door to a crime.
"Perhaps not," said Bob; "just wait until the day has really come, when
we can see around. Surely there must be dead trees somewhere close by;
and you know how dry the heart keeps. We have tinder, and we will have
a fire yet."
That promise sustained Sandy, for he could never remember when Bob
gave his word without keeping it. Nor was it broken in the present
instance. The rain never gave the slightest sign of stopping, although
it must have deluged the headquarters of the great Ohio, and caused the
river to rise many feet an hour. But Bob sallied forth, scorning the
wet, to return presently, staggering under a load of fuel of a resinous
nature, and calculated to burn, despite the storm.
And it did; for soon, when the expert had applied his flint and steel
to the dry tinder, in the midst of which a little powder had been
dropped, the fire started, and in half an hour its genial heat did much
to chase away the blues.
It had been built close enough to their shelter so that the boys could
sit and cook pieces of tender buffalo meat on the end of their reeds.
And for perhaps upward of two hours they amused themselves in this
fashion.
"Now I feel able to carry my share of the game down to the boat, if you
say the word," announced Sandy. "And, as I live, I believe the rain
does not come quite as heavily as before. Let us be on the move!"
Bob was not quite so sure that there would be any break in the storm;
but on the whole he could not hold back. Surely the river would
continue to rise for days after such a cloudburst; and unless they
crossed soon they must stay on the opposite shore a week, perhaps two.
When they reached the bushes where the canoe had been hidden, the craft
was found just as they had left it.
"We had better tie the packages of meat and our guns inside the canoe,"
said long-headed Bob; "for then, if we happen to be upset, they will
not be lost."
"A good idea," replied his brother. "But I hope we are not so unlucky
as to be turned over out there," and he cast an apprehensive look upon
the rushing surface of the flooded Ohio.
Neither of the lads had had any experience in such an emergency; nor
could they be expected to realize the terrible power that current
possessed. It ran smoothly, and without any churning, but, once within
its grip, it would require muscles of steel to guide a boat like the
skin canoe belonging to Blue Jacket.
It was already nearly noon. The sky was leaden, and the rain constantly
falling. Surely the old medicine man of the Shawanees was for once
having his prophecy bountifully fulfilled.
It was with considerable misgivings that Bob, yielding to the
importunities of his impulsive brother, decided to enter the frail
canoe and start to cross that churning flood toward the other shore.
Sandy had artfully mentioned the fact that the little mother would be
anxious about their safety.
"And," he had continued, "we can be heading toward the other bank all
the time, even if the current does carry us downstream at a furious
rate."
They had not gone a quarter of the way across before Bob knew they had
made a big mistake. For the little boat was a mere play-thing in the
grasp of the furious current. They could make progress neither one way
nor the other. All the while they were being swept along with the speed
of a mill-race, held fast in that overpowering grip of the flood!
CHAPTER XXVI
THE SINKING CRAFT
"THIS looks bad!" said Bob.
He had to raise his voice much above the ordinary, for out there on
the river the rushing water did not seem so silent as the boys had
believed when ashore; and all around them could be heard the boiling of
the flood. Tree trunks floated around them in all directions, showing
what an unusual thing this sudden rise of the river must be. There was
constant danger lest one of these tremendous snags sink the delicate
little skin boat; and often the boys had to use their paddles like mad
to prevent such a catastrophe from happening.
And once, even a more singular peril threatened them. It was Sandy who
made the discovery, shortly after Bob had uttered the remark given
above.
"Oh! look yonder, brother; whatever can that be, perched up in that
tree-top? It moved then, and we are getting closer to it all the
while!" he exclaimed.
Bob needed only one look to tell him the nature of the object.
"It is a panther, Sandy," he said, quickly, and with a shake of his
head. "A big cat of the wilderness; and, as Colonel Boone said, the
thing most to be feared in all the forest, for it jumps on the hunter
from behind. See his sleek gray sides? And notice how he swings his
long tail back and forth? I do not think we want to get any closer to
the gentleman, do you, Sandy?"
"See him crouch, Bob!" cried the other boy, in alarm. "Do you think he
means to jump for the boat? What if he did, and upset us out here? That
would be terrible! Let us shout together, and scare him, if we can!"
They did so, at the same time working feverishly to urge the boat
further away from the drifting tree-top, which had come to be the
refuge of the wood's terror.
Bob cast an apprehensive eye at the distance separating them. Could the
animal clear it, if he decided to jump? Would he dream of changing his
base in the hope of bettering his condition?
In fact, Bob was just considering whether it would not be wiser for him
to rely on his gun, if the priming could be renewed in time, rather
than in the hope of leaving the beast in the lurch, when Sandy cried
out gleefully:
"We're gaining, Bob! Keep paddling like mad, and we shall make it.
Already he hesitates, and dares not try! A strong pull, a long pull,
and a pull all together now. Hurrah! who cares?"
It was hard to quench that lad's spirit. And somehow, even in such a
moment of alarm, his buoyant courage did much to renew Bob's sinking
hopes.
By increasing their pace, already incredibly swift, down the stream,
they had managed to leave the panther and his tree-top in the lurch.
There was no longer anything to be feared from that source.
"Are we making any progress at all?" asked Sandy, who was pretty well
exhausted from his exertions.
"In one direction, yes; but toward the home shore I'm afraid not at
all," was Bob's frank reply.
"But what shall we do?" cried the younger boy, in rapidly growing
alarm; for by now the situation was beginning to impress even his
buoyant nature. "We can never keep on like this all day, for the river
grows constantly wider, and the flood stronger. Besides, Bob, I'm
afraid the canoe is beginning to leak!"
Now, Bob had known that terrible fact for some little time, but
hesitated to tell his brother, feeling sure that nothing they could do
would mend matters.
"I have been thinking, Sandy; and there seems only one chance for us
now," he said, trying to look ahead down the river.
"Oh! I hope you don't mean that we will have to swim for it!" cried the
other, aghast at the idea of finding himself buffeting the flood, with
either shore far away.
"No, I hope that may not come--yet a while, at least. But I was
thinking of the island!" said Bob.
"The island! Oh! how did I come to forget that?" shouted Sandy,
immediately beginning to show signs of new ambition. "Yes, that is it,
Bob! We must try to land on the island, if it is still above water."
"Oh!" declared Bob, quickly, "part of it must be, for you remember it
had quite a little hill on it."
"Yes, yes, for I spoke about the splendid tree that crowned the top,
and said how I would like to own a cabin up under its shelter. But
perhaps we have gone past the island! That would be terrible, wouldn't
it, Bob?"
"Surely. But I am positive that is not true. I am looking to see it at
any moment now. And, Sandy, just as soon as it comes into view, we must
paddle like everything to make it. Once we fly past, and it is all over
with us!"
The two castaways looked at each other, and each set his teeth with a
determination to do wonders should the occasion call for it.
"Do you suppose we are anywhere on a line with the island?" asked
Sandy, a new fear taking possession of him.
Bob shook his head.
"I don't know. It is impossible to tell anything in all this noise and
confusion. But I think so; I hope so," he replied.
Both now settled down to watching the watery vista that stretched
beyond. The wind was driving the rain out there on the river, so that
at times a curtain seemed to be raised before them, only to fade away
as the rain again held up for a brief interval.
Bob cast an occasional glance full of apprehension down at the water
that was coming into the canoe. He knew that the leak must be growing,
slowly but surely. Could they manage to make land before the boat
filled and sank under them?
"There! I saw the island, I am sure!" cried Sandy, in a ringing tone.
"But the rain has come back, and it is hidden again," he added in
disgust.
"Which way?" shouted Bob.
"Over to the right! We must be just a little too far out!" replied
Sandy.
"Then let us get to work! Head in toward the shore we have left, and do
your very hardest, boy!" cried Bob.
Both of the lads dipped the paddles deeply. As before, they found that
it required a giant's strength to accomplish anything worth while when
pitted against that tremendous energy contained in the swift-moving
flood.
Fortunately Sandy had recuperated in the brief time he had rested from
his efforts, so that he was able to do himself credit now, when so much
depended on changing their location.
The bare thought of missing the friendly island, and being carried on
down that raging torrent, possibly to meet death somewhere below, was
enough to make any one, even more tired than Sandy, swing his blade
with a vim.
"Oh! we can never do it, Bob!" he gasped.
"Never say die! Keep at it, I tell you! It is our only chance!" was
what came back from the other wielder of the spruce paddle.
The island could now be plainly seen. It did not look so large by half
as when they had seen it on going up the river; but the more elevated
parts were standing well out of the flood. On the upper end was a mass
of accumulated debris in the shape of stranded trees and logs.
Poor Sandy looked, and a groan burst from his lips, for he feared they
would not be able to overcome the current sufficiently to bring their
little craft close enough to that friendly shore to enable them to land!
And Bob, who clung so desperately to hope, knew that there was
absolutely no chance for them to reach a landing spot at the upper end,
even if they had wanted to mix up with all that mass of interlocked
trees.
He had grasped the situation in a comprehensive way, and sized it up.
The island was narrow, but somewhat lengthy. Of course the current
ran like a mill-race along the shore. But Bob knew that below, where
the two opposite tides met once more, there was bound to be somewhat
of a reaction. Here a little backward swirl would be found, a sort of
undertow, bearing upstream toward the foot of the island.
It would only extend for a limited distance. Once they got beyond that
drawback, and there was absolutely no hope of making land!
And that was the one thing he had in mind when he sang out so
encouragingly to his weaker brother:
"It is our only chance!"
Sandy was paddling with all his nerve, but not making a very great
success of the effort. In fact, he was so winded that he hardly knew
when he dipped his blade in the yeasty water, or drew it quaveringly
toward him.
Still, he was game, and would not give up so long as he could move a
hand. What little he could do to help might not stand for much, but
every bit helped, and even in his great distress Sandy realized this.
He could see his brother fighting like mad to swerve the boat still
further toward that shore, now so very close. It did not seem possible
that Bob could be equal to the slightest additional call upon his
reserve forces.
Now they had actually reached the upper end of the island, and were
commencing to speed along its length.
A minute or so more, and they would know their fate. Everything seemed
to depend on that last turn, when the canoe arrived at the junction of
the two currents, just below the foot of the haven of safety.
"On the outer side--change over and help me!" shouted Bob, knowing that
the critical moment was at hand.
Sandy started hastily to obey, jumping at conclusions. But once more
his nervousness played him a scurvy trick.
"Oh! it is gone!" Bob heard him shriek suddenly, and, glancing up, the
elder brother saw what had happened. The fierce sweep of the current
had snatched the paddle from Sandy's weakened hand, and it was already
floating far beyond his reach!
CHAPTER XXVII
BOB
THE situation had suddenly grown more desperate.
Deprived of what assistance Sandy might have given him, Bob must
shoulder the entire burden. Perhaps the other had not been doing much,
but his weak efforts must surely have helped a little.
Bob instinctively moved back. This would give him greater power to
swing the head of the dancing canoe toward the objective point; for the
paddler in the stern usually commands the course of the boat better
than his comrade placed in the bow, though the latter guards against
collisions, where rocks or stumps abound.
The time was so frightfully short that whatever was done had to be
carried out by sheer instinct, rather than reasoning.
Sandy, utterly exhausted, and with his poor heart almost broken because
of this new catastrophe which could be laid to his eager clumsiness,
had dropped back in the bottom of the canoe. Here he lay in several
inches of water, so discouraged that he was for the moment utterly
unmindful of what was going on around him.
Of course he knew that Bob was working like a frantic being to push the
wavering bow just a little closer to the shore they were so rapidly
skirting. But it was all useless. His blunder had spoiled their last
hope, and now nothing remained but to take what came.
How wonderful it was to see how Bob arose to the occasion. His arms
were working like flails in the hands of a thresher of grain. They sped
backward and forward with a momentum that fairly bewildered the eyes of
Sandy.
But alas! there was one stupendous drawback, one thing that seemed
fated to undo all this splendid work which his gallant brother was
putting into play. Sandy saw, and groaned in spirit; for that was where
he might have saved the day had he not lost his grip on his paddle when
the hungry waves snatched at it.
It was the lost motion that would ruin them. Fast though Bob was making
his apparently tireless arms move, he could not keep up a constant
movement. And between his strokes that ceaseless current would undo
nearly every bit of good that had been accomplished by his efforts.
Had Sandy been able to insert his blade between, he might have held the
canoe to what had been gained. And each time Bob would have won more
and more inches.
And yet, despite this serious handicap, Bob was actually doing wonders.
Surely they did not seem to be quite so far away from the shore as when
they first came abreast of the long island!
Sandy awoke to the fact that perhaps after all there _was_ a glimmer of
hope.
"Oh! if you only can, Bob!" he cried, bestirring himself.
Was there anything he could do to help? He thought of leaning over the
side of the canoe, and using his poor hands to dash at the water, on
whose swiftly moving bosom they were being swept along.
Useless, worse than useless, for in so doing he might only serve to
weaken Bob's furious efforts, by shaking the frail and almost sinking
boat.
His gun--could he not do something with the broad shoulder butt to urge
the canoe around? Sandy was a creature of impulse. He seldom waited to
give a second thought to anything, once it found lodgment in his brain.
So he made a swoop forward, snatching the musket from the place where
it had been fastened before the voyage was begun. The cord held, but
with a second fierce jerk he broke it.
Then, with a shout in which new hope had a part, Sandy dipped the stock
of the old gun deep in the river, and swept it around toward the stern.
Bob realized what he was doing. He could not look around, of course,
since each second was priceless just then. Perhaps he understood from
some trifling change in the movement of the canoe, when he drew his
dripping blade out for another mad plunge, that a new element had taken
hold.
And it may have even spurred the brave lad to doing better than before,
if such a thing could be.
They were now rapidly approaching the lower end of the island.
Bob's eyes were fastened eagerly on that point. The rain had ceased
temporarily, and he could see plainly. How he wished he had examined
the cross currents there more closely at the time they were leisurely
paddling up stream!
There would only be time for about a dozen more quick energetic dips of
the paddle. He must make each one tell. After that a great deal would
depend on fortune whether they reached that line of foam which marked
the edge of the drawback. If they could only attain a lodgment within
that charmed half circle, he believed it would be possible to gain the
land.
Sandy was working again with feverish anxiety to undo the harm his
mistake had wrought.
The newly awakened hope gave him a fictitious strength, and, while
the stock of an old flint-lock musket may not be the finest sort of a
paddle in the world, there might be things much worse.
Sandy knew they had a chance! He could see the head of the canoe,
water-logged though the craft was at the time, and slow to respond to
their efforts, turning toward the land, inch by inch.
Yes, surely they were going to make it! If only Bob could keep up his
strenuous work a dozen seconds longer all must be well. Once they
reached the border of the cross currents, the tug would be relieved
wonderfully, and they could urge their unwieldy craft into a harbor!
He knew Bob would rise to the occasion. He could see him settling
himself as if to let loose the very last atom of reserve strength
there might lurk in his system. Gallant Bob! was his like ever known
among the young pioneers of the West? Nothing seemed able to crush his
hopeful and determined spirit. What a brother to have; and how Sandy's
whole soul seemed to go out to him in that dreadful moment, when their
lives hung trembling in the balance!
Trust him for keeping a tight grip on his invaluable blade. There could
never happen to wise Bob the same disaster that had overwhelmed Sandy
with confusion.
Three of the needed half-dozen sweeps had already been given. And the
result seemed to be all that might have been expected, so that Sandy's
hopes rose higher with each stroke.
They were gaining--they would make the ripple, and be saved from the
horrors that lay further down that swollen stream!
And just when Sandy was about to burst out into a shout of joy, if his
spent breath would allow of such a thing, he was suddenly plunged back
again into the pit of despair.
For there was an ominous sharp crack, a cry from Bob, and he held up
the stump of his broken paddle. It had failed him at the critical
moment!
Poor Sandy collapsed when he saw this sight. He dropped his now useless
gun in the bottom of the canoe, and cowered there, shutting out the
terrible sight of the island slipping past by covering his eyes with
his hands.
It had been so nearly accomplished that the catastrophe seemed all the
more keen, and he could not bear to look at the receding haven which
they had hoped to make their refuge.
Of course now the canoe would be wholly in the power of the victorious
current, which must carry it onward like a chip, until shortly the
incoming water would attain such a level as to sink the craft.
Then--but Sandy could not allow himself to picture what would happen
when he and his brother were forced to battle with the cruel giants
contained in those leaping waves.
But what was this? Surely there was a jerking motion to the craft that
had been missing after Bob's ill-fated paddle broke!
Sandy wonderingly uncovered his eyes. He stared in dismay. Why, where
was Bob? The place where he had set while working like a hero was
deserted! Had he seen the folly of further resistance, and thrown
himself over the side, welcoming the fate that seemed so certain?
Sandy half started up, cold with fear. The boat was still heading
toward that end of the island, so close that he could easily have
tossed a biscuit on the nearest bushes, half under water now!
Some unseen influence was evidently urging the canoe along its course,
just as though a friendly giant, concealed from view under the rushing,
tumultuous waters, had decided at the last instant to give the
adventurous boys a parting chance.
Then all at once the truth flashed over him. Why, to be sure, it was
Bob! He had refused to be utterly cast down by the sudden reverse
that snatched away his valuable paddle by snapping it in half. He had
instantly plunged over the side of the boat. He was in the water,
gripping the hesitating canoe, and striving with all his power to urge
it into peaceful waters!
So Sandy again snatched up his abandoned gun, and, dipping the stock
deep in the river's foam, strove to add what little assistance he could
to the gallant efforts of the boy who would not give in.
Inch by inch they began to win out. Sandy's heart seemed to be in his
mouth during that critical period, when the boat actually balanced
between two courses. Then, as though Bob had given a last tremendous
lunge, it selected the easier alternative, and headed for the point of
the island!
CHAPTER XXVIII
A RESCUE
"OVERBOARD with you, and help!"
"Yes, yes, Bob; I'm coming!"
Sandy seemed to be given a new lease of life. Hope brought fresh powers
of endurance. Without an instant's delay he slid over the end of the
canoe, and into the flood.
He was a swimmer, like every young pioneer who went into the wilderness
with his people; and, as soon as Sandy put his shoulder to the
now-lightened canoe, why of course its progress toward the near-by
point of land was considerably quickened.
It was all right! They could count on being able to make land, where
the boat might be repaired, and their own flagging energies restored,
ere they again breasted the swollen stream in the effort to reach the
home shore.
Now they could touch bottom with their feet. After that it was easy; so
that soon the boat was dragged up on the land, safe from the swirling
waters.
Sandy tried to give a shout to signify how glad he felt; but there was
not breath enough left in his lungs. All he could do was to sink down
on the friendly shore, and pant like a winded deer.
Bob followed suit. He was as exhausted as his brother; for his recent
efforts had been simply tremendous. And, as he lay on the shore, there
must have come to his heart that warm glow so natural to victory, when
one has fought the good fight, and won.
But not for long did Bob stay there on the ground. He knew that there
was much to be done, since they were soaked to the skin, and shivering.
Besides, the canoe must be emptied of the water it contained and
dragged up higher; for no one could say to what limit the flood might
attain ere it began to fall.
And Sandy, seeing his intention, also dragged his weary frame erect.
"What ought we do first?" he asked.
"Take hold, and we will empty out the canoe. Then let us try to make
some sort of shelter from the rain; after which a fire would be the
next best thing."
Sandy worked hard. He was cold, and his teeth rattled together in
spite of the great gratitude that filled his heart over their almost
miraculous preservation. The sooner they got that campfire started, the
better for them both.
He went to work as on the other occasion, at the time they were
preparing against the coming of this storm. Only now he had to accept
just such substitutes as the island afforded.
Fortunately it was wooded, so that they need not lack for material.
Some of the rocks offered a chance to build up side walls, over which
the roof might slope, to shed the rain that was still coming down.
It took time to accomplish all this, but promised to repay their
efforts. When the shelter was in a fair way toward being finished, Bob
set to work starting a fire. Luckily he kept his tinder in a little
waterproof box, held within his bag; and it had not suffered from his
immersion in the river.
An adept with flint and steel, he quickly had the sparks flying, and a
blaze began to spring up. This was fed with bits of dry wood, torn from
the heart of a partly-dead tree, until there was enough fire to seize
upon anything offered in the way of fuel.
"How good that feels!" declared the shivering Sandy, holding out his
hands toward the leaping flames.
"I agree with you," answered Bob, smiling just as of yore, as if the
terrible events of the last half hour were only a dream.
They cowered there under their shelter while their garments steamed in
the now genial heat. With every passing minute both boys were feeling
better. Sandy even began to cast covetous glances toward the buffalo
meat, which was lying close at hand, as though his customary appetite
had once more started to let him know growing boys must be often fed.
Seeing this, Bob nodded his head. He was feeling drowsy, for the
natural reaction after his recent tremendous exertions had set in; and
this was augmented by the delicious warmth of the fine fire.
So Sandy started to find a lot of reeds that would answer for toasting
forks, on which bits of meat could be brought to a delightful stage
when placed close to the blaze.
"It's stopped raining, Bob!" he declared, as he returned after his
foraging expedition with all the reeds needed.
"I hope that is the end of it," declared the other, though he poked his
head out from his shelter and surveyed the lowering heavens doubtingly.
"Where do you think all this water is coming from?" asked Sandy,
looking across the broad river to the shore where, further down, the
new settlement stood; and no doubt wondering how they were ever going
to cross that raging flood that was carrying hundreds of trees on its
bosom.
"Oh, you forget that two rivers flow into this at Fort Pitt. Besides,
there are other streams, all bank-full. It has been a terrible rain.
Never in Virginia did we ever see anything like it."
"How fortunate that there are hills all along the Ohio, where the flood
cannot reach. No wonder Colonel Boone warned us never to build our
cabins low down to the edge of the water. Why, Bob, just think what
would have happened now had we foolishly done so!"
"Yes," remarked the other, as he cut off several pieces of meat to
toast at the end of the reeds Sandy had tossed him. "After this,
perhaps some one I know will have more respect for the simple old
medicine man who foretold just this flood. How about that, Sandy?"
"He knew, sure enough," admitted the other, readily; "but just as you
said, I believe he guessed what was coming from the looks of the sky.
The longer it held off the worse it would be when it arrived. Say,
this is what I call comfort, Bob. Think what a difference between our
present condition, and when we were fighting for our lives out yonder,"
and Sandy shuddered as he cast a quick glance toward the spot where the
two currents clashed after skirting the length of the island.
After a while they were able to begin eating. Perhaps there might have
seemed a sameness about this fare to a modern boy; but these hardy
pioneer lads never dreamed of complaining. Indeed, their hearts were
now filled with thanksgiving over their recent miraculous escape, and
there was no room for regrets. Besides, they were not used to luxuries
in those days.
Sandy was drawing a long breath, as though really unable to finish
all the food he had cooked, when he saw his brother start up. Bob was
holding his head in a listening attitude.
"What did you think you heard?" exclaimed the other, in alarm.
"I must have been mistaken," said Bob, smiling; "for it would be next
to impossible for any one to be out here on this island right now."
"But did you think you heard some one call?" persisted Sandy.
"Yes, it sounded like a shout. But no doubt it was some hawk that has
found shelter, like ourselves, on the island. If we watch we will
likely see him fly away, now that the rain has stopped."
Bob had hardly spoken when both brothers half sprang to their feet.
"It was a cry for help!" exclaimed Sandy, looking at his brother, as
usual expecting Bob to take the initiative in the emergency.
"Some one is in trouble!" said the other, "and it is up to us to see if
we can do anything for him. Remember how we would have been crazy with
joy had there been a helping hand held out when all seemed lost!"
"There it comes again! And from the same place! Whoever it is, he
cannot be going past the island."
"No," cried Bob, "I think he must have been thrown ashore among all
that trash at the upper end, and, unable to help himself, is in danger
of drowning there, caught in the piled up tree-tops. Come, we must get
there and lend a hand."
"It may be an Indian, and a hostile," reminded Sandy.
"I do not think so, for the shout seemed to call for 'help!' But even
if it is an Indian, surely you have reason for knowing that all Indians
are not cruel and merciless. Remember the gratitude of Blue Jacket.
Come, Sandy!"
Bob hardly needed to say all this, for Sandy would not have held
back. Together they made their way along the shore. It was not easy
travelling, for the bushes grew thickly and interfered with their
passage; but Bob led the way, and, accustomed to pushing through the
woods, he surmounted all difficulties, Sandy coming close at his heels.
In this fashion they finally came to the head of the island, where the
floating trunks of dead trees, some with branches, too, formed a sort
of barrier, which the force of the flood had swept up on the point.
"There, look yonder, Bob! I see him!" cried Sandy, the instant they
arrived.
There was indeed a clinging figure out amid that mass of floating
timber. The unknown seemed to be endeavoring to crawl through the
network surrounding him; but his strength had apparently reached its
last notch.
Bob never hesitated, but started out over the logs. Now and then he had
to exercise considerable care lest he slip, and once more plunge into
the roaring flood.
"Stand where you are, Sandy," he called to his brother, who had
followed him. "Be ready to help when I give the word. I think I can
get hold of him, and slew him around to you. Take care, and keep your
footing!"
Evidently Bob knew just how to carry out his hastily-arranged plan, for
in a brief time he had gripped the unknown by the arm, and was hauling
him out of and over the wreckage that surrounded him.
So by slow degrees they managed between them all to get ashore. Here
the man collapsed. He was no doubt overcome by the joyful sense of
safety, when he had apparently given himself up for lost.
"We must get him down to our little camp," said Bob, as he looked at
the exhausted man.
"Who can he be!" questioned Sandy; for the bearded white face was
totally unfamiliar to either of them.
"I do not know. Take hold of his feet, while I try to hold his
shoulders. Between us we can carry him, step by step."
They had made a passage in going up, and it would have been easier
returning had they not been burdened with the senseless stranger; but,
by resting frequently, the two boys finally managed to attain their
end, and the man was laid alongside the fire.
They started to rub the hands of the sufferer, to restore circulation,
for he was evidently chilled to the bone, as well as utterly exhausted.
No doubt the genial warmth of the fire had considerable to do with it;
but the efforts of the boys counted as something, and presently they
were rewarded by seeing the man's eyes open.
"He's alive, Bob! We're going to bring him around all right!" exclaimed
Sandy.
In five minutes the man could lie there and hold out his trembling
hands to the fire. In ten he was sitting up, gnawing hungrily at a
piece of roasted meat Sandy had handed him, as though he knew that in
this way he would regain some of that strength which he had lost when
engulfed in the flood.
And sitting there, watching him curiously, the two lads never once
suspected how again their lucky star was in the ascendent; and that in
saving this stranger from a watery grave they were bringing happiness
home to those they loved so dearly.
CHAPTER XXIX
WONDERFUL TIDINGS
THE man was so weak that presently he sank back and seemed to sleep.
"Is he going to die?" asked Sandy, alarmed at his looks.
"Not just now," replied his brother, shaking his head as he spoke. "You
felt that heat of the fire yourself; and you see it has sent him to
sleep. Here, cover him with my blanket. It is dry now, and will keep
him warm."
Leaving the stranger, who as yet had not spoken a word, the boys turned
their attention to the leaky canoe. They knew how the Indians managed
to stop any such openings in their light boats, made of birch bark or
buffalo hides; and Bob had been wise enough to carry along some of the
necessary pitch when starting out on this journey of exploration.
"Do you ever forget anything?" demanded Sandy, when he saw his brother
produce the needed material for mending their boat, and start heating
it over the fire.
"Oh! yes, often," replied Bob, cheerfully; for he knew his own faults,
even if Sandy refused to see them. "And it was possible that we would
run on a snag that would punch a hole in the boat; so I came prepared
to mend it."
The boat had been carried near the fire some time before, in order that
it might dry out. When the conditions were right Bob set to work. He
had asked Blue Jacket many questions regarding repairing canoes, when
the young Shawanee brave was a guest under the Armstrong roof; and what
he had learned proved of considerable value to him now.
"How will it hold?" asked Sandy, who was hovering near, eager to lend a
hand if his brother needed help.
"I think it will be stronger than ever," came the reply.
"That was always a weak spot, I remember. Once, I thought my foot was
going to break through," declared Sandy, reminiscently.
"Just as you say. I noticed it myself, and that was one mistake I made.
I should have put this patch on before we started on our trip," and Bob
stood back to survey his work.
"Well," remarked the younger lad, as his eyes went out over that
tumbling flood, on which the trees were swiftly passing in procession,
"we will need a good stout boat if we hope to get over there. Do you
think we can manage it, Bob? I'd be willing to take some chances rather
than stay here a week, perhaps two, and have mother crying her eyes out
for us the while."
"I see no reason why we shouldn't make it," came Bob's reply. "The
current heads toward our shore. Besides, with three to paddle, we
should be able, foot by foot, to get over. And when we once leave the
middle of the river it will not be so bad."
"Three! Then you expect that our new friend will be able to help out?"
and Sandy glanced toward the sleeping stranger.
"Surely. After he wakes up he will be stronger. And he does not look
like one who would shirk. He must have struggled hard to reach that
place where we found him. Perhaps he saw our fire through the trees, or
heard you shout. That was what made him cry out."
Bob had picked up a hatchet as he spoke, and started to move off.
"Let me cut some more fuel," objected Sandy, as he tried to take the
tool from the other's hands.
"It isn't that," said Bob. "I am going to look for a piece of wood that
can be chopped into new paddles. We need three of them, you see, and it
is going to be a long job to fashion them, with only a hatchet and a
jackknife to work with."
"Then I will go along. Perhaps two pair of eyes may be better than one
in looking for the spruce pine," declared the younger brother, eagerly.
And so it proved, for Sandy was the one to discover the tree they
sought. Bob could figure just how the paddles might be hewn out, and he
attacked the tree in a spirited way that soon encompassed its fall.
When he tired, Sandy took a turn; and in this fashion they finally had
three pieces, in the rough, which Bob declared would make very good
paddles. And by slow degrees the first one was shaped until it only
needed whittling with a knife to complete the job.
"That seems all right," declared Sandy, as he proceeded to try the
blade; "and I give you my word that it is far stronger than either of
the ones we lost. I mean to fasten my paddle, this time, to my wrist
with a bit of buckskin thong, and then, even if I lose my grip, it will
never get away."
"A clever idea," answered Bob, pausing in his work to wipe his brow,
and smile at his brother; "and it will pay us all to do the same. Was
it not father who told us how an ounce of prevention is better than
a pound of cure? And once a paddle gets caught in the clutch of that
river it can never be recovered again."
"See!" exclaimed Sandy, "our friend is stirring! He is sitting up, and
staring around him. I think he can hardly understand where he is, and
how he came to cheat the river of a grave. Now he sees us, and smiles.
Bob, there is something I like about that man, stranger though he is.
I seem to feel that he is a friend, and that we will always be glad we
rescued him to-day."
"I am sure of that. There, the second paddle is about done. I am
tired of the work, so let us go over to make the acquaintance of our
guest. He is beckoning to us," and Bob dropped his hatchet to obey the
summons.
The stranger held out both hands, while his bearded face lighted up
with a smile that, as Sandy had said, was very winning.
"How can I ever thank you, boys, for what you have done?" he said, as
he pressed a hand of each. "But for you I should have passed over to
the other side."
"Please do not say anything more," replied Bob, who could not bear to
be praised for simply doing his duty. "Who may you be, and how did
it happen that we found you among the tree-tops at the head of this
island?"
"My name is Silas Hemphill. With a party of others I was on my way
down the river in a dugout canoe, intending to join our fortunes with
the new settlers from Virginia, who lately came overland. We left Fort
Pitt two days back, and were progressing fairly when this storm broke
upon us. Doubtless we took too many chances, for we presently found
ourselves in the grasp of the river, and could not return to shore."
He paused a minute to get a grip on himself, and then continued:
"Finally our boat was overturned. Heaven alone knows what became of my
two companions; but I fear they must have been drowned. Only by the
rarest of good fortune, and the favor of Providence, was I able to keep
afloat until cast up amid the tree-tops where you found me."
"But why did you shout? Surely you could not imagine that any one would
be on this island to hear you?" asked Sandy, curious still.
"I did not know then it was an island. And it seemed to me that I
had heard a voice calling, which I supposed must belong to one of my
friends who had luckily gained a footing on the shore. That was why
I cried out, for I was frantic. But I fear much that I am the only
survivor of the three voyagers."
The newcomer was eying them in turn curiously.
"And now," he said, "I would like to know your names; for I shall never
forget what I owe you both. I can see that you must be brothers, for
there is some resemblance between you; though I should say that this
one," indicating Sandy, "probably takes after his mother; while the
other is more like his father. This without knowing who your parents
may be."
"My name is Alexander, though they always call me Sandy. We are the
sons of David and Mary Armstrong."
As Sandy spoke Silas Hemphill's eyes took on a new glow, and again he
thrust out both hands to seize those of the boys.
"How wonderful are the ways of Providence!" he muttered, in a way that
gave the listening boys a start. "To think that my life should have
been saved by the sons of David Armstrong, of all men!"
"Then you know our father?" demanded Bob.
"No, I have never met him," came the reply. "But I have heard much
about him in the country I happened to pass through while on my way
here from Carolina, where my former home lay."
The rescued man looked at them both, and Bob was thrilled to see
tears in his eyes. Why should this stranger be so moved at sight of
David Armstrong's two boys? He spoke of having heard about their
father--could that have been down in Virginia, in the town which had
been so cruel to the man who valued his honor as he did his very life?
Bob saw a faint gleam of light. He hardly dared believe it at first, in
fear lest it prove only a hollow mockery. Still, he could not resist
saying:
"You say you heard much about our father, sir,--was it to his credit
that these things were said; or did they tell you the hateful, lying
stories that drove him to come far away from those who were once his
neighbors and friends?"
"My boy, I heard that which your father would give much to know. While
I stopped for a few days in the town where you dwelt, there was a
serious fray in a place where strong drink was sold. One man, a black,
was badly wounded. His name was Scipio, Black Scipio he was called, and
he used to work in the same tobacco warehouse where David Armstrong was
employed. Before he died the man confessed that it was _his_ hand that
fired the barn, for the destruction of which your father was blamed.
And now Jason Diggett, conscience stricken for having driven an honest
man into exile, wishes to hear from your father in order that he make
amends, in so far as pounds, shillings and pence may heal the wound!"
CHAPTER XXX
CONCLUSION
FOR a full minute the two lads just sat there and stared at each other.
Neither could say a single word; indeed, they did not seem to even
breathe, such was the excess of sheer happiness that passed over them
like a great wave.
Their father's innocence then was proved! His old-time neighbors knew
now how grievously they had wronged the one whose name had never before
been smirched with a suspicion of evil doing!
Suddenly Sandy awoke. He sprang up and began to dance wildly about,
while he flung his arms above his head and shouted at the top of his
strong, boyish voice.
"It's come at last, Bob! Just think of it! Father is able to look any
man in the face now! Hurrah! it was worth all it cost to learn this!
Yes, and I'd go through it again if I had to. Thank you, Mr. Hemphill,
thank you! You will find a happy family when you go home with us, and
a warm welcome there!"
The stranded man looked out over that tumbling sea, and shrugged his
shoulders.
"Do we have to take the chances of crossing that swollen stream?" he
asked.
"Yes," said Bob; "but we have mended our boat, and will have three
strong new paddles to work with. We could stay here until to-morrow,
but I fear the river may be even worse then than now. But you have made
us both happy. We feel that nothing ought to keep us from reaching home
this day, to carry the blessed news to our dear ones!"
Bob started back at his work with feverish eagerness; but now joy
filled his soul, and caused him to chop with new zeal.
The third paddle was hewn out even while Sandy was smoothing off the
second with his jackknife, he being a master-hand at such work, as many
boys were in the days when few amusements were given them.
It was now about the middle of the afternoon. The sky was still gloomy
overhead, and Bob had fears that the rain would set in again.
"Another reason why we ought to try to cross before darkness comes,"
he said, when they spoke about this.
"I only hope it does not start when we are out on that flood," answered
Sandy, with a shiver.
"That would be a misfortune," declared Silas Hemphill. "Surely we will
not be deserted in the eleventh hour. I hope to shake David Armstrong's
hand to-night."
Sandy hurried the finishing of the third paddle. He did not relish the
voyage they had before them; but there seemed no other course open.
Before starting out they made all things as secure as possible.
Hemphill had by this time fully recovered and professed himself not
only willing, but able, to do his share of the paddling. The canoe
would carry three, though one might find it necessary at times to stop
paddling in order to bale out what water dashed over the sides.
Bob had taken as good a view as possible of their expected course. As
he could not see a great distance down the river he might only surmise
what awaited them there.
Of course the one prime necessity was to make as quickly as they could
toward shore, taking advantage of every eddy to gain a few inches or
feet at a time.
"I believe I have learned something from our past experience," he
remarked, as he took his place in the stern, ready to push off.
Sandy occupied the bow, while Silas Hemphill was a fixture in the
centre, where he could assist with his blade, or dip water over the
side, as occasion arose.
"Ready?" asked Bob, trying to appear quite at his ease, though
doubtless his heart was thumping at a tremendous rate at the prospect
of their once more daring the dangers of the flood.
"Yes, push off, Bob!" said Sandy, wonderfully grave, for him.
Truth to tell there was no doubt but that every one of them just then
was occupied with secretly praying that success might attend their
object, and the friendly shore be attained in safety.
"Here goes, then!"
With the words Bob gave a shove, and the canoe once more danced upon
the swollen waters of the furious Ohio.
Immediately every paddle was set to work. The boat made a good start,
and shot away from the lower end of the island like a thing of life,
heading for the southern bank of the river.
Then came that strong current, and seized hold. The paddles rose and
fell, fast and faster. Muscles were brought to bear that dipped the
blades deeply below the surface, and, despite the sweep of the tide,
they kept continually edging nearer and nearer the goal for which they
were aiming.
There was a deep satisfaction in this. It spurred them all on to doing
better things. When a wave slopped over the side Silas Hemphill needed
no reminder to tell him his duty, but, picking up the little cooking
kettle, he started to relieve the canoe of its burden of water.
No one said a word. There was scant breath for the work that occupied
their attention, not to mention talking. Actions must take the place of
conversation at such a time.
All the while Bob knew that they were gaining. The shore for a
brief space of time stood out more positively than before. True, it
was beginning to rain, and coming down harder and harder with each
passing moment; but even this could not wholly cast a damper over his
satisfaction.
"Keep going! All is well!"
He managed to shout these few words, feeling that Sandy might be in
need of encouragement.
Just where they might be no one could even give a guess now. It was a
fight in the dark, apparently; but it could not last much longer.
Already had Bob noticed with joy that the "pull" of the current was
slackening considerably. There could be but one reason for that--the
shore was close by, and here the swollen river moved with far less
impetuosity than out in the middle.
At times it had been difficult to wholly avoid a collision with some
of the floating trees; but these never varied in their steady downward
progress, and the canoe was capable of veering out of the way, so that
thus far they had succeeded in keeping trouble at bay.
"Only a little more, Sandy!" called Bob.
Silas Hemphill again had his paddle working, and all together they sent
the boat flying to the shore. But not one of them was able to raise a
cheer when finally they ran aground.
They lay there in the canoe for a short time, limp and exhausted,
satisfied to know that they were at last safely landed.
It was Sandy's quick eyes that suddenly made a discovery.
"Look! where we have come to land, Bob!" he exclaimed, pointing to some
bulky object that seemed to be fastened to the shore with ropes.
"Why!" cried Bob, also taken aback, "as sure as anything that must be
Captain Heally's new flatboat, on which he expects some day to drift
further down the Ohio! What luck, Mr. Hemphill! Just to think that we
have landed in front of _home_!"
They made haste to scramble ashore, after which the canoe was carried
up out of reach of the hungry tide. By this time several men, who had
been watching to see that the ropes holding the flatboat did not give
way, had heard them, and came hastening to the spot.
Shouldering the buffalo meat which had been safely carried through all
their adventures, and with their guns and new paddles, the boys started
up the hill, eager to reassure those dear ones, who must certainly be
worrying concerning their safety.
Kate was the first to sight them. The girl had been to the lookout
when the rain held up, hoping to get some glimpse of the boat, though
no one believed it could cross the river in all that angry storm. She
had returned to the cabin when once more the rain came down, but was
sitting at a door looking forth when, through the mists, she caught
sight of them.
Presently the boys and their guest were inside the cabin, where a warm
welcome awaited them. Sandy of course could not keep back the good news.
"Father!" he cried, drawing the stranger forward, "this is Mr. Silas
Hemphill, and he brings you great joy. Coming from our old home, he
tells us the barn-burner has been found, and confessed his crime! And
who do you think it was, but that good-for-nothing slave, Black Scipio,
owned by Jason Diggett himself, and who wanted to even the score after
receiving twenty lashes at the hands of his master!"
David Armstrong's strong face paled. Words failed him in that supreme
moment of happiness. He could only turn his mute eyes toward his wife,
who in turn bent her head; and the boys knew she was giving thanks to
the great God on high, because her faith had not been in vain.
It was a happy household that gathered under the Armstrong roof that
night. Wild though the winds howled across the waste of waters, furious
as the flood swept past, inside their walls all was serene.
Again and again did the newcomer have to tell his story. It seemed as
though none of them could ever hear it often enough. And, tired though
both boys must have been after their hard experiences of that day,
neither would think of going to bed until a late hour.
On the morrow a happy event took place, for both companions of Silas
Hemphill made their appearance. They had fortunately kept together,
and, being carried near a tree, managed to scramble into the branches.
Some miles down the stream the tree was stranded near the shore, after
getting in an eddy; and by great good luck they landed, to make their
way to the settlement.
David Armstrong thought little of returning to his old Virginia home,
even though his name had been cleared. This new country looked far too
good to him to give it up, and, besides, there were too many bitter
memories connected with the Virginia town.
In good time the repentant Jason Diggett did send out quite a bountiful
supply of such things as he fancied the new settlers might need. David
at first was inclined to refuse, but finally accepted the gift as in
some sort an acknowledgment of reparation for the wrong done him. What
the little family did not need he could readily barter with the Indians
in his new trade relations, receiving in return valuable skins that he
could exchange for money or for tea, sugar and such necessities.
Occasionally Bob and Sandy saw their red friend, Blue Jacket; but he
was chary about coming to the settlement, not having any great liking
for the whites except the Armstrong family.
The two young pioneers considered that they had well nigh exhausted
the stock of adventures that were to fall to their portion when they
rescued Silas Hemphill from the flood, and carried him across the
raging river to bring good news to the Armstrong cabin.
Little did they suspect that still more strenuous events were going to
befall them later on that same season, when their little sister Kate
was carried off a prisoner by the roving Iroquois. But these adventures
must be kept for the next story of this series of frontier adventure,
to be called: "The Pioneer Boys on the Great Lakes; or, On the Trail
of the Iroquois."
The new settlement waxed strong in numbers, as more people came out
from the far country beyond the range of mountains, and joined their
forces with those who were first on the ground. A blockhouse was soon
finished, in which the settlers could find refuge in case of an Indian
attack. Fields were planted as fast as the forest was cleared; and
before Fall arrived it was one of the most thriving places west of Fort
Pitt.
Daniel Boone came again, and with him that fine fellow, Simon Kenton;
just then starting out on his adventurous career, and destined to
become so famous in the annals of border warfare. In him the brave and
warlike red men found a fearless enemy, equal to Boone himself, and one
ready to dare any peril in defence of the hardy settlers.
As the summer waxed and waned Bob and Sandy Armstrong went about their
business of providing the family with fresh meat, for game laws were
unknown in those early days, and working men must have food to sustain
their strength.
While there were occasional times when the Shawanees swooped down upon
the border settlements, they somehow seemed to leave this peaceful home
community alone. And David Armstrong and his friends understood that
this immunity was the result of the time when Bob and Sandy took the
wounded brave in charge, and saved his life. Blue Jacket guarded their
interests; and the whole community profited from the charge.
[Illustration]
THE END.
NOTES
NOTE 1 (PAGE 1)
AMONG the people of the frontier it was customary, when fortune was
kind, so that they happened to possess an overabundance of fresh
venison, to dry a stock of this meat for the lean time when food would
be scarce. This was known as dried or "jerked" venison, and could be
nibbled at when on a tramp, or else served in the form of a stew, being
fairly palatable. Of course they picked up this habit of laying in a
store against a time of necessity from the Indians, who had possibly
done this same thing through the centuries of the past, long before the
new America became known to the people of the Old World.
NOTE 2 (PAGE 10)
The deer which had fallen to the guns of Bob and Sandy was of the
common red Virginia species. This animal has always been found east of
the Mississippi, and ranging from the Great Lakes down to the tip end
of the Florida peninsula. The farther south one goes, the smaller the
deer becomes; so that it is not uncommon for a successful hunter among
the palmetto-bordered shores of the Mexican Gulf to carry his quarry
home on his back, with little effort.
NOTE 3 (PAGE 32)
The usual costume of the day consisted of a heavy jacket and trousers,
and under the jacket a sort of jerkin or close waistcoat made of wool.
Underneath this was another garment that might perhaps be called a
shirt, woven in the crude, home-made hand loom, and adding much to the
comfort of the wearer.
Except for the woollen jerkin, all the clothing was made of a
stout cloth that in later days came to be known as jeans. It was
wear-resisting to a remarkable degree, which of course proved to be a
blessing all around, for new clothes in the families of most pioneers
must always be an event never to be forgotten in the lives of the
children.
Moccasins usually covered the feet, shoes being expensive luxuries
which few among the settlers could afford. To tan a deerskin, and
fashion a pair of moccasins, was an accomplishment quickly learned from
the Indians.
NOTE 4 (PAGE 55)
Perhaps to the boy of to-day the Armstrong home would have appeared a
very cheerless place. The sleeping-places in the loft were reached by
means of a pair of steep stairs that when not in use could be drawn
up to the board ceiling, thus affording more room below. Over in one
corner stood the spinning-wheel which was responsible for so many of
Bob and Sandy's comforts in the way of clothes. In another quarter was
the loom at which the good woman of the house was wont to fashion the
stout cloth from which the outer garments of both boys, as well as Mr.
Armstrong himself, were made.
Under the small window stood the locker in which the housewife kept
what small remnant of former luxuries in the way of linen remained to
her from the stores in the comfortable home in Richmond that had been
theirs before trouble found them out.
The light from the open windows fell upon the bunches of herbs and
dried vegetables that hung from the low rafters overhead, and upon the
steaming pot that hung over the blaze in the wide-throated fireplace.
NOTE 5 (PAGE 112)
Daniel Boone at this time was still a comparatively young man; but
already his intrepid soul had drank deeply of the cup of adventure; and
he felt within him the yearning of a true explorer.
He had, some years before, given up his comfortable home in the Yadkin
valley, away back in North Carolina, because the country there was
becoming "too thickly settled" to please his ideas of comfort. When it
became necessary to mark the boundaries of his fields, and he could
actually see the smoke of another cabin not over half a mile away, he
resolved to put into action the designs for a westward move which in
secret he had long been cherishing.
His faithful wife gave herself heart and soul to his ambition to settle
in that mysterious Golden West that seemed to be beckoning Boone on.
They made a first step by crossing the Cumberland Mountains, and
starting a new home to the west of this range.
But Boone had already been further in Kentucky, and there was that in
the rich plains of the interior to draw him like a magnet. When one
has seen the region long known as the "Blue Grass country," around
Lexington, and realized what a paradise on earth it has ever been,
it is not so hard to understand why Daniel Boone refused to content
himself with a home in a safer locality, less favored by Nature.
In history Boone will always stand at the head of the brave pioneers
who opened up the grand country south of the Ohio. All his later life
he was engaged in trying to defend the infant settlements against the
assaults of the red men. These Indians learned to respect him as a man
more than any other "paleface" known to the times.
Kentucky was known for many years as the "debatable ground," simply
because of the tremendous efforts of the Shawanees, allied with other
Indian tribes, to burn the new settlements, and drive out the pioneers.
But by slow degrees they found themselves obliged to sue for peace, and
cede their glorious lands to their conquerors in exchange for certain
valuable commodities.
To show what this remarkable man endured for the sake of the principle
which he had made a part of his life, his own words, when speaking of
Kentucky, may be given as evidence of his sincerity of purpose:
"My footsteps have often been marked by blood, and therefore I can
truly subscribe to its title of the 'dark and bloody ground.' Two
darling sons and a brother have I lost by savage hands. Many dark and
sleepless nights have I been a companion for owls, separated from the
cheerful society of men, scorched by the summer's sun, and pinched by
the winter's cold--an instrument ordained to settle the wilderness.
But now the scene is changed; peace crowns the sylvan shade!"
NOTE 6 (PAGE 113)
Simon Kenton was very young at this time; but already in Boone he seems
to have found the type of man whom he aspired to imitate. Brave to a
stage of rashness, he lacked many of the most admirable qualities that
stamped that peerless pioneer, but he had a personality that inspired
the respect and admiration of all.
Kenton's association with Boone in those early days had a great
influence on his future life. His one failing was rashness; and, when
dealing with a sly and treacherous foe, such as the red men invariably
proved themselves to be, this was indeed a weakness that if not
corrected would sooner or later have brought about the death of the
venturesome frontiersman.
Boone frequently took his younger companion to task for hasty words,
or reckless conduct; and it was due to his wise counsel and example
that Kenton became later a leader among the pioneers second only in
influence and ability to Boone himself.
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And a companion story, IN VERONA, being two delightful short stories of
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* * * * *
Transcriber's Notes:
Varied hyphenation retained as in nearby and near-by.
Page 159, "fine" changed to "find" (could find safety)
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