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The Keepers of the Trail: A Story of the Great Woods

by Joseph A. Altsheler · English · Gutenberg #25596 · 483,289 chars · public domain (US)

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Title: The Keepers of the Trail: A Story of the Great Woods

Author: Joseph A. Altsheler


        
Release date: May 25, 2008 [eBook #25596]

Language: English

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*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE KEEPERS OF THE TRAIL: A STORY OF THE GREAT WOODS ***


E-text prepared by Juliet Sutherland, Josephine Paolucci, and the Project
Gutenberg Online Distributed Proofreading Team (http://www.pgdp.net)



THE KEEPERS OF THE TRAIL

A Story of the Great Woods

by

JOSEPH A. ALTSHELER

Author of "The Young Trailers," "The Forest Runners," Etc.







Appleton-Century
New York

Copyright, 1916, by
D. Appleton and Company

All rights reserved. This book, or parts thereof, must not be
reproduced in any form without permission of the publishers.

Copyright, 1944, by Sallie B. Altsheler

Printed in the United States of America




FOREWORD


"The Keepers of The Trail" deals with an episode, hitherto unrelated, in
the lives of Henry Ware, Paul Cotter, Shif'less Sol Hyde, Long Jim Hart,
and Silent Tom Ross. In point of time it follows "The Forest Runners,"
and, so, is the third volume of the "Young Trailer" series.




CONTENTS


CHAPTER                                   PAGE

      I. HENRY IN HIS KINGDOM                    1

     II. THE BIG GUNS                           23

    III. THE INDIAN CAMP                        41

     IV. THE DEED IN THE WATER                  61

      V. THE FOREST JOKER                       83

     VI. THE KING WOLF                         101

    VII. THE FOREST POETS                      123

   VIII. THE PATH OF DANGER                    140

     IX. THE KEEPERS OF THE CLEFT              164

      X. BESIEGED                              187

     XI. THE SHIFTLESS ONE                     207

    XII. ON THE GREAT TRAIL                    230

   XIII. FIVE AGAINST A THOUSAND               251

    XIV. HOLDING THE FORD                      270

     XV. THE GREAT CULMINATION                 293




THE KEEPERS OF THE TRAIL




CHAPTER I

HENRY IN HIS KINGDOM


A light wind blew over the great, primeval wilderness of Kentucky, the
dense, green foliage rippling under it like the waves of the sea. In
every direction forest and canebrake stretched in countless miles, the
trees, infinite in variety, and great in size, showing that Nature had
worked here with the hand of a master. Little streams flashing in silver
or gold in the sunlight, flowed down to the greater rivers, and on a
bush a scarlet tanager fluttered like a flash of flame.

A youth, uncommon in size and bearing, stepped into a little opening,
and looked about with the easy, natural caution belonging to the native
of the forest who knows that danger is always near. His eyes pierced the
foliage, and would have noticed anything unusual there, his ear was so
keen that he would have heard at once any sound not a part of the woods.

Eye and ear and the indefinable powers of primitive man told him no
enemy was at hand, and he stood on the green hill, breathing the fresh,
crisp air, with a delight that only such as he could feel. Mighty was
the wilderness, majestic in its sweep, and depth of color, and the lone
human figure fitted into it perfectly, adding to it the last and
finishing touch.

He blended, too, with the forest. His dress, wholly of fine, tanned
deerskin, was dyed green, the hunting shirt fringed, hunting shirt,
leggings and moccasins alike adorned with rows of little beads. Fitting
thus so completely into his environment, the ordinary eye would not have
observed him, and his footsteps were so light that the rabbits in the
bush did not stir, and the flaming bird on the bough was not frightened.

Henry Ware let the stock of his rifle rest upon the ground and held it
by the barrel, while he gazed over the green billows of the forest,
rolling away and away to every horizon. He was a fortunate human being
who had come into his own kingdom, one in which he was fitted supremely
to reign, and he would not have exchanged his place for that of any
titular sovereign on his throne.

His eyes gleamed with pleasure as he looked upon his world. None knew
better than he its immense variety and richness. He noted the different
shades of the leaves and he knew by contrast the kind of tree that bore
them. His eye fell upon the tanager, and the deep, intense scarlet of
its plumage gave him pleasure. It seemed fairly to blaze against the
background of woodland green, but it still took no alarm from the
presence of the tall youth who neither stirred nor made any sound.

Another bird, hidden behind an immense leaf, began to pour forth the
full notes of a chattering, mocking song, almost like the voice of a
human being. Henry liked it, too, although he knew the bird was flinging
him a pretty defiance. It belonged in his world. It was fitting that one
singer, many singers, should live in his wilderness and sing for him.

A gray squirrel, its saucy tail curved over its back, ran lightly up an
oak, perched on a bough and gazed at him with a challenging, red eye.
Henry gave back his look, and laughed in the silent manner of the
border. He had no wish to hurt the swaggering little fellow. His heart
was bare of ill will against anything.

A deep, clear creek flowed at the base of the hill, and a fish, snapping
at a fly, leaped clear of the water, making a silver streak in the air,
gone in an instant as he fell back into the stream. The glimpse pleased
Henry. It, too, was a part of his kingdom, stocked with fur, fin and
feather, beyond that of any other king, and far more vast.

The brilliant sunlight over his head began to dim and darken. He looked
up. The van of a host, the wild pigeons flying northward appeared, and
then came the great wide column, millions and millions of birds,
returning from their winter in the south. He had seen the huge flights
before, but the freshness and zest of the sight never wore away. No
matter how far they came nor how far they went they would still be
flying over his forest empire. And then would come the great flocks of
wild ducks and wild geese, winging swiftly like an arrow toward the
north. They, too, were his, and again he took long, deep breaths of a
delight so keen that it made his pulses leap.

From the wood at the base of the hill came a crackling sound as of
something breaking, and then the long crash of a tree falling. He went a
little way down the slope and his moccasins made no sound in the grass.
Gently pulling aside the bough of a sheltering bush he saw the beavers
at work. Already they were measuring for lengths the tree they had cut
through at the base with their long, sharp teeth.

The creek here received a tributary brook of considerable volume, and
the dam erected by the beavers had sent the waters far back in a tiny
sheet like a little lake. But as Henry saw, they were going to raise the
dam higher, and they were working with the intelligence and energy that
belong so peculiarly to the beaver. Four powerful fellows were floating
a log in the water, ready to put it into place, and others on the bank
were launching another.

It was one of the largest beaver colonies he had ever seen, and he
watched it with peculiar enjoyment. He killed the beaver now and
then--the cap upon his head was made of its skin--but only when it was
needful. The industrious animals were safe from his rifle now, and he
felt that his wilderness had no more useful people.

He looked at them a long time, merely for the pleasure of looking. They
showed so much skill, so much quickness and judgment that he was willing
to see and learn from them. He felt, in a sense, that they were
comrades. He wished them well in their work, and he knew that they would
have snug houses, when the next winter came.

He left them in their peace, returned to the brow of the hill, and then
walked slowly down the other side. He heard a woof, a sound of
scrambling, and a black bear, big in frame, but yet lean from the
winter, ran from its lair in the bushes, stopped a moment at fifty or
sixty yards to look hard at him, and then, wheeling again in frightened
flight disappeared among the trees. Henry once more laughed silently. He
would not have harmed the bear either.

A puffing, panting sound attracted his attention, and, walking farther
on, he looked into a glade, in which the grass grew high and thick. He
had known from the character of the noise that he would find buffaloes
there, and they numbered about a dozen, grazing a while, and then
breathing heavily in content. He had seen them in countless herds on the
western plains, when he was with Black Cloud and his tribe, but south of
the Ohio, owing to the heavy forest, they were found only in small
groups, although they were plentiful.

The wind was blowing toward him, and standing partially behind a huge
oak he watched them. They were the finest and largest inhabitants of his
wilderness, splendid creatures, with their leonine manes and huge
shoulders, beasts of which any monarch might be proud. He could easily
bring down any one of them that he wanted with his rifle, but they were
safe from all bullets of his.

He looked at them a while, as a man would gaze at a favorite horse.
There was a calf among them, and whenever it wandered from the middle of
the glade toward the edge of the forest the mother would push it back.
Henry, studying the woods there, saw just within their shadow the long
slinking figures of two gray wolves. He knew their purpose, but he knew
also that it would not be fulfilled.

He watched the little forest drama with an interest none the less
because it was not new to him. He saw the gray shadows creeping nearer
and nearer, while the calf persistently sought the woods, probably for
shade. Presently the leader of the herd, an immense bull, almost black,
caught an odor, wheeled like lightning and rushed upon the wolves. There
was a single yelp, as one was trampled to death, and the other fled
through the forest to seek easier prey.

The buffaloes returned to their grazing and the foolish calf, warned by
the danger from which he had been saved, stayed in the middle of the
glade, with his elders as a wall around him. Henry smiled. He had
foreseen the result, and it was wholly to his liking. He passed around
the opening, not wishing to disturb the animals, and went northward,
always on soundless feet.

A stag, catching the human odor on the wind, sprang from a thicket, and
crashed away in wild alarm. Henry laughed again and waved his hand at
the fleeting figure. The stag did not know that he had no cause to dread
him, but Henry admired his speed. A flock of wild turkeys rose from a
bough above his head, and uttering preliminary gobbles, sailed away in
a low flight among the trees. He waved his hand at them also, and
noticed before they disappeared how the sunlight glowed on their bronze
feathers.

It was a fine morning in his kingdom, and he was seeing many forms of
its life. He remarked a bee tree, and thought it probable that the
runaway bear would make a try there some day for honey. Then he stopped
and looked at a tiny blue flower, just blooming in the shelter of a
bush. He examined it with appreciation and touched the delicate leaf
very gently, lest he break it away. Little and fragile, it had its place
nevertheless in his realm.

His course led him back to the creek, here very deep and clear and
running over a gravelly bottom. After looking and listening for a little
while, he undressed, laid his rifle and other weapons on the very edge
of the bank, where he could reach them in an instant, and dropped
silently into the water. It was cool and he shivered at first, but as he
swam the warmth returned to his veins.

He was a splendid swimmer, and he was careful not to splash or make any
other sound that could be heard far. It was glorious there in the water,
and he was loath to leave it. He lay on his back, floated a little with
the current, and then with strokes strong, swift and silent, swam back
again.

His eyes looked up into a blue sky, sprinkled with many little white
clouds golden at the edge. The huge flight of pigeons had passed and no
longer dimmed the sun. He could just see the last of the myriads on the
edge of the northern horizon. But there was a sudden flash of black
across the blue, and a hawk shot down into the forest. A bald eagle
sailed in slow majesty above the trees, and, well within the shelter of
the foliage near him, many small birds were twittering. The air over his
realm as well as the forests and waters was full of life.

He came out, allowed himself to dry in the sun, while he flexed and
tensed his powerful muscles. Then he dressed. The swim had been good,
and he was glad that he had taken the risk. He was aware that the forest
contained inhabitants much more dangerous than those he had looked upon
that morning, but he had not yet seen any sign of them, and he was one
who had learned to use his opportunities.

After luxuriating for a little while on the grass, Henry, rifle on
shoulder, walked swiftly forward. He had a definite purpose and it was
to rejoin his four comrades, Paul Cotter, Shif'less Sol Hyde, Long Jim
Hart and Tom Ross, who were not far away in the greenwood, the five,
since the repulse of the great attack upon the wagon train, continuing
their chosen duties as keepers of the trail, that is, they were
continually on guard in the vast forest and canebrake against the
Northwestern Indians who were making such a bitter war upon the young
Kentucky settlements.

Henry had known that they would come again. Kentucky had been a huge
hunting ground, without any Indian villages, but for that reason it had
been prized most highly by the savage. The same reason made the ground
all the more dangerous for the white people, because the Indians,
unhampered by their women and children, came only with chosen bands of
warriors, selected for supreme skill in battle and forest lore. No
seekers of new homes ever faced greater dangers than the little white
vanguard that crossed the Alleghanies into the splendid new land beyond.
Hidden death always lurked in the bush, and no man went beyond the
palisade even on the commonest errand without his rifle.

It was a noble task that Henry and his comrades had undertaken, to act
as watchers, and it appealed to them all, to him most because he was
continually in the wilderness that he loved so well, and he felt that he
was doing a much greater work than when he was felling trees, and
helping to clear a place for crops. As for himself he would never have
cut down a single tree, although there were millions and millions of
them. Nature held nothing that he admired more. He knew no greater
delight than to stand on a high hill and look on the forest, deep green,
waving in the wind, and stretching to the complete circle of the horizon
and beyond.

He was now in one of the loneliest stretches of the wilderness, far
north of Wareville, and no great distance from the Ohio. A day's march
would take him to a favorite crossing of the savages, and that was why
he and his comrades were in this region. He increased his speed,
settling into the long swinging gait which the scouts of the border
always used, when they would hasten, but, in a half-hour, he stopped
suddenly and his figure seemed to vanish utterly in a dense mass of
green bushes.

Henry, now hidden himself, had seen. It was only a trace that scarcely
any eye save his would have noticed, but in a place where the earth was
soft he had observed the faint imprint of a moccasin, the toes turning
inward and hence made by an Indian. Other imprints must be near, but,
for a little while, he would not look, remaining crouched in the
thicket. He wished to be sure before he moved that no wearer of a
moccasin was in the bush. It might be that Yellow Panther, redoubtable
chief of the Miamis, and Red Eagle, equally redoubtable chief of the
Shawnees, were at hand with great war bands, burning to avenge their
defeats.

He did not move for fully ten minutes. He had acquired all the qualities
of those who live in constant danger in vast forests, and, like the
animal that hides, his figure and dress blended completely with the
green thicket. The air brought no menace to either eye or ear, and then
he stepped forth.

He found the imprints of five or six pairs of moccasins farther on, and
then they became so faint that the best trailer in the West could not
follow them, although he believed that they had been made by a hunting
party. It was customary for the Indians on their great raids to detach a
number of men who would roam the forests for food, but he decided that
he would not try to follow them any longer. He would not be deflected
from his purpose to join his comrades.

Leaving the broken trail he sped north by west, the forests and thickets
growing thicker as he advanced. At one point he came to a vast canebrake
that seemed impassable, yet he made his way through it almost without
slackening speed, and came to a grove of oaks, so large and so dense
that the sunlight never entered there. He stopped at its edge and
imitated the long, haunting cry of the owl. In a moment or two a note
like it, but distant and faint, came. He uttered the cry a second time,
and heard the reply.

Hesitating no longer he entered the oak grove. These trees with their
great mossy trunks were the finest that he had ever seen. Some peculiar
quality of the soil, some fertilizing agency beneath had given them an
unparalleled growth. The leafy roof was complete, and he advanced as one
who walks down a limitless hall, studded with a myriad of columns.

Two miles and turning around a hill he came to a cup in its far side,
hidden so well that the unknowing would have passed it unseen. But he
called and his four comrades answered from the cup. Parting the bushes
Henry entered and they gave him a low but joyous welcome.

The cup, almost circular, was not more than ten feet across, but the sun
shone in it and the ground was warm and dry. Just beyond the far edge a
little spring gushed from under a stone and trickled away, whispering
gently through the bushes.

Paul was the only one of the four who had risen. He stood now erect, the
stock of his rifle resting on the ground, the customary attitude of the
waiting borderer, his fine, intellectual face bright with interest.

"Did you see anything, Henry?" he asked.

"O' course he saw somethin'," drawled Shif'less Sol. "Did you ever know
the time when Henry went anywhar without seein' anythin'?"

"Paul meant did he see anythin' wuth tellin'," said Long Jim. "You're
always talkin' too much, Sol. Why did you want to bust in on a boy that
was askin' a decent question?"

"I never talk too much, Long Jim Hart," said the shiftless one
indignantly. "Now an' then I hev to talk a long time, 'cause I know so
much that I can't git it all out between sunrise an' sunset, an' the
hours then are mighty crowded, too. I reckon that you'd never need
more'n five minutes to empty your head."

"Mine's a good head an' it never has any swellin' either."

"Give Henry a chance," said Paul smiling. "How can he ever tell us
anything, when you two are filling all the woods with the roar of
argument?"

The debaters subsided. Silent Tom Ross said nothing. His chariness of
speech often saved him much breath. Besides, Tom was contented. He knew
that if Henry had found anything worth telling and thought fit to tell
it he would do so at the right time.

"Give me some venison," said Henry. "I've walked a long way, and I'm
hungry."

Paul produced a piece from a deerskin knapsack that he carried and
Henry, sitting down in the circular opening, ate. Paul lay down again
and all of them waited.

"Indians," said Henry at length, waving his hands toward the east.

"How many?" asked Shif'less Sol.

"I could not tell, but I think it's a large band, either Miamis or
Shawnees. Perhaps Yellow Panther and Red Eagle have come back."

"Like as not," said the shiftless one. "They're the kind to come."

"Huntin' scalps," said Tom Ross, speaking for the first time.

"And it's our business," said Paul, "to see that they don't get 'em."

"So it is," said Long Jim. "A man hates to lose his hair, 'specially
when he's got such thick, beautiful hair as mine. I've heard that a big
prize fur my scalp has been offered to all the Injun nations across the
Ohio. Still, danger heats up my courage, an' I'm right proud uv bein' a
marked man."

"We must find out all about that band," said Tom Ross. "Which way wuz
they goin'?"

"The trail so far as it showed led to the east," replied Henry, "but you
couldn't tell anything by that. I'm quite sure it was made by hunters
sent out for buffalo or deer to feed the main band. There's lots of game
around here, which shows that the Indians haven't been roving over this
region much."

"I've seen all kinds," said Long Jim. "It jest walks or flies right up
to our rifle barrels, an' ef it wuzn't fur the danger I'd like to show
you fellers the grand way in which I could cook a lot uv it."

"Right thar, old hoss, I stand up fur you ag'in' the world," said
Shif'less Sol, "but I reckon we ain't lightin' any fires jest now."

"No," said Henry. "I think we'd better stay here the rest of the day,
and keep ourselves in hiding. The main band, whatever its size or
wherever it is, seems to have plenty of flankers and hunters, and if we
ran into them, as we surely would, we wouldn't have any chance to watch
'em later on."

"Right, o' course," said Shif'less Sol, and the others agreed in
silence.

The five lay back upon the dry leaves, depending upon hearing chiefly,
to warn them of the possible coming of an enemy. The undergrowth was so
dense about the cup that no one fifteen yards away could see them, and
they were able to hear even a creeping warrior, before he could come
that near. Hence they reposed without alarm, and, bold forest runners
that they were, eternally on guard, they took their ease with a certain
sense of luxury.

It was about the middle of the afternoon, and the sun was at its
brightest, the rays being vertical. From their woodland cup they looked
up at a circle of shining blue sky, continually crossed by tiny white
clouds, following one another in a regular procession from south to
north. The majesty of the wilderness and the illimitable covering of
forest green appealed to Paul but little less than to Henry. He, too,
felt the great lift of the spirit, danger or no danger.

The five enjoyed the wilderness, every one in his own way, Henry and
Paul because their souls were stirred by it, Shif'less Sol because it
was always unfolding to him some new wonder, Tom Ross because it was a
hunting ground without limit, and Long Jim because nearly every kind of
game found in it could be eaten, after it had been cooked by his master
hand.

But they did not speak now. The people of the border, save in their
homes, never talked much. The caution bred by the necessity of the woods
became a habit. They acquired an extraordinary power over voice and
nerves. Like a Hindu, a man could lie silent and motionless for hours.
In this respect they had the quality of the Indian and the five at least
could match his native cunning and training, and, in addition, bring to
their own aid a superior intellectual power. That was why they were
kings of the woods.

The sun passed the zenith and the rays were no longer vertical, but it
was almost as bright in the cup as ever, while the sky itself had lost
nothing of its shining blue tint. Paul presently said:

"I notice a shred of brown or gray against that brilliant blue. Now all
the little clouds are white, and this sadder color has no business
there. Besides, it's a blur. Would you say it's smoke, Henry?"

Henry, who had been listening rather than watching, opened his eyes and
stared intently at the faint smudge on the sky.

"Yes, it's smoke," he said, "and as the wind now comes from the south
it, too, is traveling that way. Don't you think so, Sol?"

"O' course, Henry. Now you see thar's a little bigger patch o' gray
followin' the first, an' it ain't so mighty high above us, either."

"Yes, I see it. Read the book for us, Sol."

"Lookin' at them thar two bits o' gray which Natur' didn't put up in the
sky, but which somehow came from the hand o' man, I kin spin the tale
jest ez it is. That's smoke up thar. It can't come from any kind o' a
forest fire, 'cause it's early spring an' the woods are too green to
burn. Thar ain't no white people in these parts 'cept ourselves an' ef
thar wuz they wouldn't be so foolish ez to build a fire that sends up
smoke. So it's bound to be Injuns. They're a big band, so big that they
ain't afeard o' bein' attacked. That's the reason why they're so
keerless 'bout thar smoke. An' 'cause the band is so big it ain't jest
hunters. It's a war band bound south ag'in the settlements to git scalps
in revenge for all the braves they've lost. Do I tell the truth, Henry?"

"To the last detail."

"Thoroughly good logic," said Paul.

"What's logic?" asked Long Jim.

"I'll illustrate," replied Paul. "When you see a deer, take aim at him
with your rifle and shoot him through the heart, you feel quite sure
when he drops dead that it was you who killed him. Logic tells you that,
and so that is logic."

"I reckon I know now," said Long Jim, rubbing his chin.

"Tom," said Henry, "about how far from us is the fire that makes that
smoke?"

"Smoke, 'less there's a terrible lot uv it, don't hang together long,"
replied Ross, looking up thoughtfully at the little gray clouds. "But I
reckon them two thar wuz broke off from a much bigger piece at the
start, an' are gittin' smaller ez they come. But thar main camp ain't
more'n two miles from here, Henry."

"Just about that, I should say. We'd better look 'em over tonight,
hadn't we?"

"Jest ez you say. You're the leader, Henry."

"We'll do it, if we can, but I'm thinking we'll have to be mighty
careful. I've an idea that the woods are full of warriors. I don't want
to be burned at the stake."

"But Jim Hart here would make a most bee-yu-ti-ful torch," said
Shif'less Sol. "Slim an' nigh on to six feet and a half tall he'd light
up the whole woods, ef he wuz set on fire on top fust."

"Ef you wuz set on fire on top," said Long Jim, "thar wouldn't be much
burnin', 'cause a blaze can't feed on emptiness."

"Thar goes another o' them little gray patches," said Silent Tom. "That
means they're still feedin' the fire--fur cookin' too, 'cause they don't
need it to warm by. The hunters must hev brought in a power o' game,
'cause when the warriors do eat, an' they hev plenty o' it to last, they
eat in a way no white man can match."

"I suppose that was the way of the primitive man," said Paul, who was
wont to think about origins and causes. "He was never sure of his food,
and when he had it he ate all he could."

Henry uttered a slight warning hiss, a sibilant breath, scarcely more,
and the five shifting a little, grasped their rifles in such a manner
that they could be pushed forward at once, and listened with all their
ears. Henry had heard a light footfall, and then the faint sound of
voices. He drew himself to the edge of the covert and he did it with so
much skill that not a leaf or a blade of grass rustled.

Lying flat on the ground, and, looking underneath the boughs of the
trees and bushes, where only the trunks and stems were in the way, he
saw the legs of four men, the upper parts of their bodies being
completely hidden by the foliage. Henry knew, nevertheless, that they
were three Indians and one white man. The white man was disclosed by his
thicker legs and his toes which turned out. All were clothed much alike
in deerskin leggings, but Henry could make no mistake.

It was equally evident to him that the white man was not a prisoner,
because he walked quite freely. Once he passed ahead of the three
Indians, and then he dropped behind. If a captive, he would have walked
just behind one warrior and the other two, in Indian file, would have
walked close behind him.

Henry saw also that they were carrying heavy weights, because they
stepped slowly and with a certain stiffness. There was a rigidity and
tension that strong men walking easily would not have shown.
Unquestionably they were successful hunters, carrying game to a great
gluttonous band feasting with energy two miles away.

"Three Shawnees and Braxton Wyatt," whispered Shif'less Sol, who had
crept to his side. "Don't you remember that he had jest the faintest bit
o' bow in his legs? An' thar's that bow. Why, I'd know them legs anywhar
in the world."

"That's so," said Henry. "Now I wonder what his wicked mind is devising.
There's no hater like a renegade."

"You may be shore he's thinkin' o' harm to our people down below," said
the shiftless one. "I'm glad we're here to see 'em."

Henry nodded in agreement, and they whispered to the others that Wyatt
and three Shawnees were passing. Henry and Sol knew that they were
Shawnees, because they had red beads in a row on their leggings, where
the Miamis wore blue ones.

"Ef I wuz to steal down a bit through the bushes an' shoot that traitor
right squar' through his black heart, ez I could do easy, I'd be savin'
the lives o' innocent men, women an' children," said Shif'less Sol.

"It is likely," said Henry, "but you mustn't do it. Somehow I can't see
a man shot from ambush. Besides, it would give the alarm, an' we
mightn't be able to carry on our work."

"I didn't say I wanted to do it, but it's pow'ful temptin'."

"Yes, I know, but it's silence and waiting for us."

The four pairs of legs, three Indian and one white, passed on. Ten
minutes later they heard a long whoop from one point, and a long whoop
from another point answered. They were not war cries, merely signals,
and the five appreciated more than ever the invisibility of their little
retreat. There was not more than one chance in a hundred that a
wandering warrior would stumble upon it.

Other calls were heard through the forest, and then the faint sound of a
chant dying swiftly.

"They're merry," said Paul, with swift intuition. "Maybe they have some
scalps already to rejoice over."

It was a bitter reminder to Henry, and yet it might be true. A small
band, traveling fast, might have struck an unguarded settlement, and,
returning, might be here now with the great band, bearing their
sanguinary trophies. Five only, no matter how brave and skillful, could
not watch the whole border.

"There's nothing to do," he said, "but wait for darkness."

Not one of them had risen to his feet, and they merely sank back on
their elbows, again relying more upon ear than eye. They relaxed, but
they were ready for instant action, should the need come.

They would not have very long to wait now. The sun was so far over in
the west that it cast slanting rays and shadows were gathering at the
base of the cup. It was growing colder and the rising wind sang among
the green young leaves. A vast red sun hanging low over the western
wilderness tinged the forest, as if with fire. To an ordinary human
being it would have been an awful sun in its flaming majesty,
frightening him, lost in the forest, by its mysterious immensity, but
the five, either separately or alone were too familiar with the great
spectacle to feel fear.

"It's an uncommonly red sun," said Tom Ross.

"And they say that means battle," said Paul, who had read much for a lad
of the frontier.

"I s'pose so," said the shiftless one, "an' it may mean a storm, but I
reckon in this case it's more likely to p'int to rifles an' tomahawks."

The splendor of the west in its crimson and gold deepened. Higher up in
the heavens were glorious terraces of blue and pink. The boughs of the
distant trees stood out as if they were wrapped in living fire.

"Magnificent!" said Paul, for whom its magic never palled.

"And now it's fading," said Henry.

"The shoulder of the world is coming up between," said Paul.

"What do you mean by that?" asked Long Jim, "when with your own eyes you
kin see the sun movin' 'roun' behind the earth."

"The sun doesn't move, Jim, that is, so far as we're concerned, but we
do. We roll around ourselves every day and night. At the end of the day
the earth is between us and the sun, and in the night when we roll back
around we face the sun again."

"You've read a lot of books, Paul, forty or fifty, I s'pose, an' I
believe most that you say, but you can't make me believe a thing like
that. Don't I see the sun set, an' don't I see it rise? What's print to
a fellow's eyes? Print can lie, but your eyes don't."

Paul did not deem it worth while to argue. In a few more minutes the sun
was hidden behind the turning earth, leaving great bands of gold and
blue and pink, which, in their turn, faded fast, giving place to the
gray of coming twilight.

The five ate venison, and drank from the tiny brook at the edge of the
cup. Meanwhile, full night came, and they prepared to go forth and see
what they might see.




CHAPTER II

THE BIG GUNS


Despite the brilliant sunset, the night was dark, drifting clouds
veiling the moon at times, while the stars lay hidden behind mists and
vapors, making the conditions suitable for those who wished to scout and
spy upon an enemy, as fierce and implacable as the Indian.

"All that color when the sun went down means rain," said Tom Ross, who
was weatherwise.

"But not tonight," said Henry.

"No, not tonight, but tomorrow, sometime, it'll come, shore. Them
warriors hev built up their fires mighty big. Can't you smell the
smoke?"

The wind was blowing toward them and upon it came the faint odor of
burning wood.

"They're indulging in what we would call a festival," said Paul. "They
must have an immense bonfire, and it must be a huge camp."

"Beyond a doubt," said Henry.

Examining their weapons carefully they left the cup, dropping into their
usual order, as they made their silent way through the forest, Henry
leading, the shiftless one next, then Paul, followed by Long Jim while
Silent Tom covered the rear. There was no noise as they passed. They
slipped by the boughs and every moccasined foot instinctively avoided
the rotten stick that would break beneath its weight.

As they advanced the odor of burning wood grew stronger. It might not
have been noticed by the dwellers in peaceful lands, but it was obvious
at once to senses trained like theirs in the hardest of all schools,
that of continuous danger. Henry twice heard the swish of a heavy night
bird over their heads, but he knew the sound and paid no attention to
it. Faint sliding noises in the thickets were made by the little
animals, scuttling away in fright at the odor of man.

They crossed a shallow valley, in which the forest was extremely dense,
and emerged upon a low hill, covered with oak, maple and elm, without
much undergrowth. Here Henry was the first to see a low, barely
discernible light upon the eastern horizon, and he called the attention
of the others to it. All of them knew that it was the glow of the Indian
campfire, and apparently nothing but heavy forest lay between them and
the flames.

They held a consultation, and agreed that Henry and Shif'less Sol, the
best two trailers, should go forward, while the other three should
remain in reserve to cover their retreat, if it were forced, or to go
forward to possible rescue, if they did not return before morning. The
decision was reached quickly. The superiority was accorded at once and
without jealousy to Henry and the shiftless one.

But they moved forward in a group, until the glow rose higher and grew
brighter. Then the three who were to stay lay close in a clump of bushes
growing near the base of a great elm that Henry and Shif'less Sol marked
well. Faint whoops or their echo came to them, and they knew that the
warriors were rejoicing.

"A mighty big camp, bigger even than we thought," said Silent Tom.

"We'll soon see," said Henry, as he and his comrade in the daring
venture slid away among the bushes. Then the two went forward with
unbelievable skill. Not even the ear of a warrior could have heard them
fifteen feet away, and they never relaxed their caution, although they
did not believe that the Indians were keeping very close watch.

They had seen at first a glow more pink than red. Now it was a deep
scarlet, showing many leaping tongues against the forest. The odor of
burning wood became strong, and they saw sparks and wisps of smoke
flying among the leaves. Long fierce whoops like the cry of animals came
at times, but beneath them was an incessant muttering chant and the low,
steady beat of some instrument like a drum.

"The war dance," whispered Henry.

The shiftless one nodded.

They redoubled their caution, creeping very slowly, lying almost flat
upon the ground and dragging their bodies forward, like crawling
animals. They were coming to one of the openings, like a tiny prairie,
frequent in early Kentucky, sheltered on the side they were approaching
by a dense canebrake, through which they were making their way.

The open space was several acres in extent, and at the far end were
tepees, which the two knew were intended for chiefs of high degree. In
the center burned an immense bonfire, or rather a group of bonfires,
merged into one, fed incessantly by warriors who dragged wood from the
adjoining forest, and threw it into the flames.

But it was not the sight of the fire or the tepees that stirred Henry.
It was that of hundreds of Indian warriors gathered and indulging in one
of those savage festivals upon which nobody could look at night without
a thrill of wonder and awe. Here primeval man was in his glory.

The Indians of North America were a strange compound of cruelty and
cunning, leavened at times by nobility and self-sacrifice. Most of the
tribes were perfect little political organizations, and the league of
the Iroquois was worthy of a highly civilized race. They were creatures
of circumstances, and, while loyal to friends, they were merciless to
enemies, devising incredible methods of torture.

It was this knowledge that made Henry shudder as he looked upon the
great camp. He knew the Indian and liked him in many respects--his
captivity in the northwest had been no pain--but he was white and he
must fight for the white man, and hence against the red.

The warriors were intoxicated not with liquor, but with the red fury of
the brain. Vast quantities of game, freshly dressed, were heaped upon
the earth. Every man would seize a piece to suit himself, broil it
hastily on coals and then eat. He ate like the savage he was, and the
amounts they devoured were astonishing, just as they could fast an
amazing number of days, if need be.

Whenever one had eaten enough for the time he would rush into a mass of
dancers near the eastern edge of the opening. Then he would begin to
leap back and forth and chant with unnatural energy. They could keep up
this manner of dancing and singing for many hours, and they quit it only
to obtain more food or to fall down exhausted.

"It's the war dance," whispered Henry.

Shif'less Sol nodded. It was, in truth, just approaching its height as
the two crept near. Four powerful warriors, naked except for the breech
clout, were beating incessantly and monotonously upon the Indian drums.
These drums (Ga-no-jo) were about a foot in height and the drummer used
a single stick. The dance itself was called by the Shawnees,
Sa-ma-no-o-no, which was the name bestowed upon this nation by the
Senecas, although the Iroquois themselves called the dance Wa-ta-seh.

Few white men have looked upon such a spectacle at such a time, in the
very deeps of the wilderness, under a night sky, heavy with drifting
clouds. The whole civilized world had vanished, gone utterly like a wisp
of vapor before a wind, and it was peopled only by these savage figures
that danced in the dusk.

Near the trees stood a group of chiefs, among whom Henry recognized
Yellow Panther, the Miami, and Red Eagle, the Shawnee, imposing men
both, but not the equals of an extremely tall and powerful young chief,
who was destined later to be an important figure in the life of Henry
Ware. They stood silent, dignified, the presiding figures of the dance.

The war drums beat on, insistent and steady, like the rolling of water
down a fall. The very monotony of the sound, the eternal harping upon
one theme, contained power. Henry, susceptible to the impressions of the
wilderness, began to feel that his own brain was being heated by it, and
he saw as through a dim red mist. The silent and impassive figures of
the chiefs seemed to grow in height and size. The bonfires blazed
higher, and the monotonous wailing chant of the warriors was penetrated
by a ferocious under note like the whine of some great beast. He glanced
at the shiftless one and saw in his eyes the same intense awed look
which he knew was in his own.

The mass of men who had been dancing stopped suddenly, and the chant
stopped with them. The warriors gathered into two great masses, a lane
between them. Save the chiefs, all were naked to the breech clout, and
from perspiring bodies the odor of the wild arose.

The fires were blazing tremendously, sending off smoke, ashes and sparks
that floated over the trees and were borne far by the wind. At
intervals, prolonged war whoops were uttered, and, heavy with menace,
they rang far through the woods, startling and distinct.

Then from the edge of the forest emerged about forty warriors painted
and decorated in a wildly fantastic manner and wearing headdresses of
feathers. The drums beat again, furiously now, and the men began to
dance, swinging to and fro and writhing. At the same time they sang a
war song of fierce, choppy words, and those who were not dancing sang
with them.

The lane wound around and around, and, as the singers and dancers went
forward they increased in vehemence. They were transported, like men who
have taken some powerful drug, and their emotions were quickly
communicated to all the rest of the band. Fierce howls rose above the
chant of the war songs. Warriors leaping high in the air made the
imaginary motions of killing and scalping an enemy. Then their long
yells of triumph would swell above the universal chant.

All the while it was growing darker in the forest. The heavy drifting
clouds completely hid the moon and stars. The sky was black and
menacing, and the circular ring of woods looked solid like a wall. But
within this ring the heat and fury grew. The violence and endurance of
the dancers were incredible, and the shouting chant of the multitude
urged them on.

Henry caught sight of a white figure near the chiefs, and he recognized
the young renegade, Braxton Wyatt. Just behind him was another and older
renegade named Blackstaffe, famed along the whole border for his cunning
and cruelty. Then he saw men, a half-dozen of them, in the red uniforms
of British officers, and behind them two monstrous dark shapes on
wheels.

"Can those be cannon?" he whispered to Shif'less Sol.

"They kin be an' they are. I reckon the British allies o' the Injuns hev
brought 'em from Detroit to batter down the palisades o' our little
settlements."

Henry felt a thrill of horror. He knew that they were cannon, but he had
hoped that the shiftless one would persuade him they were not. They were
probably the first cannon ever seen in that wilderness, the sisters of
those used later with success by the Indians under English leadership
and with English cannoneers from Detroit against two little settlements
in Kentucky.

But startled as Henry was, his attention turned back to the dancers. Old
customs, the habits of far-off ancestors, slumbered in him, and despite
himself something wild and fierce in his blood again responded to the
primeval appeal the warriors were making. A red haze floated before his
eyes. The tide of battle surged through his blood, and, then, with a
fierce warning to himself, he stilled his quivering body and crouched
low again.

A long time they watched. When a dancer fell exhausted another leaped
gladly into his place. The unconscious man was dragged to one side, and
left until he might recover.

"I think we've seen enough, don't you?" whispered Henry. "I'd feel
better if I were further away."

"Stirs me like that too," said Shif'less Sol. "It ain't healthy fur us
to stay here any longer. 'Sides, we know all we want to know. This is a
big war party, mostly Miamis and Shawnees, with some Wyandots an' a few
Iroquois and Delawares."

"And the English and the cannon."

"Yes, Henry, an' I don't like the looks o' them cannon, the first, I
reckon, that ever come across the Ohio. Our palisades can turn the
bullets easy 'nuff, but they'd fly like splinters before twelve pound
round shot."

"Then," said Henry with sudden emphasis, "it's the business of us five
to see that those two big guns never appear before Wareville or Marlowe,
where I imagine they intend to take them!"

"Henry, you hit the nail squar' on the head the fust time. Ef we kin
stop them two cannon it'll be ez much ez winnin' a campaign. I think
we'd better go back now, an' j'in the others, don't you?"

"Yes, I don't see that we can do anything at present. But Sol, we must
stop those cannon some way or other. We beat off a great attack at
Wareville once, but we couldn't stand half a day before the big guns.
How are we to do it? Tell me, Sol, how are we to do it?"

"I don't know, Henry, but we kin hang on. You know we've always hung on,
an' by hangin' on we gen'rally win. It's a long way to Wareville, an'
while red warriors kin travel fast cannon can't get through a country
covered ez thick with woods an' bushes ez this is. They'll hev to cut a
road fur 'em nigh all the way."

"That's so," said Henry more hopefully. "They'll have to go mighty slow
with those big guns through the forests and thickets and canebrake, and
across so many rivers and creeks. We'll hang on, as you say, and it may
give us a chance to act. I feel better already."

"They ain't likely to move fur a day or two, Henry. After the dances an'
the big eatin' they'll lay 'roun' 'till they've slep' it all off, an'
nobody kin move 'em 'till they git ready, even if them British officers
talk 'till their heads ache. They're goin' on with the dancin' too. Hear
them whoops."

The long shrill cries uttered by the warriors still reached them, as
they stole away. Henry passed his hand across his forehead. All that
strange influence was gone now. He no longer saw the red mist, and his
heart ceased to beat like a hammer. The healthy normal forest was around
him, full of dangers, it was true, but of dangers that he could meet
with decision and judgment.

They returned rapidly, but occasionally they looked back at the red
glare showing above the trees, and for most of the way the faint echoes
of the whoops came to them. When they approached the bushes in which
they had left the others Henry uttered a low whistle which was promptly
answered in like fashion by Silent Tom.

"What did you see?" asked Paul, as they emerged from their hiding place.

"Nigh on to a thousand warriors," replied Shif'less Sol, "an' it was a
mighty fine comp'ny too. We saw two chiefs, Yellow Panther, the Miami,
an' Red Eagle, the Shawnee, that we've had dealin's with before, an' our
old friend Braxton Wyatt, an' the big renegade Blackstaffe, an' British
officers."

"British officers!" exclaimed Paul. "What are they doing there?"

"You know that our people in the East are at war with Britain," said
Henry, "and I suppose these officers and some men too have come from
Detroit to help the warriors wipe us out in Kentucky. They've brought
with them also two very formidable allies, the like of which were never
seen in these woods before."

"Two new and strange allies, Henry?" said Paul. "What do you mean?"

"Something that rolls along on wheels, and that speaks with a voice like
thunder."

"I don't understand yet."

"And when it speaks it hurls forth a missile that can smash through a
palisade like a stone through glass."

"It must be cannon. You surely don't mean cannon, Henry?"

"I do. The big guns have crossed the Ohio. The Indians or rather the
English with 'em, mean to use 'em against us. It's our business to
destroy 'em. Sol and I have agreed on that, and you are with us, are you
not?"

"O' course!" said Tom Ross.

"Uv course!" said Long Jim.

"Through everything," said Paul.

"What do you think we'd better do right now?" asked Ross.

"Go back to the cup and sleep," replied Henry. "It'll be safe. The
Indians will be so gorged from their orgie, and will feel so secure
from attack that they'll hardly have a scout in the forest tomorrow."

"Good plan," said the shiftless one. "I expect to be in that shady
little place in a half-hour. Long Jim here, havin' nothin' else to do,
will watch over me all through the rest of the night, an' tomorrow when
the sun comes out bright, he'll be settin' by my side keepin' the flies
off me, an' me still sleepin' ez innercent ez a baby."

"That won't happen in the next thousand years," said Long Jim. "Ef
thar's anything fannin' you tomorrow, when you wake up, a Shawnee or a
Miami warrior will be doin' it with a tomahawk."

They quickly retraced their course to the cup, being extremely careful
to leave no trail, and were about to make ready for the night. Every one
of them carried a light blanket, but very closely woven and warm, upon
which he usually slept, drawing a fold over him. The dry leaves and the
blankets would make a bed good enough for any forest rover at that time
of the year, but Henry noticed a stone outcrop in a hill above them and
concluded to look farther.

"Wait till I come back," he said, and he pushed his way through the
bushes.

The outcrop was of the crumbling limestone that imparts inexhaustible
fertility to the soil of a great region in Kentucky. It is this decaying
stone or a stone closely akin which makes it the most wonderful cave
region in the world.

Higher up the slope Henry found deep alcoves in the stone, most of them
containing leaves, and also a strong animal odor, which showed that in
the winter they had been occupied as lairs by wild animals, probably
bears.

Looking a little farther he found one that penetrated deeper than the
rest. It might almost have been called a cave. It was so placed that at
that time of night the opening faced a bit of the moon that had made a
way through the clouds, and, Henry peering into the dusky interior,
judged that it ran back about twenty feet. There was no odor to suggest
that it had been used as a lair, perhaps because the animals liked the
alcoves better.

He threw in some twigs, but, no growl coming forth, he entered boldly
through an aperture about three feet across and perhaps five feet high.
He stepped on smooth stone, but as soon as he was inside he stopped and
listened intently. He heard a faint trickling sound, evidently from the
far side of the cave, which appeared to be both deeper and wider than he
had thought.

Henry surmised that the sound was made by running water, and standing a
long time, until his eyes could grow used, in some degree, to the dusky
interior, he, at length, made out the opposite wall which was of white
stone. Stepping carefully he found that a tiny stream flowed in a groove
made by itself, coming out of one side of the wall and disappearing in
the other.

It was such a thin little stream that it created no dampness in the cave
and Henry, drinking some of the water from the palm of his hand, found
it fresh and cold. He experienced a singular pleasure in discovering the
water, one that he did not understand. Perhaps it was a prevision.

He explored fully this room in stone, and found it dry and clean
throughout. His ancestors, hundreds of thousands of years ago, would
have rejoiced to find such a place, and Henry rejoiced now for reasons
which were akin to theirs. He returned quickly to the cup.

"We won't sleep here," he said.

"Why not?" asked Paul.

"Because I've found a better place."

"But this is fine."

"I know, but I have a finer."

"What is it?"

"A beautiful stone mansion, built generations ago. It has no furniture
in it now, but we don't need any. It's built very solidly and it's been
waiting for us a long time."

"A hole in the limestone," hazarded Shif'less Sol.

"Partly right. It's more than a hole. It's a room, and we've had great
luck to find it, I tell you, this stone room specially made a million
years ago for our use."

"Well, it's been waitin' a good while, but we're here."

"Come along, I'll lead you," said Henry, "and be sure not to leave any
trace of a trail. This house is intended for us only, and we don't want
any wandering warriors, no matter what their nation, knocking at our
doors."

"Hurry," said Shif'less Sol. "I'm gittin' pow'ful sleepy."

Henry led the way, and, as he did so, taking a comprehensive look at the
heavens, he was glad for other reasons as well as safety that they had
found their stone house in the hill. The bit of a moon was gone and the
clouds hung lower and darker. He felt the damp in the air.

The mouth of the cave was almost hidden by a heavy growth of bushes, but
Henry, pulling them aside a little, pointed to the opening.

"In there with you," he said to Long Jim, who was nearest.

"Who? Me?" said Long Jim, "an' run squar' into a b'ar's mouth? Let Sol
go. He's the fattest, an' the b'ar would like him best."

"No bear is inside," said Henry. "I've seen to that. A herd of about
fifty was in there, the first bear herd I ever saw, but I killed them
all with my knife and threw them down the cliff before I saw you."

"Then ez you've cleared out the place, Henry," said Long Jim, "I guess
it's all safe, an' here goes."

He bent down from his mighty height and entered, the others following
silently in single file, swallowed up by the dusk. Then they stood in a
group, until they could see one another, the faint light from the door
helping.

"Well," said Henry, proudly, "haven't I done well by you? Isn't our new
house equal to my announcement of it?"

"Equal, and more than equal!" exclaimed Paul with enthusiasm. "Why, we
haven't had such a place since that time we lived on the island in the
lake, and this is a greater protection from danger."

"An' we hev plenty o' water, too, I see," said Shif'less Sol. "Look at
the river over thar, runnin' along ag'in the wall. 'Tain't more'n three
inches wide, an' an inch deep, but it runs fast."

"I've no doubt that a cave family lived here two or three hundred
thousand years ago," said Paul, his vivid fancy blossoming forth at
once.

"What are you talkin' about, Paul?" said Long Jim. "People livin' here
two or three hundred thousand years ago! Why, the world is only six
thousand years old! The Bible says so!"

"In the Biblical sense a year did not mean what a year does now, Jim. It
may have been a thousand times as long. Men did live in caves several
hundred thousand years ago. A book that Mr. Pennypacker has says so."

"If the book says it, I reckon it's so," said Long Jim, with the
borderer's sublime faith in the printed word.

"The man of that time was a big, hairy fellow. He didn't have even bows
and arrows. He fought with a stone club or ax of stone."

"An' do you mean to tell me, Paul, that a man with jest a club could go
out an' meet the arrers of the Injuns? Why, all uv them warriors kin
shoot arrers pow'ful hard an' straight. What chance would the man with
the club hev had?"

"There were no Indians then, Jim."

"No Injuns then!" exclaimed Long Jim indignantly. "Why the fust white
man that ever come through these parts found the woods full uv 'em. I
take a heap from you, Paul, 'cause you're an eddicated boy, but I can't
swaller this."

"I'll prove it to you some day," said Paul laughing, "but whether you
believe me or not this place suits us."

"How much venison have we got, Tom?" asked Henry.

"'Nough in a pinch to last three days."

"Now you fellers kin keep on talkin' ef you want to," said the shiftless
one, "but ez fur me I'm a man o' sense, a lazy man who don't work when
he don't hev to, an' I'm goin' to sleep."

He spread his blanket on the stone floor, lay down and kept his word.

"We might as well follow," said Henry. "Sol's a man of intelligence,
and, as he says, when there's nothing to do, rest."

"I ain't sleepy," said Tom Ross. "Guess there's no need uv a watch, but
I'll keep it awhile, anyhow."

He sat down on his blanket and leaned against the wall, near the mouth
of the room. The others stretched out, even as Shif'less Sol had done,
and breathing a sigh or two of satisfaction followed him into a land
without dreams.

Although Henry's sleep was dreamless, it did not last very long. He
awoke in three or four hours. It was quite dark, but, as he lay on his
back and gazed steadily, he was able to make out the figure of Silent
Tom, crouched on his blanket beside the door, his rifle across his
knees. Although saying nothing Henry had paid attention to what Paul had
said about the ancient cave man, and now it was easy for his fancy to
transform Ross into such a being. The rifle on his knees was his stone
club, and he watched by the opening all through the night lest an enemy
should come. For the present, at least, it was as much reality as
fancy, because here was the cave, and here they were, guarding against a
possible foe.

"Tom," he called softly.

Ross looked around.

"What is it?" he asked.

"I'm restless. I can't sleep any more, and, as I'm going to stay by the
opening, you'd better persuade yourself to go to sleep."

"Are you bent on watchin', Henry?"

"Yes, I intend to sit up."

"Then I'll go to sleep."

He lay down on his blanket, and Henry took his place by the wall.




CHAPTER III

THE INDIAN CAMP


The position of the great youth was comfortable, as he sat upon his
blanket, the curve of the wall fitting into the curve of his back, his
rifle resting across his knee, and his figure motionless. He carried in
his belt a pistol, the keen hatchet of the border and also a long
hunting knife, but it was the rifle upon which he depended mainly, a
beautiful piece, with its carved stock and long blue barrel, and in the
hands of its owner the deadliest weapon on the border.

Henry, like Tom, did not stir. He was a match for any Indian in
impassivity, and every nerve rested while he thus retained complete
command over his body. He could see from his position the bushes beyond
the opening, and, above them, a broad belt of black sky. He rejoiced
again that they had found this cave or rather stone room as they called
it.

The dark heavens were full of threat, the air heavy with damp, and low
thunder was just beginning to mutter. Tom Ross had read the gorgeous
sunset aright. It betokened a storm, and the most hardened hunters and
scouts were glad of shelter when the great winds and rains came. The
dryness and safety of the room made Henry feel all the more snug and
content, in contrast with what was about to happen outside. It seemed to
him that Providence had watched over them. Truly they had never known a
finer or better place.

His mind traveled again to those old, bygone people of whom Paul had
talked, how they lived in caves, and had fought the great animals with
stone clubs. But he had a better room in the stone than most of theirs,
and the rifle on his knees was far superior to any club that was ever
made. His nerves quivered beneath a thrill of pleasure that was both
mental and physical. His eyes had learned to cope with the dusk in the
room, and he could see his four comrades stretched upon their blankets.
All were sleeping soundly and he would let them sleep on of their own
accord, because there was no need now to move.

The mutter of the thunder grew a little louder, as if the electricity
were coming up on the horizon. And he saw lightning, dim at first and
very distant, then growing brighter until it came, keen, hard and
brilliant, in flashing strokes. Henry was not awed at all. Within his
safe shelter his spirit leaped up to meet it.

The thunder now broke near in a series of fierce crashes, and the
lightning was so burning bright that it dazzled his eyes. One bolt
struck near with a tremendous shock and the air was driven in violent
waves into the very mouth of the cave. Shif'less Sol awoke and sat up.

"A storm!" he said.

"Yes," replied Henry, "but it can't reach us here. You might as well go
back to sleep, Sol."

"Bein' a lazy man who knows how an' when to be lazy," said the shiftless
one, "I'll do it."

In a few minutes he was as sound asleep as ever, while Henry continued
to watch the storm. The sky was perfectly black, save when the lightning
blazed across it, and the thunder rolled and crashed with extraordinary
violence. But he now heard an under note, one that he knew, the swish of
the wind. It, too, grew fast and he dimly saw leaves and the branches of
trees flying past. It was certainly good to be in the snug stone covert
that he had found for himself and his friends!

The lightning became less bright and the thunder began to die. Then the
wind came with a mighty sweep and roar and Henry heard the drops of
rain, striking on leaf and bough like bullets. He also heard the crash
of falling trees, and one was blown down directly in front of the
opening, hiding it almost completely. He was not sorry. Some instinct
warned him that this too was a lucky chance. The rain came in driven
torrents, but it passed the mouth of the cave and they were as dry and
comfortable as ever.

The thunder and lightning ceased entirely, by and by, and Henry sat in
the dark listening to the rush of the rain, which came now in a strong
and steady sweep like the waves of the sea. He listened to it a long
time, never moving, and at last he saw a thin shade of gray appear in
the eastern sky. Day was near, although it would be dark with the storm.
But that need not trouble them. On the other hand it would be to their
advantage. The great camp of the Indians would be broken up for a while,
and they must long since have sought what shelter they could find. They
could not advance for two or three days at least, while the five lay in
a splendid covert only two miles from them.

Laggard day came, with a dusky sky, obscured by heavy clouds and the
rain still pouring. It was several hours after sunrise before it ceased
and the sky began to clear. Then the others awoke and looked out.

"A big storm and I never heard a thing," said Paul.

"No, Paul," said the shiftless one, "you didn't hear it but it came off
anyway. You're a mighty good sleeper, you are, Paul. Put you atween fine
white sheets, with a feather bed under your body an' a silk piller under
your head, an' I reckon you'd sleep a week an' be happy all the time."

"I suppose I would. It's a sound conscience, Sol."

"I heard somethin' once," said Long Jim, "but knowin' I wuz in the best
place in the world I didn't open my eyes. I jest went to sleep ag'in an'
now, ef thar wuz anythin' to cook an' any place to cook it I'd git the
finest breakfast any uv you fellers ever et."

"We know that, Jim," said Henry, "but we'll have to stick to the dried
venison for the present. You'll find plenty of drinking water over there
by the wall. Do you notice that our river has risen a full inch?"

"So it has," said Paul. "The rain, of course. Since we've had this noble
inn I'm not sorry about the storm. It will stop the march of that Indian
army."

"And also hide any trail that we may have left yesterday or last
night," said Henry with satisfaction.

"What do you think we ought to do now, Henry?" asked Shif'less Sol.

"Eat our breakfasts, that is, chew our venison. I don't believe we can
do anything today, and there is no need, since the Indians can't move.
We'll stay here in hiding, and at night we'll go out again to explore."

"A whole day's rest," said the shiftless one, with deep approval.
"Nothin' to do but eat an' sleep, an' lay back here an' think. I'm not
eddicated like you an' Henry, Paul, but I kin do a power o' hard
thinkin'. Now, ef Jim tries to think it makes his head ache so bad that
he has to quit, but I guess he's lucky anyway, 'cause we're always doin'
his thinkin' fur him, while he's takin' his ease an' bein' happy."

"Ef I had been dependin' on your thinking', Shif'less Sol," said Long
Jim, "my scalp would hev been hangin' from an' Injun lodge pole long
ago."

"Well, it would look well hangin' thar. You hev got good thick hair,
Long Jim."

They finished their breakfast, and all of them sat down near the
opening. The fallen tree, while it hid the aperture, did not cut off
their own view. They were so close to it that they could see well
between the boughs and leaves. The rising sun, brilliant and powerful,
had now driven away all the clouds. The sky was once more a shining
blue, all the brighter because it had been washed and scoured anew by
wind and rain. The green of the forest, dripping everywhere with water,
looked deeper and more vigorous. Down in the valley they heard the
foaming of a brook that had suddenly become a torrent, and which with
equal suddenness would return to its usual size.

They remained all day in their retreat, seeing thin threads of smoke
three or four times against the blue sky, an indication that the
warriors had built their campfires anew, and were trying to dry
themselves out. Indians as well as white men suffer from rain and cold
and Henry knew that they would be sluggish and careless that night.
There was a bare chance that the five might get at the cannon and ruin
them in some manner, although they had not yet thought of a way.

It was decided that Henry and Shif'less Sol should make the second
expedition, Paul, Tom Ross and Long Jim remaining as a reserve within
their stone walls. The two did not disturb the fallen tree at the
entrance, but slipped out between the boughs, and walking on dead leaves
and fallen brushwood, in order to leave as little trace as possible,
reached the valley below. This low area of land was studded for a long
distance with new pools of water, which would disappear the next day,
and the ground was so soft that they took to the bordering forest in
order to escape the mud.

"'Pears likely to me," said the shiftless one, "that them Britishers had
tents. They wouldn't go on so long an expedition as this without 'em.
It's probable then that we'll find the renegades in or about 'em."

"Sounds as if it might be that way," said Henry. "The site of their camp
is not more than a mile distant now, and the tents may be pitched
somewhere in the woods."

"Reckon we're near, Henry, I smell smoke, and it's the smoke that comes
out of a pipe."

"I smell it too. It's straight ahead. It must be one of the officers.
We'll have to be slow and mighty particular. There's a big moon and all
the stars are out."

The night, as if to atone for the one that had gone before, was
particularly brilliant. The dripping woods were luminous with silvery
moonlight and the three used every tree and bush as they approached the
point from which the tobacco smoke came. The woods were so dense there
that they heard the men before they saw them. It was first a hum of
voices and then articulated words.

"It seems that these forest expeditions are not to be taken lightly,
Wyatt," said a heavy growling voice.

"No, Colonel Alloway," Braxton Wyatt replied in smooth tones. "There are
no roads in the wilderness. If we want one we'll have to make it. It's
the cannon that hold us back."

"The Indians could move fast without them."

"Yes, sir, but we must have 'em. We can't break through the palisades
without 'em."

"Why, young sir, these red warriors can annihilate anything to be found
in Kentucky!"

"They did not do it, sir, when we attacked Wareville last year."

"Lack of leadership! Lack of leadership!"

"If you'll pardon me, sir, I don't think it was. The Indians have to
fight in their own way, and the Kentucky riflemen are the best in the
world. Why, sir, the things they can do with their rifles are amazing.
A musket is like an old-fashioned arquebus compared with their
long-barreled weapons. I know one of them--and I must say it, though I
hate him--who could kill running deer at two hundred yards, as fast as
you could hand him the rifles, never missing a shot."

"A William Tell of the woods, so to speak!" said the heavy, gruff voice,
sounding an incredulous note.

"You'll believe me, sir, if you meet 'em," said Wyatt earnestly. "I
don't love 'em any more'n you do, much less perhaps, but I've learned
enough to dread their rifles. I was telling you about the one who is
such a terrible marksman, though the others are nearly as good. Last
night before the rain one of the Wyandots found the trace of a footstep
in the forest. It was a trace, nothing more, and not even an Indian
could follow it, but I've an idea that it's the very sharpshooter I was
telling you about."

"And what of it? Why should we care anything for a stray backwoodsman."

"He's very dangerous, very dangerous, sir, I repeat, and he's sure to
have four others with him."

"And who are the dreadful five?" There was a note of irony in the voice.

"The one of whom I spoke is named Henry Ware. There is another, a youth
of about his own age, named Paul Cotter. The third is Solomon Hyde, a
man of amazing skill and judgment. The other two are Tom Ross, a
wonderful scout and hunter, and Long Jim Hart, the fastest runner in the
West. It was he who brought relief, when we had the emigrant train
trapped. I think that all the five are somewhere near and that we
should beware."

The heavy, gruff voice was lifted again in an ironic laugh, and Henry,
creeping a yard or two more, saw through the leaves the whole group. The
English officer whom Wyatt had called Alloway, was a man of middle
years, heavily built. His confident face and aggressive manner indicated
that he was some such man as Braddock, who in spite of every warning by
the colonials, walked with blinded eyes into the Indian trap at Fort
Duquesne, to have his army and himself slaughtered. But now the English
were allied with the scalp-takers.

A half-dozen English officers, younger men, surrounded Colonel Alloway,
silent and attentive, while their chief talked with Wyatt. The older
renegade, Blackstaffe, was leaning against a tree, his arms folded
across his chest, a sneering look upon his face. Henry knew that he
thought little of European officers there in the woods, and out of their
element.

But the most striking figures in the scene were Yellow Panther, head
chief of the Miamis, and Red Eagle, head chief of the Shawnees. They
stood erect with arms folded, and they had not spoken either while
Alloway and Wyatt talked. They were imposing men, not as tall as the
young chief whom Henry had seen distantly, and who was destined to have
a great part in his life later on, but they were uncommonly broad of
shoulders and chest, and, though elderly they were at the very height of
their mental and physical powers.

They were in full war paint, their scalp locks were braided and each
had flung about him somewhat in the manner of a Roman toga a magnificent
blanket of the finest weave, blue for Yellow Panther, red for Red Eagle.

Wyatt translated to them Alloway's words, and Red Eagle at length
raising his hand said to Wyatt in Shawnee, which all three of the hidden
scouts understood perfectly:

"Tell our white ally that his words are not those of wisdom. The Indian
when he goes upon the war path does not laugh at his enemy. He knows
that he is not fighting with children and he heeds the warnings of those
who understand."

His tones were full of dignity, but Wyatt, when he translated, softened
the rebuke. Nevertheless enough of it was left to make the arrogant
Colonel start a little, and gaze with some apprehension at the two
massive and silent figures, regarding him so steadily. It was likely too
that the grim forest, the overwhelming character of the wilderness in
which he stood, affected him. Without the Indians he and his men would
be lost in that mighty sweep of country.

"Tell the officers of the King, across the great salt water," continued
Red Eagle to Wyatt, "that the word has come to us that if we go and
destroy the settlements of the Yengees, lest they grow powerful and help
their brethren in the East who are fighting against the King called
George, we are to receive great rewards. We use the tomahawk for him as
well as for ourselves, and while we listen to Alloway here, Alloway must
listen also to us."

Wyatt veiled his look of satisfaction. He had not fancied the haughty
and patronizing manner of Alloway, and he was sure that the Colonel was
making too little of the five and their possible proximity. Despite
himself, and the young renegade was bold, he felt a shiver of
apprehension lest the formidable group were somewhere near in the woods.
But he added, speaking in a more persuasive tone to Alloway:

"You'll pardon me, sir, but the Indian chiefs are in their own country.
They're proud and resolute men, trusting in their own methods, and they
must be humored. If you don't defer somewhat to them it's quite possible
that they'll take all their warriors and go back to their villages."

Alloway's face grew red with anger, but he had enough wisdom and
resolution to suppress it. He looked around at the vast and somber
forest, in which one could be lost so easily, and knew that he must do
so.

"Very well," he said, "the chiefs and I lead jointly. Ask them what they
want."

Wyatt talked with the two chiefs and then translated:

"They wish to stop here a day or two, until they can obtain new supplies
of food. They wish to send out all of their best trailers in search of
the scout called Ware and his comrades. They are dangerous, and also
Yellow Panther and Red Eagle have bitter cause to hate them, as have I."

"Very well, then," said Alloway, making the best of it. "We'll halt
while the warriors brush away these wasps, whom you seem to fear so
much."

He walked away, followed by his men, and Henry and Shif'less Sol drew
back in the thicket. They were flattered by Braxton Wyatt's frank
admission of their power, but they were annoyed that the footprint had
been seen. Henry had felt that they could work much better, if the
warriors were unaware of their presence.

"Those two chiefs will act quickly," he whispered to his comrade. "Maybe
they had already sent out the trailers, before they had the talk with
the officer. It's possible that they're now between us and our new home
in the cliff. It's always best to have a plan, and if they pick up our
trail I'll run toward the east, and draw them off, while you make your
way back to Paul and Jim and our room in the cliff."

"You let me make the chase," said Shif'less Sol, protestingly. "They
can't ketch me."

"No! We've pretty well agreed upon our different tasks, and this, you
know, is mine."

The shiftless one was well aware that Henry was the most fitting, yet he
was more than anxious to take the chief danger upon himself. But he said
nothing more, as they withdrew slowly, and with the utmost caution,
through the woods. Twice, the red trailers passed near them, and they
flattened themselves against the ground to escape observation. Henry did
not believe now that they could regain the stone room without a flight
or a fight, as he was confirmed in his belief that Red Eagle and Yellow
Panther had sent out numerous trailers, before their talk with the
English colonel.

A quarter of a mile away, and they were forced to lie down in a gully
among sodden leaves and hold their breath while two Shawnees passed.
Henry saw them through the screening bushes on the bank of the gully,
their questing eyes eager and fierce. At the first trace of a trail,
they would utter the war whoop and call the horde upon the fugitives.
But they saw nothing and flitted away among the bushes.

"Comin' purty close," whispered Shif'less Sol, as they rose and resumed
their progress. "Warm, purty warm, mighty warm, hot! The next time
they'll jest burn their hands on us."

"Maybe there'll be no next time," said Henry as they approached the edge
of a brook. But the bank, softened by the rain, crumbled beneath them,
and the "next time" had come almost at once.

Although they did not fall, their feet went into the stream with a
splash that could be heard many yards away. From three points came
fierce triumphant shouts, and then they heard the low swish of
moccasined feet running fast.

"Remember," said Henry, rapidly, "hide your trail and curve about until
you reach the hidden home. Wait there for me!"

He was gone in an instant, turning off at a sharp angle into the bushes,
leading directly away from the cliff. Now the young superman of the
forest summoned all his faculties. He called to his service his immense
strength and agility, his extreme acuteness of sight and hearing, and
his almost supernatural power of divination, the outgrowth of a body and
mind so perfectly attuned for forest work.

No fear that he would be caught entered his mind. Alone in the forest he
could double and turn as he chose, and there was no Indian so fleet of
foot that he could overtake him. A wild and exultant spirit flowed up in
him. He was the hunted. Nevertheless it was sport to him to be followed
thus. He laughed low and under his breath, and then, swelling the cords
in his throat, he gave utterance to a cry so tremendous in volume that
it rang like the echo of a cannon shot through the wilderness. But,
after the Indian fashion, he permitted it to die in a long, fierce note
like the whine of a wolf.

It was an extraordinary cry, full of challenge and mockery. It said to
those who should hear, that they might come on, if they would, but they
would come on a vain errand. It taunted them, and aroused every kind of
anger in their breasts. No Indian could remain calm under that cry and
every one of them knew what it meant. Their ferocious shouts replied,
and then Henry swung forward in the long easy gait of the woodsman.

Mind and muscle were under perfect control. While he ran he saw
everything in the bright moonlight and heard everything. He made no
effort to conceal his trail, because he wanted it to be seen and he knew
that the entire pursuit was strung out behind him. Probably Shif'less
Sol was already safe within the stone walls.

Lest the trail itself should not be enough he again uttered the defiant
cry that thrilled through the forest, returning in many echoes. He
listened for the answering shouts of the warriors, and felt relieved
when they came. The spirit that was shooting through his veins became
wilder and wilder. His blood danced and he laughed once more under his
breath, as wild as any of the wild men of the forest.

He was racing along a low ridge from which the rain had run rapidly,
leaving fairly firm ground. Once more he disturbed the thickets.
Startled wild animals sprang up as the giant young figure sped past. A
rabbit leaped from under his raised foot. A huge owl looked down with
red, distended eyes at the flying youth, and, in the face of the
unknown, using the wisdom that is the owl's own, flew heavily away from
the forest. Some pigeons, probably a part of the same flock that he had
seen, rose with a whirr from a bough and streamed off in a black line
among the trees. The undergrowth was filled with whimperings, and little
rustlings, and Henry, who felt so closely akin to wild life, would have
told them now if he could that they were in no danger. It was he, not
they, who was being pursued.

He caught a glimpse of a dusky figure aiming a rifle. Quickly he bent
low and the bullet whistled over his head. Catching his own rifle by the
barrel he swung the stock heavily and the red trailer lay still in the
undergrowth. A little farther on a second fired at him, and now he sent
his own bullet in reply. The warrior fell back with a cry of pain to
which his pursuing comrades answered, and Henry for a third time sent
forth his fierce, defiant shout. Those whom he had met must have been
hunters coming in.

He reloaded his rifle, running, and kept a wary eye as he passed into
the canebrake. But he believed now that he had left behind the
outermost fringe of the scouts and trailers. He would encounter nobody
lying in ambush, and, after making his way for a long time through the
dense thickets, he sat down on a little mound to rest and observe.

He knew that the nearest of the warriors was at least four or five
hundred yards away, and that none could come within rifle shot without
his knowledge. So, he sat quite still, taking deep breaths, and was
without apprehension. He was not really weary, the long swinging run had
not been much more than exercise, but he wanted to look about and see
the nature of the land.

The canebrake extended a great distance, but he saw far beyond it the
black shadow of forest, in the interminable depths of which he might
easily lose himself if the pursuit continued. Whether it continued or
not was a matter of sheer indifference to him. He had drawn them far
enough, but if they wished to go farther he would be the hunted again,
although it might be dangerous for the hunters.

He saw the crests of the cane waving a little, and, rising, he resumed
the race on easy foot, passing through the canebrake, and entering the
forest, in which there was much rough, rocky ground. Here he leaped
lightly from stone to stone, until he knew the trail was broken beyond
the possibility of finding, when he sat down between two great upthrust
roots of an oak and leaned back against turf and trunk together. He knew
that the green of his deerskins blended perfectly with the grass, and he
felt so thoroughly convinced that the pursuit had stopped that he
decided to remain there for the night.

He unrolled the blanket from his back, put it about his shoulders, and
then he laughed again at the successful trick that he had played upon
these fierce red warriors. It had been an easy task, too. Save the two
hasty shots from the trailers he had never been in serious danger, and
now, as he rested comfortably, he ate a little more of the dried venison
from his knapsack. Then he fell asleep.

The hours of the night passed peacefully. The soft turf supported his
back, and only his head was against the trunk of the tree. It was a
comfortable position for a seasoned forest runner. Toward morning the
wind rose and began to sing through the spring foliage. Its song grew
louder, and before it was yet dawn Henry awoke and listened to it. Like
the Indian he heard the voice of the Great Spirit in the wind, and now
it came to him with a warning note.

He stretched his limbs a little and stood up, his hand on the hammer of
his rifle. The darkness that precedes the dawn covered the woods, but he
could see some distance into it, and he saw nothing. He listened a long
time, and as the dusk began to thin away before the sun he heard a low
chant. He knew that it was an Indian song, a song of triumph, coming
from the south, and for a while he was puzzled.

Clearly, this was no part of the great war band, which lay to the north
of him, and he concluded that it must be a small expedition which had
already gone into the South and which was now returning. But he did not
like the character of the song. It indicated victory and he thrilled
with horror and repulsion. The triumph must be over people of his own
race.

The blood in every vein grew hot with anger, and the pulses in his
temples beat so hard that for a while it made a little singing in his
head. The great figure stiffened and a menacing look came into his eyes.

The chant was fast growing louder and the singers would pass within a
few feet of his tree. He slipped aside, turning away a hundred yards or
so, and crouched behind dense bushes. The singers came on, about twenty
warriors in single file, Shawnees by their paint, and the first three
brandished aloft three hideous trophies. Henry had more than suspected,
but the reality made him shudder.

The three scalps were obviously those of white people, and the first,
long, thick, blonde and fine, was that of a woman. The warrior who waved
it aloft, as he chanted, wore only the breech cloth, his naked body
painted in many colors, and he exulted as he displayed his trophy, so
fine to his savage heart.

A mighty rage seized Henry. For a moment his eyes were clouded by the
red mist that danced before them. The song of the wind before the dawn
had aroused him to his coming danger, but there was nothing to tell the
triumphant savage that his hour was at hand.

The red mist cleared away from the great youth's eyes. The blood lately
so hot in his veins became as cold as ice, and the pulses in his temples
sank to their normal beat. Mind and nerves were completely attuned and
he was a perfect instrument of vengeance. The rifle rose to his shoulder
and he looked down the sights at a tiny bear painted in blue directly
over the warrior's heart. Then he pulled the trigger and so deadly was
his aim that the savage sank down without a cry, and the scalp fell and
lay upon his own body, the long hair reddening fast with the blood that
flowed from the warrior's heart.

Henry turned instantly and darted into the depths of the forest,
reloading as usual as he ran. A single backward glance had shown him
that the warriors, confused and puzzled at first, were standing in an
excited group, looking down at their dead comrade. He knew they would
recover quickly and to hasten the moment he uttered that long, thrilling
cry of defiance.

He was willing for them to pursue, in truth he was anxious that they
should. He had marked the other two warriors who waved the scalps, and
he now had a cold and settled purpose. He intentionally made noise as he
ran, letting the boughs of bushes fly back with a swish and soon he
heard the Indians, two or three hundred yards away.

He knew that their muskets or smooth bores could not reach him at the
range and that his rifle had over them, an advantage of at least fifty
yards. He let them come a little nearer, and, as the country was now
more open they saw him and uttered cries of mingled rage and triumph.
They were gaining perceptibly and they felt certain of capture.

The fugitive permitted them to come a little nearer, and he watched them
out of the corner of one eye. The second man in the pursuing group, a
tall thin warrior, had been waving a scalp. Even now it was swinging at
his belt, and as they gained, yard by yard, Henry wheeled for a second
or two and shot the scalp-bearer through the head.

Then he increased his speed, reloaded his rifle once more, and sent back
that taunting cry which he knew inflamed the savage heart with ferocity
and the desire for vengeance. The Indians had hesitated, but now they
uttered the war whoop all together, and came on at their utmost speed.
Henry noted the third scalp-bearer. He was a short, powerful fellow, but
he did not have speed enough to keep himself in front. But Henry was
resolved that he too should suffer.

They were running now through forest comparatively free from
undergrowth. The fugitive stumbled suddenly and then limped for a step
or two. The simultaneous yell of the Indians was fierce and exultant,
but the rifle of the great youth flashed, and the short, broad warrior
was gone to join his two comrades.

Then the speed of the fugitive increased at a great rate, and, as the
warriors were no longer anxious to pursue, he soon disappeared in the
forest.




CHAPTER IV

THE DEED IN THE WATER


Henry's pace sank into a long walk, but he did not stop for two hours.
Then he drank at one of the innumerable brooks and lay down in the
forest. His adventure with the returning war party made him think much.
It was likely that other small bands had gone on the great adventure in
the south. The young warriors, in particular, were likely to take to the
scalp trail. It furnished them with excitement and at the same time
destroyed the intruders upon their great hunting grounds.

He was tempted to rejoin his comrades and go south at once with a
warning, but second thought told him that the chief danger lay in the
great war band under Yellow Panther and Red Eagle. He would adhere to
his original plan and seek to destroy the cannon.

He resolved to return at night, and since he had plenty of time he shot
a small deer, taking all chances, and cooked tender steaks over a fire
that he lit with his flint and steel. It refreshed him greatly, and
putting other choice portions in his knapsack he started back on a wide
curve, leaving the smoldering coals to arouse the curiosity of any one
who might see them.

It was now the second day after the great storm, and earth and the
forest had dried completely. Henry, stepping lightly on the firm earth,
and always using every stone or log or brook to hide any possible trace,
had little fear of leaving a trail that even the keenest Indian could
follow. But he picked up several trails himself. One was that of a small
party coming from the east, and he thought they might be Wyandots bound
for the great camp. Another had the imprints of two pairs of boots,
mingled with the light traces of moccasins, and he knew that they were
made by English soldiers, doubtless gunners, coming also with their
Indian comrades to join the great camp.

Nothing escaped his notice. He knew that not far to the eastward ran one
of the great rivers that emptied into the Ohio, flowing northward, and
he began to wonder why the band did not use it for the transport of the
cannon, at least part of the way. Indians were usually well provided
with canoes, and by lashing some of the stoutest together they could
make a support strong enough for the twelve pounders. It was an idea
worth considering, and he and his comrades would watch the stream. Then
it occurred to him that he might go there now, and see if any movement
in that direction had been begun by the warriors. The other four
undoubtedly would remain in their little stone fortress, until he
returned, or even if they should venture forth they knew all the ways of
the forest, and could take care of themselves.

To think of it was to act at once, and he began a great curve toward
the east, slackening speed and awaiting the night, under cover of which
he could work to far better effect and with much greater safety.

Toward sunset he came upon a trail made by moccasins and two pairs of
boots, and he surmised that it was Alloway and one of his young officers
who had passed that way with the Indians. As they were going toward the
river it confirmed him in his conjecture that they intended to use it,
at least in part, for their advance into Kentucky.

There had been no effort to hide the trail. What need had they to do so?
Even with the belief that the five were in the vicinity they were in too
large numbers to fear attack, and Henry, following in their footsteps,
read all their actions plainly.

They were not walking very fast. The shortness between one footprint and
the next proved it, and their slowness was almost a sure indication that
the party included Yellow Panther and Red Eagle, or at least one of
them. They did not go faster, because they were talking, and Alloway
would have discussed measures only with the chiefs.

At one point four pairs of footsteps turned aside a little, and stopped
in front of a large fallen log. Two of the traces were made by moccasins
and two by boots. So, the two pairs of moccasins indicated that both
chiefs were present. The four had sat on the log and talked some time.
In the crevices of the bank he found traces of thin ash. The British
officer therefore had lighted his pipe and smoked there, further proof
that it had been a conference of length.

The warriors had remained in a group on the right, thirty or forty yards
away, and several of them had lain down, the crushed grass showing faint
traces of their figures. Two small bones of the deer, recently covered
with cooked flesh, indicated that several of them had used the
opportunity to eat their supper.

Unquestionably the movement intended by the white leader and the red
chiefs was important, or they would not stop to talk about it so long.
Hence it must mean the transportation of the cannon by water. He could
not think of anything else that would divert them from the main route.

About two miles farther on another trail joined the one that he was
following. It was made wholly by moccasins, but it was easy enough for
him to discern among them two pairs, the toes of which turned outward.
These moccasins, of course, were worn by Blackstaffe and Wyatt, who,
whatever the British colonel may have thought of them, were nevertheless
of the greatest importance, as intermediaries between him and the Indian
chiefs.

A few yards beyond the junction they had stopped and talked a little,
but they had not sat down. Nevertheless they had consulted earnestly as
the footsteps were in an irregular group, showing that they had moved
about nervously as they talked. Then they walked on, but the moccasins
moved forward in a much straighter and more precise manner than the
boots, which were now veering a little from side to side. The two
British officers, not trained to it like the others, were growing weary
from the long walk through the woods. But they persevered. Although
they sagged more the trail led on, and, after a while, Henry saw a
light, which he knew to be a campfire, and which he surmised was on the
bank of the river.

The night was fairly dark and under cover of bushes he approached until
he could see. Then all his surmises were confirmed. The campfire was
large and around it sat Alloway, the younger officer, Red Eagle and
Yellow Panther, and at a little distance about twenty warriors. The two
Englishmen seemed utterly exhausted, while the others showed no signs of
weariness.

"I admit, Wyatt, that walking seven or eight miles through the primeval
wilderness is no light task," said Alloway, wiping his red, perspiring
face.

His tone was not haughty and patronizing. He felt just then, in this
particular work, that he was not the equal of the renegades and the
warriors. Henry saw a faint ironic smile upon the face of each of the
renegades, and he understood and appreciated their little triumph.

"You would do better, Colonel," said Blackstaffe suavely, "to wear
moccasins in place of those heavy boots. They carry you over the ground
much more lightly, and we have to follow the ways of the wilderness."

The irritable red of Alloway's face turned to a deeper tint, but he
controlled himself.

"Doubtless you are right, Blackstaffe," he said, "but we are here at
last."

Wyatt had been speaking in a low tone to the chiefs, and it inflamed a
choleric man like Alloway to hear anyone saying words that he could not
understand. He was not able to restrain himself wholly a second time.

"What is it, man? What is it that you're saying to the chiefs?" he
exclaimed.

"I was merely telling them," replied Wyatt, "that you and your aide,
Lieutenant Cartwright, had been made weary by the long walk through the
woods, and that we'd better let you rest a little before going down to
inspect the canoes."

A blaze of anger appeared in Alloway's eyes, but the younger officer who
had been watching his chief with some apprehension, said deferentially:

"Suppose, sir, that we do as they suggest. Campaigning in this
wilderness is not like fighting on the open fields of Europe."

They all sat down about the fire, and venison, jerked buffalo meat and
roasted grain were served to them. The two chiefs were silent, and,
holding themselves with dignity, were impressive. Presently one of them
took from under his deerskin tunic a pipe, with a long stem, and a bowl,
carved beautifully. He crowded some tobacco into it, put a live coal on
top and took two or three long puffs. Then he passed it to the other
chief who after doing the same handed it to Colonel Alloway.

The officer hesitated, not seeming to understand the meaning of the pipe
at that particular time, and Wyatt said, maliciously:

"The pipe of peace, sir!"

"Why should we smoke a pipe of peace when we're already allies?"

"A little feeling has been shown on our march through the woods to the
river. Indians, sir, are very sensitive. These two chiefs, Yellow
Panther and Red Eagle, are the heads of powerful tribes, and if their
feelings are hurt in any manner they will resent it, even to the point
of withdrawing all their warriors and returning north of the Ohio. I
suggest, sir, that you smoke the pipe at once, and return it to them."

Colonel Alloway did so, Cartwright took it readily, after them the two
renegades smoked, and thus it was passed around the circle. It came back
to Red Eagle, who knocked the coals out of the pipe and then gravely
returned it to its resting place.

Henry had watched it all with eager attention, and when the little
ceremony was finished he made another short circle through the bushes
that brought him close to the river, where he saw about twenty canoes
and two boats much larger, built stoutly and apparently able to sustain
a great weight. He knew at once that they were intended for the cannon
and that they had been brought down the Ohio and then up the tributary
stream. Both had oars and he surmised that the white gun crews would use
them, since the Indians were familiar only with the paddle. These boats,
scows he would have called them, were tied to the bank and were empty.
Some of the canoes were empty also, but in seven or eight, Indian
warriors were lying asleep.

He was quite certain that the cannon would be brought up the next day,
and be loaded on the scows, and he wished now for the presence of his
comrades. The five together might accomplish something real before the
dawn, and then he resolved that since he was alone he would attempt it
alone. He withdrew to a considerable distance, and lay down in the
bushes, very close.

It was hard to think of a plan that seemed feasible, and he concentrated
his mind upon it until his brain began to feel inflamed, as if with a
fever. But the idea came at last. It was full of danger, and it called
for almost supernatural skill, but he believed that he could do it. Then
the fever went out of his brain and the tension of his nerves relaxed.
He felt himself imbued with new strength and courage, and his soul rose
to its task.

He saw the two officers, the renegades and the chiefs come down to the
edge of the river, and talk with the warriors there. No very strict
watch was kept, because none seemed to be needed. Then blankets were
spread for them under the trees, and they went to sleep. Most of the
warriors followed their example, and not more than three or four
sentinels were left on watch. These three or four, however, would have
eyes to see in the darkness and ears to hear when a leaf fell.

But Henry did not sleep. He was never more wide-awake. He made his way
carefully through the bushes farther up the stream to a point where he
noticed the last canoe lying empty near the shore, almost hidden in the
shadows cast on the water by the overhanging boughs.

He came to a point parallel with it and not more than ten feet away,
and critically examining the river saw that the water was quite deep
there, which suited his purpose. The light craft was held merely by a
slender piece of bark rope. Then he began the most perilous part of his
task. He returned toward the sleeping officers and chiefs, and, lying
flat upon the ground in the deep grass and heavy shadows, began slowly
to worm himself forward. It was a thing that no one could have
accomplished without great natural aptitude, long training and infinite
patience. He knew that risk of detection existed, but he calculated
that, if seen, he might be up and away before any one of his enemies
could find time for a good shot.

The Englishmen in particular were the mark at which he aimed. He had
noticed that the younger one carried a large horn of powder and he was
likely to be careless about it, a belief that was verified as he drew
near. The Englishman had taken off his belt, bullet pouch and powder
horn, all of which now lay on the ground near him.

A long arm was suddenly thrust from the grass and a hand closing on the
powder horn took it away. Henry felt that it was well filled and heavy
and he glowed with triumph. The first link in his chain had been forged.
He crept back into the bushes, and stopped there twice, lying very
still. He saw the Indian sentinels moving about a little, but evidently
they suspected nothing. They were merely changing positions and quickly
relapsed into silence and stillness.

It was fully half an hour before Henry was back at his place opposite
the swinging little canoe. Then he shook the powder horn triumphantly,
put it down at the foot of a tree and covered it up with some leaves. As
he did so he noticed that many of last year's leaves were quite dry and
he remembered it.

Then he went back to forge the second link, which was not so difficult.
The fire around which the white men and the chiefs had eaten their
supper was a little distance back of the present camp, where he was
quite sure that it was still smoldering, although deserted. He found a
stick the end of which was yet a live coal, and circling a little wider
on his return he came back to the powder horn.

Henry held the live point of the stick close to the ground where it
could not cast a glow that the sentinels might see, and then waited a
minute or so before taking any further action. Two links of the chain
had been forged and he felt now that he would carry it to its full
length and success. He had never been more skillful, never more in
command of all his faculties, and they had never worked in more perfect
coordination. There had never been a more perfect type of the human
physical machine. Nature, in one of her happy moods, had lavished upon
him all her gifts and now he was using them to the utmost, turning his
ten talents into twenty.

The third link would be one of great difficulty, much harder than the
bringing of the fire, and that was the reason why he was considering so
well. He could discern the figures of three of the sentinels on land.
Two of them were brawny warriors naked to the waist, and painted
heavily. The third was quite young, younger than himself, a mere boy,
perhaps on his first war path. Henry understood the feelings of hope and
ambition that probably animated the Indian boy and he trusted that they
would not come into conflict.

The sentinels were walking about, and when the one nearest him turned
and moved away he gathered up quickly fallen brushwood which lay
kiln-dry at the river's brink. Then he hid his rifle, other weapons and
ammunition in the grass. For a brief space he must go unarmed, because
he could not be cumbered in an effort to keep them dry.

Carrying the powder horn, the dry sticks and the one lighted at the end,
he dropped silently into the water and managed with one arm to swim the
few feet that separated him from the canoe. Then he passed around it,
putting it between him and the land, and carefully lifted everything
inside. He knew that the dry wood would burn fast when he placed the
torch against it, and he put the horn full of powder very near.

Then he sank low in the water behind the canoe, and listened until he
heard the faint sputter of the fire in the dry wood. Now new
difficulties arose. He must time everything exactly, and for the sake of
his enterprise and his own life he must keep the Indian alarm from
coming too soon.

The sputtering was not yet loud enough for the warriors on the bank to
hear it, and he ventured to rise high enough for another look over the
edge of the canoe. In two minutes, he calculated, the fire would reach
the powder horn. Then he drew from his belt his hunting knife, the only
weapon that he had not discarded, and cut the withe that held the canoe.

Burying himself in the water to the nose he sent his fire ship down the
stream toward the two scows intending for it to enter just between them.
Now he needed all his skill and complete command over his will. The
sputtering of the fire increased, and he knew that it was rapidly
approaching the horn of powder. The flesh had an almost irresistible
desire to draw away at once and swim for life, but an immense resolution
held his body to its yet uncompleted task.

The canoe was moving with such a slight ripple that not an Indian
sentinel had yet heard, but when it was within ten yards of its
destination one happened to look over the river and see it moving. There
would have been nothing curious in a canoe breaking its slender thong
and floating with the current, but this one was floating against it. The
Indian uttered a surprised exclamation and instantly called the
attention of his comrades.

Henry knew that the supreme moment was at hand. The Indian warning had
come, and the sputtering told him that the fire was almost at the powder
horn. Giving his fire ship a mighty shove he sent it directly between
the scows and then he made a great dive down and away. He swam under
water as long as he could, and just as he was coming to the surface he
heard and saw the explosion.

The two scows and the canoe seemed to leap into the air in the center of
a volcano of light, and then all three came down in a rain of hissing
and steaming fragments. The crash was stunning, and the light for a
moment or two was intense. Then it sank almost as suddenly and again
came the darkness, in which Henry heard the steaming of burning wood,
the turmoil of riven waters and the shouts of warriors filled with
surprise and alarm.

It was easy in all the confusion for him to reach the bank, recover his
arms and speed into the forest. He had forged with complete success
every link in his chain of destruction. The scows intended for the
transportation of the cannon were blown to splinters, and while they
might lash enough canoes together to sustain their weight, they must
move slowly and at much risk.

Although he was dripping with water, Henry was supremely happy. When he
undertook this feat he had believed that he would succeed, but looking
back at it now it seemed almost incredible. But here he was, and the
deed was done. He laughed to himself in silent pleasure. Wyatt,
Blackstaffe and the others would undoubtedly trace it to him and his
comrades, and he hoped they would. He was willing for them to know that
the five were not only on watch but could act with terrific effect.

A half-mile away from the river and he heard a long fierce yell, uttered
by many voices in unison. He knew they had picked up at the edge of the
stream the tale that he had not sought to hide, and were hoping now for
revenge upon the one who had cost them so much. But he laughed once more
back of his teeth. In the darkness they might as well try to follow a
bird of the air. He curved away, reached one of the numerous brooks
intersecting the stream, and ran for a long time in its bed. Then he
emerged, passed into a dense canebrake and stopped, where he took off
his wet clothing and spread it out in the dark to dry. The blanket which
he had left on the bank with his arms was warm and dry and he wrapped it
around his body. Then he lay down with his weapons by his side.

The satisfied blood ran swiftly and proudly in the veins of the great
forest runner. He had done other deeds as bold, but perhaps none as
delicate as this. It had demanded a complete combination of courage and
dexterity and perfect timing. A second more or less might have ruined
everything. He could imagine the chagrin of the choleric colonel. Unless
Wyatt and Blackstaffe restrained him he might break forth into
complaints and abuse and charge the Indians with negligence, a charge
that the haughty chiefs would repudiate at once and with anger. Then a
break might follow.

Whether the break came or not he had insured a delay, and since the
cannon could not yet be put upon the river he might find a way to get at
them. He rolled on one side, made himself comfortable on the dead leaves
and then heard the wind blowing a song of triumph through the cane. He
fell asleep to the musical note, but awoke at dawn.

His clothing was dry, and, unwrapping himself from the tight folds of
the blanket, he dressed. Then, stretching his muscles a little, to
remove all stiffness or soreness he emerged from the canebrake. After
examining a circle of the forest with both eye and ear to see that no
warrior was near, he climbed a tree and looked over a sea of forest.

To the north where the great camp lay he saw spires of smoke rising, and
to the east, where a detachment guarded the boats in the river, another
column of smoke floated off into the blue dawn. So he inferred that they
were yet uncertain about their campaign and that their forces would
remain stationary for a little while. But he was sure that warriors were
ranging the forest in search of him. Red Eagle and Yellow Panther would
not let such an insult and loss pass without many attempts at revenge.

He descended and ate the last of his venison. He would have returned at
once to his comrades, but he believed that many warriors were in between
and he did not wish to draw danger either upon them or himself. He began
another of his great curves and it took him away from the refuge in the
cliff, coming back in two or three hours to the stream that bore the
little Indian fleet. His triumph of the night before increased his
boldness, and he resolved to return the following night and annoy
further the detachment by the river. It would serve his cause, and it
would be a pleasure to vex the dogmatic European colonel.

Weather was a great factor in the operation he was carrying on, and the
coming night, fortunately for his purpose, promised to be dark. Spring
is fickle in the valley of the Ohio, and toward evening clouds gathered,
although there was not a sufficient closeness of the air to indicate
rain. But the moon was feeble and by and by went away altogether. Then
the stars followed, leaving only a black sky which hid Henry well, but
which did not hide the smaller camp by the river from him.

Watchers had been spread out in a wider circle, but he had no difficulty
in approaching the fire, built on the bank of the river, around which
sat the two chiefs, the renegades and the British officers. Henry saw
that the faces of all of them expressed deep discontent, and he enjoyed
the joke, because joke it was to him. He understood the depths of their
chagrin.

"We'll have to carry the cannon on the canoes, and maybe they'll fall
into the river," said Alloway querulously. "How in thunder the blowing
up of those scows was managed I don't understand!"

"Several of the warriors saw a canoe floating down, sir, just before the
explosion," said Cartwright, "and it must have been no illusion, as a
canoe is gone."

Cartwright had missed his horn of powder after the excitement from the
explosion was over, but he supposed some Indian had used the opportunity
to steal it, and he said nothing about his loss from fear of creating a
breach.

"In my opinion, sir," said Braxton Wyatt, smoothly but with just a trace
of irony, "it was done by Ware and his comrades."

"Impossible! Impossible!" said Alloway, testily. "The careless Indians
left powder in the scows and in some manner equally careless it's been
exploded. The tale of the canoe that floated upstream of its own accord
was an invention to cover up their neglect."

"Do you wish us to translate for you and to state that opinion to the
chiefs?" asked Blackstaffe.

Alloway gave him an angry glance, but he had prudence enough to say:

"No, of course not. After all, there may have been a canoe. But whatever
it was it was most unfortunate. It delays us greatly, and it preys upon
the superstitions of the warriors."

"They are very susceptible, sir, to such things," said Wyatt. "They
dread the unknown, and this event has affected them unpleasantly. But
I'm quite sure it was done by Ware, although I don't know how."

"Ware! Ware!" exclaimed Alloway, impatiently. "Why should a force like
ours dread a single person?"

"Because, sir, he does things that are to be dreaded."

Yellow Panther, who had been sitting in silence, his arms folded across
his great bare chest, arose and raised his hand. Braxton Wyatt turned
toward him respectfully and then said to Colonel Alloway:

"The head chief of the Miamis wishes to speak, sir, and if you will
pardon me for saying so, it will be wise for us to listen."

"Very well," said Alloway. "Tell us what he says."

Thus spoke Yellow Panther, head chief of the Miamis, veteran of many
wars, through the medium of Braxton Wyatt:

"We and our brethren, the Shawnees, have come with many warriors upon a
long war path. Our friends, the white men whom the mighty King George
has sent across the seas to help us, have brought with them the great
cannon which will batter down the forts of the Long Knives in
Kaintuckee. But the signs are bad. The boats which were to carry the
cannon on the river have been blown up. An enemy stands across our path
and before we go farther we must hunt him down. If we cannot do it then
Manitou has turned his face away from us."

Wyatt translated and Alloway sourly gave adhesion. It was hard for him
to think that a single little group of borderers could hold up a great
force like theirs, armed with cannon too. But he was acute enough to see
that the menace of a rupture would become a reality if he insisted upon
having his own way.

Henry had watched them while they talked, and then he turned aside to a
point nearer the river's brink, from which he could see two pairs of
their strongest canoes lashed together in the stream, ready for the
reception of the cannon when they should come. How was he to get at
them? He knew that he could not use a fire boat again, but these rafts,
for such they were, must be destroyed in some manner.

Lying deep in the thickets he considered his problem. One of the reasons
why he excelled nearly all the scouts of the border was because he
thought so much harder and longer, and now he concentrated all his
faculties for success.

It did not take him long to mature his plan, and when he had done so he
moved down the stream, where the chance of an Indian sentinel
discovering him was much smaller. There he waited a space, while the
night darkened still more, the moon and stars being shut out entirely. A
wind arose and little crumbling waves pursued one another on the
surface of the river, which was flooded and yellow from spring rains.

He saw only one or two sentinels and they showed but dimly. Farther down
the Englishmen, the chiefs and the renegades were sitting about the low
fire, and he felt sure that the white men, at least, would sleep there
by the coals. From his covert in the bushes he saw them presently
spreading their blankets, and then they lay down with their feet to the
smoldering fire. The chiefs soon followed them and elsewhere the
warriors also rolled themselves in their blankets. They seemed to think
that he would not come back, reasoning like the white men that the
lightning would not strike in the same place twice.

So he waited long and patiently. This quality of patience was one in
which the Caucasian was usually inferior to the Indian, but in the
incessant struggle on the border it was always needed. Henry, through
the power of his will and his original training among the Northwestern
Indians, had acquired it in the highest degree. He could sit or lie an
almost incredible length of time, so still that he would seem to blend
into the foliage, and now as he lay in the bushes some of the little
animals crept near and watched him. A squirrel, not afraid of the fire
in the distance, came down the trunk of a tree, and hanging to the bark
not five feet away regarded him with small red eyes.

Henry caught a glimpse of the little gray fellow and turning his head
ever so slightly regarded him. The red eyes looked back at him half bold
and half afraid, but Henry had lived in the wild so much that the two
felt almost akin. The squirrel saw that the gigantic figure on the
ground did not move, and that the light in the eyes was friendly. He
crept a little nearer, devoured by curiosity. He had never seen a human
being before, and instinct told him that he could escape up the tree
before this great beast could rise and seize him. He edged cautiously an
inch nearer, and the blue eyes of the human being smiled into the little
red eyes of the animal.

The two gazed at each other for a half minute or so. It was a look of
the utmost friendliness, and then the squirrel went noiselessly back up
the tree. It was a good omen, thought Henry, but he still waited with
the illimitable patience which is a necessity of the wild. He saw the
fire, before which the white men and the chiefs lay sleeping, sink lower
and lower. The night remained dark. The heavy drifting clouds which
nevertheless were not ready to open for rain, moved overhead in solemn
columns. The surface of the river grew dim, but now and then there was a
light splash as a strong fish leaped up and fell back into the current.
The Indian guards knowing well what made them, paid no attention to
these sounds.

The wind increased and Henry saw all the canoes, including those lashed
together, rocking in the current. The blast made a whistling sound among
the bushes and boughs and he concluded that the time for him to act had
come. He took off all his clothing, made it, his weapons and ammunition
in a bundle which he fastened on his head, and then swam across the
river. He went some distance down the bank, deposited everything except
his heavy hunting knife securely in the bush, and then, with the knife
in his teeth, dropped silently into the river.

The lashing of the wind and the perceptible rise of the stream from
flooded tributaries farther up, made a considerable current, and Henry
floated with it. But the bank on the camp side of the river was
considerably higher than the other and first he swam across to its
shelter.

It was so dark now that not even the keen eye of an Indian could have
seen his dark head on the dark surface of the stream, and he was so
powerful in the water that he swam like a fish without noise. Once or
twice he caught the gleam of the fire on the bank, but he knew that he
was not seen.

In a few minutes he dropped in behind the lashed canoes, and with the
heavy hunting knife cut holes in their bark bottoms. He was skillful and
strong, but it took him a half-hour to finish the task, and he stopped
at intervals to see if the sentinels had noticed anything unusual.
Evidently they dreamed as little of this venture as of that of the fire
boat.

He cut a small hole in every one at first, and then enlarged them in
turn, and when he saw the water rising in the boats he swam rapidly
away, still keeping in the shelter of the near shore. Then he dived,
rose just behind a curve and walked out on the opposite bank, his figure
gleaming white for a moment before he crept into the woods where his
clothes and weapons lay. He dressed with rapidity and still lying hidden
he heard the first Indian cry.

The sentinels, hearing the gurgling of the water, had looked over and
seen the sinking canoes. Even as they looked, and as the alarm brought
others, the canoes filled with water and sank fifteen feet to the bottom
of the stream.

A few rays of moonlight forced their way through the clouds just at that
moment, and Henry saw the amazement on the faces of the warriors, and
the anger on the faces of the white men, because Alloway and the others,
awakened by the alarm, had hurried to the banks of the river.

He laughed low to himself but with deep and intense satisfaction. He was
enough a son of the wild to understand the emotions of the Indians. He
knew that the second destruction of the boats, but in a different way,
would fill them with awe. They could attach no blame to the sentinels
who watched as only Indians could watch.

Henry saw them lift the remaining canoes upon the bank for safety, and
then send out scouts and runners in search of the dangerous foe who had
visited them twice. None had yet come to his side of the river, but he
knew that they would do so in time, and feeling that the deed was
sufficient for the night, he fled away in the darkness.




CHAPTER V

THE FOREST JOKER


It was Henry's first thought to return to his comrades, but the way was
long and he must pass by the greater Indian camp, which surely had out
many sentinels. So he changed his mind and resolved to spend the night
in the woods. Shif'less Sol and the others would not be alarmed about
his absence. They too had acquired the gift of infinite patience and
would remain under cover, until he returned, content with their stone
walls and roof, having plenty of venison, and fresh water running
forever in their home itself.

It was his idea to seek some thicket at a distance and lie hidden there
until the next night, when he might achieve a fresh irruption upon the
enemy. He had succeeded so far that he was encouraged to new attempts,
and all the wilderness spirit in him came to the front. The civilization
of the house and the city sank quite away. He was for the time being
wholly a creature of the primeval forest, and while his breath was the
very breath of the wild he felt with it a frolic fancy that demanded
some outlet. He must sleep, but he would like to play a new trick upon
his enemies before he slept.

The spirit of the Faun, in which the old Greeks believed, was re-created
within him, and where could a better place for its re-creation have been
found than in this vast green wilderness stretching from east to west a
thousand miles, and from north to south fifteen hundred miles, a region
almost untouched by the white man, the like of which was not to be found
elsewhere on the globe.

He laughed a little in his triumph, though silently. As he strode along
a stray ray of moonlight fell upon him now and then, and disclosed the
tall, splendid figure, the incarnation of magnificent youth, the forest
superman, one upon whom Nature had lavished every gift for the life that
he was intended to live. Although his step was light and soundless, his
figure expressed strength in every movement. It was shown in the swing
of the mighty shoulders, and the long stride which without effort
dropped the miles behind him.

It was destined, too, that he should have his wish for another
achievement that night, one that would please the sportive fancy now so
strong in him. After recrossing the river he saw on his left an opening
of considerable size, and he heard grunts and groans coming from it. He
knew that a buffalo troop was resting there. The foolish beasts had
wandered into the Indian vicinity, but they would learn the proximity of
the warriors the next day and wander away. Meanwhile Henry needed them
and would use them. Now and then he reverted to the religious imagery
which he had learned when he was with Red Cloud and his Northwestern
tribe. Manitou had really sent this buffalo herd there for his
particular benefit. It was the largest that he had ever seen in
Kentucky. Fully five hundred of the great brutes rested in the opening
and he needed numbers.

He passed into the thick forest near them, and then with infinite
patience lighted a fire with his flint and steel. Securing long sticks
of dead wood he ignited them both until they burned with a steady and
strong flame. Strapping his rifle upon his back and holding aloft a
flaming torch in either hand, and uttering fierce and wild shouts he
charged directly upon the buffaloes.

He showed prodigious activity. All the extraordinary life that was in
him leaped and sang in his veins. He rushed back and forth, uttering
continuous shouts, whirling each torch until it made a perfect circle of
fire. Doubtless to the heavy eyes of the buffaloes the single human
being seemed twenty, every one enveloped in bursts of flame which they
dreaded most of all things.

A big bull buffalo, the leader of the herd, crouched at the very edge of
the opening, decided first that it was time to move. The whirling
circles of fire with living beings inside of them filled him with
terror. His ton of flesh quivered and quaked. He rose with a mighty
heave to his feet and then with a bellow of fright took flight from the
flashing devils of fire.

The whole herd was in a panic in an instant and followed the leader.
They might have scattered in their fright, but they were shepherded by a
human mind, which had allied with it a body without an equal in all
that million and a half square miles of forest. As he leaped to and fro,
shouting and whirling his torches, he drove the herd straight toward the
camp on the river where the English officers and chiefs were even now
asleep.

A few animals broke off from the herd and were lost in the bushes, but
the rest ran, packed close, a long column, tapering at the front like an
arrow head, with the big bull as its point. They bellowed with fright
and made a tremendous crashing as they raced over the mile that divided
them from the Indian camp. Warriors heard the uproar, like the bursting
of a storm in the night, and leaped to their feet.

Now Henry fairly surpassed every effort that he had made hitherto. He
leaped more wildly than ever, and redoubled his fierce shouting. He was
so close upon the flank of the last buffaloes that they felt the torches
singeing their hair, and, mad with fear lest they go to their buffalo
heaven sooner than they wished they charged directly upon the Indian
camp.

The wild yells of the warriors joined with Henry's shouts. Alloway,
Cartwright and the others leaped up to see the red eyes, the short
crooked horns and the huge, humped shoulders of the buffaloes bearing
down upon them. Nothing could withstand that rush of mighty bodies and
white men and Indians alike ran for their lives.

The buffaloes came up against the river, and blocked by its deep flood,
turned, and, running over the camp again, crashed away toward the west.
Henry, stopping at a convenient distance, tossed his torches into the
river, and taking the rifle from his back sank into the bushes. Here he
laughed once more, under his breath, but with the most intense delight.
It was the hugest joke of all.

Without any great danger to himself he had made the buffaloes serve him,
and he could still hear them bellowing and crashing in their frantic
flight. Although no lives had been lost, everything in the camp had been
trodden flat. All of their cooking utensils had been smashed, many of
their rifles had been broken, and, the canoes drawn upon the bank, had
been ground under the hoofs of the buffaloes. A hurricane could not have
made a wreck more complete.

Henry saw Alloway emerge from the forest and come back to the scene of
ruin. He had taken off his coat before he lay down, but only fragments
of it remained now. He was red with anger and he swore violently. Yellow
Panther and Red Eagle had lost their blankets, but, whatever they felt,
they kept it to themselves. They looked upon the trodden camp, but they
did not lose their dignity.

"What is this? What is this? What is this?" stuttered Alloway in his
wrath.

"We seem, sir, to have been run over by a herd of buffaloes," said
Wyatt, smoothly.

"And does this sort of thing happen often in these woods?"

"I can't say that I've heard of such a case before, but even if it's a
single instance we're the victims of it."

Alloway glared at Wyatt, but he knew that he could not afford to quarrel
with the young renegade, who had great influence with the tribes. He
picked up the fragments of his red coat and looked at them ruefully.

"I didn't know that the herds were ever so large in this forest
country," he said to Blackstaffe.

"It's seldom so," said the older renegade.

"Is it their habit to rise up at midnight and gallop over men's camps?"

"It is not."

"Then how do you account for such behavior?"

Blackstaffe shrugged his shoulders and spoke a few words in their own
tongue to the chiefs. Then he turned back to Colonel Alloway.

"The chiefs tell me," he said, "that the buffaloes were driven by a
demon, an immense figure, preceded by whirling circles of fire. The evil
spirit, they say, is upon them."

"And do you believe such nonsense?"

"A continuous life in the deep woods gives one new beliefs. I thought I
caught a glimpse of such a figure, but when I tried for a second look it
was gone. But whether right or wrong you can see what has happened. Our
camp has been destroyed and with it most of the canoes. We have lost
much, and the Indians are greatly alarmed. It is superstition, not fear,
that has affected them."

"In my opinion," said Braxton Wyatt, "it was a trick of Henry Ware's. He
drove those buffaloes down upon us."

"Very likely," said Blackstaffe, "but you can't persuade the Indians
so."

"Nor me either," said Alloway gruffly. "You can't tell me that a
backwoods youth can do so much."

"But," said Blackstaffe, "our scows were blown up, our lashed canoes
were sunk, and now the buffaloes have been driven over us. It couldn't
be chance. I think with Wyatt that it was Ware, but the chiefs are not
willing to stay here longer. They demand that we return to the great
camp in the morning, and that we abandon the attempt to take the cannon
up the river."

"Which means an infinite amount of work with the ax," growled Alloway.
"Well, let it be so, if it must, but I will not move tonight for
anything. At least grass and trees are left, and I can sleep on one and
under the other."

The chiefs, Yellow Panther and Red Eagle, thought they ought to march at
once, but they yielded to Alloway who was master of the great guns with
which they hoped to smash the palisades around the settlements. Complete
cooperation between white man and red man was necessary for the success
of the expedition, and sometimes it was necessary for one to placate the
other.

They chose places anew upon ground that looked like a lost field of
battle. The buffaloes had practically trampled the camp into the earth.
The Indians had lost most of their blankets and in taking the canoes
from the river and putting them upon the bank to escape one form of
destruction they had merely met another. But they did the best they
could, seeking the most comfortable places for sleep, and resolved to
secure rest for the remainder of the night.

But Red Eagle and Yellow Panther, great chiefs though they were, were
troubled by bad dreams which came straight from Ha-nis-ja-o-no-geh, the
dwelling place of the Evil Minded. An enemy whom they could not see or
hear, but whose presence they felt, was near. He had brought misfortune
upon them and he would bring more. They awoke from their dreams and sat
up. The white men were sleeping heavily, but then white men were often
foolish in the forest.

Everything that stirred in the wilderness had a voice for the Indian.
North wind or south wind, east wind or west wind all said something to
him. The flowing of the river, and the sounds made by animals in the
darkness had their meaning. Yellow Panther and Red Eagle were great
chiefs, mighty on the war path, filled with the lore of their tribes,
and they knew that Manitou expressed himself in many ways. They spoke
together and when they compared their bad dreams straight from
Ha-nis-ja-o-no-geh they felt apprehension. The wind was blowing from the
northwest, and its voice was a threat. Then came the weird cry of an owl
from a point north of them, and they did not know whether it was a real
owl or the same evil spirit that had sent the bad dreams.

The two chiefs, wary and brave, were troubled. They could fight the
seen, but the unseen was a foe whom no warrior knew how to meet. Then
they heard the owl again, but from another point, farther to the west,
and after a while the cry came from a point almost due west.

They sent the boldest and most skillful warrior to scout the forest in
that direction and they waited long for his return, but he never came
back. When the second hour after his departure had been completed the
chiefs awakened all the others and announced that they would start at
once for the great camp.

Alloway growled and cursed under his breath.

"What is it?" he said to Braxton Wyatt, who had been talking with Red
Eagle and Yellow Panther. "Can't we finish in peace what's left of the
night?"

"We must yield to the chiefs, sir," said Wyatt. "If we don't there will
be trouble, and the whole expedition will fail before it's fairly
started. While we were asleep they heard an owl hoot from several
different points of the compass, and they think it an omen of evil. They
may be right, because a scout, a man of uncommon skill, whom they sent
out two hours ago with instructions to return in an hour or less, has
not come back. If you consider the misfortunes that have befallen us
tonight, you can't blame 'em."

The hoot of the owl, much nearer, came suddenly through the forest. To
the chiefs and to the white men as well it had a long menacing note. It
was an omen of ill and it came from the Place of Evil Dreams. Yellow
Panther and Red Eagle, great chiefs, victors in many a forest foray,
shuddered. Fear struck like daggers at their hearts.

"Gray Beaver, our scout, will never come back," said Yellow Panther, and
Red Eagle nodded.

The surcharged air affected Alloway and the other white men also. The
obvious fears of the chiefs and the black wilderness about him created
an atmosphere that the colonel could not resist. He glanced at the dark
files of the trees and listened to the low moaning of the river as it
flowed past. Then from a point in the south came that warning, plangent
cry of the evil bird. Perspiration stood out on the brows of the chiefs
and Alloway himself was shaken. Superstition and fears bred of the
wilderness and its darkness entered into his own soul. The place
suddenly became hateful to him.

"Let us go," he said. "Perhaps it is better that we rejoin the main
force."

Braxton Wyatt had his own opinion, but he was as willing as the others
to depart. He felt that on this expedition he would be safer with the
warriors all about him. He had saved his own rifle from the rush of the
herd, and putting it on his shoulder he fell in behind the chiefs.

The whole party started, but they found that although they had left an
evil place they had also begun an evil march. The owl, which the Indians
were quite sure contained the soul of some great dead warrior, followed
and continually menaced them. Its cry was heard from one side and then
from the other. Colonel Alloway, a brave man, though choleric and cruel,
was exasperated beyond endurance. He raged and swore as they marched
through the dark thickets, the Indians moving lightly and surely, while
he often stumbled. He insisted at last that they stop and take action.

"Do you think this is a real owl following us?" he said to Wyatt, whom
he invariably used as an interpreter.

"I think it is Ware, of whom I told you."

"You're as bad in your way as the Indians are in theirs. Why, the fellow
would be superhuman!"

"That would not keep it from being true."

Alloway knew from Wyatt's tone that he meant what he said.

"We must hunt down this forest rover!" he exclaimed. "I can see that he
is striking a heavy blow at the Indians through their superstitions."

"No doubt of that, sir."

"Tell the chiefs for me that we must send out a half dozen trailers
while the rest of us remain here. I'm not as used as you are to midnight
marches in the forest, and every bone in me aches."

Wyatt translated and Yellow Panther and Red Eagle consented. A
half-dozen of the best trailers slipped away in different directions in
the forest, and the rest sat down in a group. They waited a long time
and heard nothing. The owl did not cry, nor did any human shout come
from the haunted depths of the wilderness.

"At least they've driven him away," said Alloway to Cartwright.

"I think so, sir."

Out of the forest, low at first, but swelling on a long triumphant note,
came the solemn voice of the owl. Alloway, despite himself, shuddered.
The sinister cry expressed victory. His own mind, like those of the
Indians, had become attuned to the superstitions and fears bred of
ignorance and the dark. His heart paused, and when it began its work
again the beat was heavy.

A darker blot appeared on the darkness and two warriors, bearing a
third, came through the bushes. The man whom they bore was a
dark-browed, cruel savage who had carried the scalp of a white woman at
his belt. But he would hunt or scalp no more. He had been cloven from
brow to chin with the blow of a tomahawk wielded by an arm mighty like
that of Hercules. Colonel Alloway looked upon the slain savage and
shuddered again.

"Ask them how it happened," he said to Wyatt.

The young renegade, after speaking with the Indians, replied:

"Black Fox, the dead warrior, turned aside to look into a willow
thicket. The others heard the beginning of a cry, that is one that was
checked suddenly, and the sound of a blow. Then they found Black Fox as
you see him there."

"And the one who struck him down?"

"There was no trace of him, but I, at least, have no doubt about him.
Colonel Alloway, sir, I tell you he is the greatest forester that ever
lived. He has all the different kinds of strength of the red man and the
white man united, and something more, a power which I once heard a
learned man say must have belonged to people when they had no weapons
but clubs, and beasts far bigger than any of our time roamed the woods.
It must have been a sort of feeling or sense that we can't understand,
like the nose of a hound, and this Ware has it."

"Pshaw! Pshaw! Pshaw!" exclaimed Alloway violently. But Wyatt saw that
his violence of speech was assumed to hide his own growing belief. The
two chiefs beckoned to him, and he talked with them briefly. Then he
turned to Alloway.

"Red Eagle and Yellow Panther ask me to say to you, sir, that they'll
send no more warriors into the forest. The Evil Spirit is there and
while they're ready to fight men they will not fight devils."

"I don't blame 'em," said Alloway reluctantly. "We've been outwitted and
made fools of, and the best thing we can do is to get back to the great
camp as soon as we can. Tell the chiefs we're ready to march."

But the way was long and the night was still black. The cry of the owl
came several times, first on the right and then on the left. Every time
he heard it the heart of the colonel beat with anger, tinged with awe.
It was a strange world into which he had come, and while he would not
have acknowledged it to another, he knew that he was afraid. And afraid
of what? Of a single figure, lurking somewhere in the dusk, that seemed
able to strike at any moment wherever and whenever it wished.

The band, with its chiefs, its white men and its renegades marched on,
the two English officers panting from such unusual exertion, and
tripping often as they grew weaker. It hurt Alloway to ask them to stop
and let him rest, and he put off the evil moment as long as he could,
but at last, as his breath became shorter and shorter, he was compelled
to do so.

The chiefs acquiesced silently and the whole band stopped. Alloway sat
down on one of those fallen logs to be found everywhere in the primeval
forest, and his breath came in long painful sobs. He was just a little
too stout for wilderness work, that is for the marching part of it, and
he was hurt cruelly in both body and spirit. As his general weakness
grew, the cry of the owl directly in their path and not far away was
like fire touched to an open wound.

"Can't some of the warriors go forward, ambush and shoot that fiend?" he
exclaimed in desperation to Blackstaffe.

"You saw what happened when we tried it an hour ago," replied the
renegade. "In the darkness one man has an opportunity over many. He
knows that all are his enemies, and he can shoot the moment he hears a
sound or sees a rustle in the bush. Besides, sir, we are confronted, as
Wyatt has told you, by the one foe who is the most dangerous in all the
world to us. There is something about him that passes almost beyond
belief. I'm not a coward, as these Indians will tell you, but nothing
could induce me to go into the forest in search of him."

Alloway made no reply, but he took off a cocked hat that he wore even in
the wilderness, and began to fan his heated face. A rifle cracked
suddenly, and the hat flew from his hand into the air. The Indians
uttered a long wailing cry like the Seneca "Oonah," but did not move
from their places or show any sign that they wished to pursue.

The colonel's empty hand remained poised in the air, and he gazed with
mingled anger and wonder at his hat, lying upon the ground, and
perforated neatly by a bullet. Wyatt, Blackstaffe and Cartwright looked
at him but said nothing. Even Wyatt felt a thrill of awe.

"That, sir, was a warning," he said at last. "He could have shot you as
easily."

"But why don't the warriors pursue? He could not have been much more
than a hundred yards away!"

"They're afraid, sir, and I don't blame 'em."

Wyatt himself showed apprehension. He knew the bitter hatred the
borderers felt toward all renegades. The name of Girty was already one
of loathing. Blackstaffe was another who could expect little mercy, if
he ever fell into their hands, and Wyatt himself knew that he had fully
earned the Kentucky bullet. He did not feel the superstition of the
warrior, but he regarded the gloomy depths of the forest with just as
much terror. There was no reason why the silent marksman who hung upon
them should not pick him out for a target.

They came to a creek running three feet deep, but they waded it and then
stood for a minute or two on the bank, wringing the water out of their
clothing. Colonel Alloway still cursed under his breath, and bemoaned
the fate that had befallen him. It seemed a cruel jest that he, who had
served in Flanders and Germany, in open country that had been civilized
many centuries, should be sent from Detroit to march as an ally of
savages in that enormous and unknown wilderness.

The cry of the owl came from a point straight ahead, and not more than
four hundred yards away. Not a savage moved. But Alloway's whole frame
shook with furious anger. It was preposterous that they should be
harried so on their march by a single enemy. Once more he turned to
Wyatt and said:

"Can't we spread out in some manner and catch this impudent fellow? Are
thirty men to be driven all night through the woods by a single border
rover?"

"I can put your question to the chiefs," Wyatt replied, "but I doubt
whether anything will come of it."

He talked a little with Yellow Panther and Red Eagle and found that they
were willing to try again. They were pursued by a devil, but, mysterious
as he was, they would send forth the warriors, and perhaps they might
trap him. They gave the signal and a dozen savages plunged at once into
the bush, spreading out like a fan, and advancing toward the point from
which the owl had sent his haunting cry.

The others waited a long time by the creek, and Alloway's rage still
burned. It was past endurance that a gentleman and an officer should be
hunted through the woods in such a manner, insulted even by a bullet
through his fine cocked hat, and hope being the father of belief, he was
sure that the warriors would finish him this time.

He heard a sudden sharp report in the woods behind them, on the other
side of the creek that they had crossed, and a bullet buried itself in
the tree against which he was leaning, not very far from his face. He
uttered a deep oath, but Yellow Panther and Red Eagle signaled to their
forces to take the trail once more. The one in whom the Evil Spirit
dwelled and who had come to mock them could not be caught. They would
waste no more time, but would march as fast as they could to the main
camp. They sent out cries that called in the warriors and then they set
off at a great pace.

But all through the remainder of the night the Evil Spirit hung upon
them, sometimes beside them, and sometimes behind them, and the terror
of the warriors grew. Upon more than one face the war paint was damp
with perspiration, and Colonel Alloway, his red face dripping, was
forced to keep up with them, stride for stride.

Their terror did not diminish at all until the daylight came. Red Eagle
and Yellow Panther, great chiefs, were glad to see the glow over the
eastern forest that told of the rising sun. Even then they did not stop,
but kept on at high speed, until the morning was flooded with light,
when they stopped for fresh breath.

The English officers threw themselves upon the ground and gasped. They
were not ashamed to show now to the Indians that they were weary almost
to death.

"I think I left at least twenty pounds in that cursed forest," said
Alloway.

"I'm not anxious for another such march," said Cartwright with sympathy.
"But, sir, you can see a big smoke rising not more than a mile ahead.
That must be the main camp."

"It is," said Braxton Wyatt, "and there are some of the scouts coming to
meet us."

Far behind them rose the long hoot of the owl, but Wyatt knew that they
would hear it no more that day. He regarded the English officers grimly.
They had patronized him and Blackstaffe, and now they made the poorest
showing of all. In the woods they were lost.

Alloway and Cartwright rose after a long rest and limped into the camp.
The colonel reflected that he had lost prestige but there were the
cannon. The warriors could not afford to march against Kentucky without
them, and only he and his men knew how to use them. In a huge camp, with
a brilliant sun driving away many of the fancies that night and the
forest brought, his full sense of importance returned. He began to talk
now of pushing forward at once with the guns, in order that they might
strike before the settlers were aware.




CHAPTER VI

THE KING WOLF


When the two chiefs, Alloway and the smaller force, were driven into the
great camp, Henry turned aside into the forest and felt that he had done
well. All the fanciful spirit of the younger world created by the Greeks
had been alive in him that night. He had been a young Hercules at play
and he had enjoyed his grim jokes. He was not only a young Hercules, he
was a primeval son of the forest to whom the wilderness was a book in
which he read.

He went back a little on their path, and he marked where the European
leader had fallen twice through sheer weariness or because he could not
see well enough in the dusk to evade trailing vines. A red thread or two
on a bush showed that he had torn his uniform in falling, and the young
woods rover laughed. He could not recall another such gratifying night,
one in which he had served his own people and also had annoyed the enemy
beyond endurance.

He went deep into the forest, hiding his trail as usual, and lay down in
a covert to rest, while he ate some of the venison that he had left.
Here he saw again his friends of the little trails, with which he was so
familiar. The shy rabbits were creeping through the bushes and
instinctively they seemed to have no fear of him. Two little birds not
ten feet over his head were singing in intense rivalry. Their tiny
throats swelled out as they poured forth a brilliant volume of song, and
Henry, lying perfectly still, looked up at them and admired them. It
would have required keen eyes like his to have picked them out, each of
whom a green leaf would have covered, but he saw them and recognized
them as friends of his. He did not know them personally, but since all
their tribe were his comrades they must be so too.

Although he was one of mighty prowess with the rifle, and a taker of
game, Henry always felt his kinship with the little people of the
forest. No one of them ever fell wantonly at his hands. The gay birds in
their red or blue plumage and all the soberer garbs between, were safe
from him. It seemed that they too at times recognized him as a friend
since he would hear the flutter of tiny wings over his head or by his
ear, and see them pass in a flash of flame, or of blue or of brown.

Those old tales of Paul floated once more through his mind. He had no
doubt that Paul was right. The Biblical six thousand years might be six
million years as men thought of them now. And he knew himself, from his
own eye, that huge monsters, larger than any that lived now, did roam
the earth once. He had seen their bones in hundreds at the Big Bone
Lick, where they had come to get the salty water scores of thousands of
years ago. It seemed to him then that in those days men and the little
animals and the little birds must have been allies against the monsters.
Here, in the woods so far from civilization, this friendship must be
continued. The light wind which so often sang to him through the leaves
sprang up and joined its note to that of the birds. The fierce, wild
spirit that had made him haunt the flying trail the night before, and
that had sent the tomahawk so deep, departed. He felt singularly
friendly to all created beings.

Lying on his back and looking upward into the green roof, Henry listened
to the forest concert. The two over his head were still singing with
utmost vigor, but others had joined. From all the trees and bushes about
him came a volume of song, and the shadow of no swooping hawk or eagle
fell across the sky to disturb them.

He had a little bread in his pouch, and he threw some crumbs on the
grass a few feet away. The hand and arm that had cast them sank by his
side, remained absolutely still and he waited. The wonder that he was
wishing so intensely came to pass. A bird, brown and tiny, alighted on
the grass and pecked one of the crumbs. Beyond a doubt, this was a bold
bird, a leader among his kind, an explorer and discoverer. He had never
seen a crumb before, but he picked up one in his tiny bill and found it
good. Then he announced the news to all the world that could hear his
voice, and there was much fluttering of small wings in the air.

More birds, red, green, yellow and brown, settled upon the grass and
began to pick the crumbs eagerly. It was new food, but they found it
good. Nor did they pay any attention to the great figure in buckskin
dyed green lying so near and so still. The instinct given to them in
place of reason, which warned them of the presence of an enemy, gave
them no such warning now, because there was none against which they
could be warned.

Henry always believed that the birds felt his kinship that morning, or
perhaps it was the crumbs that drew them to a friend and gave them
hearts without fear. One of them, perhaps the original bold explorer,
seeking vainly for another crumb, hopped upon his bare hand as it lay in
the grass, but feeling its warmth flew away a foot, hung hovering a
moment or two, then came back and took a peck.

It was not sufficient to hurt Henry's toughened hand, and exerting the
great strength of his will over his body he continued to lie perfectly
motionless. The bird, satisfied that this food was beyond his powers,
stood motionless for a few moments, then flapped his wings two or three
times to indicate that he was a prince and an ornament of the forest,
and began to pour forth the fullest and deepest song that Henry had yet
heard.

It gave him a curious thrill as the bird, perched on his hand, and
extended to his utmost, sang his song. The other birds having finished
all the crumbs stood chirping and twittering in the grass. Then, as if
by a given signal, all of them, including the one on Henry's hand,
united in a single volume of song and flew up into the crevices of the
green roof. He felt that a serenade had been given to him, one that few
human kings ever enjoyed. The little flying people of the forest had
united to do him honor, and he was pleased, hugely pleased.

They were hidden from him now in the green leaves, but where the sky was
clear he saw a sudden, dark shadow against the blue. He sprang up in an
instant and raised his rifle. But it was too late for the eagle to stop.
The heavy figure with the tearing beak and claws swooped downward, and
there was silence and terror among the green leaves. But before the
eagle could clutch or rend, Henry's rifle spoke with unerring aim, and
the body fell to the ground dead.

He was sorry. He did not like his morning party to be broken up in such
a manner, and for his guests to be disturbed and frightened. Nor was it
wise to fire his rifle in that neighborhood. But he had acted on an
impulse that he did not regret. He looked at the beak and claws of the
dead eagle and he was glad that he had shot him. The fierce bird had
broken up his forest idyl, and knowing that he could stay no longer he
set off at a great pace, again curving about in a course that led him
somewhat toward the house in the cliff.

He crossed several trails and he became rather anxious. Doubtless they
were made by hunters, because the Indians while they remained at the
great camp would eat prodigiously, and bands would be continually
searching the forest for buffalo and deer. It was from these that the
chief danger came. He suspected also that their proximity had compelled
Shif'less Sol and the others to keep close within their little shelter.
He doubted whether he could reach them that day.

The need of rest made itself felt at last, and, hiding his trail, he
crept into another small but very dense thicket. He felt that he was
within a lair and his kinship with bird and beast was renewed. No wolf
or bear could lie snugger in its den than he.

He put his rifle by his side, where he could reach it in a second, and
was soon asleep. A prowling bear came into the far edge of the thicket,
sniffed the man-smell and went away, not greatly alarmed, but feeling
that it was better, in case of doubt, to avoid the cause of the doubt.
Two Indians, carrying the cloven body of a deer, passed within three
hundred yards of the sleeping youth, but they saw no trail and went on
to the camp with the spoils of the hunt.

Henry slept lightly, but a long time. The forest quality was still
strong within him. Although his sleep had all its restoring power, the
lightest noise in the undergrowth near him would have awakened him. But
he slept on through the morning, and into the afternoon.

A second party of savage hunters passed, five men carrying wild turkeys,
and they too did not dream that the enemy whom they dreaded so much lay
near. They had left the camp only that morning, and, the warriors
arriving from the river, had told before they left how they had been
pursued all through the night by one upon whom the Evil Spirit had
descended. Even in the day they would have avoided this being, and the
old medicine men who were in the camp were making charms to drive him
away.

It was the most brilliant part of the afternoon now. Nevertheless they
looked with a tinge of superstitious terror at the forests. The highly
imaginative mind of the Indian, clothes nearly all things with
personality, and for them an evil wind was blowing. The events of the
preceding night had been colored and enlarged by those who told them.
One or two had seen the form, gigantic and flaming-eyed, that had hung
upon their trail, and these warriors, fearing that they too might see
it, and in the open day, hung close as they bore their load of turkeys
back to the camp.

Henry did not awake until the west was growing dim, and then after the
fashion of the borderers he awoke all at once, that is, every nerve and
faculty was alive at the same time. Nothing had invaded his haunt in the
brushwood. His keen eyes showed him at once that no bush had been
displaced, and, with his rifle ready, he walked out into the opening.

He must get back into the little fortress that night. He had been gone
so long that Shif'less Sol and the others, although having the utmost
confidence in his powers, would begin to worry about him. Yet he knew
that it was unwise to approach the place until night came. Delay was all
the more necessary, because while he saw on the northern horizon the
smoke from the great camp, he saw also a smaller smoke rising from
another camp nearer their fortress. It was so near, in truth, that the
four must find it necessary to hide close within the walls.

The second smoke aroused Henry's apprehension. Perhaps a portion of the
camp had been moved forward merely to be nearer water or for some
kindred reason, but that did not keep it from being nearer the stone
fortress, nor from impeding his entrance into it. Yet he believed that
he could slip past. His skill had triumphed over greater tests.

After dark he began his journey, buoyant and strong from his long sleep,
and continued his wide circuit intending to approach his destination
from the west. Distance did not amount to much to the borderer, and his
long, easy gait carried him on, mile after mile.

It was another night, brilliant with moon and stars, and Henry was able
to see the larger trail of smoke still traced on the northern horizon.
His sense of direction was perfect, but he looked up now and then at the
smoky bar, always keeping it on his right, and three or four hours after
sunset he began to curve in towards his friends. The country into which
he had come was similar in character to that which he had left, heavy
forest, rolling hills and many creeks and brooks. He had never been in
that immediate region before, and he judged by the amount of game
springing up before him that it had not been visited by anybody in a
long time. It was always a cause of wonder to him that a region as large
as Kentucky, four fifths the size of all England, should be totally
without Indian inhabitants.

The fact that Indians from the North and Indians from the South were
said to fight there when on their hunting expeditions, and that hence
they preferred to leave it as a barrier or neutral ground, did not
wholly account for the fact to him. Farther north and farther south the
Indians occupied all the country and fought with one another, but in
this beautiful and fertile land there was no village, and not even a
stray lodge.

He had often asked himself the reason, and while he was asking it he
came to a long low mound, covered with trees of smaller growth than
those in the surrounding forest. At first he took it for a hill just
like the others, but its shape did not seem natural, and, despite the
importance of time he looked again, and once more. Then he walked a
little way up the mound and his moccasined foot struck lightly against
something hard. He stooped, and catching hold of the impediment pulled
from the earth a broken piece of pottery.

It seemed old, very old, and wishing to rest a little, Henry sat down
and gazed at it. The Indians of the present day could not possibly have
made it, and it was impossible also that any white settler or hunter
could have left it there. He dropped the fragment and rising, looked
farther, finding two more pieces buried almost to the edge, but which
his strong hands pulled out. They seemed to him of the same general
workmanship as the others, and he surmised that the long mound upon
which he was standing had been thrown up by the hand of man.

What was inside the mound? Perhaps the skeletons of men dead a thousand
years or more, men more civilized than the Indians, but gone forever,
and leaving no trace, save some broken pieces of pottery. Possibly the
Indians themselves had destroyed these people, and they did not come
here to live because they feared the ghosts of the slain. But it was no
question that he could solve. He would talk about it later with Paul and
meanwhile he must find some way to reach the others.

He threw down the pottery and left the hill, but, as he swung swiftly
onward, the hill and its contents did not disappear from his mind. He
had a strange sense of mystery. The new land about him might be an old,
old land. He had never thought of it, except as forest and canebrake, in
which the Indians had always roamed, but evidently it was not so. It was
strange that races could disappear completely.

But as he raced on, the feeling for these things fell from him. He was
not so much for the past as Paul was. He was essentially of the present,
and, dealing with wild men in a wild country, he was again a wild man
himself. Among the Indians at the great camp or about it there was not
one in such close kinship with the forest as he. Despite danger and his
anxiety to reach his comrades, he felt all its beauty and majesty, in
truth fairly reveled in it.

He noticed the different trees, the oaks, the elms, the maples, the
walnuts, the hickories, the sycamores, the willows at the edges of the
stream, the dogwoods, and all the other kinds which made up the
immeasurable forest. They were in the early but full foliage of spring,
and the light wind brought odors that were like a perfumed breath.

It was past midnight, when he stopped to enjoy again the fine flavor of
his kingdom. Then he suddenly lay flat among the dead leaves of the year
before, and thrust forward the barrel of his rifle. He had heard a
footfall, the footfall of a moccasin, not much heavier than the fall of
a leaf, and every nerve and faculty within him was concentrated to meet
the new danger.

The sound had come from his right, and raising his head just a little he
looked, but saw nothing, that is nothing new in the waving forest. Yet
Henry was sure that a man was there. His ear would not deceive him.
Doubtless it was a stray hunter or scout from the bands, and, while he
did not fear him, he was annoyed by the delay. It might keep him from
reaching his comrades that night.

He waited a long time, using all the patience that he had learned, and
he began to believe that his ear after all might have deceived him.
Perhaps it had been merely a rabbit in the undergrowth, but while he was
debating with himself he heard a faint stir in the bush, and he knew
that it was made by a man seeking a new position.

Then his intuition, the power that came from an extreme development of
the five senses, reinforced by will, gave him an idea. Still lying on
his back he uttered the lonesome howl of the wolf, but very low. He
waited a moment or two, eager to know if his intuition had told him
truly, and back came the wolf's low but lone cry. He gave the second
call and the cry of the wolf came in like answer.

Then he stood up with rifle at trail and walked boldly forward. A tall
figure, rifle also at trail, emerged from the bush and advanced to meet
him. Two hands met in the strong clasp of those who had shared a
thousand dangers and who had never failed each other.

"I thought when I made the call that it would be you, Sol," said Henry.

"An' I knowed it must be you, Henry," said the shiftless one, showing
his double row of shining white teeth, "'cause you're the only one in
the woods who kin understan' our signals."

"And that means that Paul, Long Jim and Tom are safe in the cave."

"When I left two nights ago, hevin' gone back thar after we separated,
they wuz safe, but whether they are now I can't tell. Decidin' that they
wuz foulin' the water too much, part o' the band has moved up to a place
mighty close to our own snug house. They don't know yet that the hole in
the wall is thar, but ef they stay long they're boun' to run acrost it.
That's why I've come out lookin' fur you, an' mighty glad I am that I've
found you. I'd a notion you'd take this circuit, after doin' all the
deviltry you've done."

The shiftless one's mouth parted in a wide grin of admiration. The two
rows of white teeth shone brightly.

"Henry," he said, "you're shorely the wild catamount o' the mountains."

"Why?"

"Well, I'm somethin' o' a scout an' trailer, ez you know, an' that ain't
no boastin'. I've been hangin' 'roun' the Injun camp, an' they're
terrible stirred up. An evil sperrit has been doin' 'em a power o' harm
an' I know that evil sperrit is you. Ef it wuzn't fur them cannon on
which they build such big hopes the chiefs would take all their warriors
and go home. But the white men are urgin' 'em on. Henry, you're shorely
the king o' these woods. How'd you stir 'em up so?"

Henry modestly told him all that he had done, and the shiftless one
chuckled again and again, as proud of his comrade's deeds as if he had
done them himself.

"But the Indians will march against Kentucky?" said Henry. "You don't
doubt that, do you?"

"Yes, they'll go. Hevin' brought the cannon so fur they won't turn back,
but mebbe we kin hold 'em a while longer. There are tricks an' tricks,
an' we kin work some o' 'em."

"And it's our object to stop those cannon. Unless they have 'em we can
beat the Indians off as we did last year, even if they are led by the
English."

"So we kin, Henry, an' we'll git them guns yet. Scoutin' 'roun' thar
camp I learned enough to know that you've broke up thar plan o' tryin'
to carry 'em part o' the way by the river. You must hev done mighty
slick work thar, Henry. The warriors are plum' shore now that river is
ha'nted. It's all the way through the woods now fur them cannon, an' the
English will hev to use the axes most o' the time."

"Then we'll be going back as fast as we can. I want to tell you again,
Sol, that your face was mighty welcome."

"I ain't no beauty," grinned the shiftless one, "but them that's
bringin' help do be welcome when they come. That's the reason you looked
so pow'ful well to me, Henry, 'cause I wuz gettin' mighty lonesome,
prowlin' 'roun' in these woods all by myself, an' no comp'ny to call,
'cept them that would roast me alive when they'd j'in me."

"The cliff is straight north, isn't it?"

"Jest about. But thar's an Injun band in the way. They're jerkin' a lot
o' venison fur the main camp, but bein' ez you've stirred 'em up so
they're keepin' a mighty good watch too. You know we don't want no
fights, we jest want to travel on ez peaceful ez runnin' water."

"That's so, Sol, but it means a much farther curve to the west."

"Then we've got to take it. It ain't hard for you an' me. We've got
steel wire for muscles in our legs, and the night is clear, cool an'
life-givin'. Paul hez talked 'bout parks in the Old World, but we've got
here a bigger an' finer park than any in Europe or Asyer, or fur that
matter than Afriker or that new continent, Australyer. An' thar ain't
any other park that hez got so many trees in it ez ourn, or ez much big
game all fur the takin'. Now lead on, Henry, an' we'll go to our new
home."

"No, you lead, Sol. I've been on a big strain, an' I'd like to follow
for a while."

"O' course you would, you poor little peaked thing. I ought to hev
thought o' that when I spoke. Never out in the woods afore by hisself
an' nigh scared to death by the trees an' the dark. But jest you come
on. I'll lead you an' I won't let no squirrel or rabbit hurt you
neither."

Henry laughed. The humor and unction of the shiftless one always amused
him.

"Go ahead, Sol," he said, "and I'll promise to keep close behind you,
where nothing will harm me."

Thus they set off, Sol in front and Henry five feet away, treading in
his footsteps.

"There wuz a time when I'd hev been afraid o' the dark," said Shif'less
Sol, whose conversational powers were great. "You've been to the Big
Bone Lick, an' so hev I, an' we've seen the bones o' the monsters that
roamed the earth afore the flood, a long time afore. I wouldn't hev
believed that such critters ever tramped around our globe ef I hadn't
seen their bones. I come acrost a little salt lick last night--we may
see it in passin' afore mornin'--but thar wuz big bones 'roun' it too. I
measured myself by 'em an' geewhillikins, Henry, what critters them wuz!
Ef I'd been caught out o' my cave after night an' one o' them things got
after me I'd hev been so skeered that I'd hev dropped my stone club
'cause my hands trembled so, my teeth would hev rattled together in
reg'lar tunes, an' I'd hev run so fast that I'd only hev touched the
tops o' the hills, skippin' all the low ones too, an' by the time I
reached the mouth o' my cave, I'd be goin' so swift that I'd run clear
out o' my clothes, leavin' 'em fur the monster to trample on an' then
chaw up, me all the while settin' inside the cave safe, but tremblin'
all over, an' with no appetite. Them shore wuz lively times fur our
race, Henry, an' I guess we did a pow'ful lot o' runnin' an' hidin'."

"It was certainly time to run, Sol, when a tiger eight feet high and
fifteen feet long got after you, or a mammoth or a mastodon twenty feet
high and fifty feet long was feeling around in the bushes for you with a
trunk that could pick you up and throw you a mile."

"Henry, ef we wuzn't in a hurry I'd stop here an' give thanks."

"What for?"

"'Cause I didn't live in them times, when the beast wuz bigger an'
mightier than the man. I guess stone caves that run back into mountains
'bout a mile wuz the most pop'lar an' high-priced. Guess those boys an'
gals didn't go out much an' dance on the green, ez they do back East.
I'd a heap ruther hunt the buff'ler than that fifteen foot tiger o'
yours, Henry."

"So had I, Sol. If those beasts were living nowadays we wouldn't be
roaming through the forest as we are now. We have only the Indians to
fear."

"An' thar's a lot about them to be afeard of at times, ez you an' me
know, Henry."

"If we keep on this curve, Sol, about what time do you think we ought to
reach the boys?"

"Afore moonrise, jest about when the night is darkest, 'less somethin'
gits in the way. Here's another branch, Henry. Guess we'd better wade in
it a right smart distance. You can't ever be too keerful about your
trail."

The branch, or brook, as it would have been called in older communities,
was rather wide, about six inches deep and flowing over a smooth,
gravelly bed. It was flowing in the general direction in which they
wished to go, and they walked in the stream a full half mile. Then they
emerged upon the bank, careless of wet feet and wet ankles, which they
knew would soon dry under severe exercise, and continued their swift
journey.

The curiosity of the shiftless one about the primeval world had passed
for the time, and like Henry he was concentrating all his energy and
attention upon the present, which was full enough of work and danger. He
and the young Hercules together made a matchless pair. He was second
only to Henry in the skill and lore of the wilderness. He was a true son
of the forest, and, though uneducated in the bookish sense, he was so
full of wiles and cunning that he was the Ulysses of the five, and as
such his fame had spread along the whole border, and among the Indian
tribes. Hidden perhaps by his lazy manner, but underneath that yellow
thatch of his the shiftless one was a thinker, a deep thinker, and a
nobler thinker than the one who sat before Troy town, because his
thoughts were to save the defenseless.

"Henry," he said, "we're followed."

Henry glanced back, and in the moonlit dusk he saw a score of forms,
enlarged in the shadows, their eyes red and their teeth bare.

"A wolf pack!" he exclaimed.

"Shore ez you live," replied the shiftless one. "Reckon they've been
follerin' us ever since we left the branch. Mebbe they never saw men
afore an' don't know nothin' 'bout guns that kill at a distance, an'
ag'in mebbe they've been driv off thar huntin' grounds by the warriors,
an' think we kin take the place o' their reg'lar game."

"Anyway I don't like it."

"Neither do I. Look at that old fellow in the lead. Guess he's called a
giant among 'em. I kin see the slaver fallin' from his mouth. He's
thinkin' o' you, Henry, 'cause there's more meat on you than there is on
me."

"I don't know about that. You'd make a fine dish for the table of the
wolf king. Roasted and served up whole they'd save you for the juicy
finish, the last gorgeous touch to the feast."

"Don't talk that way, Henry. You make me shiver all over. I ain't afeard
o' a wolf, but ef I didn't hev a rifle, an' you wuzn't with me, I'd be
plum' skeered at them twenty back thar, follerin' us lookin' at us an'
slaverin'."

The shiftless one shook his fist at the king wolf, an enormous beast,
the largest that they had ever seen in Kentucky. The whole troop was
following them, their light feet making no noise in the grass and
leaves, but their red eyes and white teeth always gleaming in the
moonlight. They were showing an uncommon daring. Lone hunters had been
killed and eaten in the winter by starving wolves, but it was seldom
that two men in the spring were followed in such a manner. It became
weird, uncanny and ominous.

"I know what's happened," said the shiftless one suddenly. "I kin tell
you why they follow us so bold."

"What's the reason, Sol?"

"You know all them 'normous tigers and hijeous monsters we've been
talkin' 'bout, that's been dead a hundred thousan' years. Thar souls
comin' down through other animals hev gone straight into our pack o'
wolves thar. They ain't wolves really. They're big tigers an' mammoths
an' sech like."

"I'm not disputing what you say, Sol, because I don't know anything
about it, but if it wasn't for raising an alarm I'd shoot that king wolf
there, who is following us so close. I can tell by his eyes that he
expects to eat us both."

"What kind o' tigers wuz it that Paul said lived long ago, an' growed so
monstrous big?"

"Saber-toothed."

"Then that king wolf back thar wuz the king o' the saber-toothed tigers
in his time. He wuz twelve feet high and twenty-five feet long an' he
could carry off on his shoulder the biggest bull buffaler that ever wuz,
an' eat him at a meal."

"That would have been a good deal of a dinner, even for an emperor among
saber-toothed tigers."

"But I'm right about that wolf, Henry. I kin see it in his eye, an' them
behind him are nigh ez bad. They wuz all saber-toothed tigers in thar
time. I reckon that in thar wolf souls or tiger souls, whichever they
be, they expect to eat us afore day. I'd like pow'ful well to put a
bullet atween the eyes o' thar king--jest ez you said you would, Henry."

"But it's not to be thought of. Sound would travel far on a still night
like this, and the warriors might be within hearing. It's hard on the
nerves, but we've got to stand it."

They hoped that the wolves would drop the trail soon, but their wish
did not come true. However they twisted and turned, whether they went
slow or fast, the sinister pack was always there, the king wolf a foot
or so in advance, like the point to the head of an arrow. Often the
flickering shadows exaggerated him to twice his usual size, and then in
truth he suggested his saber-toothed predecessor of long, long ago.

"This is becomin' pow'ful w'arin' to the nerves, Henry," said the
shiftless one. "I'd ruther hev a clean fight with a half-dozen warriors
than be follered this way. It teches my pride. I've got a mighty lot o'
pride, an' it hurts me awful to hev my pride hurt."

"Because we don't shoot or do anything I think they've assumed that
we're powerless to fight. Still, there is something about the human odor
that deters 'em."

"S'pose you're right, but I'm goin' to try a trick. When you see me
stumble, Henry, you go right on, till I'm eight or ten feet behind you."

"All right, Sol, but don't stumble too much."

"I ain't likely to do it at sech a time. Look out, now! Here I stumble!"

He caught his foot in a root, plunged forward, almost fell, recovered
his balance slowly and with apparent difficulty. Henry ran on, but in a
half minute he turned quickly. With a horrible snarl and yelp the king
wolf sprang, and the others behind him sprang also. Henry's rifle leaped
to his shoulder, and then the king wolf jumped away, the others
following him.

The shiftless one rejoined Henry and they ran a little faster. His face
was pale and one or two drops of perspiration fell from it. His breath
was longer than mere flight would make it.

"I ain't goin' to try that ag'in, Henry," he said. "No more foolin' with
sudden death. He's shorely the big tiger, the biggest o' them all that
wuz. Why, when I stumbled he leaped like lightnin'. I didn't think
anythin', not even a wolf, could be so quick."

"The rifle frightened them off. They didn't know what it was, but they
were afraid it had something to do with wounds and death. Still, they're
running a little closer to us than they were. That's about all that's
come of your experiment, Sol."

"I ain't goin' to try it over ag'in, Henry, but it shorely begins to
look ez ef we'd hev to use the bullets on 'em. I don't think anythin'
else will stop 'em."

"A little while longer, Sol, and they may abandon the chase. We must
hold our fire just as long as possible. A shot may bring a cloud of the
red hornets about us."

The shiftless one was silent. He knew as well as Henry that a shot was
unwise. They were bearing back now toward the stone fortress and the
Indian camps, and the forests near might be full of warriors. Yet it was
a tremendous strain upon one's nerves to be followed in such a manner.
The wolves had come so close now that they could hear the light pad of
their feet. Once Shif'less Sol picked up a stone and hurled it at the
king wolf. The great shaggy beast leaped aside, but it struck a wolf
behind him, drawing an angry snarl, in which all the wolves joined.

Henry felt relief when they gave tongue, although the snarl was not
loud. Hitherto they had pursued in total silence, which he had deemed
unnatural and that angry yelp made them real wolves of the forest again.

"About how far would you say it is now to the cave?" he asked the
shiftless one.

"Three or four miles, but with our lope it won't take us long to cover
it. What hev you got in mind, Henry?"

"I think we've got to kill the king wolf. I didn't think so a little
while ago, but they follow us hoping that some accident, a fall perhaps,
will make us their prey."

"Do it then, Henry, an' take all the chances. I'm growin' mighty tired
o' bein' follered by wolves that are re'ly tigers. After you shoot,
we'll turn to the left an' run ez hard ez we kin."

Henry whirled suddenly about and raised his rifle. The king wolf, as if
divining his purpose, sheered to one side, but he was confronting the
deadliest marksman in the woods. The muzzle of Henry's rifle followed
him, and when he pulled the trigger the bullet crashed through the great
beast's skull.

When the king wolf fell dead the others stopped, stricken with terror,
but from a point to the east came the long thrilling note of the war
whoop. The warriors had heard the shot, and, knowing they would come
swiftly to its sound, Henry and the shiftless one, turning due west, ran
with amazing speed through the forest.




CHAPTER VII

THE FOREST POETS


Henry and the shiftless one knew that they had drawn danger upon
themselves, but they had nothing to regret. The pursuit by the wolves
had become intolerable. In time it was bound to unsettle their nerves,
and it was better to take the risk from the warriors.

"How far away would you say that war whoop was?" asked Henry.

"'Bout a quarter o' a mile but it'll take 'em some little time to find
our trail. An' ef you an' me, Henry, can't leave 'em, ez ef they wuz
standin', then we ain't what we used to be."

Presently they heard the war cry a second time, although its note was
fainter.

"Hit our trail!" said the shiftless one.

"But they can never overtake us in the night," said Henry. "We've come
to stony ground now, and the best trailers in the world couldn't follow
you and me over it."

"No," said the shiftless one, with some pride in his voice. "We're not
to be took that way, but that band an' mebbe more are in atween us an'
our fine house in the cliff, an' we won't get to crawl in our little
beds tonight. It ain't to be risked, Henry."

"That's so. We seem to be driven in a circle around the place to which
we want to go, but we can afford to wait as well as the Indian army can,
and better. Here's another branch and we'd better use it to throw that
band off the trail."

They waded in the pebbly bed of the brook for a long distance. Then they
walked on stones, leaping lightly from one to another, and, when they
came to the forest, thick with grapevines they would often swing from
vine to vine over long spaces. Both found an odd pleasure in their
flight. They were matching the Indian at his tricks, and when pushed
they could do even better. They knew that the trail was broken beyond
the hope of recovery, and, late in the night, after passing through
hilly country, they sat down to rest.

They were on the slope of the last hill, sitting under the foliage of an
oak, and before them lay a wide valley, in which the trees, mostly oaks,
were scattered as if they grew in a great park. But the grass everywhere
was thick and tall, and down the center flowed a swift creek which in
the moonlight looked like molten silver. The uncommon brightness of the
night, with its gorgeous clusters of stars, disclosed the full beauty of
the valley, and the two fugitives who were fugitives no longer felt it
intensely. Henry was an educated youth of an educated stock, and
Shif'less Sol, the forest runner, was born with a love and admiration
in his soul of Nature in all its aspects.

"Don't it look fine, Henry?" said the shiftless one. "Ef I hed to sleep
in a house all the time, which, thanks be, I don't hev to do, I'd build
me a cabin right here in this little valley. Ain't it jest the nicest
place you ever saw? Unless I've mistook my guess, that's a lot o'
buff'ler lyin' down in the grass in front o' us."

"Eight of 'em. I can count 'em," said Henry, "but they're safe from us."

"I wouldn't fire on 'em, not even ef thar wuzn't a warrior within a
hundred miles o' us. I don't feel like shootin' at anythin' jest now,
Henry."

"It's the valley that makes you feel so peaceful. It has the same effect
on me."

"I think I kin see wild flowers down thar bloomin' among the bushes, an'
ain't that grass an' them trees fine? an' that is shorely the best creek
I've seen. Its water is so pure it looks like silver. I've a notion,
Henry, that this wuz the Garden o' Eden."

"That's an odd idea of yours, Sol. How can you prove it's so?"

"An' how can you prove it ain't so? An' so we're back whar we started.
Besides, I kin pile up evidence. All along the edge o' the valley are
briers an' vines, on which the berries growed. Then too thar are lots o'
grapevines on the trees ez you kin see, an' thar are your grapes. An' up
toward the end are lots o' hick'ry an' walnut trees an' thar are your
nuts, an' ef Adam an' Eve wuz hard-pushed, they could ketch plenty o'
fine fish in that creek which I kin see is deep. In the winter they
could hev made themselves a cabin easy, up thar whar the trees are
thick. An' the whole place in the spring is full o' wild flowers, which
Eve must hev stuck her hair full of to please Adam. The more I think o'
it, Henry, the shorer I am that this wuz the Garden."

The shiftless one's face was rapt and serious. In the burnished silver
of the moonlight the little valley had a beauty, dreamlike in its
quality. In that land so truly named the Dark and Bloody Ground it
seemed the abode of unbroken peace.

"I reckon," said Shif'less Sol, "that after the fall Adam an' Eve left
by that rift between the hills, an' thar the Angel stood with the
Flamin' Sword to keep 'em out. O' course they might hev crawled back
down the hillside here, an' in other places, but I guess they wuz
afeard. It's hard to hev had a fine thing an' then to hev lost it,
harder than never to hev had it or to hev knowed what it wuz. I guess,
Henry, that Adam an' Eve came often to the hills here an' looked down at
their old home, till they wuz skeered away by the flamin' o' the Angel's
sword."

"But there's nothing now to keep us out of it. We'll go down there, Sol,
because it is a garden after all, a wilderness garden, and nothing but
Indians can drive us from it until we want to go."

"All right, Henry. You lead on now, but remember that since Adam an' Eve
hev gone away this is my Garden o' Eden. It's shore a purty sight, now
that it's beginnin' to whiten with the day."

Dawn in truth was silvering the valley, and in the clear pure light it
stood forth in all its beauty and peace. It was filled, too, with life.
Besides the buffaloes they saw deer, elk, swarming small game, and an
immense number of singing birds. The morning was alive with their song
and when they came to the deep creek, and saw a fish leap up now and
then, the shiftless one no longer had the slightest doubt.

"It's shorely the Garden," he said. "Listen to them birds, Henry. Did
you ever hear so many at one time afore, all singin' together ez ef
every one wuz tryin' to beat every other one?"

"No, Sol, I haven't. It is certainly a beautiful place. Look at the beds
of wild flowers in bloom."

"An' the game is so tame it ain't skeered at us a bit. I reckon, Henry,
that 'till we came no human foot hez ever trod this valley, since Adam
an' Eve had to go."

"Maybe not, Sol! Maybe not," said Henry, trying to smile at the
shiftless one's fancy, but failing.

"An' thar's one thing I want to ask o' you, Henry. Thar's millions an'
millions an' billions an' billions o' acres in this country that belong
to nobody, but I want to put in a sort o' claim o' my own on the Garden
o' Eden here. Thar are times when every man likes to be all by hisself,
fur a while. You know how it is yourself, Henry. Jest rec'lect then that
the Garden is mine. When I'm feelin' bad, which ain't often, I'll come
here an' set down 'mong the flowers, an' hear all them birds sing, same
ez Adam an' Eve heard 'em, an' d'rectly I'll feel glad an' strong
ag'in."

"Where there's so much unused country you ask but little, Sol. It's your
Garden of Eden. But you'll let the rest of us come into it sometimes,
won't you?"

"Shorely! Shorely! I didn't mean to be selfish about it. I've got some
venison in my knapsack, Henry, an' I reckon you hev some too. I'd like
to hev it warm, but it's too dangerous to build a fire. S'pose we set,
an' eat."

The soil of the valley was so fertile that the grass was already high
enough to hide them, when they lay down near the edge of the creek.
There they ate their venison and listened to the musical tinkle of the
rushing water, while the sun rose higher, and turned the luminous silver
of the valley into luminous gold. They heard light footfalls of the deer
moving, and the birds sang on, but there was no human sound in the
valley. Their great adventure, the Indian camp, and the manifold dangers
seemed to float away for the time. If it was not the Garden of Eden it
was another garden of the same kind, and it looked very beautiful to
these two who had spent most of the night running for their lives. They
were happy, as they ate venison and the last crumbs of their bread.

"If the others wuz here," said Shif'less Sol, "nothin' would be lackin'.
I'm in love with the wilderness more an' more every year, Henry. One
reason is 'cause I'm always comin' on somethin' new. I ain't no
tied-down man. Here I've dropped into the Garden o' Eden that's been
lost fur thousands o' years, an' tomorrow I may be findin' some other
wonder. I rec'lect my feelin' the first time I saw the Ohio, an' I've
looked too upon the big river that the warriors call the Father o'
Waters. I'm always findin' some new river or creek or lake. Nothin's
old, or all trod up or worn out. Some day I'm goin' way out on them
plains that you've seed, Henry, where the buff'ler are passin' millions
strong. I tell you I love to go with the wind, an' at night, when I
ain't quite asleep, to hear it blowin' an' blowin', an' tellin' me that
the things I've found already may be fine, but thar's finer yet farther
on. I hear Paul talkin' 'bout the Old World, but thar can't be anythin'
in it half ez fine ez all these woods in the fall, jest blazin' with red
an' yellow, an' gold an' brown, an' the air sparklin' enough to make an
old man young."

The face of the shiftless one glowed as he spoke. Every word he said
came straight from his heart and Henry shared in his fervor. The wild
men who slew and scalped could not spoil his world. He had finished his
venison, and, drinking cold water at the edge of the creek, he came back
and lay down again in the long grass.

"Perhaps we'd better stay here the most of the day," said Henry. "The
valley seems to be out of the Indian line of march. The buffaloes are
over there grazing peacefully, and I can see does at the edge of the
woods. If warriors were near they wouldn't be so peaceful."

"And there are the wild turkeys gobblin' in the trees," said Shif'less
Sol. "I like wild turkey mighty well, but even ef thar wuz no fear o'
alarm I wouldn't shoot any one in my Garden o' Eden."

"Nor I either, Sol. I'm beginning to like this valley as well as you do.
Your claim to it stands good, but when we're on our hunting expeditions
up this way again the five of us will come here and camp."

"But we'll kill our game outside. I've a notion that I don't want to
shoot anythin' in here."

"I understand you. It's too fine a place to have blood flowing in it."

"That's jest the way I feel about it, Henry. You may laugh at me fur
bein' a fool, but the notion sticks to me hard an' fast."

"I'm not laughing at you. If you'll raise up a little, Sol, you can see
the smoke of the main Indian campfire off there toward the northeast. It
looks like a thread from here, and it's at least five miles away."

"It's a big smoke, then, or we wouldn't see it at all, 'cause we can't
make out that o' the smaller one nearer to the cave, though I reckon
it's still thar."

"Perhaps so, and the warriors may come this way, but we'll see 'em and
hear 'em first. Look, Sol, those buffaloes, in their grazing, are coming
straight toward us. The wind has certainly carried to them our odor, but
they don't seem to be alarmed by it."

"Jest another proof, Henry, that it's the real Garden o' Eden. Them
buff'ler haven't seen or smelt a human bein' since Adam an' Eve left,
an' ez that wuz a long time ago they've got over any feelin' o' fear o'
people, ef they ever had it. Look at them deer, too, over thar, loafin'
'long through the high grass, an' not skeered o' anythin'. An' the
wolves that follered us last night don't come here. Thar ain't a sign o'
a wolf ever hevin' been in the valley."

Henry laughed, but there was no trace of irony in the laugh. The
shiftless one's vivid fancy or belief pleased him. It was possible, too,
that Indians would not come there. It might be some sacred place of the
old forgotten people who had built the mounds and who had been
exterminated by the Indians. But the Indians were full of superstition,
and often they feared and respected the sacred places of those whom they
had slain. For the boldest of the warriors, avenging spirits might be
hovering there, and they would fear them more than they would fear the
white men with rifles.

"Let's go up to the head of the valley," he said to Shif'less Sol. "If
we keep back among the bushes we won't be seen."

"All right," said his comrade. "I want to see that gate between the
hills, that the creek comes from, an' I want to take a look, too, at
that grove o' big trees growin' thar."

Henry reckoned the length of the valley at two miles and its width at a
half mile on the average, with the creek flowing down almost its exact
center. At the head it narrowed fast, until it came to the gash between
the hills, where grew the largest oaks and elms that he had ever seen.
It was in truth a magnificent grove and it gave the shiftless one
extreme delight which he expressed vocally. He surveyed the trees and
the hills behind them with a measuring and comprehensive eye.

"Them hills ain't so high," he said, "but they're high enough to shut
out the winds o' winter, bein' ez they face the north an' west, an' here
curves the creek atween 'em, through a gap not more'n ten feet wide.
An' look how them big trees grow so close together, an' in a sort o'
curve. Why, that's shorely whar Adam an' Eve spent thar winters. It
wouldn't take much work, thatching with poles an' bark to rig up the
snuggest kind o' a bower. These big trees here ag'inst the cliff almost
make a cabin themselves."

"And one that we'll occupy the rest of the day. It would be impossible
for a warrior ten yards away to see us in here, while we can see almost
the whole length of the valley. I think we'd better stay here, Sol, and
make ourselves comfortable for the rest of the day. You need sleep, and
so will I later. It's easy to make beds. The dead leaves must lie a foot
thick on the ground."

"It's a wonder they ain't thicker, gatherin' here ever since Adam an'
Eve moved."

"They rot beneath and the wind blows away a lot on top, but there's
plenty left. Now, I'm not sleepy at all. You take a nap and I'll watch,
although I'm sure no enemy will come."

"Reckon I will, Henry. It's peaceful an' soothin' here in the Garden o'
Eden, an' ef I dream I'll dream good dreams."

He heaped up the leaves in the shape of a bed, giving himself a pillow,
and, sinking down upon it luxuriously, soon slept. Henry also piled the
leaves high enough against the trunk of one of the largest trees to form
a cushion for his back, and settled himself into a comfortable position,
with his rifle across his knees.

Although he had been up all the night he was not sleepy. The shiftless
one's striking fancy had exerted a great effect upon him. This was the
Garden of Eden. It must be, and some ancient influence, something that
he would probably never know, protected it from invasion. He marked once
more the fearless nature of its inhabitants. He could see now three
small groups of buffaloes and all of them grazed in perfect peace and
content. Nowhere was there a sign of the wolves that usually hung about
to cut out the calves or the very old. He saw deer in the grass along
the creek, and they were oblivious of danger.

But what impressed him most of all was the profusion of singing birds
and their zeal and energy. The chorus of singing and chattering rose and
fell now and then, but it never ceased. The valley itself fairly sang
with it, and in the opening before him there were incessant flashes of
red and blue, as the most gaily dressed of the little birds shot past.

His eyes turned toward the gap, where the shiftless one had placed the
Angel with the Flaming Sword. It was only a few hundred yards away, and
he was able to see that it was but a narrow cleft between the hills.
While he looked he saw a human figure appear upon the crest of the hill,
outlined perfectly against the sun which was a blazing shield of gold
behind him.

It was a savage warrior, tall, naked, save for the breech cloth, his
face and body thick with war paint, the single scalp lock standing up
defiantly. The luminous glow overcoming the effect of distance,
enlarged him. He seemed twice his real height.

The warrior was gazing down into the valley, but Henry saw that he did
not move. His figure was rigid. He merely looked and nothing more.
Presently two more figures of warriors appeared, one on either side, and
they too were raised by the golden glow to twice their stature. All
three stared intently into the valley. Henry put his hand on the
shoulder of his comrade and shook him.

"What? What? What is it?" exclaimed the shiftless one sleepily.

"Three Indian warriors on the highest hill that overlooks the valley,
but they're not coming in. I think that the Angel with the Flaming Sword
is in the way."

Shif'less Sol was all awake now, and he stared long at the motionless
warriors.

"No, they ain't comin' down in the valley," he said at last. "I don't
know how I know it, but I do."

"Perhaps it's because they don't see the remotest sign of an enemy
here."

"Partly that I reckon, an' fur other reasons too. Thar, they're goin'
away! I expect, Henry, that them warriors are a part o' the band that
wuz lookin' fur us. They don't keer to come into the valley, but they
might hev been tempted hard to come, ef they'd a' saw us. Mebbe it's a
good thing that we came here into Adam's an' Eve's home."

"It was certainly not the wrong thing. Those warriors are gone now, and
I predict that none will come in their place."

"That's a shore thing. Now, ez I've had my nap, Henry, you take yourn.
Rec'lect that it's always watch an' watch with us."

Henry knew that the shiftless one would not like it, if he did not take
his turn, and, making his leafy bed, he was soothed to quick sleep by
the singing of the birds.

Then the shiftless one propped his back against a bank of leaves between
him and the trunk of a tree, and, with the rifle across his knees,
watched. The great peace that he had felt continued. The fact that the
Indians had merely come to the crest of the hill and looked into the
valley, then going away, confirmed him in his beliefs. As long as Henry
and he stayed there, they would be safe. But safety beyond that day was
not what they were seeking. That night they must surely reach the other
three, although they would enjoy the present to the full.

Shif'less Sol's plastic and sensitive mind had been affected by his
meeting with Henry. Despite his great confidence in the skill and
strength of the young leader, he had been worried by his long absence
and his meeting with him had been an immense relief. This and their
coming into the happy valley had put him in an exalted state. The
poetical side of nature always met with an immediate response in him,
and like the Indian he personified the winds, and the moon and stars and
sun, and all the objects and forces that were factors in wild life.

Lying closely among his leaves he watched the buffaloes and the deer.
Some of the bigger animals as the day grew and the sun increased, lay
down in the grass near him, showing no sign of fear, although they must
have been aware of his presence. A flight of wild geese descended from
the sky, drank at the stream, swam a little, then rose again and were
gone, their forms blending into a single great arrow shooting northward
through the blue.

Shif'less Sol did not wonder that they had dropped down into the valley
for a moment or two, breaking their immeasurable flight into the far
north. They had known that they would be safe in this little way
station, and it was yet another confirmation of his beliefs. He watched
the arrow so sharply outlined against the blue until it was gone in the
vast sky, and a great wonder and awe filled the soul of the shiftless
one. He had seen such flights countless times before, but now he began
to think about the instinct that sent them on such vast journeys through
the ether from south to north and back again, in an endless repetition
as long as they lived. What journeys and what rivers and lakes and
forests and plains they must see! Man was but a crawler on the earth,
compared with them. Then wild ducks came, did as the geese had done, and
then they too were gone in the same flight into the illimitable north
that swallowed up everything.

It was in the mind of the shiftless one that he too would like to go
into that vast unknown North some day, if the fighting in Kentucky ever
came to an end. He had been in the land of the Shawnees and Miamis, and
Wyandots and he knew of the Great Lakes beyond, but north of them the
wilderness still stretched to the e

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