IN THE WOOD.
It will be recollected that Colonel Crockett and Hans Bungslager were
left under the conviction that a bear was close behind them in the
path, and that the Tennesseean, true to his instincts, dismounted and
started back rifle in hand in quest of the game.
"I dinks I goes, too," muttered the Dutchman, as he slid off the back
of his beast. "I would rather fight mit a bear, den haf te hoss run
away mit me, and catch a limb under my chin, and take off my head
off--yaw, dat so."
Hans held his gun in hand, and he resolved, if he could gain the
chance, to shoot the bear in advance of his companion. He thought it
would be a good joke to play upon him.
So as Colonel Crockett moved stealthily along the path, the corpulent
Hollander did the same to the best of his ability; stepping so lightly
and rapidly, that it made it quite a task for him, and he puffed and
panted like a tired dog.
"Confound it!" growled Crockett, turning his head. "Can't you keep
still?"
"Dat ish what I is doing," was the reply. "I doesn't make no noise."
"You will frighten away the game."
"Dat ish a lie--"
"'Sh! there it is."
Hans caught sight of something dark, moving along the path, and
instantly raised his blunderbuss and fired, narrowly missing taking off
the head of Colonel Crockett in front of him. He did not strike the
object, or come anywhere near it, but he produced a response, like a
six-pounder.
"There! that will do; we don't propose to hurt you."
It was the voice of Sebastian, the Texan, and, as may be supposed, was
a surprise and delight to the others.
"Where did I hit you? In te head, or in te heart?" inquired Hans
Bungslager, with some solicitude.
"It is hard to tell precisely where I was hit," was the laughing reply;
"at any rate, I am not dangerously hurt, as far as I know. Your slugs
struck in the tree overhead like a hail-storm."
"Where ish Katrina?"
"Here she is, uncle," replied the buxom girl herself, hurrying forward,
and giving the old fellow a good embrace and kiss.
"You must be more careful," said Hans, in an impressive voice. "S'pose
I hit you, instead of Sebastian? You couldn't stand it petter as he
does."
"We were very careful; how could we do differently?"
"Te next time dat you ish coming in front of us behind, you must come
on peforehand and tells us dat you ish comin'--den we knows it, and we
no shoot de next time. Understand?"
"Yes," replied Katrina, in a dazed sort of way, as she turned and took
the hand of Colonel Crockett, who was heartily glad to see her.
"We were gittin' a little anxious about you," said he, as he warmly
shook the hand; "we heard the noise of guns and there was no telling
where the varmints war, or what they was doing. I've fout the Creek
Injins under old Gineral Jackson, and I've fout Old Hickory himself
in Congress, and got licked by him too, so you can see I've been
through some purty rough scrimmages in my time; but they say these
Comanches are a little worse than all, and that being the case, you can
understand why I'm so glad to see you."
Katrina modestly thanked him, while the Texan gave a brief summary of
their experience during the last few hours.
The question now arose as to what course should be taken by the
fugitives. Crockett believed that an attempt to push on into the
village would result in the capture of the entire party, while to stay
where they were would be equally fatal, as there was the strongest
evidence that the Comanches were very near them.
Indeed, the wonder was that they were unmolested at that very moment,
for some of the red-skins had passed over that very spot, and how the
whites had escaped detection and capture so long was a mystery to
Crockett.
"I ain't particular what we do," said he; "I only know we've got to get
out of this part of creation."
"Let's go on further, any way," replied the Texan, starting on foot,
with Katrina.
"Where ish te cow?" suddenly inquired Bungslager, just after he had
laboriously climbed back upon his animal.
"We couldn't bring her very well," replied the Texan; "I think she will
wait where she is till we come back."
"Dat is goot ash never vos," replied the contented Hollander; "she wash
always a goot cow and shtood shtill, only when she kicked te pail over,
and dat wash every time we milked, 'ceptin Sundays, when she kicked te
pail and me over bofe."
The young man being thoroughly acquainted with the path, and having
fought Comanches before, very properly took the lead, Katrina following
close behind him, while Crockett came next, and Hans Bungslager brought
up the rear.
In this order they started, and, as the horse of the Dutchman was
relieved of his bulky load of furniture, the party progressed at a good
pace, and without any unusual clatter or noise.
Stupid, thoughtless and reckless as Hans Bungslager naturally was, with
his love for fun and jollity outrunning every thing else, he still had
a perception (such as it was) of the danger that menaced them all, and
he showed a spasmodic discretion at times.
His little pony, as fat, round and well-preserved as himself, seemed to
comprehend the situation, and walked along with a steady, quiet step,
that was not heard as often as the quicker and more nervous tread of
Crockett's mustang. Hans himself was still, a rather unusual thing for
him.
Once or twice he started up a whistle, without thinking, but he
suddenly recalled himself to his senses, and preserved his peace as
well as the others.
He was subject to one annoyance, rather curious in its way. Every now
and then a conviction came over him that something was following him.
Sometimes he fancied that a Comanche was stealing on tip-toe, with
tomahawk in hand, ready to hurl it at his bald pate. More than once he
turned his head suddenly, expecting to confront the ugly phantom, but
it seemed to whisk out of sight before he could fix his vision upon it.
Then he was certain it was a huge black bear, lumbering along, and only
waiting for the opportunity to leap upon the haunches of his horse and
claw them both to pieces.
This was curious, as Hans Bungslager was one of the least imaginative
of men, and was rarely troubled with nightmare or phantoms of the
brain, but the feeling followed him like his own shadow, and would not
be shaken off.
He determined to wait until sure of what it was, and then to turn
suddenly and shoot it. There was no danger now of hitting Katrina,
Sebastian or any of his friends, for they were all in front of him. It
must be an enemy beyond all question, and therefore it was his duty to
put a ball through it at the very first opportunity.
The party had gone some distance, when a light was observed in the
sky, of so lurid a character, as to show that there was some large
conflagration.
"See what we have escaped," whispered the Texan, as he turned to look
at it, and ventured to press the hand of the girl beside him.
"Have they found out that we have fled?"
"Perhaps so, and perhaps not; they wouldn't hesitate to roast us in
such a bonfire, if they could only get the opportunity."
"It is then our house that is burning?"
"There can be no doubt of it. There is no other building near it, and
the light is in precisely the same spot. It is good-by to your home
now."
"Uncle Hans will mourn its loss, but how can I, when Heaven has been so
merciful to me?"
"He will have to build another; _you_ will not!"
"But I will assist him."
"But there's a little cottage in Brownston, already finished, around
which the honeysuckles and woodbine clamber, that is to be _your_ home."
As the lover spoke, he leaned over in the darkness, and kissed the
cheek that was not turned away from him.
Beyond the danger and darkness that enveloped them both, he saw the
rainbow of hope. There was a sky all sunshine that was only a short
distance away, and with the darling beautiful, loved Katrina by his
side, there was nothing that could cloud or make him unhappy.
Hans Bungslager saw the light, but he had no suspicion that it was his
own building that was on fire, else he would not have been so quiet, as
he rode upon his horse.
The whites paused but a few moments, when they resumed their journey,
moving with the same caution that had characterized their actions from
the first.
They were rapidly nearing a large clearing, where stood another
settler's house, and where there was reason to fear that some of
the wandering Comanches had made their appearance. No light in the
sky betrayed the work of the torch, but that was no proof that the
destroyer was not there that minute.
The Texan gave a word of caution to those in the rear, and when the
lighting up of the spaces between the trees tokened their approach to
the clearing, he requested all to remain still while he advanced and
made a reconnoissance.
This was done, and he stole along as softly and timidly as when making
his way from the cabin of Hans Bungslager.
Reaching the clearing, he saw the settler's house, standing as quiet
and undisturbed as though no danger had ever threatened it. No sounds
were audible, but there were no lights to be seen. Sebastian came to
the conclusion that the owner and his family had taken the alarm in
time and had fled to Brownston.
Still it was important that no mistake should be committed, and he
made his reconnoissance complete, by advancing up to the very house,
and even peering into the interior. The result confirmed his first
impression. There were no whites in them, and he returned to his
friends with his report to that effect.