A WILD FLIGHT
Many a time in his wild flight that memorable night the boy thought
what good fortune it was that the sky was clear and the moon shining.
By its light he was able to make good progress and avoid walking in a
circle, as otherwise he doubtless would have done.
He directed his course toward the east, with the moon slightly on his
right. Many a fall he had over slippery, moss-grown logs, and his face
was bleeding from scratches received while rushing through the bushes.
He could not conceal his trail, hoping to do that by daylight. During
the night he must make every effort to travel as fast and as far as
possible.
His nerves were at the utmost tension. He realized that any moment he
might hear a yell or see some shadowy form glide alongside. The
instant an Indian awoke and discovered his escape the chase would
begin.
The picture of the poor fellow murdered back at the creek was before
his eyes and the horror of it spurred him to his utmost. Just at dawn
he arrived at a small stream so nearly exhausted that he stumbled and
fell while crossing it, yet he dared not stop to rest. He must first
conceal his trail, which up to this place the savages could easily
follow.
After crossing he walked a short distance alongside on the bank down
stream, leaving plain imprints of his feet in the soft soil. Then he
again entered the water and turned up stream.
For nearly an hour he forced himself onward, stumbling over the
slippery rocks and not once leaving the water. Finally he came to a
bare ledge jutting into the brook. He stepped from the water to this,
careful to leave no imprints of his feet. At the farther end was a
fallen tree. Walking along the trunk of this as far as he could, he
stooped to the ground and rejoiced to note that it was firm, so that
his moccasins left no impress on it. One who has never tried the
experiment cannot realize the care necessary in walking through the
woods not to displace a leaf or break a twig, which would attract the
attention of a wary savage.
Rodney succeeded so well that, after he had gone nearly half a mile
and came to a dense clump of underbrush, he decided it would be safe
to hide there and sleep. He believed the Indians would think he had
fled in the direction of the Ohio River, and, seeing his footprints on
the bank, would follow down stream. He could not remember when he had
been so tired and soon was in a sound slumber, not waking till nearly
noon. He was very hungry but found a spring of sweet water and some
checkerberry leaves, and, thus refreshed, continued his flight.
He did not rest again till nightfall. He had seen no game save
squirrels and, having but one load for his rifle, hesitated to waste
that on small game. From the first he had thought his only chance of
escape would be to follow some stream flowing in the direction of the
Ohio. At dusk he came to one and concluded it now safe to follow it,
but soon he must eat, for he was very weak.
Selecting a convenient place he sat down to wait for a chance glimpse
of game. Possibly a deer might come that way to drink, and a deer
would be worth his one bullet. Rodney by this time concluded his
pursuers had lost his trail and he felt as though he were alone in the
great forest. His eyelids were heavy, but, recalling what happened to
him through falling asleep three days before, he rose to his feet the
better to keep awake. As he did so he was startled by a shot, fired a
little way down the stream.
The boy's eyelids were no longer heavy. He experienced something like
a chill and he asked himself, "What if I had seen game and fired?"
After waiting a few moments, it occurred to him that there was a
possibility that the shot had been fired by white men. Of course it
was improbable, but he must investigate. If they were Indians, they
would gorge themselves with the meat and sleep soundly so that he
ought to have no trouble in getting past them. Moreover, unless many
were in the party, they would leave a portion of the carcass if it
were a deer they had shot. Why might he not secure that? He was hungry
enough to eat the flesh raw.
Cautiously approaching he finally saw the gleam of firelight among the
trees and then shadows of men, and his heart sank. They were Indians!
Two came up to the fire from the stream and the boy noted the
direction whence they came. After the moon appeared he entered the
brook to descend it and look about for signs of the place where the
game was killed. At last he found it, and the carcass of a deer from
which the hind quarters had been cut. Quick work with his knife
secured him a goodly portion of what was left and with this he hurried
on down the brook, on the slippery bed of which he kept his footing
with difficulty. His hunger urged him so that after going about a mile
he decided he was far enough away to risk a fire.
He gathered a lot of dried twigs and rubbed them between his palms,
thus making a small powdery mass into which, after mixing with it a
few grains of powder from the priming, he struck sparks from the flint
and steel of his rifle. The smell of the cooking meat made him
ravenous and, like an Indian, he ate it half raw. He then lost no time
in extinguishing his fire and renewing his journey.
The good food and the reflection that so far he had outwitted the
savages, put him in a very happy frame of mind. He was congratulating
himself on his good luck when he heard a dry twig snap in the dense
growth beside the brook. It was a moment of horror for the lad and he
instantly crouched in the shadow of the bushes and cocked his rifle.
The noise continued, a shuffling sound, and then his straining ears
detected the snuffing of some animal. One may imagine his relief.
The animal soon emerged from the bushes, a black, shaggy bulk with
muzzle uplifted, following the scent of the meat which Rodney
carried.
Now, being followed by a hungry bear under such conditions would not
be agreeable to most people, but the boy's courage was good and his
relief at finding his pursuer not an Indian was so great that he felt
like laughing; instead he hastened his pace.
The chase continued, mile after mile, though to the tired lad
stumbling over the slippery stones it seemed league upon league.
Occasionally he stepped in a hole to his waist, but he was too excited
to heed the drenching or the fatigue.
An hour passed, and bruin yet followed. "Reckon he's hungry as I am,"
Rodney remarked to himself. Then came the thought, why not divide with
the bear? Suiting action to word the lad quickly cut his meat in two
pieces, flinging one behind. With a growl the brute savagely seized it
and the boy hurried on. The respite was brief, however, for not many
minutes passed before he heard his pursuer, appetite whetted by what
he had eaten, following the trail.
Rodney was now more exasperated than frightened. The dangers through
which he had passed seemed to embolden him, though he knew his plight
would indeed be unpleasant should he attempt to shoot bruin and by
some cause miss fire. The muskets sold to the Indians were usually of
the cheapest quality, and the one he carried certainly appeared to be
of that variety. He looked behind. The bear was gaining. Seeing this,
the lad resolved on extreme measures. First, he would try the effect
of a rock and he picked one up, about as large as his two fists.
Rodney had thrown many stones in his life and most of them had been
well aimed. This was no exception and landed fairly on bruin's snout.
The animal stood on the bank not twenty feet distant and he turned a
somersault, in his pain and rage, landing in the water with a loud
splash.
Young Allison did not stop to laugh, as he felt like doing, but put as
much distance between himself and his pursuer as possible. After a
time, hearing nothing of bruin, he concluded the old fellow had given
up the chase and lay somewhere curled up and nursing his sore snout.
Now that the excitement was past the boy began to be sensible of his
fatigue. Nature was asserting herself and he must eat and sleep.
Just at dawn he noted a clear space among large trees on a knoll a
little way from the brook, which now had grown to a considerable
creek. He reconnoitred and, finding no trace of an enemy, built a
fire. While broiling a piece of the venison it occurred to him that he
should husband what was left of the meat as it might be a long time
before he could find venison, killed and dressed by Indians, awaiting
him along the route. Accordingly, after eating a hearty breakfast, he
cut crotched sticks and drove them into the ground on either side of
the fire and placed green poles across, over the fire. By hanging the
meat on these he planned to smoke and dry what remained, after cutting
it into strips. Rodney seemed to forget about both Indians and the
bear and was whistling softly as he worked when a noise behind him
caused him to turn.
Not over fifteen feet away was the bear! He smelled the cooking meat
and evidently was in an ugly mood. Scarcely thinking what he did, the
boy, snatching a brand from the fire, threw it full in the face of the
brute and sprang for his rifle. The firebrand only seemed to infuriate
the animal and he charged. Hastily Rodney fired.
A growl of rage and pain followed the report, and through the clearing
smoke the boy saw the bear biting at the wound in his side. Round and
round bruin whirled until he caught a glimpse of his assailant, when
he rushed forward. As in a haze the boy saw the huge bulk almost upon
him, the little fiery eyes gleaming like coals of fire, the open jaws
flecked with bloody froth. The boy clubbed his rifle with no thought
of running. The bear rose on his hind legs. One blow from his powerful
paw, and all would be over. Rodney struck, shattering the stock of the
gun, and sprang aside. He now was helpless!
The bear, full of fight, struck, his claws ripping the boy's sleeve.
Crack! A well-aimed shot from behind brought bruin down with scarcely
a struggle and the huge bulk lay stretched at Rodney's feet.
A child's scream of delight followed the shot. A white boy of about
ten years, accompanied by an Indian, came out of the thick woods, the
little fellow crying, "He's mine. I want him, Caughnega."
To this pleading the Indian paid no heed. Confronting Rodney he
demanded, with a sweep of his arm: "Pale face no hunt; Indian
country."
Rodney, by this time, was in a somewhat hysterical condition. The idea
that he was there for the pleasure or profit of hunting bears struck
him as so ludicrous that he laughed loudly, a performance that
evidently puzzled the redskin not a little.
The little fellow here renewed his plea, saying: "I saw him first and
I want him to play with; he's mine," and he stamped his foot like a
petty tyrant and seized Rodney by the hand, saying, "You'll play with
Louis?"
"I'll be very glad to do so," Rodney replied, looking at the Indian
rather than at the boy who tugged at his hand.
"No hunt, what for here?" the Indian asked and his voice was stern.
Rodney hesitated a moment. The red man's beady eyes, noting this,
glittered. "I'm lost," Rodney finally said, adding, "I want to get
back to the river."
"Humph!" And, having thus expressed himself, Caughnega turned to the
work of skinning and cutting up the bear, in which task Rodney
endeavoured to assist, his efforts, however, being received quite
ungraciously.
When all was done, the meat was tied into two bundles, one of which
the Indian ordered Rodney to take and walk ahead. Now, walking ahead
of a hostile savage is not a pleasant arrangement, but the boy tried
to comfort himself with the thought that, so long as the Indian might
wish the bundle carried, he would not kill the carrier. Then the
little fellow ran alongside and took the older lad's hand, an act of
confidence and friendship the latter never forgot.
They forded the creek and climbed the bank to a small plateau
overlooking a meadow through which the creek wound its way. Here, on
this high land, were clustered about twenty huts or wigwams, some
covered with skins and others with bark. As no one expected them,
their approach did not excite especial commotion, fortunately for
Rodney, otherwise he might have been compelled to run a gauntlet.
Caughnega stopped in front of one of the wigwams and motioned Rodney
to enter.
Louis protested, saying, "He is mine, I found him," but to no avail.
Disappointed, he ran away, crying bitterly, while the scowling savage
flung his prisoner into the hut, and indicated by word and gesture
that the lad was not to leave it on peril of his life. Then he stalked
away, and Rodney was left to the bitterness of his reflections.