THE PERILS OF THE WILDERNESS
"DID you see that, Bob?"
Sandy clutched his brother by the arm as he whispered these words, and
both of them sank back lower behind the fringe of bushes.
Some weeks had gone by since they had left the old home. By slow
degrees the mountains had been surmounted, and they were now nearing
the region of the Ohio, on the banks of which the settlers hoped to
find homes.
There were eleven men in the party, with seven women, and a round dozen
children of varying ages.
Day by day the party of settlers had plodded onward, with their faces
ever toward the west. Often they saw the prowling panther near the
camp; and it was a common thing to have a deer or a buffalo spring up
in advance of the caravan, to go bounding or lumbering away, startled
by this first glimpse of white men.
As there was no road it had been utterly impossible to make use of such
clumsy vehicles as the early settlers knew. Upon the backs of the
horses was piled all their possessions; and besides, frequently the
women and children had to be added to the loads.
The settlers considered themselves fortunate in having with them a man
who had gone over this trail before. Pat O'Mara kept at the head of the
column throughout each long day.
Many times they had to make detours in order to overcome obstacles in
the way that could not be directly overcome. Sometimes these took the
form of deep ravines, the banks of which were too steep to allow the
horses to obtain a foothold; then again they might be windfalls, where
the grand forest trees had been razed, along a track half a mile broad,
by some fierce tornado.
When night drew near O'Mara selected some favorable place for a camp
which offered opportunities for defence. For they never allowed
themselves to fall into a state of security that might induce fatal
carelessness.
Some days the settlers made fair progress under favoring conditions;
then again they would strike a section of country where every mile had
to be won, with patient effort, foot by foot. And they were always
vigilant, believing in that motto of the Puritans: "Trust in the Lord;
but _keep your powder dry_!"
Each night, as the cheerful fires crackled, and the women gathered
around to prepare the evening meal, the tired men would bring in wood
for use while the darkness lasted; and then throw together some sort of
defence.
While as yet these preparations had been apparently needless, still
the cautious O'Mara warned them that they were now nearing the hunting
grounds of the warlike Shawanees; and that any day some party might
discover the caravan, and carry the news of their coming to the nearest
Indian village.
As yet they had really seen little of the red men. Twice hunters, who
were out securing fresh food for the party, had reported catching
glimpses of dusky figures darting in and out among the trees; but no
attack had as yet been made upon any members of the little expedition.
Bob and his brother were in the habit of going out on alternate days,
and looking for game. As this was plentiful they had little trouble in
securing a deer whenever the larder got low.
One day they had tramped ahead of the party, following the old buffalo
trail which the horses would take as they came along and which led
westward. In this way, if they secured game, it would not be necessary
to carry it far in order to join the others.
As yet they had seen nothing worth shooting, when Sandy made the remark
with which this chapter begins.
His brother stared in his face, and there was a serious look in his
eyes, as he made answer.
"Yes, I saw it; and I'm afraid it was an Indian, brother."
"With feathers in his scalp-lock, which means war!" continued Sandy,
who was always questioning Pat O'Mara, and hence had picked up
considerable knowledge concerning the red men and their habits.
Again did the two boys exchange uneasy looks.
"Do you suppose he is alone?" whispered Sandy, presently.
"Let us try to see. Raise your head, inch by inch, until you can look
over the tops of these bushes; but be careful," continued the other.
Back to back they started to do this, intending to cover the entire
surrounding woods with a close scrutiny.
Suddenly there was an odd twanging sound heard. Bob knew instinctively
that it was the recoil of a bow-string, and he dragged his brother down
instantly.
Then came a heavy thud close by their ears. Looking around, the
brothers saw a feathered shaft quivering, with its flint head buried in
the trunk of a tree.
It was the first time in all their lives that either of them had been
under fire. The mere thought that some human being was endeavoring to
do them deadly injury caused a momentary thrill. But, in those early
days, boys were made of sterling material; and, after that involuntary
shudder, they faced the danger resolutely, with a spirit that would
have well become their father.
"We must get out of here," whispered Bob, as he prepared to crawl along
in the shelter of the bushes.
"But which way?" demanded Sandy, confused; for how were they to know
just where the unseen enemy might be hidden?
"That arrow came from yonder; therefore we must turn the other way,"
was the convincing argument Bob advanced, and his brother immediately
saw the logic of it.
Bob led the retreat, with Sandy trailing close at his heels. Each lad
clutched his gun in a nervous grip, and strained his ears to catch the
slightest suspicious sound near by.
So they crept on, for ten minutes, without anything happening, and by
degrees Sandy felt his courage return. Perhaps, after all, there had
only been a single savage; and, again, he may have been as frightened
as they were, making off immediately after discharging that lone arrow!
Their hearts still beating faster than was their wont, the boys came to
the termination of the line of dense bushes. If they expected to go on
from this point they must of necessity change their tactics entirely,
and expose themselves to the gaze of any lurker.
"Let's run for it!" suggested Sandy, at a loss for any other plan.
"No, I have another idea," returned his resourceful brother.
"Then let us have it, quick, Bob!" whispered the other, to whom
inaction was always more or less irksome.
"You start off as though meaning to escape, dodging this way and that.
He will perhaps believe that I was cut down by that hissing arrow.
Then, if he shows himself, I can get him, perhaps," Bob ventured.
Sandy fell in with the idea at once, although he realized the danger.
"Give the word, then, Bob, and let me go. Anything is better than this
suspense," he said, immediately, starting to get on his feet.
"If you hear me shout, drop flat," the elder brother said,
impressively. "That will mean he is trying to shoot at you. And if you
hear the report of my gun, seek shelter behind some tree."
The last thing Sandy heard as he gained a half-erect position, and
started off on a lope, was the click of Bob's gun-lock as he prepared
for business. No doubt the boy's heart was pounding like a hammer as
he thus exposed himself to the aim of an enemy; but, nothing daunted,
he kept right on, looking to the right and to the left as he scurried
along.
And Bob, left behind amid the bushes, lifted his head slowly, so that
he could see all that transpired, a grim expression on his young face,
such as the stern realities of those early days stamped upon many a
boyish countenance.
Ha! There was a movement not far away that his keen ear caught. Not
turning his head a particle he twisted his eyes around to the left,
and immediately discovered a bent figure that was skulking along, now
dodging behind a tree, and anon crouching flat, as Sandy threatened to
look around.
It was an Indian, rigged out in all the horrid paint and feathers that
marked a Shawanee brave on the warpath. He gripped a short, but stout,
bow in his hands; and even as Bob caught sight of him seemed to be
fitting a feathered shaft to the tense gut that served as a cord.
Undoubtedly it was his intention to shoot again, and this time, as
Sandy's back would be turned, there was a strong probability that the
arrow might find a victim.
Bob looked no further; his mind was made up, and, raising his
flint-lock musket to his shoulder, he glanced hastily along the barrel.
The red man was in the very act of letting fly his arrow when the bang
of the heavily charged musket awoke the echoes of the forest. Sandy had
not forgotten his part in the programme, for no sooner did he hear that
discharge than he made a quick spring to a neighboring beech tree,
back of which he crouched, ready to do his part in the game.
The Indian fell down, but, immediately scrambling to his feet with a
whoop, ran off like a frightened deer. He was holding his right arm as
he went, from which fact Bob gained the opinion that his hastily sent
bullet must have struck that part of the enemy's anatomy.
Then he vanished in the depths of the forest, while Bob reloaded as
fast as he could work his hands.
"Are there any more of them?" called Sandy, as he poked his gun out
from behind the beech, ready to make use of the same at the slightest
provocation.
"I do not think so," replied Bob, considerably relieved at not
discovering a horde of dusky figures rushing toward them, as he had
feared would be the case.
Nor did they notice any signs of enemies around them. Sandy insisted
upon going over to the spot where the Indian had dropped his bow and
arrow, at the time he received Bob's bullet in his arm.
"Some of them might refuse to believe that we had met a real Indian,
and got the better of him," he said, after picking up his trophies;
"but these will be the proof."
"Let us go on," observed Bob, who had now finished the labor of
recharging his gun.
"Then you do not mean to give up looking for game?" asked Sandy,
eagerly.
"Why should we?" observed his brother, sturdily. "That Indian has run
off, and we need fear nothing further from him. Perhaps there is no
other within miles of this spot, and we need fresh meat very much. If
my shot has not frightened everything away, we may get a chance at a
deer yet."
"Perhaps a buffalo!" remarked Sandy, with eagerness in his voice; for
as yet no one in the company had been successful in shooting a specimen
of those huge, shaggy monsters, about which they had heard so much, and
whose beaten trails they followed so persistently in making their way.
They kept on, Bob careful all the while to observe the direction they
took, for he did not wish to get lost. He was moving up against the
wind, so that even the most suspicious game might not scent their
presence.
"Look! What is that?" whispered Sandy, as they made their way through
a screen of bushes, and some bulky object was observed trotting along
ahead.
"A buffalo at last! Get ready, and we will fire together!" said Bob,
trying to stifle his excitement as he dropped on one knee, the better
to aim his gun.
"Ready? Shoot!"
The two reports sounded almost as one.
"He went down! Oh! we got him!" shrilled the sanguine one, ready to
rush forward.
"Hold on!" Bob quickly cried; "see, you're mistaken, for he has
scrambled to his feet. Wounded as he is, if he sees us there will be
trouble. There, he is heading this way, Sandy! Jump for a tree, lad,
jump for a tree!"