THE FEATHERED MESSAGE
"LOOK up there on the roof of the cabin! What can it be?"
It was about a week after the return of the two boys from the Shawanee
village. During this time they had made several trips into the great
forest, and never failed to bring home game, for there seemed a great
abundance around the new settlement on the Ohio.
The men had used their keen-edged axes well, and the trees were falling
fast. It was even hoped that the small gardens would prove profitable,
and that they might have other crops, besides the Indian corn that grew
so well in this climate.
The brief visit of Daniel Boone and his comrades had had one natural
effect upon the two brothers. They began to copy the frontiersman style
of dress, as the best fitted for the life they expected to lead from
this time forward.
Moccasins they had already; but now their mother was called upon to
fashion for her boys hunting tunics of tanned buckskin, which in turn
were fringed, as had been those worn by Kenton and the others. Besides,
covering for their legs was made from the same material, and appeared
similarly decorated.
Bob had made a cap for himself out of the well-tanned skins of several
raccoons he had trapped, with one of the beautifully marked tails
dangling down the back, like that of his hero, Simon Kenton.
Sandy, on his part, had done the same with some skins of gray
squirrels, also using the bushy tails to complete the adornment, so
that together the Armstrong boys presented a hunter-like appearance by
the time these various additions to their wardrobe were completed.
When they appeared in these new outfits both lads felt that they could
now begin to call themselves pioneers in earnest.
On this particular day Bob and Sandy had planned a delightful trip up
the river in their canoe, seeking new fields for hunting; and looking
into the possibilities of the region for the trapping season, that
would begin when the leaves were dropping from the trees in October.
It was Sandy who had given utterance to the exclamation with which this
chapter opens. Bob had followed him out of the cabin. The sun was just
peeping above the wooded hills away off in the east, and they sniffed
the early morning air with delight; but one who could read the signs
of the weather might have seen something about the coppery hue of that
rising orb that showed that the long delayed Spring rains would soon
burst upon the country.
Seeing where Sandy was pointing, Bob also looked, and his surprise
exceeded that of his younger brother when he saw the object that was
sticking in the middle of the sloping roof.
"Why, it is a feathered Indian arrow!" he cried.
"How strange! And what can that be tied to it, Bob?" asked the other.
"Here, boost me up and I will get it; then we can tell all about it,"
answered Bob, who did not believe in wasting time in talk when the
solution of the mystery was so easy to learn.
So Sandy gave him a hand, and the agile lad quickly gained the low
roof; for the new cabin, while commodious, was only one story high,
with a low loft above the living room and just under the roof.
Bob took the arrow from the roof. He seemed to use more or less vigor
in order to extract the flint head, showing that it had come down with
considerable force after its aerial flight.
"Oh! I remember now," said Sandy, suddenly arousing.
"What?" demanded the other, as he prepared to jump to the ground,
holding the feathered missile carefully in one hand.
"Why," said Sandy, eagerly, "something seemed to arouse me just about
daybreak. It sounded like a stone thrown against the house. But I
thought father was up, and getting the fire ready, so mother could cook
breakfast; and I went to sleep again. Bob, that must have been the time
the arrow dropped on the roof!"
"Yes, that was the time," answered Bob; "for the one who held the bow
could never have seen how to aim in the night, even though there was a
moon."
"Aim, do you say, brother? Is it possible then he meant to stick that
arrow in our roof rather than any other?" demanded Sandy, startled.
"I surely do believe it. See, here is a message fastened to the shaft
by little threads drawn from the fibre of cane!" and Bob held up the
piece of birch bark, which Sandy now saw contained various rude designs
possibly drawn with a sharp-pointed eagle quill, dipped in the juice of
the poke berry.
"Blue Jacket!" he exclaimed involuntarily, for suddenly he remembered
that other unique message which the young Shawanee warrior had left, at
the time he had slipped away from the cabin of the Armstrongs.
"Yes, that is the plainest thing of all," remarked Bob, "for you see
here at the end there is what is meant to be the figure of a man, an
Indian, too, for he has feathers in his hair; and his jacket is daubed
with a blue stain. But what puzzles me is to read these signs. Come,
sit down here. Perhaps two heads may prove better than one, and you are
quick at such things."
"Oh! if only Pat O'Mara were here now, how quickly he would read it
all," said Sandy, screwing up his forehead as he scanned the several
lines of strange figures.
"This must mean the sun, all right," remarked Bob, pointing to the
first rude representation in the line.
They both turned to look at the king of day as though understanding
that the Indian artist meant to call their attention that way.
"Well," remarked Sandy, "the old fellow does look angry this morning.
And then the sky all around has a coppery hue. That must mean more dry
weather, brother."
But Bob shook his head. He had seen something more in those queer
picture paintings that caught his attention.
"No, I think you are wrong, Sandy," he observed slowly. "See, here is
what he surely means for rain pouring down. And further along is what
must be the river rushing along, bank-full. I begin to see what it is,
brother."
"A warning to the white settlers?" said Sandy quickly.
"What else can it mean? And look at this figure standing here; what do
you make of him?" asked the other, pointing.
"Oh! I know!" cried Sandy, his face lighting up. "See how he is decked
out with all sorts of things, bells and such! And in his hands he holds
gourds that contain dried beans, to rattle when he shakes them. Yes,
that must be the old medicine man I told you about. But what has he got
to do with the rains?"
"Now I understand it all," declared Bob, with a smile.
"Then I wish you would tell me," remarked his brother, "for to tell the
truth I don't seem able to grasp it."
"The old medicine man has been talking again with the Manitou," said
Bob, "and has learned that the rain will soon come along, making a
flood of the river. Perhaps he knows this from some sign, like the
angry sun; but he pretends that the information was given to him from
the Great Spirit."
"And Blue Jacket," cried Sandy, "believing all he says, has thought it
worth while to come all the way over here, lame as he is, to warn us!
That was good of him. He is afraid some of us may be caught napping.
But how much better if he had only slipped into the settlement, and
talked with us."
"But Blue Jacket is an Indian, with all the cunning and caution of the
red men," Bob replied. "He knows that all palefaces do not think alike;
and he feared lest a guard should shoot him on sight. No, I am glad he
was wise. Think how we should grieve if he were killed in our midst."
"But about the warning? Shall you tell father, and have him spread the
news?" asked the younger boy.
"To be sure. It can do no harm, even if it prove to be a false alarm.
They will understand the motive that sent Blue Jacket over here again.
And, Sandy, perhaps father may want us to give up that long canoe trip
we had planned for to-day."
At that Sandy's face fell.
"Oh! I hope not!" he exclaimed, quickly. "For I have been looking
forward ever so much to exploring that country away to the east, and
up the river. Pat told us that on the other shore, above, the game was
thicker than any place he knew. We must get off to-day, brother! What
if the rain does come, we are neither sugar nor salt, but strong enough
to stand much."
"Well, perhaps father may not think much of the old medicine man's
belief. And, as you say, surely we are able to take care of ourselves.
I am hoping myself that father may not forbid our going," said Bob.
So Sandy, with an object in view, made it a point, when they told
their father of the strange warning sent by their good friend Blue
Jacket, to speak of the medicine man as a great fraud, who was
certainly not worth considering.
Whether David was influenced by what he said, or really believed the
danger to be over-rated, he did not offer any particular objections to
the boys' expedition.
"Hurrah!" cried Sandy, as they reached the place where the canoe was
hauled up on the sandy beach. "Now for a jolly paddle up the river, and
a visit to that unknown shore over the water, where buffalo and deer
are as thick as peas, and asking to be shot."
Bob was not as enthusiastic, although doubtless he, too, anticipated
more or less pleasure from the excursion. They did not expect to be
back that night, unless their plans miscarried; but before another sun
had set they meant to at least be on their way homeward.
Soon they were paddling merrily up the river. There was not a cloud
overhead, and the sun seemed to give promise of exerting unusual warmth
for so early in the season.
"Poor old medicine man," laughed Sandy, as he glanced around at the
bright picture, and then thought of the warning message. "So we are to
beware of the river's rising wrath, are we? Seems to be quiet enough
just now, brother!"
"Yes," was all that Bob replied; for somehow he seemed to have some
foreboding of coming trouble, though he did not want to tell Sandy of
this, lest the light-hearted one laugh at his fears, which after all
might come to nothing.
About noon they crossed to the other shore. Out in the middle of the
river they found that it required considerable muscle to keep the canoe
from losing in the fight with the swiftly gliding, though noiseless,
current.
They determined not to land just yet. Sandy remembered how Pat O'Mara
had told about a certain wonderful cove further up the stream, where
they could hide their boat while they hunted. Besides, there was less
danger of running across any hostiles the further they went in the
direction of Fort Pitt; since after the last great Indian battle the
red tribes had retreated westward.
It proved much further than they had been led to believe from what the
Irish trapper had said; or else progress against that current was
slower than they had calculated. At any rate, the hour was not far from
sunset when they finally sighted the cove that was to be their landing
place.