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_BOONE AND KENTON SERIES, NO. 2_
THE PHANTOM OF THE RIVER
A SEQUEL TO "SHOD WITH SILENCE"
BY EDWARD S. ELLIS
AUTHOR OF "THE LOG CABIN SERIES," "DEERFOOT SERIES," "WYOMING SERIES,"
ETC.
PHILADELPHIA
HENRY T. COATES & CO.
COPYRIGHT, 1896,
[Illustration: BOONE AND KENTON.]
CONTENTS.
I. LONGING FOR NIGHT
II. THE CAWING OF A CROW
III. THE HALT IN THE WOODS
IV. ON THE EDGE OF THE CLEARING
V. DARING AND DELICATE WORK
VI. THE RIGHT OF EMINENT DOMAIN
VII. A QUESTION OF OWNERSHIP
VIII. BY THE WAY
IX. THE "ACCIDENT"
X. AT RATTLESNAKE GULCH
XI. WATCHING AND WAITING
XII. CARRYING THE WAR INTO AFRICA
XIII. UNKIND FATE
XIV. THE INTRUDER
XV. A DARK PROSPECT
XVI. SIMON KENTON IN A PANIC
XVII. A RUN OF GOOD FORTUNE
XVIII. "IT'S AN ILL WIND THAT BLOWS NOBODY ANY GOOD"
XIX. A FELLOW-PASSENGER
XX. WAR'S STRATEGY
XXI. THE PHANTOM OF THE RIVER
XXII. PUTTING OUT FROM SHORE
XXIII. THE SHAWANOE CAMP
XXIV. THE FORLORN HOPE
XXV. FACE TO FACE
XXVI. IN THE LION'S DEN
XXVII. THE LAST RECOURSE
XXVIII. THE RETURN
XXIX. SQUARING ACCOUNTS
XXX. CONCLUSION
LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS
BOONE AND KENTON.
JETHRO IN TROUBLE.
THE PHANTOM BOAT.
THE MISSIONARY'S TRIUMPH.
PHANTOM OF THE RIVER.
CHAPTER I.
LONGING FOR NIGHT.
"I think there's trouble ahead, Dan'l."
"There isn't any doubt of it, Simon."
The first remark was made by the famous pioneer ranger, Simon Kenton,
and the second fell from the lips of the more famous Daniel Boone.
It was at the close of a warm day in August, more than a century ago,
that these veterans of the woods came together for the purpose of
consultation. They had threaded their way along parallel lines,
separated by hardly a furlong, for a mile from their starting-point,
when the above interchange of views took place.
Boone had kept close to the Ohio while stealthily moving eastward, while
Kenton took the same course, gliding more deeply among the shadows of
the Kentucky forest until, disturbed by the evidence of danger, he
trended to the left and met Boone near the river.
The two sat down on a fallen tree, side by side, and, while talking in
low tones, did not for a moment forget their surroundings. They had
lived too long in the perilous wilderness to forget that there was never
a moment when a pioneer was absolutely safe from the fierce or stealthy
red man.
"Dan'l," said Kenton, in that low, musical voice which was one of his
most marked characteristics, "this 'ere bus'ness has took the qu'arest
shape of anything that you or me have been mixed up in."
"I haven't been mixed up in it, Simon," corrected Boone, turning his
somewhat narrow, but clean-shaven face upon the other, and smiling
gently in a way that brought the wrinkles around a pair of eyes as blue
as those of Kenton himself.
"Not yet, but you're powerful sartin to be afore them folks reach the
block-house."
Boone nodded his head to signify that he agreed with his friend.
"You wasn't at the block-house, Dan'l, when the flatboat stopped there?"
"No."
"Neither was I; I was tramping through the woods on my way to make a
call on Mr. Ashbridge."
"That's the man who put up the cabin a mile back down the river?"
"Yes; you see Norman Ashbridge or his son George--and the same is a
powerful likely younker--come down the Ohio last spring in their
flatboat, and stopped at the clearing a mile below us, where they put up
a tidy cabin. A few weeks ago the father started east to bring down his
family in another flatboat. George, the younker, got tired of waiting
and set out to meet 'em; him and me come together in the woods, and had
a scrimmage with the varmints afore we got on the boat with 'em. Things
were purty warm on the way down the river, for The Panther made matters
warm for us."
"The Panther!" repeated Boone, turning toward his friend; "I was afraid
he was mixed up in this."
"I should say he was--ruther," replied Kenton, with a grin over the
surprise of his older companion. "That chap sneaked onto the boat last
night, believing he had a chance to clean us all out. Of course, I
knowed what was up, but The Panther made a powerful big mistake. He got
mixed up with that darkey you seed--his name is Jethro Juggens--and you
may shoot me if the darkey didn't throw him down and hold him fast till
we made him prisoner."
Boone had heard something of this extraordinary exploit, but he looked
questioningly at Kenton, as though he could hardly credit the fact.
"It's all as true as Gospel. We kept Wa-on-mon, which the same is The
Panther, till late that night, when Mr. Ashbridge and Altman and me went
over in a canoe to the other flatboat, which the Shawanoes had cleaned
out, to even up accounts with 'em. Sime Girty was with 'em, but they
left afore we got to the craft, and we sot it afire and come back."
"I seed the light last night, but didn't know what it was."
"While we was gone, Mr. Altman's darter, Agnes (she ain't much more than
a child), felt so sorry for The Panther, thinking, too, that I meant to
shove him under, that she cut the cords that bound him--"
"What a fool of a gal!"
"Dan'l," sternly interrupted Kenton, laying his hand on the arm of his
friend, "you mustn't speak that way of Tom Altman's child. There ain't a
finer, smarter, purtier, sweeter gal in all Ohio or Kaintuck than little
Agnes Altman. She made a powerful big mistake, but she done it in the
kindness of her heart, and, Dan'l, you and me knows there ain't many
such mistakes made. But that little gal showed her pluck when she
follered up Wa-on-mon, snatched the knife from his hand when he warn't
looking, and warned young Ashbridge in time to save him. Wal, The
Panther made a rush to jump overboard, but he happened to step onto that
darkey again, so he was nabbed."
"But what's become of The Panther?" asked Boone, hoping to hear that the
career of this terrible scourge of the border was ended.
Kenton rested his long, formidable flintlock rifle on the log at his
side, clasped his thin iron fingers over one knee, the foot of which was
raised from the ground, and looked thoughtfully among the trees in
front. His coonskin cap was shoved back from his forehead, and a frown
settled on it, and his thin lips were compressed for a few moments
before he spoke.
"Dan'l, things haven't turned out altogether to suit me. As you know,
the flatboat kept on down the river till it reached the clearing this
morning. Afore we went ashore, I diskivered that Girty and several
varmints was in the cabin. They knowed we was going there, and they
meant to wait until we got inside, when they'd clean us all out. While
we was man[oe]uvring round like, so as to trade places with 'em, a
powerful qu'ar thing happened."
"There's a good many queer things happening in this part of the world,
Simon," curtly remarked Boone.
"Two of them Shawanoes was shot--one killed or the other hit hard--and
in both cases it was done by that darkey, Jethro Juggens. He's a big,
strong, simple chap, that hates work worse nor pizen, but he knows how
to shoot that gun of his in a way that'll open your eyes."
"But what about The Panther?" asked Boone, feeling more interest in him
than in Jethro Juggens. Kenton's brow clouded again as he made answer:
"Consarn The Panther! I forgot about him. It was agreed that him and me
would meet, all by ourselves, in the woods near the clearing, and settle
that account between us. If I come back all right, Girty and the
varmints was to leave the cabin. I come back and they left."
"And you evened up matters with The Panther?" exclaimed Boone, with a
glow of satisfaction, in strong contrast to the scornful disgust on the
rugged countenance of his friend.
"No; I went to the spot, but The Panther didn't show himself."
The readers of "Shod with Silence" will recall the circumstances. Simon
Kenton hurried to the appointed place of meeting, eager for the
encounter with Wa-on-mon, the famous war chief of the Shawanoes, but the
crafty miscreant had vanished, and nothing was seen of him.
"I never thought Wa-on-mon was a coward," bitterly repeated Kenton.
"And, Simon," said Boone, impressively, "don't make the mistake of
thinking so now; the reason why he didn't meet you wasn't that he was
afraid of you."
"What was it?"
"You know as well as me."
And so he did. The savage leader of the Shawanoes merely deferred his
furious meeting with the ranger in order to strike a more fearful blow
against the pioneers.
The moment Wa-on-mon plunged into the woods near the clearing, with the
avowed purpose of meeting Kenton, he was off like a deer in search of a
large war party that he knew was somewhere in the neighborhood. With
them he meant to return and "wipe out" every man, woman and child of the
settlers.
Meanwhile, the Altmans and Ashbridges, assisted by their companions,
removed all their goods from the flatboat against the bank and placed
them in the cabin, prepared some time before for the occupancy of the
Ashbridges. This was hardly done when Daniel Boone appeared at the
clearing with disquieting news. He advised them, however, to stay, since
their means of defence was good, but hardly was the decision reached
when a runner came in with the news that an uprising among the
surrounding tribes had already begun, and it would not do for the
pioneers to remain another day. Nothing could save the lonely cabins and
exposed dwellings except immediate flight to the nearest settlement or
block-house.
Ten miles from the clearing, and standing on the northern bank of the
Ohio, was the block-house in charge of Captain Bushwick. The Altmans and
Ashbridges made the sad mistake of not fastening the flatboat to the
bank and taking up their quarters at this frontier post until the full
truth was learned about the dangers confronting them.
The first intention of Boone and his party was to escort the settlers
back to the block-house. They had a brush with a company of Shawanoes,
and defeated them. It was not the main body, however, under the
leadership of The Panther. That remained to be heard from, and its
whereabouts was unknown.
Mr. Altman, his wife, and daughter Agnes, and his negro servant, Jethro
Juggens, Mr. Ashbridge and his wife, daughter Mabel, and their son
George set out for the block-house on the Ohio side of the river.
Their plan was to keep along the Kentucky bank until opposite the post,
when the means would be readily found for crossing. The two families
were in charge of the rangers that Boone had brought with him for the
purpose of acting as their escort. They were forced to leave behind them
all their earthly possessions in the solitary cabin, with not the
remotest prospect of ever seeing them or it again.
Although the day was well along when the start was made, yet the
situation was so critical, because of the part The Panther was certain
to play in the coming events, that Boone and Kenton took the advance,
proceeding by parallel but separated lines, and on the guard against any
stealthy approach from the Indians.
It was the hope that by preventing or, rather, averting any attack until
nightfall, the prospects of the pioneers would be vastly improved.
Though the forest possessed no available trail that could be used even
in the daytime, the rangers, and especially Kenton and Boone, were so
familiar with it, that they could guide their friends with unerring
accuracy when the darkness was so profound that it was almost worthy of
the old remark that a person could not see his hand before his face.
Accordingly, all yearned or prayed for the coming of darkness.
"Hark," whispered Kenton, turning to Boone, and raising his hand as a
gesture for silence.
No need of that, for the elder had caught the sound--a faint and
apparently distant cawing of a crow from some lofty tree-top.
Both had heard the same cry more than once that afternoon, and instead
of its being the call of a crow, they knew it came from the throat of an
Indian warrior, and therefore a relentless enemy.