THE HALT IN THE WOODS.
The appearance of Jethro Juggens surprised Boone and Kenton as they sat
on the fallen tree, for they were looking for nothing of the kind. When
he announced that he was the bearer of important tidings, he naturally
became an object of increased interest, for the fate of the little party
of pioneers was the problem that the two great rangers were trying to
solve.
"You bring important news," repeated Kenton, who, as the reader already
knows, was quite partial to the negro, for, with all his stupidity, he
had given proof of astonishing skill in marksmanship. "What is your
news?"
"I's very well," replied Jethro, taking his seat beside the men on the
log, removing his cap, and fanning his shining countenance.
"That being so," continued Kenton, "what's the news you brought?"
"Haben't I jes' told yo'? I's bery well, 'cepting dat I's hungry, dough
I can't make none ob de folks blebe it. Howsumeber, I guess dey blebes
it, but dey don't keer."
"Haven't you any other news for us?" asked Boone, looking sternly at
Jethro, who did not note, or, noting perhaps, did not care for his
displeasure.
"Nuffin else in 'tickler, 'cept dat de folks am also well."
"That is some kind of news, though only what we expected. Nothing has
happened to any of 'em?" inquired Kenton.
"Nuffin dat I reckomembers."
"Where are they?"
"Don't you know?" asked Jethro, in turn, looking around in surprise that
he should put the question, when he had parted with his friends only
comparatively a short time before. "Whar do you 'spose dey am, Mr.
Kenton?"
"I know where they ought to be," said the ranger, gravely; "they ought
to be about a half a mile or so down the river, picking their way
through the woods to this tree where we're setting; but I didn't know
but what something had happened."
"Didn't I just tole you dat nuffin didn't happen?"
"Are the folks coming up the river towards us?"
"Dey were settin' still on some rocks on the ground when I left."
"What's that for?"
"I 'spose dey're tired; want to rest."
Kenton looked significantly at Boone. Jethro's theory would not answer.
There was no member of the little party of pioneers, not even Agnes
Altman, nor Mabel Ashbridge, only ten years of age, who would become so
wearied by twice as long a tramp as to feel the need of rest.
"Did you come yourself, or were you sent ahead to see us?"
"I come myself, dat is, nobody fotched me on his back; but Mr. Hastings
subgested dat I come, by saying if I didn't he would kick me."
Weber Hastings was the sturdy member of the escort party who, in the
absence of Boone, had charge of them.
Jethro Juggens began to display more sense in his words than he had yet
shown. He became more serious in his manner.
"De way ob it was dis: One ob de men from de block-house had been
scoutin' frough de woods, and he come back and tole Mr. Hastings what he
seed----"
"What was it?" interrupted Kenton.
"Being as he didn't tole me, yo'll hab to obscoose me from answerin' dat
question, but I was invited to go on ahead and to tell yo' folks dat Mr.
Hastings wanted one ob yo' or bofe ob yo' to come back again, as he had
somethin' he wanted to see yo' about."
Neither Boone nor Kenton made any comment on the singular course of
Hastings in selecting Jethro Juggens to bear such a message, when, among
all the male members of the company probably there was not one that was
less qualified.
"I don't know what it means," said Boone, rising from the tree, "but it
means something. You had better go back with this simpleton at once."
"And you?"
"I'll push ahead and larn what I kin. It won't make any difference
whether I'm with you or not, if there's a fight coming, but I'll do my
best to jine you. I'm likely to run onto something ahead that we oughter
know."
"Do you expect to use any signallin' for me?" asked Kenton, who had also
risen to his feet.
"Don't see that there'll be any need, but if there is you'll understand
it. You and me are too used to each other, Simon, to make any slip
up----"
Kenton raised his hand and smiled. While the words were in the mouth of
Boone, the soft, faint cawing of the crow was heard for the fifth time.
At the same moment two interesting facts were impressed upon the
rangers.
The call did not sound half so far away as in any one of the former
instances, and it came from a throat which essayed it for the first time
in the hearing of Boone and Kenton.
"Now we know there's three of 'em," remarked the latter.
"They're wondering why me and the rest of 'em aren't pushing faster
through the woods. But off with you, Simon; we're losing time."
Without another word these two great pioneers separated, the elder
moving silently among the trees to the eastward, that is, up the Ohio
and toward Rattlesnake Gulch, now a place of the first importance to all
concerned. He did not look around to note what was done by the other.
But Kenton had taken only a few steps when he stopped and looked back.
Jethro Juggens was standing by the fallen tree with his gun on his
shoulder and glancing inquiringly from the disappearing figure of Boone
to that of Kenton, only a few yards away.
"What's the matter?" asked the latter. "What are you waiting for?"
"Which ob yo' folks wants me, Mr. Kenton?"
"I don't think either one of us will die of a broken heart if we lose
you; but come along with me."
"Sure Mr. Boone won't feel bad if I don't go wid him?"
"Come along, keep close to me and don't make any noise, for the woods is
full of the varmints."
Enough has been told for the reader to understand the situation. The
Altman and Ashbridge families were threading their way through the
Kentucky wilderness, from the clearing where a cabin had been erected
some weeks before, to the block-house ten miles distant and on the
opposite side of the river. They were escorted by a number of rangers
and scouts from the block-house, under the charge of Daniel Boone, and
sent thither by Captain Bushwick, who discovered the imminent peril of
the families after they had declined the invitation to tarry at the
block-house, and had passed beyond and down the Ohio in the flatboat.
Kenton was not mistaken in his theory about the return journey of
himself and companion. Not the slightest sign of danger appeared, and in
a comparatively short time they came upon their friends, who, from their
appearance, might well have been taken for a picnic party on an outing
of their own.
What more inviting opening could the crouching Shawanoes ask than was
here presented to them? From their lurking places among the surrounding
trees they could pour in a frightfully destructive volley that would
stretch many of the helpless party lifeless on the ground.
And why did they not do so? Because they knew the cost to them. Those
hunters and rangers were used to the Indian method of fighting. If the
redskins could approach nigh enough to fire before detection, there
would be enough white men left to make many of them bite the dust ere
they could get beyond reach of the deadly rifles.
No; in the estimation of the Shawanoes there was a plan open to them
that was a thousandfold more preferable.
Rattlesnake Gulch was the beau ideal place for an ambuscade, for it not
only offered a certain chance for the destruction of the entire party of
whites, but afforded a perfect protection against any unpleasant
consequences to the ambuscaders.