DARING AND DELICATE WORK.
It will be borne in mind that Kenton had approached the clearing from
the east, or up the river, so that it was necessary to cross the open
space to reach the spot where the silent flatboat rested against the
bank, and near which he expected to find the canoe, so necessary in the
plan he had formed for saving the settlers and their families.
To start across this clear space was too risky a proceeding for so
guarded a woodsman as he. If any of his enemies were on the other side,
where he meant to look for the smaller boat, the ranger was certain to
be detected. His plan, therefore, was to pass around the clearing by
entering the woods and moving to the rear. This he set out to do upon
parting from Jethro Juggens.
He had not yet passed from sight among the trees when his steps were
arrested by a vigorous "St! st!"
Well aware of the point whence it came, he turned impatiently around,
took a couple of steps toward his dusky companion, and demanded in an
undertone:
"What do you want?"
"Yo' tole me not to speak or move or breve; if I don't speak or move,
can't you let up on de breving bus'ness? I'm afraid it's gwine to bodder
me to shet off breving."
"All right, so you don't forget to stay right where you are till I come
back."
Kenton resumed his advance, keeping out of sight in the woods, until he
had skirted three sides of the clearing and approached the river again,
opposite the point where he had first halted with his companion, and
failed to see the canoe.
As yet it was an absolute mystery as to what had become of the lesser
boat. A half-dozen causes might account for its disappearance. It might
have been set adrift by one of the Shawanoes, or captured and paddled
across the river, or destroyed, or--
At that moment the figure of a sinewy Shawanoe shot up to view, as if
from a jumping-box. He was near the canoe, but between it and Kenton,
and so close, indeed, that but for the fact that his face was turned
toward the river, he must have discovered the white man.
Kenton's heart gave a quick throb, for something in the shoulders, the
back of the head and contour of the body suggested that the Indian was
his old enemy, Wa-on-mon, The Panther.
"If it's the varmint himself," thought Kenton, "him and me can just as
well have it now, even if there are others of his people not fur off."
Either the Indian did not see that on the river for which he was
searching, or the view was satisfactory, for he now turned and looked
toward the cabin. This brought his face into full view, and the glimpse
which the white man caught from a peep around the edge of the bark
showed the warrior to be a stranger.
Kenton's position enabled him to see the log cabin as clearly as did the
Shawanoe, but it was impossible to detect anything to justify his
interest in the building. The situation had become so peculiar that all
the sagacity of the ranger was insufficient for him to decide upon the
best course to pursue.
Five, ten, fifteen minutes passed, during which the warrior, sitting on
the ground, with his back against the tree, remained as motionless as
did The Panther, when a prisoner the night before on the flatboat.
"I'm blessed if I don't believe he's asleep," mused Kenton.
Nothing is easier than for a person to pretend unconsciousness, but in
this case the white man could think of no reason for the red man doing
that.
"Shod with silence," as Simon Kenton or his brothers were when threading
their way among the forest shadows, he stepped from behind the tree and
began moving toward the long, graceful canoe, whose nose rested against
the bank.
His course took him near the Shawanoe, and he paused while yet several
paces to the rear. The hostile was at his mercy. He could drive the life
from his body with lightning-like suddenness.
"That isn't the way for a Christian to fight," concluded Kenton, making
such an abrupt change in his course that the distance between the two
was increased.
The pose of the Indian was the natural one of a sleeper. His back being
against the trunk of a tree, his knees were drawn up, with his arms
resting upon them. His long rifle reclined against the same support as
his body, his knife and tomahawk were in place in the girdle around the
waist of his half-naked person, his head was sunk, with the chin resting
on his chest, and his coarse, black hair dangling in front or behind his
shoulders.
As he sat thus, his face was turned partly away from the canoe. Kenton's
course took him past the sleeper, whose eyes, as he noted, were closed.
All doubt of his being unconscious were removed, since no reason was
conceivable for any pretence on his part.
Fortune held the promise of a rare and remarkable triumph. It has been
said that the canoe rested so lightly against the banks that only a very
slight force was required to release and let it float down stream.
If, therefore, the Shawanoe should awake and note its absence, he would
conclude that it was due to the action of the current, a conclusion that
could not be formulated in the event of his rifle keeping it company.
Following the suggestion of such a theory, the Shawanoe, in seeking to
recover the boat, would look down instead of up stream for it.
With these reasons, therefore, swaying him, Kenton put past him all
inclination to trifle with a sleeping sentinel, and with only a
momentary pause stepped forward until he laid his hand on the arching
prow of the canoe, which was the same as the stern.
The long two-bladed paddle lay in the bottom, just as he himself had
laid it after rowing ashore with The Panther. Everything was ready, but
the hardest test of all now confronted the scout, who had performed his
part thus far with a consummate skill that could not be surpassed.
Keeping his gaze upon his enemy, he dipped one end of the paddle in the
water, and, with the same noiselessness as before, sent the boat up the
stream and across the clear space at the foot of the clearing.
Something like assurance came to him when he drove it beneath the
overhanging limbs and stepped ashore for Jethro Juggens. Knowing the
precise spot where he had left him, he hurried thither without losing a
second. But the fellow was gone.
"Sarved me right for bringing him along!" muttered the angry Kenton,
"but what can have become of the younker?"
Well, indeed, might he ask the question.