THE SHAWANOE CAMP.
How it all happened was never clearly established, but it is not to be
supposed that in the tumult, the swirl, the confusion, the firing,
shouting and dashing to and fro, that the coolest-headed Shawanoe or
most self-possessed ranger could any more than keep a general idea of
the hurricane rush of events. Special incidents were noted by different
persons, as the circumstances favored them, while others saw and knew
nothing of what took place under their very eyes.
Mr. and Mrs. Ashbridge hurried down the wooded slope in the gloom, each
holding a hand of Mabel between them. At the side of the flatboat, where
there were crowding in increased excitement, the parents released the
child, and the father turned to help in the defence against the Indians,
who immediately attacked them. Mabel entered the boat near the bow, and
had crouched there several minutes, in obedience to the order of the
missionary, to avoid the bullets that were whistling about, when the
idea seized her that there were much better quarters at the stern, where
the pushing was less.
The best way, as it struck her, to reach the spot, was by bounding
ashore and darting the few paces thither. She made the attempt, and was
in the act of leaping back when her arm was gripped by a warrior, who
hurried her from the spot.
Although bewildered and partly dazed by the rush of events, the child
resisted and screamed for help, but she was powerless in the hands of
the sinewy savage, who forced her from the edge of the river.
It must be remembered, that in addition to the confusion it was night,
and the partial moon in the sky was obscured at intervals by passing
clouds. Beside, among the shadows of the wood the gloom was so deepened
that the wonder is, not that none of Mabel's friends saw her capture but
that Simon Kenton observed it.
He did so a minute later, and knew at once that the little one, if saved
at all, must be saved instantly. He cleared most of the intervening
space with his tremendous bound, and made for the Shawanoe like a
cyclone. He had noted the point where the warrior had passed from view,
as well as the general direction taken by him; consequently a quick dash
in the right course ought to overtake him.
Such was the dash made by the ranger, at the imminent risk of colliding
with tree-trunks, limbs, and boulders, and with the result that within
twenty feet of the river he ran plump against the Indian who had the
terrified child in charge, and with no suspicion of his furious pursuer.
The attack of the Bengal tiger upon the hunter that is throttling its
whining cubs, is no fiercer, more resistless and lightning-like, than
was the assault of Simon Kenton upon the buck that was making off with
the little daughter of Norman Ashbridge.
It mattered not that the gloom was well-nigh impenetrable, and the eye
could not direct or follow the blow. The ranger knew he had his man in
his grasp, and within a few seconds the affair was over.
Had there been only the slightest illumination of the wood at this point
to aid the eye, the rescue of Mabel would have been effected, but she
knew not the meaning of the terrific struggle, and the instant her
captor loosened his grip upon her arm, so as to defend himself, she
hurried off in the gloom in the hope of joining her friends on the
flatboat.
"I say, gal, where be you?" called Kenton, grasping with one hand, and
expecting every moment to touch her form.
But the little one heard him not, or if she did, had no suspicion of his
identity, and a few moments only convinced the ranger that the child
once within his grasp was gone again, he knew not where.
He held a strong hope, however, that she had started on her return for
the boat from which she had been taken in such hot haste by her
abductor. If so, the attempt on her part offered a chance of saving her
if the ranger moved promptly; for, by hastening to the same point he was
sure to meet her, even though amid enemies; but, if he delayed, she must
inevitably fall into the hands of the Shawanoes again.
It was apparent to Kenton that none of those on the boat were aware of
the loss of the child, and if it became known to her friends they could
give her no help. The ranger was fortunate, indeed, that in the flurry
he was not assaulted in turn by some of the hostiles.
He picked his way as best he could to the river's margin, carefully
keeping himself back in the gloom while he made his observation. The
moon was still unobstructed, and showed him the flatboat fifty feet away
and increasing the space every minute.
Thus it came about, that as the craft was laboriously worked into
mid-stream and towards the Ohio shore, two of the whites were left
behind amid the merciless members of The Panther's band.
The situation was of little moment to Simon Kenton, for more than once
he had been in a situation of much greater peril. He felt abundantly
able to take care of himself, his great concern being for the little one
to whom fate had been so cruel.
Inasmuch as there was not one chance in a thousand of accomplishing
anything by groping in the gloom among the trees, he adopted the single
course that promised success, and that was only to a slight degree
indeed.
The flatboat was now so far out in the river that the firing had ceased
on both sides. Kenton did not know to what extent his friends had
suffered, but he was certain that in addition to the warrior whom he had
picked off in time to save Jethro Juggens, several others must have gone
down in the fusilade.
When The Panther brought his band together to effect the ambuscade at
Rattlesnake Gulch, he must have established some sort of camp or
headquarters beyond that point, where it could not be noted by the
fugitives until on the other side of the dangerous section. Hoping, with
a shudder of misgiving, that the little child would be taken to this
camp instead of being tomahawked, he began searching for it.
The task was less difficult than would be supposed. A veteran like
Kenton had no trouble in avoiding the warriors moving about. As he
expected, he passed but a short distance beyond the gulch, when he
caught the twinkle of the campfire just beyond the hollow in which the
Shawanoes had arranged to blot out the whole company of settlers and
pioneers.
Carefully threading his way through the undergrowth and among the trees,
he reached a point from which he gained an unobstructed view of the camp
without any risk of discovery on his part. The scene in many respects
resembled that which he had looked upon times without number.
There was the fire of sticks and branches that had been burning several
hours, for it contained many glowing embers, in the middle of an open
space. A circle of diminishing light was thrown out several rods in all
directions. Upon a fallen tree, on the other side of the blaze, sat
three warriors, painted and decked in the hideous manner adopted by the
people when upon the war-path. Armed with rifles, tomahawks and knives,
they were talking excitedly, and one had just had his wounded arm
bandaged, proving that he failed to go through the battle unscathed.
Two other Shawanoes were standing at the right of the fire, also talking
with great animation. Further back, where the light was less, were
others, most of them seated on the ground. Kenton's scrutiny satisfied
him that more than one of these had been "hit hard," and their
companions were looking after them as best they could.
Nothing was seen of those that had fallen, though the American Indian is
not the one to forget his stricken comrade, and the warriors that had
started on their journey to the happy hunting grounds were certain to
receive due attention. As nearly as the spy could judge there were from
twelve to fifteen Shawanoes in camp. Since Boone had reported the party
as about double that number, several of them--not counting those that
had fallen--were still absent.
The ranger was profoundly interested in two of these absentees. One was
little Mabel Ashbridge, and the other The Panther, leader of the
Shawanoes. The closest scrutiny failed to reveal either of them, and
though he had no real cause for doing so, he could not help connecting
their absence with each other.
His suspicion proved right, for only a few minutes passed when two
figures strode from the gloom into the firelight. One was Wa-on-mon,
whose hand gripped the arm of the young captive. He walked at a moderate
pace to the fallen tree, where he motioned to Mabel to take her seat.
She obeyed with the same promptness she would have shown had the command
come from her father or mother.
The Panther remained standing, and the three who had been seated on the
log also rose and advanced, several others drawing near and taking part
in the conversation.
"Ah!" muttered Kenton, between his set teeth, with his flashing eyes
fixed upon The Panther, "if I could only have come 'cross you and the
little gal!"
Seated with the firelight falling upon her face, the ranger was able to
see it quite plainly. She had lost the cute little homemade cap in the
flurry, and her luxuriant hair hung loosely about her shoulder. She was
neatly clad in homespun, though the dress, the stockings, and the shoes
were of coarse texture.
The countenance wore the scared expression which showed that the child
suspected her dreadful peril. The marks of weeping were noticed, but the
ferocious Wa-on-mon had probably terrified her to that extent that she
was forced to deny herself the relief of tears. Resting on the fallen
tree, with her dimpled hands clasped, she hardly removed her eyes from
the chieftain and his immediate companions. She appeared to feel they
were about to decide her fate.
From his concealment, not far off, Kenton allowed nothing in his field
of vision to escape him. He could not catch a word uttered by the
Shawanoes, but he did not believe the chief was discussing with his
warriors the question of what should be done with the little captive,
for the reason that it was not his habit to debate such matters with his
followers. His rule was so absolute that he made his own decisions,
leaving to others to obey or take the consequences.
It was more probable that The Panther was seeking the views of his
followers on what was the best step to prevent the fugitives from
reaching the block-house, now that they had escaped the ambuscade that
had been set for them.
While the ranger held his position he did a deal of thinking. The
problem that wholly interested him was, as to what could be done to save
the child, for that she was doomed by her captors, sooner or later, to
death, he considered as certain as he did his own existence. It simply
remained to be decided when she should be sacrificed.
Kenton was too much of a veteran to attempt anything rash. Had Mabel
been an adult, on the alert for something of the kind, possibly he might
have warned her of his presence without revealing himself to the
captors, but it would have been fatal folly to try to effect an
understanding with her.
He asked himself whether he could steal up behind the log, and then, by
a sudden dash, seize and make off with her. There were a few minutes
when he was much inclined to make the venture, but the more he reflected
the more hopeless did the chances of success appear.
He could not run fast in the darkness among the trees, and burdened with
the care of Mabel, The Panther and half a dozen warriors would be upon
him by the time he was fairly started, with the absolute result that
child and would-be rescuer would not live ten minutes.
"There's one thing powerful sartin'," muttered Kenton, keeping his eye
upon the party, "if they decide that the gal shall be sent under while
she's setting there on that log, the first move to harm a hair of her
head means death to him as tries it."
So it would have been. The silent, sinewy figure, standing as rigid and
motionless as the tree-trunk which sheltered him, let nothing escape
him. Had The Panther, or any of his warriors, turned toward Mabel
Ashbridge with hostile intent, he would have fallen forward with a
bullet through heart or brain before he could have raised his hand to do
evil.
The night wore along, with more hostiles returning at intervals, and
still the discussion continued between the chieftain and his warriors.
It was a puzzle to Kenton why the talk should continue so long, for to
him there was nothing in the situation to cause much variance of
opinion.
The ranger was still watching and wondering, when from the gloom of the
wood another party strode into view, and walked up to the group gathered
about The Panther, and, as he did so, it would be hard to decide whether
they or Simon Kenton were filled with the greater amazement over the
unexpected occurrence.