THE TWO SCOUTS.
ONE day in spring, a border ranger was making his way through the
cane-brakes of Kentucky, in what is now called Lewis county.
All through the frontier wars, such men were employed by the generals
and leaders of the different forces, and they formed no insignificant
part of their power. Of the American scouts is this especially true. A
more daring, reckless, and effective set of men the world has never
known. Scores of names have come down to us, whose record is but one
long, brilliant array of thrilling acts, any one of which would have
sufficed for the lifetime of an ordinary individual.
For a period of nearly half a century, the valleys of the Ohio, Sciota,
Miami, Mad, and numerous other rivers, were constantly ranged by these
characters, who generally went alone, but sometimes in couples, and very
rarely in larger companies. Their whole duty was to spy the hostile
Indian tribes. The warlike, revengeful Shawnees, a mighty and powerful
nation in themselves, had so stirred up the other tribes, that nothing
but eternal watchfulness could guard the settlers from the knife and
tomahawk. Many long years was the government compelled to keep an
independent force to protect the frontier. The disastrous results of
many of these campaigns but prolonged the painful war; and the final
success of our arms is much more due to the prowess of these border
rangers, than we are apt to imagine. Every artifice was adopted by them
to secure the necessary information. Should the tribes collect in
unusual numbers in any village, there was sure to be a pair of keen eyes
watching every movement from some hiding-place. Their deadliest enemies
ventured in disguise among the Indians, dogged their trail for days, or
lay concealed in such proximity that only at night did they dare to
creep forth. All perils were undergone by these hardy men.
Such a character we have now to deal with.
Had we been in close proximity to him, we might have heard a slight
rustling now and then, and perhaps the breaking of a small twig. The
scout was proceeding with caution, but it was evident that it was more
from habit than from any suspicion of danger. Were there savages in the
vicinity, not the slightest noise would have betrayed his presence to
the most watchful one.
A moment after, the bushes parted, and the ranger, in a half-crouching
position, emerged into the open wood. Here he straightened himself up,
and disclosed a frame wondrously like that of Peterson. Tall, sinewy,
graceful, and thin almost to emaciation, with a sharp-featured face,
half-covered by a thin, straggling beard, and small twinkling eyes of
such glittering blackness that they fairly scintillated fire in
excitement--these were the noticeable characteristics of the man.
After coming into the open wood, he stood a moment, as if listening, and
then strode rapidly forward, trailing a long nitid rifle as he did so.
Reaching the edge of the river, he suddenly halted and darted behind a
tree. His quick eye had discovered "sign." From this point he peered
cautiously out, and then instantly jerked his head back again. This
movement was repeated several times, until, at last he held his head in
a stationary position. After gazing a few minutes, he muttered:
"Yes, it's a flat-boat aground, sure as my name's Dick Dingle. Things
look s'pishus the way it's sticking in the mud thar. Some of the blasted
Shawnees' work, I'll swar; and I'll bet my head that that ar' Tom
McGable's been at the bottom of the whole. Ef I could only meet that dog
in a fair stand-up fight, I wouldn't ax no other boon. I'd go home, fold
my arms, and with a smile upon my brow, lay down and softly go under.
Jest keep docile now, Dick Dingle, and look around afore you gets nigher
that concern out thar'. Like as not it's a hornet's nest full of reds."
For over two hours Dingle reconnoitered the flat-boat, and all the time
kept himself carefully concealed from it. He glided around in the wood,
viewing it from every imaginable position that could be reached from the
shore. At last he seemed satisfied.
"Whosomever is in that flat-boat ain't _livin'_, that's sartin; and
whosomever is watching it from shore ain't nigh enough to hurt you,
Dingle, so hyer goes."
[Illustration: "Whosomever is on that flat-boat ain't living, that's
sartin."]
With this, he stepped softly into the water, and waded out toward the
flat-boat. After reaching it, he again paused a moment, glanced toward
the shore, and then placing his hand upon the gunwale, bounded over into
the boat. The ranger, probably the first time in his experience, instead
of alighting firmly upon his feet, slipped and immediately fell flat
upon his side; but he instantly sprang up again, and then saw the cause
of his mishap. He had alighted directly in a pool of dark, thick,
sticky blood! The sight that met his eye was enough to freeze with
horror, for a moment, even him who was used to meeting death in every
repulsive shape! The deck was slippery with blood, and from the cabin
came the sickening smell of death. Blood and brains were scattered
around, against, and upon everything, but not a corpse was visible!
"They've tomahawked 'em all, and pitched 'em overboard. Ef that ain't
enough to make a minister or even a scout swear, then my name ain't Dick
Dingle, that's all. That ar' McGable's been hyer, sure; 'cause whar
_he's_ been nobody lives, and I ca'c'late nobody of them poor whites has
lived in these parts. Wal, wal, it's bad business. I like scouting it
when the killin' is all on our side; but it ain't, by a heap. Ef it
wan't, why we wouldn't need to scout; but that ar' McGable is bound to
squar' accounts with me yit for this night's business."
The ranger remained a short time longer, examining the flat-boat, which,
as the reader has probably supposed, was the one whose sad fate was
recorded in the preceding chapter. He was satisfied that not a soul had
survived the frightful massacre, and after a few minutes' further delay,
he again dropped into the water, and made his way to land. He stepped
cautiously ashore, and, as was his invariable custom, commenced talking
to himself.
"Old Mad Anthony sent me down in these parts to find out what the reds
ar' drivin at, and reckon as how I've found--hello, Dingle, what are ye
about?"
With the last question, uttered in a hurried whisper, the ranger
disappeared like a shadow. Had any one been beside him, he would have
been at a loss to understand the cause of the sudden movement, for not
the least noise was audible, nor the slightest movement visible. But the
truth was the scout, all at once, became aware that some person beside
himself was in the wood. The instant of discovery he dropped upon his
hands and knees, and glided swiftly and noiselessly away, and commenced
reconnoitring the stranger to ascertain his identity and intentions.
Now, it so happened that the latter was in precisely the same situation,
and it was a singular coincidence that both should make the discovery of
the other's presence, and commence seeking to know him at the same
moment.
But thus it was, and the stratagems, maneuvers, and artifices resorted
to by each to accomplish his ends, were extraordinary. For nearly two
hours they dodged and feinted, glided and retreated, without coming any
nearer success, and finally made the discovery by accident. Dingle came
to the conclusion that whoever his rival was, he was certainly a genuine
woodsman, and, if an Indian, one who was well worthy of coping with him.
But the consummate tact and skill displayed, led him to suspect the
other was a white man, and for this reason he became more careless in
his movements. The consequence was that, after he had flitted from one
tree to another, he began to doubt whether he had accomplished the
movement successfully; and, while thus doubting, he heard his name
called.
"Shoot me, if that ain't you, Dick Dingle! Why don't you come out and
shake paws with an old friend?"
And the next minute Jim Peterson stepped boldly forth.
"Wal, Jim, I might've knowed that was your ugly picter. Whar'd you come
from?"
The two grasped hands, and gave, what Edward Everett terms, the genuine
_tourniquet_ shake. They had been brother rangers through Gen. St.
Clair's war, and had ever been together, encountering all imaginable
dangers, and were the joint heroes of the most wonderful escapes. And
when we say that neither had seen the face of the other for over six
years, it may well be supposed that their meeting was of the most
pleasant kind. As they stood, grasping hands, and smilingly exchanging
jocose remarks in their characteristic way, the resemblance between them
was most remarkable. In fact, they had often, when in service, been
taken for brothers, and their identity was often confounded. The
Shawnees, who knew them rather more than they cared about, termed them
the "Double Long-Knives." Both were tall, graceful, and sinewy, as
straight as arrows, and with faces sparsely bearded, and, to increase
the perplexity of separating them, they dressed precisely alike. But
Dingle had small, black eyes, and a sharp Roman nose, while Peterson had
eyes of a light gray color, and a nose a perfect Grecian in cast.
"Come, Dick, what are you doin' in these parts?" asked Peterson.
"I'm out fur Mad Anthony, as you might know, and have been taking a look
at the flat-boat there. Ah! bad business! bad business, Jim!"
"Yas, if you'd have only seed it, Dick, you might say so."
"Do you know anything 'bout it? Who the poor wretches was?--when 'twas
done?--how they came to do it?--and _who_ done it?" asked Dingle,
excitedly.
"I war on that boat, and the only one who saved his hair."
"The only one, Jim?"
"The only one; and when I got clean off, I jist clapped my hand on my
head to see ef my hair was thar still, fur I had strong doubts of it. I
was the only one! I took a long jump and a dive fur it."
"How was it, when you was on, that they come in for one of the all-fired
decoys?"
"I couldn't hender them;" and Peterson proceeded to give, in a few
words, what is already known to the reader.
"Let me ax you one thing," said Dingle, when he had finished. "Do you
know whether that renegade McGable had anything to do with this
business?"
"He was the decoy himself; but a feller come on board up at the Kanawha
who got the poor fools to run into shore."
"Was he a short, squashy-looking imp?"
"He war exactly so."
"Then 'twas Pete Gammock. I know him. He and McGable have hung together
fur three--four years that way. That's his plan; he's tried the same
trick afore. He goes on the flat-boats, at some place up that way, and
purtends he's one of us going down the river to the 'Three Islands',
Marysville, or some of the forts. After he gits on, he fixes so as to
pull the wool over thar eyes, and when McGable bawls out fur 'em to come
ashore, he persuades 'em to do it."
"He'll never do it agin, fur I settled the business with him soon as he
owned up he'd come the gammon game. I feel sorry, Dick, mighty sorry fur
them poor whites that was sarved that mean trick; but thar was one among
'em that went under, and I ain't ashamed to own it makes me feel watery
to think on it. I left her dyin' on board just as I jumped over and the
imps clambered up."
Peterson drew the sleeve of his hunting-shirt across his eyes, and
Dingle, with respect to his feelings, remained silent a moment, when he
returned: "P'r'aps she ain't gone under, Jim; maybe the reds have gone
off with her."
"No they haven't; she's out in the river yender somewhar. The reds
tomahawked every one. I kinder had a faint hope she might be among 'em,
and I've been follerin' them to find out. I seed all the Injuns, and
that infarnal McGable among 'em. They had plenty of hair hangin' to
their girdles, but they hadn't a captive among 'em. That ar' McGable
tried to get Marian Abbot, and because she wouldn't have him, he has
done this. I b'lieve he fired the gun that killed her, when I had her
in my arm just goin' to jump overboard to take a swim for it. And, Dick,
I swear that I'll never rest till that renegade McGable pays for this."
"I jine you in that!" said Dingle, taking his hand. "We'll hunt him
together. He's murdered enough of his own blood, and we'll stop it
_right off_."
"I've got to go and tell the old folks of it, and young Mansfield. I
know it'll break their hearts, and I'd rather be shot and burnt than do
it; but it's got to be done, and I must do it."
"Are you goin' now?"
"Yas, right away. As soon as I see 'em, I'll be back agin. I'll wait fur
you down at the fort below."
"And what then, Jim?"
"We'll start off on that hunt," said Peterson, in a low tone, and with
this, the two rangers separated, and took different directions in the
forest.