THE MYSTERIOUS WARNING.
IT was a mild September night in 179-. The day had been one of those
warm, hazy ones that sometimes appear at that season of the year, and
the night had set in with delicious coolness. There was a faint moon in
the heavens, and several flaky clouds were drifting past it, causing
their fantastic shadows to glide like phantoms over the settlement,
sometimes, for a moment, throwing it into shadow, and then permitting
the moonlight again to stream down upon it.
Most of the settlers had withdrawn within their cabins, and as the hour
had grown quite late, there were few, if any, stirring through the
village. A few pencils of light issued from the upper port-holes of the
block-house, showing that those inside were still up; and a hearty
laugh, ringing out now and then, told as plainly that they were engaged
in their usual habit of story-telling and joking. Peterson was inside
relating one of his earlier experiences, which infinitely amused them
all, the commander not hesitating to join in the merriment.
On the outside, the slow-measured tread of the sentinel was heard, and
his form could be seen against the wall of the block-house, as he walked
to and fro upon the platform. His keen eye never failed to take in at
every turn, every noticeable object before him. At one end of the
projection, he had a view of the river, now glistening in the sheen of
the moonlight like liquid silver; and, during the remainder of his walk,
his vision rested upon the broad, gloomy, murmuring forest, stretching
mile after mile before him, until, at last, it joined the sky away in
the faint horizon. It was Dick Dingle, whose watch extended until
midnight.
While in the act of turning on his heel, at the end of the platform, he
suddenly stopped as something suspicious caught his eye. Far up the
Ohio, at such a distance that it would have been invisible to ordinary
eyes, he saw a small, dark body in the water. At first, it had the
appearance of a large bird swimming over the surface, but the hunter
well knew that it was a canoe, approaching from the Ohio side. A slight
protuberance near the middle, convinced him that there was but one
person in it.
When about three-fourths of the way across, the sparkle of the ashen
oars could be seen, as they dipped in the water. A moment after, it
entered the line of shadows upon the Kentucky shore and disappeared.
Dingle's suspicion was aroused. The long silence and inactivity of the
savages had led him to the belief that they were preparing to strike a
great blow upon the settlements. Neither he nor Peterson had been
scouting lately, and he had no means of discovering their intentions.
"Leastways, Dick Dingle," he muttered, as he resumed his walk, "it won't
do fur you to wink both eyes at the same time. Look out fur sign."
He continued walking with the same measured, deliberate tread backward
and forward, apparently watching nothing, and yet maintaining a more
than usual scrutiny upon the river and forest. A half-hour passed away,
and finally an hour had elapsed, without bringing any new suspicion to
him; but he was well aware that this delay was as good reason for
apprehension, as could have been the noise of approach.
"You don't cotch Dingle asleep in the night-time, or when there's reds
about. It would do to let on that. Now let's see, Dingle, you old fool,
what do you s'pose the imps are up to now? Jest go to meditatin' will
you and cipher it out. In the first place, and afore anything else,
they're up to _sunkthin'_; and that ar' sunkthin' is the _devil_.
Consequently, it's a pinted fact, that they're up to the devil, and
therefore, Dingle, there's sunkthin' in the wind; so mind your eye and
look out for squalls. Wish they'd hurry up 'cause it's gettin' well on
to that green feller's watch, and I'd like to have an idee given me of
their intentions ef they're no partickler objections."
The eccentric ranger continued his walk, occasionally interspersing it
with characteristic observations similar to those above; and, all the
time, wondering why it was that something else "didn't turn up" to give
him an "idee"; but another hour wore away without bringing the desired
knowledge to him.
By this time, it was near midnight, and shortly after, a man appeared
beside him to relieve him of his watch. This new-comer was known as
Jenkins, and was what the rangers termed a "green hand:" that is, he had
seen little or nothing of Indian service, and was not one who could be
relied upon in an emergency. Several practical jokes had been played
upon him, such as getting him into the wood and raising an alarm of
Indians, or firing very closely to him from concealment; and the result
of these same tricks had given one or two a suspicion that he was
somewhat lacking in courage, and would show the white feather if pressed
to the wall.
"Careful and not get a snoozin' to-night," remarked Dingle.
"Why? you don't s'pose I would, do you?"
"Didn't know but what you might; thought I'd tell you anyway, 'cause it
_won't do to shut your eyes to-night_."
"Why? what's the matter? What's up, eh?" queried Jenkins eagerly.
"Oh, nothin' in partickler; only I've seen Injins to-night."
"Pshaw! don't say so? You're joking, Dick?"
"Ef you think so, jest think on, but ef you don't see sights afore
mornin', it'll be 'cause you can't see: that's all," and Dingle with a
warning shake of his head turned to enter the block-house.
"Oh say, Dick, that ain't fair!" said Jenkins, laying his hand on his
shoulder.
"What's the matter? Ain't scart, be you?" demanded the ranger,
confronting him with an angry countenance.
"Oh! no-no-no, I ain't scart at all--not at all; I only want you to tell
a feller all about it. You might do that, I think."
"Wal, see hyer then. I seed four or five Shawnees skulking out yonder
near the wood, tryin' to draw bead on me, and I had to do some tall
dodging to hender them. You'll have to hop around rather agile, but I
guess you can steer clear. Ef you git hit, holler and I'll haul you in
and let you die inside."
"Oh, thunder! hold on. Dingle, don't go and leave a feller this way. I
don't think it's the fair shake at all."
"What in blazes do you want?" demanded the ranger, again indignantly
facing him.
"Why, I was a-going to say--just to kind of make the observation, you
know--that--perhaps--I would think--that is--I would like to know if you
wouldn't just as lief stay out here a while?"
"What for?"
"Oh, just for company. I'll do the same favor for you some of these
times."
"I never want anybody out hyer when I'm standin' watch."
"Won't you stay. Dingle?"
"No."
And the scout turned and entered the block-house. But it was by no means
his intention to intrust the safety of the settlement to such hands as
Jenkins'; he only wished to test his courage, and create a little
diversion for his own individual benefit. He shut the door and
listened.
He could hear Jenkins walking along the platform, stamping his feet
bravely upon it, and whistling as loudly as his lips would possibly
permit him. Dingle ventured to open the door very slightly and peep out
at him. He saw him with his hands thrust deep down into his pockets, his
rifle leaning against the block-house, and shooting his feet far out in
advance, and slapping them down on the planks with such effect as to set
the men within growling and snarling at each other, as they half awoke
from their slumbers. His hat was jammed down upon the back of his head,
his hair dashed away from his forehead, the white of his eyes only being
visible, as the pupils were constantly turned toward the dreaded wood.
His mouth resembled the letter O, fringed around the edges, as he
resolutely maintained its position. "Old Hundred" came out loudly, the
fall of each foot being emphasized by a desperate burst of wind and
music, and a spasmodic jerk of the head now and then. When the whistle,
at times, became more windy than musical, he rested his lips by
communings with himself.
"Darn the Injins! I wish they were all dead! I can't see what they want
poking round here when I'm standing watch. If I catch sight of one, I'll
bet he will wish he never heard of Pete Jenkins! They're mean to be
watching us all the time. If I was the Injins, I would keep hunting the
deers and bears and I never would come around here when I was standing
watch, but I'd shoot that Dingle, because he's so everlastingly mean.
Let me see: I was turning 'Old Hundred,' I believe." The tune was now
resumed, and continued a short time, when he again broke forth. "If them
Injins will only stay away till morning I won't care, though it would be
all the same to me, and perhaps just as well if they didn't come then
either. I was just thinking--hello! Jerusalem! I seen something move
then as sure as the world!"
Dingle, who had been listening all the while, now judged that it was
time to venture forth, and, closing the door behind him, stood upon the
platform. Jenkins, whose eyes were turned toward the wood, saw nothing
of him, until he tumbled over his bent form.
"Thunderation! that you. Dingle? what you doing here?" he exclaimed,
scrambling to his feet again.
"I thought I'd come out and keep you company a while."
"Good! I am glad of it, for I feel dreadful lonely."
"Seen anything?"
"I thought I did, out yonder near the edge of the wood."
Dingle looked intently toward the point indicated a few moments, and
then became satisfied that Jenkins was right--there was a person there.
While gazing in this direction, he purposely kept his body concealed by
the guard around the platform. He continued his watch upon the
suspicious object, and at last satisfied himself of the _identity_ of
the person who had thus alarmed his friend.
"All right!" he muttered to himself. "It's the Frontier Angel, and
there's no danger of her hurting any one. She's got sunkthin' to tell,
and she's waitin' to see ef I'm about. Howsumever, I'll keep shady a
while, just to see how this long-legged feller hyer will jump when she
gives notice she's around."
"Anything there?" asked Jenkins, for the third or fourth time.
"Yas, there is; don't make too much noise."
"What makes you stoop down, Dick?" he asked, in a whisper.
"I can see better this way."
"Shan't I stoop down, too?"
"Ef you're _afraid_."
"I ain't afraid at all, only--O Lord, I'm shot!" suddenly exclaimed
Jenkins, falling down and moaning as if in his death struggle. Dingle
was not surprised; he had heard the twang of a bow, the whizz of the
arrow, and now saw it sticking several feet above him in the wood of the
block-house. He had expected this, for it was the manner in which that
mysterious being, known along the border as the "Frontier Angel," gave
notice of her presence.
[Illustration: "'O Lord, I'm shot,' suddenly exclaimed Jenkins."]
"Get up, you fool," he commanded, giving his moaning companion a kick,
and now thoroughly provoked at the cowardice he had shown. "Get up, I
tell you; you ain't hit, but it's a pity you wasn't. Nobody has fired at
you, or tried to hit you."
"Didn't they? Come to think, I believe they didn't; but the fact is,
Dingle, I've been subject to fits ever since I was a boy--darnation! do
you mean to say I fell on purpose?" demanded Jenkins, suddenly regaining
his upright position and his courage at the same time, at finding that
he was unharmed.
"No; but it's kinder queerish the way you fell."
"Yes, them plaguy falling fits take me any time----"
"Never mind about the fits, or I'll give you some more. You stay hyer
and keep watch while I go down to the gate."
"What--what you going to do there?"
"There's somebody as wants to see me."
"You won't be gone long, will you? Who is it?"
"The one that fired that arrow up there at you."
"O Jerusalem! and so they shot at me after all. I knowed so."
"Wal, keep that jaw of your'n still, or you'll git shot at agin; and, if
you do, you won't be missed either. I'll be back pretty soon."
With these words Dingle descended and made his way to the gate at the
palisades, to receive the message of the Frontier Angel.