THE SETTLERS.
We will rear new trees under homes that glow
As if gems were the frontage of every bough;
O'er our white walls we will train the vine,
And sit in its shadow at day's decline,
And watch our herds as they range at will
Through the green savannas, all bright and still.
MRS. HEMANS.
The incident narrated in the preceding chapter occurred one autumn,
many years ago. In the spring succeeding this autumn, a company of
settlers, with their loaded teams, and unwieldy baggage, were making
their slow way through the labyrinths of an Ohio forest to a sparse
settlement buried many miles further in the wilderness.
At that day, so comparatively recent, such a sight was rarely witnessed
in this section, as a deep-rooted hostility existed between the
settlers and Indians, and an undertaking like the present was attended
with too great danger for it to be often repeated. The rut of a single
wagon, half obliterated by accumulated leaves and rankly-growing grass,
showed that this route had been traveled over but once before, and that
on the preceding season. At regular intervals, trees were passed with
chips hacked from their sides, the track having first been "blazed"
before being passed over.
Like the emigrant-party which had preceded it, the present one
possessed but a single wagon, drawn by two pair of slow but powerful
oxen. It had a substantial cover, beneath which were stowed an immense
quantity of baggage and some six or eight children, including also four
women, two of whom were married and two unmarried. At the side of the
front oxen walked the driver, whose whole attention was devoted to
their direction. Several yards in advance rode two horsemen, and beside
them three men plodded forward on foot. In the rear, scarcely a yard
behind the lumbering wagon, walked "old Caleb Smith," and his two
overgrown sons, as proud of them as was any monarch of his favorite
generals. In addition to the men enumerated, there were three more--who
may properly be called the scouts of the party. One of these was a
couple of hundred yards in advance, stealing his way along, as
carefully as if pursued by an unrelenting foe, his whole soul occupied
in watching for signs of the dusky red-men of the woods. At a somewhat
less distance on either side of the road, and in such a position as to
be opposite the wagon, was one of the remaining scouts, as watchful,
vigilant and skillful as the one referred to. Thus the party
progressed, neglecting no precaution that could make their safety more
secure, and although numerically small, still far more powerful than
were many emigrant-parties who had preceded them in penetrating other
portions of the Great West.
One of the young women, that we have mentioned as being in the wagon,
was Edith Sudbury, the heroine of the preceding chapter. She had not a
single relation among all those around her, and it was certainly
singular that she should have united her destinies with those who,
several months before, were entirely unknown to her. But, though not
related, every one was her friend. Her amiable disposition, her grace
and beauty of manners, her own prepossessing appearance, and above all,
her unremitting kindness to every one with whom she came in contact,
had won upon the hearts of all. Old Smith's two sons, Jim and Harry,
one eighteen the other twenty, both over six feet in height, looked
upon "little Edith" as nothing more than a baby, and woe betide the one
who dared to offer her harm or insult in their presence!
"I say, father, how much further ahead is that creek we've got to
cross?" asked Jim, in a free and easy manner, as he would have spoken
to an equal.
"Well, sonny, it must be nigh on to ten mile."
"Won't get over afore morning then?"
"Don't expect to, as you see it's well along in the after noon."
"Let's see--we've come over forty mile, hain't we?"
"Yes, Jim, nearer fifty."
"Well, we're that much nearer the settlement, _that's_ certain. If we
get over the creek without much trouble with the oxen, we may fetch up
there by sundown, eh?"
"That's the expectation, I believe."
"Provided, of course, _the Injins don't make trouble_."
"Sh! not so loud, Jim," continued Harry. "They might hear us in the
wagon, and I don't s'pose you'd want to scare Edith, when there's no
need of it."
"I should like to see any one try that same thing on 'em. They'd be
somebody else scared, I reckon. But, father," asked Jim, in an earnest
whisper, "how is it about the Injins? We haven't seen a sign of one
yet, and that's what gets me."
The parent and his children fell a few yards further behind, and
commenced conversing together in suppressed voices.
"I tell you what, boys," said the father, "it won't do to expect to get
through without hot work. I've been talking with the scouts, and they
think the same. I believe a number are following us, and waiting only
for the proper place to come in upon us."
"Where do you suppose that will be?"
"_The creek!_"
"Shouldn't wonder if 'twas," said Harry, in a matter-of-fact tone; "if
we only had the women-folks out the way, we might count on some tall
fun. I wish Edith was taken care of."
"That's the deuce of it. I should think she got enough of the imps last
autumn, when the Riflemen left her at our house; but that's the
_Injin_, especially the Shawnee part of it. If there's any chance to
get scalps with long hair, they're bound to do it. However, boys, it
won't do to lose heart."
"That's the fact, father, and I reckon none of this crowd intend to do
that thing just now. Sam, in front, isn't likely to get asleep, is he?"
"No danger of him. They say he never shuts both eyes at the same time."
"I'll answer for them on the sides of the road," added Harry. "If
there's a greasy Shawnee in a mile, Jake Laughlin will scent him. You
mind the time, Jim, when he went with us over into Kentucky, and he
saved us from running into that ambush?"
"'Tain't likely I'll ever forget it, being I got my arm bored with some
of their lead."
"Well, that affair satisfied me that Jake Laughlin understands as much
as it is worth while to understand about Injin deviltries, and that he
ain't likely to be blind when there's so much to practice eyesight on."
"I'd give our yoke of oxen this minute, if I could only set eyes on Lew
Dernor and his boys, the Riflemen of the Miami," said the parent.
"They've been long together, as I s'pose, and have been in more Injin
fights and scrimmages than any men living, and yet not one of them has
been grazed by a bullet. There's Tom O'Hara, whose legs are so short
that he's about as tall when he sits down as he is when he stands up,
and yet, I'll be hanged if he isn't the luckiest one of the lot.
They're a wonderful set of boys, are those Riflemen."
"Father," said son Jim, with a meaning smile, "you remember the night
that Lew brought Edith to our house?"
"Of course I do."
"Didn't it strike you that he acted queerly then?"
"What do you mean? I don't understand you. I noticed nothing."
"I did. I saw how he watched Edith, and I made up my mind that he was
in _love with her_! Since then I've found out it _was_ so!"
"Why, Jim, I never dreamed of such a thing. He hasn't been to our house
since to see her."
"Just because he _is_ in love! I've met him in the woods a dozen times
since, and by the way in which he questioned me, I'd been a downright
fool if I hadn't understood him."
This avowal seemed to trouble the father, as he bent his head; and, for
a while, nothing further was said. But Jim, who had little reverence
for sentiment or romance, added, in a meaning voice:
"That isn't all, father."
"What else have you to tell?"
"That Edith loves him!"
"Thunder! I don't believe it."
"Well, I can't say _positively_ that she does; but I know she _likes_
him, and if Lew Dernor has a mind he can get her. You don't appear to
like it, father."
"I don't care much, but the gal seems so like my own da'ter, being I
never had any, that I should hate despritly to lose her."
"Fudge! it's got to come to that sooner or later, and who could she get
better than Lew Dernor, the leader of the Miami Riflemen?"
"None, that's the fact, but----"
A footstep attracted their attention, and looking up, they saw Jake
Laughlin step into view. He raised his hand, as if to command silence,
jerking his thumb at the same time significantly toward the wagon and
the rest of the settlers. He stepped carefully into the wagon-track,
and the father and sons halted.
"It's so," said he, nodding his head several times.
"Are you sure?"
"I've seen sign a half-dozen times since noon."
"Shawnees, I s'pose?"
"Yes. There are plenty of them in the woods."
"What are they waiting for?"
"The chance. There ain't enough, and we're too wide awake to allow them
to attack us at present. They're waiting to take us off our guard or to
get us at disadvantage. I've an idee where that'll be."
"The creek?"
"Most certainly. There's where the tug of war will come, and I think if
we should encamp to-night without a guard there would be no danger of
attack from the Shawnees."
"Are you going to warn others?"
"Not until night, I think, as there is no necessity for it."
"Well, we don't need to tell you to be on the look-out. You know we've
got a lot of women-folks to take care of."
"Never fear."
With this, Laughlin stole back into the wood, as cautiously as he had
emerged from it, and the father and his sons quickened their pace in
order to gain the ground they had lost. As they resumed their places in
the rear of the wagon, no one would have suspected from their actions
and appearance, that they had been conversing upon a subject so
important to all.
It was about the middle of the afternoon, and the emigrant-party
plodded patiently forward, chatting and conversing upon ordinary topics
with such pleasantry and zest that no one would have suspected the
least thought of danger had entered their heads. So long as the silence
of the scouts continued, the emigrants knew there was no cause for
alarm. Should danger threaten, they would be warned in time.
An hour later, as they were proceeding quietly along, the near report
of a rifle broke upon their ears. Every face blanched, and every heart
beat faster at the startling signal of danger. This it meant, and
nothing else; and the members of the company instinctively halted, and
made a partial preparation for an attack. They had scarcely done so,
when Laughlin, with his cat-like tread, stepped in among them.
"What made you fire, Jake?" asked Dravoond, one of the leaders of the
party.
"Me fire? I haven't pulled trigger since I shot the wild turkey
yesterday. It must have been Sam or Myrick."
As he spoke, the latter two, who were the other scouts, also made their
appearance, when, to the surprise of all, it was discovered that
neither of them had fired the alarming shot. Consequently, it must have
been done by a stranger. The moment this fact became known, the scouts
separated and resumed their duties, while the emigrants, after a short
consultation, moved on again, more slowly and carefully than before.
On the whole, although the report of the rifle could not be explained
by any of the emigrants, the majority were disposed to take it rather
as a favorable sign than otherwise. If made by an Indian, it could not
have been done accidentally, for such a thing rarely if ever was known
among them; and, as it could not have been fired by an enemy, with the
full knowledge of the vicinity of the emigrants, the savages, if
savages they were, must either be unaware of the latter fact, or else
the strange shot came from a white man.
If there were lurking Indians in the wood, ignorant of the presence of
the whites, they were soon apprised, for both of the leading oxen, who
had not done such a thing for days, now paused and bellowed
terrifically for several moments. The driver endeavored to check their
dreadful noise by whacking them over the heads, but it availed nothing.
They were determined, and continued the clamor, pausing now and then,
as though pleased with the echo, which could be heard rolling through
the woods for over a mile distant. Having finished, they resumed their
progress, as if satisfied with what they had done.
"Father, them's our oxen," said Jim, "and, by thunder, if they bawl out
that way agin I'll shoot 'em both. How far did you say the settlement
is off?"
"Forty or fifty miles. Why do you ask again?"
"Nothin', only if they've put any of their babies asleep to-day, them
oxen have set them all to squalling agin."
The sun was getting well down toward the horizon, and the dim twilight
was wrapping the woods in its mantle, when the teamster halted the
oxen, and the emigrants commenced their preparations for the
encampment. The wagon was left standing in its tracks, the oxen simply
unfastened, and with their yokes on, led to where some bundles of hay
were spread upon the ground. A large fire was soon blazing and
crackling a short distance away, around which the women were engaged in
preparing the evening meal, while the men, who wandered hither and
thither apparently without any definite object, neglected no precaution
which could insure them against attack through the night. The three
scouts had extended their beats several hundred yards, and completely
reconnoitered the ground intervening between them and the camp-fire, so
that they felt some assurance of safety as they joined their friends in
the evening meal.
Just as they all had finished partaking of this, a second rifle report,
as near to them as was the first, broke the stillness. The men started
to their feet and grasped their weapons. They gazed all around them, as
if expecting the appearance of some one, but failing to see any thing,
commenced speculating upon the cause of this singular repetition of
what had puzzled them so at first.
"It beats my larning to explain it," said old Smith.
"I tell you what it is," said son Harry, "that ain't an Injin's piece,
nohow you can fix it."
"How do you know that?" queried brother Jim.
"It's the same gun we heard this afternoon, and when you see a Shawnee
do that I'll believe our oxen don't know how to beller."
"We must be ready, my friends, for the worst," said one of the
emigrants, who, up to this time, had not referred to the danger at all.
Another reconnoissance was made by the scouts, but with no better
success than before. The darkness of the wood was such that they
labored at great disadvantage, and it would have been no difficult
matter for a single person to have remained concealed within a short
distance of the whites.
As the night progressed, the females and children retired to the wagon,
and the men chose their stations around it. The oxen, one by one, sunk
heavily to the earth, contentedly chewing their cuds, and a stillness
as profound as that of the tomb settled upon the forest. The fire had
smouldered to a few embers, which glowed with a dim redness through the
ashes, and occasionally disclosed a shadowy form as it hurried by.
Several of the men were sleeping soundly, for enough were on duty as
sentinels to make them feel as much ease as it was possible to feel
where they could never be assured of perfect safety. Two of the most
faithful sentinels were Jim and Harry Smith, who were stationed within
a few feet of each other. Now and then they exchanged a word or two,
but the risk was too great to attempt any thing like a continued
conversation.
Three separate times Jim was sure he heard a footstep near him, and as
often did he turn his head and fail to discover the meaning of it.
Finally, he caught a glimpse of some one as he brushed hurriedly by and
disappeared in the darkness. He raised his gun, and was on the point of
firing, when he lowered it again. The thought that probably it was a
white man, and a dislike to give the camp a groundless alarm, was the
cause of this failure to fire.
Several times again through the night did he detect a foot-fall, but he
was not able to catch sight of the stranger. Shortly after midnight the
evidences of his visit ceased, and Jim concluded that he had withdrawn
so as to be beyond sight when daylight broke.
What was his surprise, therefore, when he saw, as the gray light of
morning stole through the wood, the form of a man seated on the ground,
with his head reclining against a tree and sound asleep. If this
surprise was great, it became absolute amazement when he examined his
features, and saw that the man was no other than Lewis Dernor, the
leader of the Riflemen of the Miami! Jim could scarce believe his
senses as he walked forward and shook the sleeper by the shoulder.
"I should as soon have expected to see Mad Anthony himself as to see
you, Lew Dernor, sitting here sound asleep," said he, as the Rifleman
opened his eyes and looked about him. A smile crossed his handsome
countenance as he replied:
"I believe I have been sleeping."
"I believe you have, too. Have you been hanging around here all night?"
"Yes, and all day, too."
"And was it you who fired those shots?"
"I fired my rifle once or twice, I believe."
"Good! Well, Lew, we're glad to see you, and we would be a deuced sight
gladder if we could see the rest of the Riflemen. Where are they?"
"Up the Miami, I suppose. At any rate, that's where I left them."
"Well, I'm afraid we're getting into hot water here, Lew, to tell the
truth, and there's no one whose face would be more welcome just now
than yours. I see they are beginning to wake up and show themselves.
Gavoon has started the fire, so s'pose we go in and you make yourself
known."
The hunter followed young Smith to the camp, where, in a short time, he
met and shook hands with most of the settlers, who were indeed glad
enough to see him; and this gladness was increased to delight when he
expressed his willingness to accompany them across the dreaded creek.
In the course of a half-hour the females began to make their
appearance. Near by was a small stream where they performed their
ablutions, which finished, they gathered around the camp-fire, and
busied themselves with preparing the breakfast of the party.
Dernor, the Rifleman, was conversing with one of the settlers, when
some one touched him on the shoulder. Looking around, he encountered
his friend, Jim Smith.
"Here's a person I s'pose you've no objection to see," said he, with a
light laugh.
The bronzed face of the hunter deepened its hue as he saw Edith Sudbury
approaching, and although gifted with a natural grace of manner, he
displayed some embarrassment as he advanced to greet her. Her conduct,
too, was not without its suspicious air. Rosy and fresh as the flowers
of the green woods around, perhaps the carnation of her cheeks was
caused only by the morning exercise. Jim noticed these manifestations,
and quietly smiled, but said nothing.
In regard to the Rifleman, at least, he was right. As that brave and
gallant-hearted ranger wandered through the grand old forests of Ohio,
and the cane-brakes of the "Dark and Bloody Ground," a fair face had
haunted his waking and dreaming hours. As he knelt beside the sparkling
brook to slake his thirst, he beheld the same features reflected beside
his own in its mirror-like surface. As alone he threaded his way
through the labyrinths of those dim solitudes, he had a fairy companion
as faithful to him as his own shadow. And when with his tried and
faithful followers, it was the same. Only in the excitement of the
fight, or the moments when his strategic skill was in rivalry with that
of his dusky enemies, did this shadowy being cease to haunt him. Night
and day, it was the same--and now he had met the _reality_, and was
conversing with her.
The conversation lasted but a few minutes. The services of Edith were
needed, and she tripped away to assist the others at their duties. As
she disappeared, Jim came up and laughingly remarked to the Rifleman:
"A fine girl that, Lewis."
"Indeed she is. I never have heard her name--that is, nothing more than
Edith. What is the rest?"
"Sudbury--Edith Sudbury."
The hunter started, as if bitten by a rattlesnake, and turned as pale
as death. Young Smith noticed his emotion, and asked, with some alarm:
"What's the matter, Lew? What is there about that name that so troubles
you?"
"Never mind, Jim. I did not think it was _her_!"
Smith had too much natural kindness of heart to refer to a subject so
painful to the hunter, although his curiosity was great to know what
could possibly have affected him so strangely. As nothing further was
said by Dernor, this curiosity remained unsatisfied for a long time.
The emigrant-party shortly after was under way. When within a mile or
so of the creek to which we have referred, one of the scouts
reconnoitered it, and came in with the report that quite a body of
Shawnees were on its banks, and beyond a doubt were waiting for the
company to come up. Dernor coincided in this opinion, and held a
consultation with the male members of the party. The result of this
consultation was a determination on his part to make all haste to the
rendezvous of the Riflemen of the Miami, and bring them hither, the
settlers agreeing to halt and await their arrival. The danger that
menaced them was certainly great to make this step necessary.