THE KEEPERS OF THE CLEFT
Henry and the shiftless one had not gone far, before they were deeply
grateful that the undergrowth was so dense. They distinctly heard three
shots and twice the war whoop. A small gully, so thickly covered with
vines and bushes, that it was almost like a subterranean channel,
allowed them to go much nearer. There lying hidden until twilight, they
distinctly heard scattered firing, war whoops and then a long piercing
shout which had in it the quality of the white man's voice. Shif'less
Sol laughed low, but with intense pleasure.
"I can't hear his words," he said, "but I'd know that yell in a million.
It's Long Jim's ez shore ez shootin'. It's so pow'ful loud 'cause it's
drawed up from a long distance, an' when it does come free it comes
a-poppin'. It's Jim tellin' them warriors what he thinks of 'em. He's
tellin' 'em what scalawags they are, an' how their fathers an' mothers
an' grandfathers an' grandmothers afore 'em wuz ez bad or wuss. He's
tellin' 'em they're squaws painted up to look like men, an' ez he talks
Shawnee an' Miami they're hoppin' mad."
Henry even could not refrain from laughing. It was Long Jim's voice
beyond a doubt, and his note of triumph showed that he and his comrades
were safe--so far. Evidently he was in great fettle. His words shot
forth in a stream and Henry knew that the savages were writhing in anger
at his taunts. The report of a rifle came suddenly and echoed through
the darkening forest. When the last echo died there was a moment of
silence, and then to their welcome ears came the voice of Long Jim
again, pouring forth a stream of taunt and invective with undiminished
speed and power.
"Ain't he the great one?" whispered Shif'less Sol, admiringly. "Didn't I
tell you that voice o' his was so strong 'cause it come up so fur. An'
did you ever hear him do better? Thar ain't a word in the hull Shawnee
an' Miami languages that he hasn't used on 'em an' a sprinkling o'
Wyandot an' Delaware too. They're so mad I kin see 'em bitin' their lips
an' t'arin' at thar scalp locks. Good old Jim, give it to 'em!"
The voice went on a quarter of an hour with amazing force and speed.
Then it ceased abruptly and silence and darkness together came over the
woods. Henry and his comrade debated as they lay in the little gully.
Should they try to get in to their comrades? Or should they try to get
their comrades out? Either would be a most difficult task, but as the
night deepened, and they talked they came to a decision.
"It has to be me," said Henry.
"I s'pose so," said Sol, regretfully. "You're the likeliest hand at it,
but you always take the most dangerous part. It's nothin' fur me to lay
'roun' here in the night till you fellers come."
Henry's smile was invisible in the dusk.
"Of course, Sol," he said, "you run no risk. I read once in a book, that
our teacher had at Wareville, about an outdoor amusement they called a
lawn festival. That's what you're going to have, a lawn festival. While
I'm gone you'll walk about here and pick flowers for bouquets. If any
savage warrior wanting your scalp should come along he'd change his mind
at once, and help you make your bouquet."
"Stop your foolishness, Henry. You know it ain't no hard job fur me to
hang 'bout in the woods an' keep out o' danger."
"Yes, but you may have a lot to do when you hear the signals. Keep as
close as you reasonably can, Sol, and if we come out and give the howl
of the wolf you answer, according to our custom, and we'll know which
way to run."
"All right, Henry. I won't be sleepin'. Thar they are shootin' ag'in,
but not doin' any yellin'. So they haven't hit anythin'. Good-bye, an'
rec'lect that I'll be waitin' here."
Strong hands clasped in the darkness and Henry slipped away on his
perilous mission, reaching without event the valley that the cliff
overlooked. Then he used all the caution and skill that the superman of
the forest possessed, creeping closer and closer and ever closer, until
he could see, despite the darkness, the painted forms of Miami and
Shawnee warriors in the thickets, all looking up at the point where the
crevice in the cliff was practically hidden by the foliage. It was an
average night, quiet and dark up there, but Henry knew that three pairs
of good eyes in the coign of the crevice were watching everything that
went on below.
He crouched lower and lower, until he blended with earth and thicket and
still watched. He saw one of the warriors raise his rifle and fire at
the hidden mark. Then he heard two impacts of the bullet, first as it
struck upon stone, and then as glancing, it fell among the leaves. Out
of the mouth of the fissure came a great booming voice, speaking Shawnee
and ridiculing their lack of skill with the rifle.
The voice said that if they did not improve in their firing he would
come outside, sit in the best moonlight he could find, and let them take
turns at him as a target. He would even mark off spots on his chest and
offer prizes to any one who might hit them, but he knew very well that
none of them would ever succeed. If he had a six-year-old boy who should
do as badly as they were doing he would take him away and whip him with
willow switches.
Henry, lying close in his covert, laughed inwardly. Long Jim was in good
form. Upon occasion he had a wonderful command of language, and the
present occasion was better than any other that Henry could remember.
Events, chief of which was a successful defense, had inspired in him a
wonderful flow of language. His great sonorous voice again pealed out
wrath, defiance and contempt.
"Oh, you dogs! sons uv dogs! an' grandsons uv dogs!" he shouted. "Why
don't you come an' take us? Here we are, only a few, jest settin' an'
waitin' fur you! An' thar are twenty or more uv you! Oh, you Shawnees
an' Miamis, an' Wyandots, why are you waitin' down thar when jest a few
uv us are up here, ready to give you welcome? I don't think you're
re'lly warriors. You're jest old squaws painted up to look like 'em, an'
the real fightin' men uv your tribe are at home, asleep in the lodges,
afraid to face the bullets uv the white men, while they send thar old
women here to make a noise!"
Henry laughed again that soundless laugh behind his teeth. He read
everything as plainly as if it had been written in a book before him.
Nobody in the stony hollow had been hurt, else Long Jim's voice would
not have been so exultant. They were confident, too, that they could
hold the narrow opening indefinitely, else he would not have sent forth
such intolerable taunts. He made his position a little easier and again
laughed deep in his throat and with unction. He had never known Long Jim
to be in finer form. Shif'less Sol was the acknowledged orator of the
five, but tonight the cloak of inspiration was spread over the shoulders
of Long Jim Hart.
"Why don't you come into our little house?" he shouted. "It's a nice
place, a warm place, an' the rain can't git at you here. Won't you walk
into our parlor, ez the spider said to the fly! It's a good place,
better than any wigwam you've got, nice an' warm, with a roof that the
rain can't get through, an' plenty of cool runnin' water! An' ef you
want our scalps you'd never find grander heads uv ha'r. They're the
finest an' longest an' thickest that ever grew on the head uv man.
They're jest waitin' to be took. Any warrior who took one uv 'em would
be made a chief right away. Why don't you come on an' git 'em? It can't
be that you're afraid, you Shawnees and Miamis an' Delawares an'
Wyandots. Here's our gyarden, jest waitin' fur you, the door open an'
full uv good things. Why don't you come on? Ef I had a dog an' told him
to run after a b'ar cub an' he wouldn't run I'd kill him fur a coward!"
Henry heard a roar of rage from the thickets, and once more he laughed
behind his teeth. Long Jim Hart was still in his grandest form, and
although many Indian chiefs were great orators, masters of taunt and
satire, Long Jim, inspired that night, was the equal of their best. The
gift of tongues had come to him.
"I heard a noise down thar in the holler!" he shouted. "Wuz it made by
warriors, men? No! it wuz dogs barkin' an' crows cawin' an' wolves
whinin' an' rabbits squeakin'. Sech ez them would never come up ag'in a
white man's rifle. I hear the wind blowin' too, but it don't bring me no
sound 'cept that uv dogs barkin', low-down curs that would run away from
a chipmunk with their tails atween their legs. I'm gittin' mighty tired
now uv waitin' fur them that called theirselves warriors, but are
nothin' but old squaws in war paint. Ef I don't hear from 'em ag'in
soon I'll go to sleep an' leave here my little boy, ten years old, to
meet 'em with a switch ez they come up."
There was another roar of rage from the brush, and Henry said under his
breath:
"Well done, Long Jim! Well done, twice and again!"
Long Jim now softened his voice and began to beg.
"Why don't you come up here, you red Indian fellers?" he cried. "All my
friends, knowin' thar is no danger, hev gone to sleep, leavin' me to
welcome the guests, when they stan' afore our door. I'm waitin'! I've
been waitin' a long time, an' ef you don't come soon I'll hev to go to
sleep leavin' you outside our door."
The Indians were always susceptible to oratory and now another shout of
rage came from them. The taunts of Long Jim were too much, and a dozen
dusky forms sprang from the undergrowth and rushed up the slope. There
was a puff of smoke from the cleft in the cliff and the foremost warrior
fell, shot squarely through the forehead. A second puff and a second
warrior was gone to a land where the hunting is always good. Before such
accurate shooting with only the moonlight to aid, the other warriors
shrank back appalled, and quickly hid themselves in the undergrowth.
"Good boys! Good boys!" exclaimed Henry under his breath. "Splendid
shooting! They're bold warriors who will now face the Keepers of the
Pass."
All the warriors save the two who had been slain were hidden in the
dense thicket or behind stony outcroppings, and again the tremendous
voice of Long Jim floated on waves of air above them.
"Why don't you keep comin'?" he shouted. "I invited you to come an' you
started, but you've stopped! Everythin' is waitin' fur you, all the
gaudy Roman couches that my friend Paul has told me about, an' the
gushin' fountains, an' the wreaths uv rose leaves to wrap aroun' your
necks, an' the roses droppin' from the ceilin' on the table loaded with
ven'son, an' turkey, an' wild pigeons, an' rabbits an' more other kinds
uv game than I kin tell you about in a night. Why don't you come on an'
take the big places you're invited to at our banquet, you miserable,
low-down, sneakin', wrinkled old squaws!"
A wild yell of rage came once more from the bushes, and again Henry
laughed deep in his throat. He knew how the taunt stung the Indians, and
Long Jim's eloquence, the dam now having been taken down, flooded on.
"Here, you red-skinned barbarians!" he shouted. "Come into our house an'
we'll teach you how to live! The tables are all set an' the couches are
beside 'em. The hummin' birds' tongues are done to a turn an' the best
singers an' dancers are all on hand to entertain you!"
Henry knew that Jim's patter had come from Paul's stories of the old
Romans, and now he was applying it with gusto to the wild scene lost in
the vast green wilderness. But he was sure that the Indians would not
return to a headlong charge. The little fortress in stone was
practically impregnable to frontal attack and they would resort instead
to cunning and subterfuge.
"Ain't you comin'!" thundered the voice of Long Jim. "I hev done give
you an invite to the banquet an' you stop an' hang 'roun' thar in the
woods, whar I can't see you. Five minutes more an' the invites are all
withdrawed. Then the eatin' an' the singin' an' the playin' will all go
on without you, an' ef you are found hangin' 'roun' our door I'll hev
the dogs to chase you away."
No answer came from the woods, but Henry knew how the hearts of the
warriors were consumed with rage. Those whom they wished to take were so
near and so few and yet they held an almost invincible fortress. Rage
stabbed at the Indian heart.
Long Jim continued his taunts for some time, speaking both Shawnee and
Miami, and also a little Wyandot and Delaware. His vocabulary acquired a
sudden richness and depth. He called them names that implied every
manner of cowardice and meanness. Their ancestors had been buzzards
feeding on offal, they themselves were mangy, crippled and deformed,
and, when the few that were left alive by the white men returned home,
they would be set to work cooking, and caring for the lodges. When they
died they would return to the base forms of their ancestors. They would
be snakes and toads and turtles, and the animals that walked on four
legs and looked straight before them would laugh at them whenever they
saw them.
Long Jim had never before been so eloquent, and never before had his
voice been so unctuous. He thundered forth challenges and insults after
the Indian fashion. He told them that he and his comrades found it a
poor amusement to fight with such men, but when they finished with their
eating and drinking and sleeping they might go north to the Indian
villages and whip the warriors in the presence of their squaws with
willow switches. Meanwhile they intended to sleep and rest, but if any
of the old women out there came into their cavern and annoyed their
slumbers he would chase every one of them out with a switch.
Henry laughed long in his throat. Long Jim was proving himself a forest
warrior of the first quality. It was the way of the woods, and these
taunts stung the red men to the quick. He knew that they were lying in
the bushes, their hearts beating heavily with anger and the hot breath
burning their lips. Two, unable to restrain themselves, fired, but their
bullets merely rebounded from the stone walls of the grotto, and the
defenders did not deign to answer.
Then came a long period of silence and Henry made himself as small and
obscure as possible, lest the warriors, moving about, might see him.
But, fortunately the night had now turned quite dark, and where eyes
might fail his acute sense of hearing would reveal the approach of any
enemy. But as he lay close he again laughed inwardly more than once. The
three were certainly holding the grotto in most gallant fashion, and
Long Jim was fast becoming one of the greatest orators of the woods. He
did not believe that the Indians could carry the fortress, but to get
them out and away was another and much harder problem.
Absolute silence save for the whispering of a light wind through the
leaves came over the forest. The night, to Henry's great joy, grew much
darker. No sound came from the room in the cliff, nor did any come from
the Indians in the thickets. Apparently the whole place was a
wilderness, as lone and desolate as it was when it first emerged from
the sea. Nowhere was the sign of a human being visible, but Henry knew
that vigilant eyes watched at the mouth of the stone cleft and that eyes
equally as keen peered continually from the thickets.
But he meant to join his comrades before dawn. He did not know yet just
how he would do it, but such was his confidence that he felt quite sure
he would be with his comrades before the rising of the sun.
Luckily the forest and thickets in the valley were extremely dense,
enabling him to lie within a couple of hundred yards of the besieging
force, and not fear detection. His figure in its green clothing blended
perfectly with the green bushes.
The night turned colder, and after a while a chilly drizzle began to
fall. Henry, hardened to all kinds of weather, and intent upon his task,
took no note of it, except to be glad that it had come, because it would
further his aims. Night and storm might enable him to slip past the
besiegers and join his friends.
But the Indians, who do not despise comfort when there is no danger in
it, gathered in a cup in the side of the hill, beyond rifle shot from
the hollow, and built a fire. Henry, from his lair in the bushes, saw
them distinctly, about thirty warriors, mostly of the Shawnee tribe,
with their head chief, Red Eagle himself, present as a leader, and the
two renegades Braxton Wyatt and Blackstaffe. Henry noted Blackstaffe and
Wyatt closely and his heart thrilled with anger that they should turn
against their own people and use the tomahawk and scalping knife, and
even stand beside the stake to witness their slow death by the torture
of fire.
Blackstaffe[A] was one of the worst of all the renegades, second only to
Girty in cruelty and cunning, a scourge of the border destined to meet
his fate from an avenging bullet years later, just after the Fallen
Timbers, where Wayne crushed the allied tribes. Now he was a young man,
tall, heavily built and tanned almost as dark as an Indian by weather.
He and Braxton Wyatt had become close friends, and both stood high in
the councils of the Indians. Henry saw them clearly now, outlined
against the firelight, engaged in close talk with the middle-aged
Shawnee chief, Red Eagle.
[Footnote A: The fate of Blackstaffe is told in the author's novel, "The
Wilderness Road."]
Henry had much more respect for Red Eagle than for the renegades. The
Indian might be cruel, he might delight in the terrible sufferings he
inflicted upon a captured enemy, but it was the immemorial custom of his
race and, in fighting the white people, he was fighting those who would
some day, far distant though it might be, turn the great hunting grounds
into farms. Henry, so much a son of the wild himself, could understand
him, but for the renegades he had no sympathy whatever. In all lands
and in all the history of the world renegades have been hated and
detested.
He judged by the fact that the head chief of the Shawnees and the two
renegades had remained that they considered the taking of the little
fort in the cliff of great importance. Doubtless they imagined that all
of the five were now inside, and it would rejoice the heart of Shawnee
and Miami alike if they could slay them all, or better still, take them
alive, and put them to the torture. There were some old defeats that yet
galled and stung, and for which revenge would be sweet. Henry recalled
these things and he knew that the siege would be close and bitter.
The Indians, feeling secure from any enemy, presently sat in a circle
about the fire, drawing their blankets over their shoulders to protect
themselves from the drizzling rain. Henry surmised that several warriors
were on watch near the mouth of the cave, and that those in the main
body would take their ease before the coals. His surmise proved to be
correct, as they appeared to relax and to be talking freely. They also
took venison from deerskin pouches and ate. It reminded Henry that he
was hungry and he too took out and ate a portion of Shif'less Sol's
stolen bear steak that he had saved.
He did not move for another hour. Meanwhile the wind rose, driving the
drizzling rain like sleet, and moaning down the gorge. Save for the
Indians crouched around the fire no more desolate scene might have been
witnessed on the continent. The old, primeval world had come back, and
forgotten monsters ranged the woods while man, weaponless save for his
club, crouched in his cave and listened with terror to the snarls of the
great animals, so much more powerful than himself.
It seemed to him then, when the influence of the wilderness and its
immensity and desolation were so strong, that he might have lived in
some such time himself, ages and ages ago. It might have been the
stories of Paul or it might have been some dim heritage from a dimmer
past that made him, as he lay there under the soaking bushes, call up
visions of the great beasts that once stalked the earth, the mammoth and
the mastodon, the cave bear, the saber-toothed tiger, gigantic leopards
and hyenas, and back of them the terrific stegosaurus in his armor-like
hide and all his awful kin. Henry was glad that he had not lived in such
a time.
The fire, even though it was that of men who would gladly scalp him and
torture him to death, brought back the present and the living and
throbbing realities of life. With his rifle he was more than a match for
any beast that roamed the North American wilderness, and in cunning and
craft he could meet the savages at their own game.
Apparently the Indians around the fire had now ceased to talk. They sat
in a circle, bent a little forward, and some had drawn their blankets
over their heads. The fire was a great mass of coals and Henry knew that
it threw out an abundant heat. He envied them a little. He was just
beginning to feel the effects of the cold rain, but their bodies glowed
with warmth.
Meantime the roaring of the wind in the valley was growing and in the
confined space there were many tones in its voice, now a shriek, and now
a howl. In spite of himself the ancient monsters of the primeval world
came back again and these were the sounds they uttered in their rage. He
shuddered a little, then shook himself and by the mere power of will
forced the return of the present.
He reckoned that the time had come for him to make his attempt.
Doubtless the sentinels were on the slope near the mouth of the cleft,
but they must be chilled to some extent by the cold rain, and, after
such a long silence, would naturally relax their vigilance. He had
protected his weapons from the rain with his buckskin hunting shirt, and
he flexed his arms and muscles to see that they had not grown stiff from
such a long stay in one position.
He began to creep through the bushes to the bottom of the valley and
then up the slope toward the little fortress, and in the task he called
into play all his natural and acquired powers. An eye looking down would
have taken him for a large animal stalking his prey with infinite
cunning and cleverness. The bushes scarcely moved as he passed, and he
made no sound but the faintest sliding motion, audible only four or five
feet away.
The strain upon his body was very great. He did not really crawl, but
edged himself forward with a series of muscular efforts. It was
painfully slow, but it was necessary, because the Indian ears were
acute, and the rustling of a bush or the breaking of a twig would draw
their instant attention.
As he drew himself slowly on, like a great serpent, he watched for the
Indian sentinels, and at last he saw one, a Shawnee warrior crouched in
the lee of a huge tree trunk to shelter himself from the driving rain,
but always looking toward the mouth of the hollow in the cliff.
Henry, inch by inch, bore away and curved about him. Twice he thought
the sentinel had heard something unusual, but in each case he lay flat
and silent, while the wind continued to shriek down the valley, driving
the chill rain before it. Each time the suspicions of the watcher passed
and Henry moved slowly on, infinite patience allied with infinite skill.
If there was anything in heredity and reincarnation he was the greatest
tracker and hunter in that old primeval world, where such skill ranked
first among human qualities. As always with him, his will and courage
rose with the danger. Crouched in the bush fifteen feet away he looked
at the warrior, a powerful fellow, brawny in the chest but thin in the
legs, as was usual among them. The Indian's eyes swept continuously in a
half circle, but they did not see the great figure lying so near, and
holding his life on the touch of a trigger.
Henry laughed deep in his throat. All the wild blood in him was alive
and leaping. He even felt a certain exultation in the situation, one
that would have appalled an ordinary scout and stalker, but which drew
from him only supreme courage and utmost mastery in woodcraft. He felt
within him the supreme certainty that he would succeed, and bending away
from the sentinel he resumed that slow, sliding motion.
He was sure that he would find on his right another warrior on watch,
and, as he was moving in that direction, he looked closely. He saw him
presently, a tall fellow, standing erect among some bushes, his rifle in
the crook of his arm. He seemed discontented with his situation--even
the savage can get too much of cold and wet--and presently he moved a
little further to the right, as if he would seek some sort of shelter
from the rain. Then Henry crept straight forward toward the fortress of
his friends, a scant fifty yards away.
But he did not assume that he had yet succeeded. He knew how thoroughly
the Indians kept watch upon a foe, whom they expected to take, and there
must be other sentinels, or at least one, and bearing that fact in mind
his progress became still slower. He merely went forward inch by inch,
and he was so careful that the bushes above him did not shake. All the
while his eyes roved about in search of that lone last sentinel whom he
was sure the Indians had posted near the entrance, in order to check any
attempt at an escape.
Although it was very dark his eyes had grown used to it and he could see
some distance. Yet his range of vision was not broken by the figure of
any warrior, and he began to wonder. Could the vigilance of the savages
have relaxed? Was it possible that they were keeping no guard near the
entrance? While he was wondering he crept directly upon the sentinel.
He was a huge savage, inured to cold and wet and he had lain almost flat
in the grass. Hearing a slight sound scarce a yard away he turned and
the eyes of red forest runner and white forest runner looked into one
another. Henry was the first to recover from his surprise and the single
second of time was worth diamonds and rubies to him. Dropping his rifle
he reached out both powerful hands and seized the warrior. The loud cry
of alarm that had started from the chest never got past the barrier of
those fingers, and the compressing grasp was so deadly that the Indian's
hands did not reach for tomahawk or knife. Instead they flew up
instinctively and tried to tear away those fingers of iron. But the man
of old might as well have tried to escape from the jaws of the
saber-toothed tiger.
The great forest runner was exerting all his immense strength, and he
was nerved, too, by the imminent danger to his friends and himself. No
slightest sound must escape from the red throat. A single cry would
reach the warriors below, and then the whole yelling pack would be upon
him. The warrior's hands grasped his wrists and pulled at them
frantically. He was a powerful savage with muscles like knotted ropes,
but there was no man in all the wilderness who could break that grasp.
His breath came fitfully, his face became swollen and then Henry,
turning him over on his back, took his fingers away.
The warrior was not dead, but he would revive slowly and painfully and
for days there would be ten red and sore spots on his throat, where the
fingers had sunk in. An ordinary scout would have thrust his knife at
once into the heart of the warrior. It would have been the safest way,
but Henry could not do it. He saw the great chest of the savage
trembling as the breath sought a way to his lungs. He took his rifle,
powder horn, bullet pouch, tomahawk and knife, and, bending low in the
foliage, ran swiftly for the mouth of the cave.
He was quite confident that the fallen warrior was the last sentinel,
and as he approached the entrance he called again and again in a loud
whisper:
"Don't fire! Don't fire! It's me, Henry!"
At last came the whisper in reply:
"All right, Henry, we're waitin'."
He recognized the voice of Silent Tom, and the next instant he was
inside, his hand and that of Tom Ross meeting in a powerful grasp, while
Paul and Long Jim, aroused from sleep, expressed their delight in low
words and strong handshakes.
"How in thunder did you git in, Henry?" asked Long Jim.
"I was brought in a sedan chair by four strong Indians, Wyatt walking on
one side and Blackstaffe on the other as an escort. I told them that of
all places in the world this was the one to which I wished most to come,
and they put me down at the door, their modesty compelling them to
withdraw."
"It's mighty good to see you again, Henry, no matter how you got here,"
said Paul. "Where is Sol?"
"Safe outside, just as I'm safe inside. I think I'll let him know that
I've been successful."
Standing just within the entrance he emitted the long-drawn howl of the
wolf, piercing and carrying singularly far. They waited a moment or two
in breathless silence, and then on the edge of the shrieking wind came a
similar reply, fierce, long and snarling. Henry gave the howl again and
as before came the answer in like fashion. It was the wilderness signal,
made complete.
"It's Sol," Henry said. "I know now that he's there, and he knows that
I'm here. The first part of our task is done."
A yell of rage and disappointment came from the valley below. It was so
fierce that the air seemed to pulse with angry waves.
"What's the matter down there, I wonder," exclaimed Paul.
"Before I could get in here," replied Henry, "I had to choke the breath
out of one of their best warriors. I fancy he has just come to and has
told the others."
Then the war cry died away and there was nothing but the shriek of the
wind that drove drops of rain into the opening.
"How long have you been besieged here?" asked Henry.
"Today and tonight," replied Paul. "Either they struck our trail or some
one of them may have been in this grotto once. At any rate a band
started up here and we were compelled to fire into 'em. That's our
history, since. What have you seen?"
"The main army has gone south with the cannon, but Red Eagle, Braxton
Wyatt and Blackstaffe are here. If they can't rush us they'll at least
hold us three or four days, or try mighty hard. But I want a drink of
water I hear trickling over there. I'm thirsty from all the crawling and
creeping I've done."
He knelt and drank deep at the pure little stream.
"Now, Henry," said Silent Tom, "sence you've come I reckon you're mighty
tired. You've been trampin' about in the woods a heap. So jest stretch
out an' go to sleep while we watch."
"I don't mind if I do," replied Henry, who at last was beginning to feel
the effects of his immense exertions. "How are you fellows fixed for
food?"
"This ain't no banquet hall an' we ain't settin' dinners fur kings,"
replied Long Jim, "but we've got enough to last a good while. Afore they
found out we wuz here Tom went out one night an' killed a deer an'
brought him in. While he wuz gone I took the trouble to gather some
wood, which is in the back part uv the place, but 'cause o' smoke an'
sech we ain't lighted any fire, an' no part of the deer hez been
cooked."
"I brought a big piece of bear myself," said Henry, unhooking it from
his back, "and it was cooked by an Indian, the best cook in all these
woods except you, Jim. He wasn't willing for me to take it, but here it
is."
Long Jim deposited it carefully in a corner and covered it with leaves.
"Ef people always brought somethin' when they come visitin'," he said,
"they'd shorely be welcome ez you are, Henry."
But before he lay down Henry listened a while at the fortress mouth, and
the others listened with him. If they heard shots it would indicate that
the Indians in some manner had caught sight of Shif'less Sol and were
pursuing him. But no sound came out of the vast dark void, save the
shriek of the wind and the beat of the rain. Henry had no doubt that the
warrior whom he had choked nearly to death was now with his comrades,
raging for vengeance, and yet he had been spared when few in like case
would have shown him mercy.
The wilderness, black, cold and soaking, looked unutterably gloomy, but
he felt no worry about those whom he had left behind. The shiftless one
like himself was a true son of the wilderness and he would be as clever
as a fox in finding a warm, dry hole. They had forged the first link in
their intended chain, and Henry felt the glow of success.
"I think I'll go to sleep now," he said. "I'm pretty well soaked with
the rain, but I managed to keep my blanket dry. If the warriors attack,
Jim, wake me up in time to put on my clothes. I wouldn't like to go into
a battle without 'em."
He removed his wet buckskins and spread them out on the stone floor to
dry. Then he wrapped himself in his blanket, raked up some of the dry
leaves as a couch, and lay down, feeling a double glow, that of warmth
and that of success. What a glorious place it was! All things are
measured by contrast. After the black and cold wilderness, swarming
with dangers, this was the other extreme. The Caesar in his palace hall
and the Persian under his vaulted dome could not feel so much comfort,
nor yet so much luxury, as Henry in this snug and warm room in the stone
with his brave and faithful friends around him.
Truly it was a noble place! He heard the trickle of the little stream,
like a jet of water flowing over marble, and into a marble fountain.
Above him was a stone ceiling, carved by the ages, and beneath him was a
stone floor made by the same master hand. The leaves were very soft to
one so thoroughly hardened of body as he, and the blanket was warm. The
roaring of the wind outside was turned to music here, and it mingled
pleasantly with the trickle of the little stream.
While the forest runner was capable of tremendous and long exertions, he
also had acquired the power of complete relaxation when the time came.
Now all of Henry's nerves were quiet, a deep peace came over him
quickly, and he slept.