THE GREAT CULMINATION
It could almost be said of them, so sensitive were they to sound or even
to a noiseless presence, that usually when sleeping they were yet awake,
that, like the wild animals living in the same forest, warnings came to
them on the wind itself, and that, though the senses were steeped in
slumber, the sentinel mind was yet there. But this morning it was not
so. They slept, not like forest runners, who breathe danger every hour,
both day and night, but like city dwellers, secure against any foe.
It was Silent Tom who awoke first, to find the day advanced, the sun
like a gigantic shield of red and gold in the western heavens, and the
wind of spring blowing through the green foliage. He shook himself,
somewhat like a big, honest dog, and not awakening the others, walked to
the edge of their island in the swamp, the firm land not being more than
thirty feet across.
But on this oasis the trees grew large and close and no one on the
mainland beyond the swamp could have seen human beings there. The swamp
was chiefly the result of a low region flooded by heavy spring rains,
and in the summer would probably be as dry and firm as the oasis itself.
But, for the present, it was what the pioneers called "drowned lands"
and was an effective barrier against any ordinary march.
Silent Tom looked toward the north, and saw a coil of smoke against the
brilliant blue of the sky. It was very far away, but he was quite sure
that it came from the Indian camp, and its location indicated that they
had not yet crossed the river. He felt intense satisfaction, but he did
not even chuckle in his throat, after the border fashion. He had not
been named Silent Tom for nothing. He was the oldest of the five,
several years older than Long Jim, who was next in point of age, and he
was often called Old Tom Ross, although in reality the "old" in that
case was like the "old" that one college boy uses when he calls another
"old fellow."
But if Silent Tom did not talk much he thought and felt a very great
deal. The love of the wilderness was keen in him. Elsewhere he would
have been like a lion in an iron-barred cage. And, like the rest of the
five, he would have sacrificed his life to protect those little
settlements of his own kind to the south. It has been said that usually
when the five slept they were yet almost awake, but this morning when
Silent Tom was awake he was also dreaming. He was dreaming of the great
triumph that they had won on the preceding day: Five against a thousand!
Rifles against cannon! A triumph not alone of valor but of intellect, of
wiles and stratagems, of tactics and management!
He did not possess, in the same great degree, the gift of imagination
which illuminated so nobly the minds and souls of Henry and Paul and the
shiftless one, but he felt deeply, nevertheless. Matter-of-fact and
practical, he recognized, that they had won an extraordinary victory, to
attempt which would not even have entered his own mind, and knowing it,
he not only gave all credit to those who had conceived it, but admired
them yet the more. He was beginning to realize now that the impossible
was nearly always the possible.
Life looked very good to Tom Ross that day. It was bright, keen and full
of zest. A deeply religious man, in his way, he felt that the forest,
the river, and all the unseen spirits of earth and air had worked for
them. The birds singing so joyously among the boughs sang not alone for
themselves, but also for his four comrades who slept and for him also.
He listened awhile, crossed the swamp on the fallen trees, scouted a
little and then came back, quite sure that no warrior was within miles
of them, as they were marching in another direction, and then returned
to the oasis. The four still slept the sleep of the just and victorious.
Then Tom, the cunning, smiled to himself, and came very near to uttering
a deep-throated chuckle.
Opening his little knapsack, he took out a cord of fishing line, with a
hook, which, with wisdom, he always carried. He tied the line on the end
of a stick, and, then going eastward from the oasis, he walked across
the fallen or drifted trees until he came to the permanent channel of a
creek, into which the flood waters drained. There he dropped his hook,
having previously procured bait, worms found under a stone.
Doubtless no hook had ever been sunk in those waters before, and the
fish leaped to the bait. In fifteen minutes he had half a dozen fine
fellows, which he deftly cleaned with his hunting knife. Then he
returned, soft-footed, to the island. The four, as he wished, still
slept. After all, he did have imagination and, a feeling for surprise,
and the dramatic. Had his comrades awakened then, before his
preparations were complete, it would have spoiled his pleasure.
It was a short task for one such as he to use flint and steel, and
kindle a fire on the low side of the island, facing toward the east, but
yet within the circle of the trees. Dead wood was lying everywhere and
it burned rapidly. Then, quickly broiling the fish on sharpened ends of
twigs and laying them on green leaves, he went back and awakened the
four, who opened their eyes and sat up at the same time.
"What's the smell that's ticklin' my nose?" exclaimed Long Jim.
"Fish," replied Silent Tom gruffly. "Breakfast's ready! Come on!"
The four leaped to their feet, and followed the pleasant odor which grew
stronger and more savory as they advanced.
"Ain't cooked like you kin do it," said Silent Tom to Long Jim, "but I
done my best."
"Kings could do no more," said the shiftless one, "an' this is the
finest surprise I've had in a 'coon's age. I wuz gettin' mighty tired o'
cold vittles. A lazy man like me needs somethin' hot now an' then to
stir him up, don't he Jim?"
"Guess he does, an' so do I," said Long Jim, reaching hungrily for a
fish.
All fell to. The fish were of the finest flavor, and they had been
cooked well. Silent Tom said nothing, but he glowed with satisfaction.
"How'd you do it, Tom?" asked Shif'less Sol.
"Line, hook, bait, water, fish," replied Ross, waving his hand in the
direction of the creek.
"Ain't he the pow'ful talker?" laughed the shiftless one. "When Tom dies
an' goes up to heaven to take his place in them gran' an' eternal
huntin' groun's that we've already talked about, the Angel at the gate
will ask him his name. 'Tom Ross,' he'll say. 'Business on earth?'
'Hunter an' scout,' 'Ever betrayed a friend?' 'Never,' 'Then pass right
in,' That's all old Tom will say, not a word wasted in explanations an'
pologies."
"It'll be shorter than that," said Long Jim.
"How's that?"
"The Angel will ask him jest one question. He'll say, 'Who's your best
friend on earth?' an' Tom will answer 'Long Jim Hart, what's comin' on
later,' an' the Angel will say: 'That's enough. Go right in and pick out
the best place in Heaven fur yourself an' your friends who will be here,
some day.'"
Silent Tom blushed under the praise which was thoroughly sincere, and
begged them, severally, to take another fish. But they had enough, and
prepared to travel again, to forge another link in the chain which they
were striving so hard to complete.
"What's the plan, Henry?" asked the shiftless one in his capacity as
lieutenant.
"I think we ought to complete that circle around the Indian army,
curving to the west and then to the north, until we're in their rear.
Then we can complete the impression that two forces are attacking 'em,
one in front and the other behind. What do you think?"
"I'm hot fur roundin' out the circle," replied Shif'less Sol. "I always
like to see things finished, an' I want to make the warriors think a
couple o' hundred white riflemen march where only five really make
tracks."
"Same here," said Jim Hart, "Suits me 'cause I've got long legs, made
out uv steel wire, close wrapped. I see clear that we've got to do a
power o' marchin', more of it than fightin'."
"I don't believe any one can think of a better plan," said Paul, "and
yours, Henry, certainly promises well."
"I'm for it," said Silent Tom.
"Then we go now," said Henry.
The smoke that Tom had seen earlier was gone, and the five believed that
the Indian army, discovering the absence of their foe, had probably
crossed the river.
"Since they're on the march again," said Henry, "we can take it slowly
and need not exhaust ourselves."
"Jest dawdle along," said Shif'less Sol, "an' let 'em pass us.
"Yes, that's it."
"We'll keep far enough away to avoid their scouts and hunters," said
Paul.
It was really the hunters against whom they had to keep the most
watchful guard, as so numerous a force ate tremendous quantities of
game, and, the men seeking it had to spread out to a considerable
distance on either flank. But if the hunters came, the five were sure
that they would see them first, and they felt little apprehension.
They passed out of the swampy country, and entered the usual rolling
region of low hills, clothed in heavy forest, and abounding in game.
Here they stopped a while in their task of completing the circle, and
waited while the Indian army marched. Henry calculated that it could not
go more than a dozen miles a day, since the way had to be cut for the
cannon, and even if they remained where they were, the Indian army when
night came, would be very little farther south than the five.
"I vote we turn our short stop into a long one," said Shif'less Sol,
"since, ef we went on we'd jest have to come back again. An' me bein' a
lazy man I'm ag'in any useless work. What do you say, Saplin'?"
"I'm with you, Sol, not 'cause I'm lazy, which I ain't, an' never will
be, but cause it ain't wuth while to go back on our tracks an' then come
forward ag'in. What I do say is this; since Tom Ross is such a good
fisher I reckon he might take his hook an' line an' go east to the
creek, which can't be fur from here, an' ketch some more fish jest ez
good ez them we had this mornin'. After dark I'll cook 'em, takin' the
trouble off his hands."
All fell in with the suggestion, including Tom himself, and after a
while he went away on the errand, returning in due time with plenty of
fish as good as the others. This time Long Jim cooked them when night
came, in a low place behind the trees, and once more they had warm and
delicate food.
When the moon rose in a clear sky, they were able to trace the smoke of
the Indian campfire, almost due west of them, as they calculated it
would be, and a long distance away. Henry regarded it thoughtfully and
Paul knew that his mind was concentrated upon some plan.
"What is it?" he asked at last.
"I think some of us ought to go late tonight and see what chance we have
at the guns."
"You'll take me with you, Henry?"
"No, Paul. It'll have to be Shif'less Sol, while the rest of you stand
by as a reserve. What call shall we use, the owl or the wolf?"
"Let it be the wolf," said the shiftless one, "'cause I feel like a wolf
tonight, ready to snap at an' bite them that's tryin' to hurt our
people."
"Sol gits mighty ferocious when thar ain't anythin' more terrible than a
rabbit close by," said Long Jim.
"It ain't that. It's my knowin' that you'll run to my help ef I git into
trouble," said Shif'less Sol.
Paul felt a little disappointment, but it disappeared quickly. He knew
that Shif'less Sol was the one who ought to go, and in the high tasks
they had set for themselves there were enough dangers for all.
"Then it will be the cry of the wolf," said Henry. "To most people their
yelps are alike, but not to us. You won't forget the particular kind of
howl that Sol and I give forth?"
"Never," said Long Jim. "Thar ain't another sech wolf in the woods ez
Shif'less Sol."
A few more brief words and Henry and his comrade were gone, traveling at
a swift rate toward the Indian camp. Dark and the forest separated the
two from the three, but they could send their signal cries at any time
across the intervening space, and communication was not interrupted.
They advanced in silence several miles, and then they became very
cautious, because they knew that they were within the fringe of scouts
and hunters. With so many to feed it was likely that the Indians would
hunt by night, especially as the wild turkeys were numerous, and it was
easy to obtain them in the dark.
Both Henry and Shif'less Sol saw turkey signs, and their caution
increased, when they noticed a dozen dusky figures of large birds on
boughs near by, sure proof that the warriors would soon be somewhere in
the neighborhood, if they were not so already. They began to stoop now,
and use cover all the way, and presently Henry felt that their
precautions were well taken, as a faint but distant sound, not native to
the forest, came to his ear.
"There, Sol!" he whispered. "Did you hear it? To the right."
The shiftless one listened a moment or two and replied:
"Yes, I kin make it out."
"I say it's the twang of a bowstring, Sol."
"So do I, Henry."
"They're probably shooting the turkeys out of the trees with arrows.
Saves noise and their powder and lead, too."
"Wherein the Injun shows a heap o' sense, Henry."
"I can hear more than one bow twanging now, Sol. The turkeys must be
plentiful hereabouts, but even with bows and arrows only used against
'em they're bound to take alarm soon."
"Yes, thar go some o' 'em gobblin' now, an' they're flyin' this way."
They heard the whirr of wings carrying heavy bodies, and frightened
turkeys flew directly over their heads. As the Indians might come in
pursuit, Henry and Shif'less Sol lay down among the bushes. A shouting
broke out near them, and the forest, for a wide space, was filled with
the whirring of wings.
"The biggest flock o' wild turkeys that ever wuz must hev roosted right
'roun' us," said Shif'less Sol, "'cause I seem to see 'em by the
dozens."
"More likely fifteen or twenty flocks were scattered about through the
woods, and now they have all joined in a common flight."
"Mebbe so, but whether one flock or twenty j'ined, this is suttinly
Turkeyland. An' did you ever see sech fine turkeys. Look at that king
gobbler, Henry, flyin' right over our heads! He must weigh fifty pounds
ef he weighs an ounce, an' his wattles are a wonder to look at. An' I
kin see him lookin' right down at me, ez he passes an' I kin hear him
sayin': 'I ain't afeared o' you, Sol Hyde, even ef you hev got a gun in
your hand. I kin fly low over your head, so low that I'll brush you with
my wings, and with my red wattles, which are a wonder to see, an' you
dassn't fire. I've got you where I want you, Sol Hyde. I ain't afeard
o' anything but Injuns tonight.'"
Shif'less Sol's words were so lugubrious that Henry was compelled to
laugh under his breath. It did look like an injustice of fate, when
hunters so keen as they, were compelled to lie quiet, while wild turkeys
in hundreds flew over their heads, and although the shiftless one may
have exaggerated a little about the king gobbler, Henry saw that many of
them were magnificent specimens of their kind. Yet to lie and stir not
was the price of life, as they soon saw.
Indians came running through the great grove, discharging arrows at the
turkeys, many of which flew low, and the air was filled with the
twanging of bow strings. Not a rifle or musket was fired, the warriors
seeming to rely wholly upon their ancient weapons for this night hunt.
They appeared to be in high good humor, too, as the two crouching scouts
heard them laughing and chattering as they picked up the fallen birds,
and then sent arrows in search of more.
Shif'less Sol became more and more uneasy. Here was a grand hunt going
well forward and he not a part of it. Instead he had to crouch among
bushes and flatten himself against the soil like an earthworm, while the
twanging of the bows made music, and the eager shouts stirred every
vein.
The hunt swept off to the westward. The dusky figures of warriors and
turkeys disappeared in the brush, and Henry and Shif'less Sol, ceasing
to be earthworms, rose to their knees.
"They didn't see us," said the shiftless one, "but it was hard to stay
hid."
"But here we are alive and safe. Now, I think, Sol, we'd better go on
straight toward their camp, but keep a lookout at the same time for
those fellows, when they come back."
They could not hear the twang of bowstrings now, but the shouts still
came to them, though much softened by the distance. Presently they too
died away, and with silence returning to the forest Henry and Shif'less
Sol stood upright. They listened only a moment or two, and then advanced
directly toward the camp. Crossing the brook they went around a cluster
of thorn bushes, and came face to face with two men. Shif'less Sol,
quick as a panther, swung his clubbed rifle like lightning and the
foremost of the two, a Shawnee warrior, dropped like a log, and Henry,
too close for action, seized the other by the throat in his powerful
hands.
It was not a great and brawny throat into which those fingers of steel
settled, and its owner began to gasp quickly. Then Henry noticed that he
held in his grasp not an Indian, but a white man, or rather a boy, a
fair English boy, a youthful and open face upon which the forest had not
yet set its tan.
He released his grasp slowly. He could not bear the pain and terror in
the eyes of the slender English youth, who, though he wore the uniform
of a subaltern, seemed so much out of place there in the deep woods. Yet
the forester meant to take no needless risk.
"Promise that you will not cry out and I spare you," he said, his blue
eyes looking straight into those of the lad, which returned his gaze
with defiance. The steel grasp settled down again.
"Better promise," said Henry. "It's your only chance."
The obstinate look passed out of his eyes, and the lad nodded, as he
could not speak. Then Henry took away his hand and said:
"Remember your word."
The English youth nodded again, gurgled two or three times, and rubbed
his throat:
"'Twas a mighty grip you had upon me. Who are you?"
"The owners of this forest, and we've jest been tellin' you that you've
no business here on our grounds," said the shiftless one.
The boy--he was nothing more--stared at them in astonishment. It was
obvious to the two forest runners that he had little acquaintance with
the woods. His eyes filled with wonder as he gazed upon the two fierce
faces, and the two powerful figures, arrayed in buckskin.
"Your forest?" he said.
"Yes," replied Henry quietly, "and bear in mind that I held your life in
my hands. Had you been an Indian you would be dead now."
"I won't forget it," said the youth, who seemed honest enough, "and I'm
not going to cry out and bring the warriors down upon you for two very
good reasons--because I've promised not to do so, and if I did, I know
that your comrade there would shoot me down the next instant."
"I shorely would," said Shif'less Sol, grimly.
"And now," said Henry, "what is your name and what are you doing here?"
"My name is Roderick Cawthorne, I'm a subaltern in the British army, and
I came over to help put down the rebels, in accordance with my duty to
my king and country. All this land is under our rule."
"Do you think so?" asked Henry. "Do you think that this wilderness,
which extends a thousand miles in every direction, is under your rule?"
The young subaltern looked around at the dark forest and shivered a
little.
"Technically, yes," he replied, "but it's a long way from Eton."
"What's Eton?"
"Eton is a school in England, a school for the sons of gentlemen."
"I see. And would I be considered the son of a gentleman?"
Young Cawthorne looked up at the tanned and powerful face bent over him.
He had already noted Henry's good English, and, feeling the compelling
gaze of one who was born to be a master, he replied, sincerely and
cheerfully:
"Yes, the son of a gentleman, and a gentleman yourself."
"An' I'm a gentleman too," said Shif'less Sol. "My good rifle says so
every time."
"It was the power of earlier weapons that started the line of
gentlemen," said Cawthorne. "Now what do you two gentlemen propose to do
with me?"
"Do you know what would be done with us if things were changed about?"
asked Henry, "and we were the prisoners of you and the colonel and the
red men with whom you travel?"
"No. What would it be?"
"You'd have the pleasure of standing by and seeing the two of us burned
alive at the stake. We wouldn't be burned quickly. It can be protracted
for hours, and it's often done to our people by your allies."
The young Englishman paled.
"Surely it can't be so!" he said.
"But surely it is so!" said the young forester fiercely.
"I'm at your mercy."
"We ain't goin' to burn you now," said Shif'less Sol. "We can't afford
to set up a big torch in the forest, with our enemies so near."
Cawthorne shivered.
"Do you still feel," asked Henry, "that you're the ruler over the
wilderness here, five thousand miles from London?"
"Technically only. At the present time I'm making no boasts."
"Now, you go back to your colonel and the renegades and the red chiefs
and tell them they'll find no thoroughfare to the white settlements."
"So, you don't mean to kill me?"
"No, we don't do that sort of thing. Since we can't hold you a prisoner
now, we release you. It's likely that you don't know your way to your
own camp, but your red comrade here will guide you. My friend didn't
break his skull, when he struck him with the butt of his rifle, though
it was a shrewd blow. He's coming to."
Cawthorne looked down at the reviving savage, and then looked up to
thank the foresters, but they were gone. They had vanished so quickly
and silently that he had not heard them going. Had it not been for the
savage who was now sitting up he would not have believed that it was
real.
Henry and the shiftless one had dropped down in the bushes only a little
distance away, and, by the moonlight, they saw the look of bewilderment
on the face of the young Englishman.
"It don't hardly look fair to our people that we should let him go,"
said the shiftless one.
"But we had to," Henry whispered back. "It was either kill him or let
him go, and neither you nor I, Sol, could kill him. You know that."
"Yes, I know it."
"Now, the warrior has all his senses back, though his head is likely to
ache for a couple of days. We don't lose anything by letting them have
their lives, Sol. The talk of their encounter with us will grow mightily
as they go back to the Indian army. The warrior scarcely caught a
glimpse of us, and he's likely to say that he was struck down by an evil
spirit. Cawthorne's account of his talk with us will not weaken him in
his belief. Instead it will make him sure that we're demons who spared
them in order that they might carry a warning to their comrades."
"I see it, Henry. It's boun' to be the way you say it is, an' our luck
is still workin' fur us."
They saw the English lad and the warrior turn back toward the camp, and
then they rose, going away swiftly at a right angle from their original
course. After pursuing it a while, they curved in again toward the camp.
In a half-hour they saw the distant flare of lights, and knew that they
were close to the Indian army. They were able by stalking, carried on
with infinite pains and skill, to approach so near that they could see
into the open, where the fires were burning, but not near enough to
achieve anything of use.
Alloway, Cartwright, the renegades and the chiefs stood together, and
Cawthorne, and the warrior who had been with him, stood before them.
Evidently they had just got back, and were telling their tale. Both of
the foresters laughed inwardly. Their achievement gave them much
pleasure, and they felt that they were making progress toward forging
the new link in the chain.
"Can you see the cannon?" whispered Shif'less Sol.
"Over there at the far edge. The ammunition wagons carrying the powder
and the balls and the grapeshot are drawn up between them. But we can't
get at 'em, Sol. Not now, at least."
"No, but see, Henry, a lot of them warriors are beginnin' to dance, an'
thar are two medicine men among 'em. They've overheard the news o' what
we've done, an' they're gittin' excited. They're shore now the evil
sperrits are all 'roun' 'em."
"Looks like it, Sol, and those medicine men are not afraid of Alloway,
the renegades, the chiefs or anybody else. They're encouraging the
dancing."
Henry and the shiftless one saw the medicine men through the glow of the
lofty flames, and they looked strange and sinister to the last degree.
One was wrapped in a buffalo hide with the head and horns over his own
head, the other was made up as a bear. The glare through which they were
seen, magnified them to twice or thrice their size, and gave them a tint
of blood. They looked like two monsters walking back and forth before
the warriors.
"The seed we planted is shorely growin' up good an' strong," whispered
Shif'less Sol.
More and more warriors joined in the chant of the medicine men. The two
saw Alloway gesture furiously toward them, and then they saw Yellow
Panther and Red Eagle shake their heads. The two interpreted the
movements easily. Alloway wanted the chiefs to stop the chanting which
had in it the double note of awe and fear, and Yellow Panther and Red
Eagle disclaimed any power to do so.
Again the foresters laughed inwardly, as the monstrous and misshapen
figures of the two medicine men careered back and forth in the flaming
light. They knew that at this moment their power over the warriors was
supreme. The more Alloway raged the more he weakened his own influence.
"An' now they're dancin' with all their might," whispered the shiftless
one. "Look how they bound an' twist an' jump! Henry, you an' me have
seed some wild sights together, but this caps 'em."
It was in truth a most extraordinary scene, this wild dance of the
hundreds in the depths of the primeval forest. Around and around they
went, led by the two medicine men, the bear and the buffalo, and the
hideous, monotonous chant swelled through all the forest. It did not now
contain the ring of triumph and anticipation. Instead it was filled with
grief for the fallen, fear of the evil spirits that filled the air, and
of Manitou who had turned his face away from them.
Alloway and the white men who were left, drew to one side. Henry could
imagine the rage of the colonel at his helplessness, and he could
imagine too that he must feel a thrill of awe at the wild scene passing
before him. The time and the circumstances must work upon the feelings
of a white man, no matter how stout his heart.
"If we could strike another good strong blow now," said the shiftless
one, "I think they would break into a panic."
"True," said Henry, "but we must not depart from our original purpose to
get at the cannon. I don't think we can do it tonight and so we'd better
withdraw. Maybe we'll have another chance tomorrow night."
"I'm agreein' with you, Henry, an' I'm beginnin' to think mighty like
the warriors do, that Manitou, which is jest their name for our God,
turns his face upon you or turns his face away from you."
"It looks so, Sol. I suppose the Indians in most ways don't differ much
from us. Only they're a lot more superstitious."
Slowly they crept away, but when they finally rose to their feet in the
depths of the forest they could still see the glow of the great fires
behind them. Henry and the shiftless one knew that the Indians had been
heaping logs upon coals until the flames sprang up fifteen or twenty
feet, and that around them nearly the whole army was now dancing and
singing. The wailing note of so many voices still reached them, shrill,
piercing and so full of lament that the nerves of the forest runners
themselves were upset.
"I want to git away from here," said the shiftless one, and then he
added wistfully: "I wish we could strike our big blow, whatever it is,
tonight, Henry. Their state o' mind is terrible. They're right on edge,
an' ef we could do somethin' they'd break, shore."
"I know it," said Henry, "but we're not able to get at what we want to
reach."
Nevertheless they stood there, and listened some time to the wailing
note of all the hundreds who were oppressed and afraid, because the face
of Manitou was so obviously turned from them.
Henry and the shiftless one, as they returned toward their comrades whom
they had left behind, did not relax their caution, knowing that hunting
parties were still abroad, and that veteran chiefs like Yellow Panther
and Red Eagle had sent scouts ahead. Twice they struck trails, and
fragments of feathers left on the bushes by warriors returning with
turkeys.
They were at least two miles from the camp when they heard noises that
indicated the passage of a small body of the Indians, and as they
stepped behind trees to conceal themselves Shif'less Sol's foot suddenly
sank with a bubbling sound into an oozy spot. In an instant, all the
Indians stopped. Henry and his comrade heard rustling sounds for a
moment, and then there was complete silence. The two knew that the
warriors had taken to cover, and that probably they would not escape
without a fight. They were intensely annoyed as they wished to return to
Paul, Long Jim and Silent Tom.
The shiftless one withdrew his foot from the ooze, and he and Henry
crouched on dry ground, watching with eye and ear for any movement in
the thicket opposite. They knew that the warriors, with infinite
patience, were waiting in the same manner, and it was likely that the
delay would be long.
"Luck has turned ag'in us fur a little bit," whispered Shif'less Sol,
"but I can't think that after favorin' us fur so long it'll leave us fur
good."
"I don't think so either," said Henry. "I hear one of them moving."
"That bein' the case we'll lay nearly flat," said Shif'less Sol.
It was well they did so, as a rifle flashed in the thicket before them,
and a bullet cut the leaves over their heads. They did not reply, but
crept silently to one side. A few minutes later another bullet crashed
through the bushes at the same place, and this time Henry fired by the
flash. He heard a low cry, followed by silence and he was sure that his
bullet had struck a target. Shif'less Sol held his rifle ready in case a
rush should come, but there was none, and Henry reloaded rapidly.
A full half-hour of waiting followed, in which only a single shot was
fired, and that by the warriors, to go wide of the mark, as usual, and
the wrath of Henry and the shiftless one, at being held there so long,
became intense. It seemed the veriest piece of irony that this
unfortunate chance should have occurred, but Henry presently recalled
the arrangement they had made with the three, wondering why they had not
thought of it sooner.
"The warriors are before us," he whispered to Shif'less Sol, "and Long
Jim, Paul and Tom are behind us. They may have heard the rifle shots or
they may not, but at any rate there is something that will carry
further."
"You mean the howl of the wolf! O' course, that's our call to them."
"Yes, and if we bring 'em up it won't be hard to drive off this band."
"Let me give the signal then, Henry. Ef Long Jim is the best yeller
among us mebbe I'm the best howler. I'm right proud o' bein' a wolf
sometimes, an' I feel like one jest now."
"Go back then some distance," said Henry. "When the boys come up you
must meet 'em and not let 'em run into any ambush."
The shiftless one glided away toward the rear, and Henry, lying almost
flat on the grass and watching the thickets in front of him so intensely
that no warrior could have crept out of them unseen, waited. At the end
of five minutes he heard behind him a note, low at first, but swelling
gradually so high that it pierced the sky and filled the forest. It was
fierce, prolonged, seeming to come from the throat of a monster wolf,
and, as it died away, a similar cry came from a point far back in the
forest. The wolf near by howled again, and the wolf deep in the forest
replied in like fashion. The signal was complete, and Henry knew that
Paul, Silent Tom and Long Jim would come fast to help.
There was a stirring in the thicket before him, evidently prompted by
the signals, and another vain bullet crashed through the bushes. Henry
fired once more at the flash, but he could not tell whether or not he
had hit anything, although it was sufficient to hold the warriors in the
bush. Evidently they did not consider themselves strong enough for a
rush, and again he waited patiently, judging that the three would arrive
in twenty minutes at the furthest.
They came several minutes within the allotted time. He heard soft
rustlings behind him, and then the five were reunited and ready for
action.
"Sol, you creep around on the right flank, and Tom, you take the left,"
whispered the young general. "They're not in numbers and I think we can
soon rout 'em without loss to ourselves."
The flanking movement was carried out perfectly. Shif'less Sol and
Silent Tom opened fire on the right and on the left at the same time,
and the other three, sending in bullets from the center, began to shout
the charge, although they did no charging. But it was sufficient. They
saw dusky figures darting away, and then, rising from the bushes the
three divisions of their small army met victoriously upon the field,
abandoned by the enemy in such haste.
They saw red stains, and then a dark form almost hidden in the grass, a
powerful warrior, painted hideously and dead an hour. Henry looked down
at him thoughtfully. The retreating warriors had taken away his weapons,
but his paint bag and the little charms against evil spirits remained,
tied to his belt. It was the paint bag that held Henry's eye, and,
holding it, gave him the idea.
He detached the bag, the waistcloth and moccasins, and calling to his
comrades retreated farther into the forest. Every one of them, as they
watched his actions, divined his intent.
"You're going to disguise yourself and go into the Indian camp," said
Paul, when they stopped. "I wouldn't do it. The risk is too great.
Besides, what can you do?"
"I went among 'em once and came back alive," said Henry, "and I think I
can do it again. Besides, I mean to accomplish something."
"I'm to go with you, o' course?" said Shif'less Sol, eagerly.
Henry shook his head.
"No, Sol," he said reluctantly. "There's only equipment for one, and it
must be me. But the rest of you can hang on the outskirts, and if I give
a cry for help you may come. It will be, as before, the howl of the
wolf, and now, boys, we will work fast, because I must strike, while
they're still in the frenzy, created by the medicine men."
Henry took off his own clothing, and, with a shudder, put on the
leggings and breechcloth of the dead Indian. Then Shif'less Sol and Tom
Ross painted him from the waist up in a ghastly manner, and, with their
heartfelt wishes for his safety and success, he departed for the camp,
the others following in silence not far behind. He soon heard the sound
of the chant and he knew that the orgie was proceeding. An Indian dance
could last two days and nights without stopping, fresh warriors always
replacing those who dropped from exhaustion.
It was now far past midnight, and Henry was quite sure that all the
hunters had gone. The little party which he and his comrades had fought
had probably spread already the tale of a mysterious foe with whom they
had met, and who had slain one of their number. And the story,
exaggerated much in the telling, would add to the number and power of
the evil spirits oppressing the red army.
Keeping for the present well hidden in the forest, Henry approached the
fires which had now been heaped up to an amazing height, from which
lofty flames leaped and which sent off sparks in millions. The chant was
wilder than ever, rolling in weird echoes through the forest, the
dancers leaping to and fro, their faces bathed in perspiration, their
eyes filled with the glare of temporary madness. The Englishmen and
renegades had gone to small tents pitched at the edge of the wood, but
Yellow Panther and Red Eagle stood and watched the dancers.
All things were distorted in the mingled dusk and glow of the fires, and
Henry, bending low that his great stature might not be noticed, edged
gradually in and joined the dancers. For a while, none was more furious
than he. He leaped and he swung his arms, and he chanted, until the
perspiration ran down his face, and none looked wilder than he. In the
multitude nobody knew that he was a stranger, nor would the glazed eyes
of the dancers have noticed that he was one, anyhow.
Nevertheless he was watching keenly, while he leaped and shouted, and
his eyes were for the cannon, drawn up just within the edge of the
forest, with the ammunition wagons between them. After a while he moved
cautiously in their direction, threw himself panting on the grass, where
others already lay in the stupor of exhaustion, and then, taking hold of
one of the burning brands which the wind had blown from the bonfires, he
edged slowly toward the forest and the wagons.
This was the last link in the chain, but if it were not forged all the
others would be in vain. Three or four times he stopped motion
altogether, and lay flat on the ground. Through the red haze he dimly
saw the figures of Yellow Panther and Red Eagle who stood side by side,
and he saw also the two medicine men, the Bear and the Buffalo, who
danced as if they were made of steel, and who continually incited the
others.
Henry himself began to feel the effect of the dancing and of the wild
cheering, which was like a continuous mad incantation. His blood had
never before leaped so wildly and he saw through a red haze all the
time. He felt for the moment almost like an Indian, or rather as if he
had returned to some primeval incarnation. But it did not make him feel
one with those around him. Instead it incited him to extreme effort and
greater daring.
He edged himself forward slowly, dragging the torch upon the ground. He
still saw Blackstaffe and Wyatt at the edge of the opening some distance
away, but they were gazing at the great mass of the dancers. Alloway
presently came from his tent and also stood looking on, though he did
not join the renegades. Henry could imagine his feelings, his bitter
disappointment. But then, one must know something about Indians before
undertaking to go on campaigns with them. He hoped, however, that young
Cawthorne would remain in his tent.
His slow creeping lasted ten minutes. He felt now that he had reached
the very crisis of the campaign made by the five, and he must not make
the slightest slip of any kind. He reached the grass behind the wagons
and lay there four or five minutes without stirring. He discovered then
that besides those between the cannon there were four behind them loaded
with powder. The horses were tethered in the woods two or three hundred
yards away. He was glad that so much distance separated them from the
cannon and powder.
The torch, although he kept it concealed in the grass, was beginning to
crackle. The problem was not yet simple, but he thought rapidly. The
wagons were covered with canvas. Reaching up, he quickly cut off a long
strip with his hunting knife. Then he inserted the strip inside the
wagon and into the powder, driving the knife deep through canvas and
wood, and leaving it, thrust there to hold the strip fast.
The other end of the thick canvas fell from the wagon to the ground, a
length of about a foot lying in the grass. He ignited this with his
torch, and saw it begin to burn with a steady creeping flame. Then he
moved swiftly away until he reached the edge of the forest, when he rose
and ran with all his might. Three or four hundred yards distant, he
stopped and uttered the cry of the wolf. The answer came instantly from
a point very near, and in two minutes the four joined him.
"Is it arranged?" exclaimed Paul.
"Yes," replied Henry. "There's a chance of a slip, of course. The torch
is set and burning. An Indian may see it and put it out, but I
don't----"
The sentence was never finished. The night was rent by a terrible crash,
and as they were looking toward the Indian camp they saw a pyramid of
fire shoot far up into the sky, and then sink back again. A half minute
of dreadful silence followed, when every leaf and blade of grass seemed
to stand still, and then through the distance came a long and piercing
lament.
"It's done!" said the shiftless one, speaking in a tone of awe.
"The cannon are blown to pieces," said Paul.
"Nothin' but scattered metal now!" said Long Jim.
"Busted up, shore!" said Silent Tom.
"They'll be running in a panic presently," said Henry, "and they won't
stop until they're far across the Ohio."
The hearts of the five swelled. They alone, five against a thousand,
rifles against cannon, had defeated the great Indian army headed by
artillery. They had equalled the knights of old--perhaps had surpassed
them--although it was not done by valor alone, but also by wile and
stratagem, by mind and leadership. Intellect had been well allied with
bravery.
But they said little, and turning back into the deeps of the forest,
they slept until morning.
* * * * *
The five rose at dawn, and went swiftly to the place where the Indian
camp had stood, to find there, as they had expected, complete silence
and desolation. The ruin was utter. All the wagons had been blown to
bits, and the cannon were shattered so thoroughly that they lay in
fragments. Probably Indians near by had been killed, but the warriors,
following their custom, had taken their dead away with them.
Henry, looking near the edge of the forest, suddenly started back at a
gleam of red among the bushes. He knew that it had come from a red coat,
and when he looked again he saw the body of Colonel Alloway lying there.
He had been hit in the head by a piece of flying metal and evidently had
been killed instantly. Doubtless the other English had wanted to bury
him, but the panic of the Indians had compelled them to leave him,
although they took their own dead.
"We'll bury him, because he was a white man," said Henry.
They dug a grave with their knives and hatchets and laid him in it,
putting stones over the dirt to keep prowling wild animals from digging
there, and then took the Indian trail.
It was a trail so wide and deep that a blind man could have followed it.
The panic evidently had been terrible. The warriors had thrown away
blankets, and in some cases weapons. Henry found a fine hunting knife,
with which he replaced the one he had used to pin down his fuse, and
Silent Tom found a fine green blanket which he added to his own.
They followed to the Ohio River, and some distance beyond. Then,
satisfied that this expedition was routed utterly, they came back into
Kentucky.
"I'd like to go to that little house of ours inside the cliff," said
Paul.
"So would I," said Long Jim. "It's the snuggest home we've ever found
inside the wilderness."
"An' Indian proof, ez we've proved," said the shiftless one.
"Good fur rest," said Silent Tom.
"Then we go there," said Henry.
They reached the valley the next day and climbed up into the cleft which
had been a home and a fortress for them. It was sweet and clean, full of
fresh, pure air, and the tiny rill was trickling away merrily. Nothing
had been disturbed.
"Now ain't this fine?" said Long Jim, coming outside and looking over
the hills. "Paul, I've heard you talk about palaces, them that the old
Greeks an' Romans had, an' them that they hev now in Europe, but I know
that thar has never been one among 'em ez snug an' safe an' cozy ez
this."
"At least," said the shiftless one, "I don't believe any o' 'em ever had
a water supply like ourn, clean, cool, an' unfailin'."
Silent Tom took something from his knapsack.
"I'm goin' to git some fish in that creek farther down," he said. "You'd
better hev your fire ready. Out here on the shelf is a good place."
Long Jim, happy in the task that he liked, hurried away in search of
dead wood. The others carried dried leaves into the hollow and made
places for their beds.
Silent Tom caught plenty of good fish, to which they added venison and
buffalo steaks, and, sitting on the shelf they ate and were at peace.
The glow of triumph was still in their hearts. Alone, they had achieved
a great deed for the sake of humanity. They had been through their
Iliad, and like the heroes of antiquity, they took their well-earned
rest.
The foliage was now in its deepest flush of green. Henry, as he looked
over a vast expanse of wilderness, saw nothing but green, green, the
unbroken green that he loved.
A bird in a tree over their heads began to pour forth a volume of clear,
triumphant song, and the five looked upon it as a voice meant for them.
"It's the last touch," said Paul.
"And the victory is complete," said Henry.