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_The_ BORDER WATCH
BOOKS BY JOSEPH A. ALTSHELER
THE FRENCH AND INDIAN WAR SERIES
The Hunters of the Hills
The Rulers of the Lakes
The Lords of the Wild
The Shadow of the North
The Masters of the Peaks
The Sun of Quebec
THE YOUNG TRAILERS SERIES
The Young Trailers
The Forest Runners
The Keepers of the Trail
The Eyes of the Woods
The Free Rangers
The Riflemen of the Ohio
The Scouts of the Valley
The Border Watch
THE TEXAN SERIES
The Texan Scouts
The Texan Star
The Texan Triumph
THE CIVIL WAR SERIES
The Guns of Bull Run
The Guns of Shiloh
The Scouts of Stonewall
The Sword of Antietam
The Star of Gettysburg
The Rock of Chickamauga
The Shades of the Wilderness
The Tree of Appomattox
THE GREAT WEST SERIES
The Lost Hunters
The Great Sioux Trail
THE WORLD WAR SERIES
The Forest of Swords
The Guns of Europe
The Hosts of the Air
BOOKS NOT IN SERIES
Apache Gold
The Quest of the Four
The Last of the Chiefs
In Circling Camps
The Last Rebel
A Soldier of Manhattan
The Sun of Saratoga
A Herald of the West
The Wilderness Road
My Captive
The Candidate
[Illustration: "He saw two warriors, and he lay in the bush while they
passed only twenty yards away." Page 214.]
_The_ BORDER WATCH
A STORY OF THE GREAT
CHIEF'S LAST STAND
BY
JOSEPH A. ALTSHELER
AUTHOR OF
"THE YOUNG TRAILERS," "THE FREE RANGERS,"
"THE SCOUTS OF THE VALLEY," ETC.
D. APPLETON-CENTURY COMPANY
INCORPORATED
NEW YORK LONDON
1941
COPYRIGHT, 1912, BY
D. APPLETON AND COMPANY
Printed in the United States of America
PREFACE
"The Border Watch" closes the series which began with "The Young
Trailers," and which was continued successively in "The Forest Runners,"
"The Keepers of the Trail," "The Eyes of the Woods," "The Free Rangers,"
"The Riflemen of the Ohio," and "The Scouts of the Valley." All the
eight volumes deal with the fortunes and adventures of two boys, Henry
Ware and Paul Cotter, and their friends Shif'less Sol Hyde, Silent Tom
Ross and Long Jim Hart, in the early days of Kentucky. The action moves
over a wide area, from New Orleans in the South to Lake Superior in the
North, and from the Great Plains in the West to the land of the Iroquois
in the East.
It has been the aim of the author to present a picture of frontier life,
and to show the immense hardships and dangers endured by our people, as
they passed through the wilderness from ocean to ocean. So much of it
occurred in the shadow of the forest, and so much more of it was taken
as a matter of course that we, their descendants, are likely to forget
the magnitude of their achievement. The conquest of the North American
continent at a vast expense of life and suffering is in reality one of
the world's great epics.
The author has sought to verify every statement that touches upon
historical events. He has read or examined nearly all the books and
pamphlets and many of the magazine articles formerly in the Astor and
Lenox, now in the New York Public Library, dealing with Indian wars and
customs. In numerous cases, narratives written by observers and
participants have been available. He believes that all the border
battles are described correctly, and the Indian songs, dances and
customs are taken from the relations of witnesses.
But the great mass of material dealing with the frontier furnishes
another striking illustration of the old saying that truth is stranger
than fiction. No Indian story has ever told of danger and escape more
marvelous than those that happened hundreds of times. The Indian
character, as revealed in numerous accounts, is also a complex and
interesting study. The same Indian was capable of noble actions and of
unparalleled cruelty. As a forest warrior he has never been excelled. In
the woods, fighting according to his ancient methods, he was the equal
alike of Frenchman, Englishman and American, and often their superior.
Many of the Indian chiefs were great men. They had the minds of
statesmen and generals, and they prolonged, for generations, a fight
that was doomed, from the beginning.
We lost more people in our Indian wars than in all the others combined,
except the Civil War. More American soldiers fell at St. Clair's defeat
by the Northwestern Indians than in any other battle we had ever fought
until Bull Run. The British dead at Braddock's disaster in the American
wilderness outnumbered the British dead at Trafalgar nearly two to one.
So valiant a race has always appealed to youth, at least, as a fit
subject of romance.
The long struggle with the brave and wary red men bred a type of white
foresters who became fully their equals in the craft and lore of the
wilderness. Such as these stood as a shield between the infant
settlements and the fierce tribes, and, in this class, the author has
placed his heroes.
TABLE OF CONTENTS
CHAPTER PAGE
I PASSING FLEET 1
II THE SILVER BULLET 16
III THE HOT SPRING 30
IV THE SEVEN HERALDS 39
V THE WYANDOT COUNCIL 51
VI THE RUINED VILLAGE 63
VII THE TAKING OF HENRY 79
VIII THE NORTHWARD MARCH 96
IX AT DETROIT 109
X THE LETTER OF THE FOUR 126
XI THE CRY FROM THE FOREST 143
XII THE CANOE ON THE RIVER 157
XIII ON THE GREAT LAKE 173
XIV A TIMELY RESCUE 188
XV THE PAGES OF A BOOK 205
XVI THE RIVER FIGHT 226
XVII THE ROAD TO WAREVILLE 241
XVIII THE SHADOWY FIGURE 265
XIX A HERALD BY WATER 282
XX THE COUNTER-STROKE 316
XXI THE BATTLE OF PIQUA 336
XXII THE LAST STAND 359
THE BORDER WATCH
CHAPTER I
THE PASSING FLEET
A late sun, red and vivid, cast beams of light over a dark river,
flowing slowly. The stream was a full half mile from shore to shore, and
the great weight of water moved on in silent majesty. Both banks were
lined with heavy forest, dark green by day, but fused now into solid
blackness by the approach of night.
The scene was wild and primordial. To an eye looking down it would have
seemed that man had never come there, and that this was the dawn of
time. The deep waters lapped the silent shore until a gentle sighing
sound arose, a sound that may have gone on unheard for ages. Close to
the water a file of wild ducks flew like an arrow to the north, and, in
a little cove where the current came in shallow waves, a stag bent his
head to drink.
The sun lingered in the west and then sank behind the vast wall of
forest. The beams of red and gold lasted for a little space on the
surface of the river, and then faded into the universal night. Under the
great cloak of the dark, the surface of the river showed but dimly, and
the rising wind blew through the forest with a chill and uncanny sound.
The ordinary soul would have been appalled by the mighty isolation of
the wilderness, yet the river itself was not without the presence of
human life. Close to the northern shore, where the shadow of the tall
forest lay deepest, floated a long boat, containing five figures that
rested easily. Two of the crew were boys, but as tall and strong as men.
The other three were somewhat older. The boat carried four pairs of
oars, but only one man rowed, and he merely pulled on an oar from time
to time to give direction, while the current did the work. His comrades
leaned comfortably against the sides of the boat, and with keen eyes,
trained to the darkness, watched for a break in the black battlement of
the trees.
It was Henry Ware who first saw the opening. It was nearly always he who
was the first to see, and he pointed to the place where the dark line
made a loop towards the north.
"It's a wide break," he said a moment or two later. "It must be the
mouth of the river."
"You're shorely right, Henry," said Shif'less Sol, who sat just behind
him, "an' from the looks o' the break thar, it's a good, big river, too.
S'pose we pull up in it a spell afore we make a landin'."
"It seems a good idea to me," replied Henry. "What say you, Paul?"
"I'm for it," replied Paul Cotter. "I'd like to see this new river
coming down from the north, and it's pretty sure, too, that we'd be
safer camping on it for the night than on the Ohio."
Jim Hart had been guiding with a single oar. Now he took the pair in his
hands and rowed into the mouth of the tributary stream. The smaller
river, smaller only by contrast, poured a dark flood into the Ohio, and,
seeing that the current was strong, the others took oars and rowed also,
all except Paul, who was at the helm. Driven by powerful arms, the boat
went swiftly up the new river. Henry in the prow watched with all the
interest that he had for new things, and with all the need for watching
that one always had in the great forests of the Ohio Valley.
The banks of this river were higher than those of the Ohio, but were
clothed also in dense forests, which, from the surface of the stream no
human eye could penetrate in the darkness of the night. They rowed in
silence for a full hour, seeing no good place for an anchorage, and
then, at a sign from Henry, came to rest on the stream. Shif'less Sol,
strong of eye and mind, saw an unusual expression on the face of the
leader.
"What is it, Henry?" he whispered.
"I thought I heard the sound of an incautious paddle, one that splashed
water, but I'm not sure."
"Ah," said the shiftless one, "then we'll listen a little longer."
The others heard the words also, but, saying nothing, they, too,
listened. Very soon all heard the splashing of the single paddle and
then the swishing sound of many moved steadily in the waters by strong
and practiced hands.
"It's a fleet behind us," said Henry, "and a fleet on this river can
mean only Indians. Shall we pull ahead with all our might?"
"No," said Shif'less Sol. "Look how thick the bushes grow at the water's
edge. We can run our boat in among them and in all this darkness, the
Indians, whether Wyandot, Miami or Shawnee, will not know that we are
thar. Besides, curiosity is gnawin' at me hard. I want to see what's in
this Indian fleet."
"So do I," said Silent Tom Ross, speaking for the first time, and the
others also gave their assent. The boat shot diagonally across the
stream towards the dark mass of bushes, into which it was pushed slowly
and without noise by the guiding arms of the rowers. Here it came to
rest, completely hidden in the dense covert of leaves and twigs, while
its occupants could see anything that passed on the surface of the
river.
"They'll come soon," said Henry, as the sound of the paddles grew
louder, "and I should judge that they are many."
"Maybe a hundred boats and canoes," said Shif'less Sol. "It's my guess
that it's a big war party of some kind or other."
"The allied Indian nations, no doubt," said Henry thoughtfully. "Despite
their defeats in the East, they are yet almost supreme here in the
valley, and they hang together."
"Which means," said Shif'less Sol, a warlike tone coming into his voice,
"that ef some big movement is afoot, it's our task to find out what it
is an' beat it if we kin."
"Certainly," Henry whispered back. "It's what we've been doing, Sol, for
the last two or three years, and we won't stop until the work is done."
The tone of the great youth was low, but it was marked by the resolution
that he always showed in times of danger. He and his comrades were on
the return journey to Wareville, after taking part in the campaigns of
Wyoming and the Chemung, but it was scarcely the thought of any one of
the five that they would travel the vast distance without interruption.
Henry, as he sat in the boat in the darkness, felt that once more they
were on the verge of great events. Used so long to the life of the
wilderness and its countless dangers, the sudden throb of his heart told
not of fear, but rather of exultation. It was the spirit rising to meet
what lay before it. The same strength of soul animated his comrades, but
everyone took his resolution in silence.
The boat, hidden deep in the mass of foliage, lay parallel with the
current of the stream, and it tipped a little on one side, as the five
leaned forward and watched eagerly for the fleet that was coming up the
river. The regular and rhythmic sound of oars and paddles grew louder,
and then the head of the fleet, trailing itself like a long serpent,
came into view. A great canoe with many men at the paddles appeared
first, and behind it, in lines of four, followed the other canoes, at
least a hundred in number, bearing perhaps five hundred warriors.
The five thrilled at the sight, which was ominous and full of majesty.
The moon was now coming out, and the surface of the dark stream turned
to melted silver. But the high banks were still in darkness, and only
the savage fleet was thrown into relief.
The paddles rose and fell in unison, and the steady swishing sound was
musical. The moonlight deepened and poured its stream of silver over
hundreds of savage faces, illuminating the straight black hair, the high
cheek bones, and the broad chests, naked, save for the war paint. None
of them spoke, but their silence made the passing of this savage array
in the night all the more formidable.
Henry's attention was soon caught by a figure in the large boat that
led. It was that of a man who did not use the paddle, but who sat near
the prow with folded arms. The upper half of his body was so rigidly
upright that in another place he might have posed for a figurehead of
some old Roman galley. He was of magnificent build. Like the others, he
was naked to the waist, and the moonlight showed the great muscles upon
his powerful shoulders and chest. The pose of the head expressed pride
that nothing could quench.
Henry recognized the man at once. Had he not seen the face, the figure
and attitude alone were sufficient to tell him that this was
Timmendiquas, the great White Lightning of the Wyandots, returning from
the East, where he had helped the Indians in vain, but at the head of a
great force, once more in his own country.
Henry put his hand upon that of Shif'less Sol.
"I see," whispered his comrade very low. "It is Timmendiquas, an' whar
he comes, big things come, too."
Henry knew in his heart that the shiftless one was right. The coming of
Timmendiquas with so large an army meant great events, and it was good
fortune that had placed himself and his comrades there that night that
they might see. His old feeling of admiration for the chief was as
strong as ever, and he felt a certain sympathy, too. Here was a man who
had failed despite courage, energy and genius. His help had not been
able to save the Iroquois, and his own people might some day meet the
same fate.
The long line of the fleet passed on in silence, save for the musical
swishing of the paddles. That sound, too, soon died away. Then all the
canoes blended together like a long arrow of glittering silver, and the
five in the bushes watched the arrow until it faded quite away on the
surface of the stream.
Henry and his comrades did not yet come forth from their covert, but
they talked frankly.
"What do you think it means?" asked the young leader.
"Another raid on Kentucky," said Tom Ross.
"But not jest yet," said the shrewd and far-seeing Shif'less Sol.
"Timmendiquas will go North to gather all the warriors in the valley if
he kin. He may even get help in Canada."
"I think so, too," said Paul.
"'Pears likely to me," said Long Jim.
"That being the case," said Henry, "I think we ought to follow. Do you
agree with me?"
"We do," said the four together, speaking with the greatest emphasis.
The decision made, nothing more was said upon the point, but they
remained fully an hour longer in the covert. It would not be wise to
follow yet, because a canoe or two might drop behind to serve as a rear
guard. Nor was there any need to hurry.
The five were in splendid shape for a new campaign. They had enjoyed a
long rest, as they floated down the Ohio, rarely using the oars. They
carried a large supply of ammunition and some extra rifles and other
weapons, and, used to success, they were ready to dare anything. When
they thought the Indian fleet was several miles ahead, they pulled their
boat from the covert and followed. But they did not take the middle of
the stream. Theirs was not a large force which could move rapidly,
fearing nothing. Instead, they clung close to the eastern shore, in the
shadow of the bank and trees, and rowed forward at an even pace, which
they slackened only at the curves, lest they plunge suddenly into a
hostile force.
About midnight they heard faintly the splash of the paddles, and then
they drew in again among the bushes at the bank, where they decided to
remain for the rest of the night. Henry was to watch about three hours
and Shif'less Sol would be on guard afterward. The four wrapped
themselves in their blankets, lay down in the bottom of the boat, and
were sound asleep in a few minutes. Henry, rifle across his knees,
crouched in the stern. Now that he did not have the exercise of the
oars, the night felt cold, and he drew his own blankets over his
shoulders.
Henry expected no danger, but he watched closely, nevertheless. Nothing
could have passed on the stream unnoticed by him, and every sound on the
bank above would have attracted his attention at once. Despite the fact
that they were about to embark upon a new task attended by many dangers,
the boy felt a great peace. In the perilous life of the wilderness he
had learned how to enjoy the safety and physical comfort of the moment.
He looked down at his comrades and smiled to himself. They were merely
dark blurs on the bottom of the boat, sleeping soundly in their
blankets. What glorious comrades they were! Surely no one ever had
better.
Henry himself did not move for a long time. He leaned against the side
of the boat, and the blanket remained drawn up about his neck and
shoulders. The rifle across his knee was draped by the same blanket, all
except the steel muzzle. Only his face was uncovered, but his eyes never
ceased to watch. The wind was blowing lightly through the trees and
bushes, and the current of the river murmured beside the boat, all these
gentle sounds merging into one note, the song of the forest that he
sometimes heard when he alone was awake--he and everything else being
still.
Henry's mind was peaceful, imaginative, attentive to all the wonders of
the forest, beholding wonders that others could not see, and the song
went on, the gentle murmur of the river fusing and melting into the wind
among the leaves. While he watched and listened, nothing escaping him,
his mind traveled far, down the great rivers, through the many battles
in which he had borne his share, and up to those mighty lakes of which
he had often heard, but which he had never seen.
The moonlight brightened again, clothing all the forest and river in a
veil of silver gauze. It was inexpressibly beautiful to Henry who, like
the Indians, beheld with awe and admiration the work of Manitou.
A light sound, not in unison with the note of the forest, came from the
bank above. It was very faint, nothing more than the momentary
displacement of a bough, but the crouching figure in the boat moved ever
so slightly, and then was still. The sound was repeated once and no
more, but Henry's mind ceased to roam afar. The great river that he had
seen and the great lakes that he had not seen were forgotten. With all
the power of his marvelous gift he was concentrating his faculties upon
the point from which the discord had come once, twice and then no more.
Eye, ear and something greater--divination, almost--were bent upon it.
He listened several minutes, but the sound did not come a third time.
Forest and river were singing together again, but Henry was not
satisfied. He rose to his feet, laid the blanket softly in the boat, and
then with a glance at the river to see that nothing was passing there,
leaped lightly to the land.
The bank rose above him to a height of thirty feet, but the bushes were
thick along its face, and the active youth climbed easily and without
noise. Before he reached the crest he flattened himself against the
earth and listened. He was quite confident that someone had been passing
and was, perhaps, very near. He was too good a forester to ignore the
event. He heard nothing and then drew himself up cautiously over the
edge of the cliff.
He saw before him thick forest, so heavy and dark that the moon did not
light it up. An ordinary scout or sentinel would have turned back,
satisfied that nothing was to be found, but Henry entered the woods and
proceeded carefully in the direction from which the sound had come. He
soon saw faint signs of a trail, evidently running parallel with the
river, and, used from time to time, by the Indians. Now Henry was
satisfied that his senses had not deceived him, and he would discover
who had passed. He judged by the difference between the first and second
sounds that the journey was leading northward, and he followed along the
trail. He had an idea that it would soon lead him to a camp, and he
reckoned right, because in a few minutes he saw a red bead of light to
his right.
Henry knew that the light betokened a camp-fire, and he was sure that he
would find beside it the cause of the noise that he had heard. He
approached with care, the woods offering an ample covert. He soon saw
that the fire was of good size, and that there were at least a dozen
figures around it.
"More warriors," he said to himself, "probably bound for the same place
as the fleet."
But as he drew yet nearer he saw that not all the men around the
camp-fire were warriors. Three, despite their faces, browned by wind and
rain, belonged to the white race, and in the one nearest to him, Henry,
with a leap of the heart, recognized his old enemy, Braxton Wyatt.
Wyatt, like Timmendiquas, had come back to the scene of his earlier
exploits and this conjunction confirmed Henry in his belief that some
great movement was intended.
Wyatt was on the far side of the fire, where the flames lighted up his
face, and Henry was startled by the savagery manifested there. The
renegade's face, despite his youth, was worn and lined. His black hair
fell in dark locks upon his temples. He still wore the British uniform
that he had adopted in the East, but sun and rain had left little of its
original color. Wyatt had returned to the West unsuccessful, and Henry
knew that he was in his most evil mind.
The short, thick man sitting by Wyatt was Simon Girty, the most famous
of all the renegades, and just beyond him was Blackstaffe. The Indians
were Shawnees.
The three white men were deep in conversation and now and then they
pointed towards the north. Henry would have given much to have heard
what they said, but they did not speak loudly enough. He was tempted to
take a shot at the villain, Simon Girty. A single bullet would remove a
scourge from the border and save hundreds of lives. The bullet sent, he
might easily escape in the darkness. But he could not pull the trigger.
He could not fire upon anyone from ambush, and watching a little while
longer, he crept back through the forest to the boat, which he regained
without trouble.
Henry awakened his comrades and told them all that he had seen. They
agreed with him that it was of the utmost importance. Wyatt and Girty
were, no doubt, cooperating with Timmendiquas, and somewhere to the
north the great Wyandot intended to rally his forces for a supreme
effort.
"This leaves us without the shadow of a pretext for going on to
Wareville," said Henry.
"It shorely does," said Shif'less Sol. "It's now our business to follow
the Indians an' the renegades all the way to the Great Lakes ef they go
that fur."
"I hope they will," said Paul. "I'd like to see those lakes. They say
you can sail on them there for days and days and keep out of sight of
land. They're one of the wonders of the world."
"The trail may lead us that far," said Henry. "Who knows! But since the
enemy is on both land and water, I think we'll have to hide our boat and
take to the forest."
The truth of his words was obvious to them. The renegades or Indians in
the woods would certainly see their boat if they continued that method
of progress, but on land they could choose their way and hide whenever
they wished. Reluctantly they abandoned their boat, which was staunch
and strong, but they hid it as well as possible among bushes and reeds.
In such a vast wilderness, the chances were twenty to one that it would
remain where they had put it until they returned to claim their own. Too
wise to burden themselves, they buried all their extra weapons and
stores at the base of a great oak, marked well the place, and then,
everyone with a blanket and light pack, started forward through the
forest. They intended to go ahead of the renegades, observe the
anchorage of the boats, and then withdrawing some distance from the
river, let Wyatt, Girty and their friends pass them.
Although it was yet several hours until daylight, they resumed their
journey along the eastern bank of the stream, Henry leading and Silent
Tom Ross bringing up the rear. In this manner they advanced rapidly and
just when the first beams of dawn were appearing, they saw the Indian
fleet at anchor on the west shore.
They examined them at their leisure from the dense covert of the
thickets, and saw that their estimate of five hundred warriors, made the
night before, was correct. They also saw Timmendiquas more than once and
it was evident that he was in complete command. Respect and attention
followed wherever he went. Paint and dress indicated that warriors of
all the tribes inhabiting the Ohio Valley were there.
The Indians seemed to be in no hurry, as they lighted fires on the bank,
and cooked buffalo and deer meat, which they ate in great quantities.
Many, when they had finished their breakfast, lay down on the grass and
slept again. Others slept in the larger canoes.
"They are waiting for more of their friends to come up," whispered Henry
to his comrades. A few minutes later, Wyatt, Girty and their party
hailed the great war band from the east bank. Canoes were sent over for
them, and they were taken into the Indian camp, but without much sign of
rejoicing.
"We know that Timmendiquas does not like Wyatt," said Henry, "and I
don't believe that he really likes any of the renegades, not even
Girty."
"Red man ought to stick to red man, an' white man to white," said
Shif'less Sol, sententiously. "I think that's the way Timmendiquas looks
at it, an' I'd like to stan' ez high ez a white man, ez he does ez a red
man."
"I kin smell that cookin' buffler an' venison all the way across the
river," said Jim Hart, "an' it's makin' me pow'ful hungry."
"It'll have to be cold meat for us this time, Jim," said Henry.
They had been so engrossed in the spectacle passing before them that
they had forgotten food until the savory odors came across the stream
and recalled it to Jim Hart's attention. Now they took out strips of
dried venison with which they were always provided, and ate it slowly.
It was not particularly delicious to the taste, but it furnished
sustenance and strength. All the while they were lying in a dense
thicket, and the sun was steadily climbing to the zenith, touching the
vast green forest with bright gold.
A shout came from a point far down the river. It was faint, but the five
in the covert heard it. Someone in the fleet of Timmendiquas sent back
an answering cry, a shrill piercing whoop that rose to an extraordinary
pitch of intensity, and then sank away gradually in a dying note. Then
the first cry came again, not so remote now, and once more it was
answered in a similar way from the fleet of Timmendiquas.
"Another fleet or detachment is comm'," said Shif'less Sol, "an' its
expected. That's the reason why White Lightnin' has been lingerin' here,
ez ef time didn't hev no meanin' at all."
Many of the Indians, and with them Girty, Wyatt and Blackstaffe were
looking down the stream. The eyes of the five followed theirs and
presently they saw a fleet of thirty or forty canoes emerge into view,
welcomed with loud shouts by the men of Timmendiquas. When the
re-enforcement was fused into the main fleet, all took their place in
line and once more started northward, the five following in the woods on
shore.
Henry and his comrades kept up this odd pursuit for a week, curving back
and forth, but in the main keeping a northern course. Sometimes they
left the river several miles away to the left, and saved distance by
making a straight line between curves, but they knew that they would
always come back to the stream. Thus it was easy traveling for such
capable woodsmen as they. They saw the fleet joined by three more
detachments, two by water and one by land. One came on a small tributary
stream flowing from the West, and the total force was now increased to
nearly a thousand warriors.
On the sixth night of the parallel pursuit the five discussed it sitting
in a thicket.
"We must be drawing near to a village," said Henry.
"I believe with you," said Shif'less Sol, "an' I think it likely that
it's a Wyandot town."
"It's probable," said Paul, "and now for what purpose is such a great
Indian force gathering? Do they mean to go South against Kentucky? Do
they mean to go East against New York and Pennsylvania, or do they mean
to go northward to join the British in Canada?"
"That's what we've got to find out," said Long Jim tersely.
"That's just it," said Henry. "We've got to stick to 'em until we learn
what they mean to try. Then we must follow again. It's my opinion that
they intend to go further northward or they wouldn't be gathering at a
point two or three hundred miles above the Ohio."
"Reckon you are right, Henry," said Shif'less Sol. "Ez for me I don't
care how fur north this chase takes us, even ef we come right spang up
ag'in' the Great Lakes. I want to see them five wonders o' the world
that Paul talks about."
"We may go to them," said Henry, "but it seems probable to me that we'll
reach a big Wyandot village first."
The Indians resumed their voyage in the usual leisurely fashion the next
morning, and the five on shore followed at a convenient distance. They
observed that the water of the river was now shallowing fast. The Indian
boats were of light draft, but they could not go much further, and the
village must be near.
That evening just before sunset long cries were heard in the forest, and
those in the boat replied with similar signals. Then the fleet swung to
the bank, and all the warriors disembarked. Other warriors came through
the woods to meet them, and leaving a guard with the boats the whole
army marched away through the forest.
The five were observers of all that passed, and they knew that the
Indian village was at hand--perhaps not more than three or four miles
away. Still keeping their distance, they followed. The sun was now gone,
and only a band of red light lingered on the horizon in the West. It,
too, faded quickly as they marched through the woods, and the night came
down, enveloping the forest in darkness. The five were glad that the
landing had occurred at such a time, as it made their own pursuit much
safer and easier.
The Indians, feeling perfectly safe, carried torches and talked and
laughed with great freedom. The five in the covert had both the light
and the noise to guide them, and they followed silently.
They passed over a gently rolling country, heavily wooded, and in a half
hour they saw lights ahead, but yet at some distance. The lights, though
scattered, were numerous, and seemed to extend along an arc of half a
mile. The five knew that the Indian village now lay before them.