THE ROAD TO WAREVILLE
Henry made no mistake when he predicted that they would have the right
of way to the Falls. Days passed and the broad river bore them
peacefully onward, the wind blowing into ripples its yellow surface
which the sunshine turned into deep gold. The woods still formed a solid
bank of dark green on either shore, and they knew that warriors might be
lurking in them, but they kept to the middle of the current, and the
Ohio was so wide that they were fairly safe from sharpshooters. In
addition to the caution, habitual to borderers, they usually kept pretty
well sheltered behind the stout sides of their boat.
"Tain't no use takin' foolish risks," said Shif'less Sol wisely. "A
bullet that you ain't lookin' fur will hurt jest ez bad ez one that
you're expectin', an' the surprise gives a lot o' pain, too."
Hence they always anchored at night, far out in the water, put out all
lights, and never failed to keep watch. Several times they detected
signs of their wary enemy. Once they saw flames twinkling on the
northern shore, and twice they heard signal cries in the southern woods.
But the warriors did not make any nearer demonstration, and they went
on, content to leave alone when they were left alone.
All were eager to see the new settlement at the Falls, of which reports
had come to them through the woods, and they were particularly anxious
to find it a tower of strength against the fresh Indian invasion. Their
news concerning it was not yet definite, but they heard that the first
blockhouse was built on an island. Hence every heart beat a little
faster when they saw the low outline of a wooden island rising from the
bosom of the Ohio.
"According to all we've heard," said Henry, "that should be the place."
"It shorely is," said Shif'less Sol, "an' besides I see smoke risin'
among them trees."
"Yes, and I see smoke rising on the southern shore also," said Henry.
"Which may mean that they've made a second settlement, one on the
mainland," said Paul.
As they drew nearer Henry sent a long quavering cry, the halloo of the
woodsman, across the waters, and an answering cry came from the edge of
the island. Then a boat containing two white men, clad in deerskin, put
out and approached the five cautiously. Henry and Paul stood up to show
that they were white and friends, and the boat then came swiftly.
"Who are you?" called one of the men.
Henry replied, giving their identity briefly, and the man said:
"My name is Charles Curd, and this is Henry Palmer. We live at
Louisville and we are on the watch for friends and enemies alike. We're
glad to know that you're the former."
They escorted the five back to the island, and curious people came down
to the beach to see the forest runners land. Henry and his comrades for
their part were no less curious and soon they were inspecting this
little settlement which for protection had been cast in a spot
surrounded by the waters of the Ohio. They saw Corn Island, a low
stretch of soil, somewhat sandy but originally covered with heavy
forest, now partly cleared away. Yet the ax had left sycamores ten feet
through and one hundred feet high.
The whole area of the island was only forty-three acres, but it already
contained several fields in which fine corn and pumpkins were raised. On
a slight rise was built the blockhouse in the form of an Egyptian cross,
the blockhouse proper forming the body of the cross, while the cabins of
the settlers constituted the arms. In addition to the sycamores, great
cottonwoods had grown here, but nearly all of them had been cut down,
and then had been split into rails and boards. Back of the field and at
the western edge of the river, was a magnificent growth of cane, rising
to a height of more than twenty feet.
This little settlement, destined to be one of the great cities of the
West, had been founded by George Rogers Clark only two or three years
before, and he had founded it in spite of himself. Starting from
Redstone on the Monongahela with one hundred and fifty militia for the
conquest of the Illinois country he had been accompanied by twenty
pioneer families who absolutely refused to be turned back. Finding that
they were bound to go with him Clark gave them his protection, but they
stopped at Corn Island in the Ohio and there built their blockhouse. Now
it was a most important frontier post, a stronghold against the Indians.
Before they ate of the food offered to them Henry looked inquiringly at
the smoke on the southern shore. Curd said with some pride:
"We're growing here. We spread to the mainland in a year. Part of our
people have moved over there, and some new ones have come from Virginia.
On the island and the mainland together, we've now got pretty nearly two
hundred people and we've named our town Louisville in honor of King
Louis of France who is helping us in the East. We've got history, too,
or rather it was made before we came here. An old chief, whom the
whites called Tobacco, told George Rogers Clark that the Alligewi, which
is their name for the Mound Builders, made their last stand here against
the Shawnees, Miamis and other Indians who now roam in this region. A
great battle occurred on an island at the Falls and the Mound Builders
were exterminated. As for myself, I know nothing about it, but it's what
Tobacco said."
Paul's curiosity was aroused instantly and he made a mental note to
investigate the story, when he found an opportunity, but he was never
able to get any further than the Indian legend which most likely had a
basis of truth. For the present, he and his comrades were content with
the welcome which the people on Corn Island gave them, a welcome full of
warmth and good cheer. Their hosts put before them water cooled in
gourds, cakes of Indian meal, pies of pumpkin, all kinds of game, and
beef and pork besides. While they ate and drank Henry, who as usual was
spokesman, told what had occurred at Detroit, further details of the
successful advance of the Indians and English under Bird, of which they
had already heard, and the much greater but postponed scheme of
destruction planned by Timmendiquas, de Peyster, Girty and their
associates. Curd, Palmer and the others paled a little under their tan
as they listened, but their courage came back swiftly.
"At any rate," said Curd, "we've got a man to lead us against them, a
man who strikes fast, sure and hard, George Rogers Clark, the hero of
Vincennes and Kaskaskia, the greatest leader in all the West."
"Why, is he here?" exclaimed Henry in surprise. "I thought he was
farther East."
"You'll see him inside of half an hour. He was at the other blockhouse
on the southern shore, and we sent up a signal that strangers were here.
There he comes now."
A boat had put out from the southern bank. It contained three men, two
of whom were rowing, while the third sat upright in a military fashion.
All his body beneath his shoulders was hidden by the boat's sides, but
his coat was of the Continental buff and blue, while a border cap of
raccoon skin crowned his round head. Such incongruous attire detracted
nothing from the man's dignity and presence. Henry saw that his face was
open, his gaze direct, and that he was quite young. He was looking
straight toward the five who had come with their new friends down to the
river's edge, and, when he sprang lightly upon the sand, he gave them a
military salute. They returned it in like manner, while they looked with
intense curiosity at the famous leader of the border forces. Clark
turned to Henry, whose figure and bearing indicated the chief.
"You come from the North, from the depths of the Indian country, I take
it," he said.
"From the very heart of it," replied the youth. "I was a prisoner at
Detroit, and my comrades were near by outside the walls. We have also
seen Bird returning from his raid with his prisoners and we know that
Timmendiquas, de Peyster, Girty, Caldwell, and the others are going to
make a supreme effort to destroy every settlement west of the
Alleghanies. A great force under Timmendiquas, Caldwell and Girty came
part of the way but turned back, partly, I think, because of divisions
among themselves and partly because they heard of your projected
advance. But it will come again."
The shoulders in the military coat seemed to stiffen and the eyes under
the raccoon skin cap flashed.
"I did want to go back to Virginia," said Clark, "but I'm glad that I'm
here. Mr. Ware, young as you are, you've seen a lot of forest work, I
take it, and so I ask you what is the best way to meet an attack?"
"To attack first."
"Good! good! That was my plan! Report spoke true! We'll strike first.
We'll show these officers and chiefs that we're not the men to sit idly
and wait for our foe. We'll go to meet him. Nay more, we'll find him in
his home and destroy him. Doesn't that appeal to you, my lads?"
"It does," said five voices, emphatic and all together, and then Henry
added, speaking he knew for his comrades as well as himself:
"Colonel Clark, we wish to volunteer for the campaign that we know you
have planned. Besides the work that we have done here in the West, we
have seen service in the East. We were at Wyoming when the terrible
massacre occurred, and we were with General Sullivan when he destroyed
the Iroquois power. But, sir, I wish to say that we do best in an
independent capacity, as scouts, skirmishers, in fact as a sort of
vanguard."
Clark laughed and clapped a sinewy hand upon Henry's shoulder.
"I see," he said. "You wish to go with me to war, but you wish at the
same time to be your own masters. It might be an unreasonable request
from some people, but, judging from what I see of you and what I have
heard of you and your comrades, it is just the thing. You are to watch
as well as fight for me. Were you not the eyes of the fleet that Adam
Colfax brought up the Ohio?"
Henry blushed and hesitated, but Clark exclaimed heartily:
"Nay, do not be too modest, my lad! We are far apart here in the woods,
but news spreads, nevertheless, and I remember sitting one afternoon and
listening to an old friend, Major George Augustus Braithwaite, tell a
tale of gallant deeds by river and forest, and how a fort and fleet were
saved largely through the efforts of five forest runners, two of whom
were yet boys. Major Braithwaite gave me detailed descriptions of the
five, and they answer so exactly to the appearance of you and your
comrades that I am convinced you are the same. Since you are so modest,
I will tell you to your face that I'd rather have you five than fifty
ordinary men. Now, young sir, blush again and make the most of it!"
Henry did blush, and said that the Colonel gave them far too much
credit, but at heart he, like the other four, felt a great swell of
pride. Their deeds in behalf of the border were recognized by the great
leader, and surely it was legitimate to feel that one had not toiled and
fought in vain for one's people.
A few minutes later they sat down with Clark and some of the others
under the boughs of the big sycamore, and gave a detailed account of
their adventures, including all that they had seen from the time they
had left for New Orleans until the present moment.
"A great tale! a great tale!" said Clark, meditatively, "and I wish to
add, Mr. Ware, an illuminating one also. It throws light upon forest
councils and forest plans. Besides your service in battle, you bring us
news that shows us how to meet our enemy and nothing could be of greater
value. Now, I wish to say to you that it will take us many weeks to
collect the needful force, and that will give you two lads ample time,
if you wish, to visit your home in Wareville, taking with you the worthy
schoolmaster whom you have rescued so happily."
Henry and Paul decided at once to accept the suggestion. Both felt the
great pulses leap at mention of Wareville and home. They had not seen
their people for nearly two years, although they had sent word several
times that they were well. Now they felt an overwhelming desire to see
once again their parents and the neat little village by the river,
enclosed within its strong palisades. Yet they delayed a few days longer
to attend to necessary preliminaries of the coming campaign. Among
other things they went the following morning to see the overflow
settlement on the south shore, now but a year old.
This seed of a great city was yet faint and small. The previous winter
had been a terrible one for the immigrants. The Ohio had been covered
with thick ice from shore to shore. Most of their horses and cattle had
frozen to death. Nevertheless they had no thought of going away, and
there were many things to encourage the brave. They had a good harbor on
the river at the mouth of a fine creek, that they named Beargrass, and
back of them was a magnificent forest of gum, buckeye, cherry, sycamore,
maple and giant poplars. It had been proved that the soil was extremely
fertile, and they were too staunch to give up so fair a place. They also
had a strong fort overlooking the river, and, with Clark among them,
they were ready to defy any Indian force that might come.
But the time passed quickly, and Henry and Paul and the schoolmaster
were ready for the last stage of their journey, deciding, in order that
they might save their strength, to risk once more the dangers of the
water passage. They would go in a canoe until they came to the mouth of
the river that flowed by Wareville and then row up the current of the
latter until they reached home. Shif'less Sol, Jim and Tom were going to
remain with Clark until their return. But these three gave them
hand-clasps of steel when they departed.
"Don't you get trapped by wanderin' Indians, Henry," said the shiftless
one. "We couldn't get along very well without you fellers. Do most o'
your rowin' at night an' lay by under overhangin' boughs in the day. You
know more'n I do, Henry, but I'm so anxious about you I can't keep from
givin' advice."
"Don't any of you do too much talkin'," said Silent Tom. "Injuns hear
pow'ful well, an' many a feller hez been caught in an ambush, an' hez
lost his scalp jest 'cause he would go along sayin' idle words that told
the Injuns whar he wuz, when he might hev walked away safe without thar
ever knowin' he wuz within a thousand miles uv them."
"An' be mighty particular about your cookin'," said Long Jim. "Many a
good man hez fell sick an' died, jest 'cause his grub wuzn't fixed
eggzackly right. An' when you light your fires fur ven'son an' buffalo
steaks be shore thar ain't too much smoke. More than once smoke hez
brought the savages down on people. Cookin' here in the woods is not
cookin' only, it's also a delicate an' bee-yu-ti-ful art that saves
men's lives when it's done right, by not leadin' Shawnees, Wyandots an'
other ferocious warriors down upon 'em."
Henry promised every one of the three to follow his advice religiously,
and there was moisture in his and Paul's eyes when they caught the last
view of them standing upon the bank and waving farewell. The next
instant they were hidden by a curve of the shore, and then Henry said:
"It's almost like losing one's right arm to leave those three behind. I
don't feel complete without them."
"Nor do I," said Paul. "I believe they were giving us all that advice
partly to hide their emotion."
"Undoubtedly they were," said Mr. Pennypacker in a judicial tone, "and I
wish to add that I do not know three finer characters, somewhat
eccentric perhaps, but with hearts in the right place, and with sound
heads on strong shoulders. They are like some ancient classic figures of
whom I have read, and they are fortunate, too, to live in the right time
and right place for them."
They made a safe passage over a stretch of the Ohio and then turned up
the tributary river, rowing mostly, as Shif'less Sol had suggested, by
night, and hiding their canoe and themselves by day. It was not
difficult to find a covert as the banks along the smaller river were
nearly always overhung by dense foliage, and often thick cane and
bushes grew well into the water's edge. Here they would stop when the
sun was brightest, and sometimes the heat was so great that not refuge
from danger alone made them glad to lie by when the golden rays came
vertically. Then they would make themselves as comfortable as possible
in the boat and bearing Silent Tom's injunction in mind, talk in very
low tones, if they talked at all. But oftenest two of them slept while
the third watched.
They had been three days upon the tributary when it was Henry who
happened to be watching. Both Paul and the teacher slumbered very
soundly. Paul lay at the stern of the boat and Mr. Pennypacker in the
middle. Henry was in the prow, sitting at ease with his rifle across his
knees. The boat was amid a tall growth of canes, the stalks and blades
rising a full ten feet above their heads, and hiding them completely.
Henry had been watching the surface of the river, but at last the action
grew wholly mechanical. Had anything appeared there he would have seen
it, but his thoughts were elsewhere. His whole life, since he had
arrived, a boy of fifteen, in the Kentucky wilderness, was passing
before him in a series of pictures, vivid and wonderful, standing out
like reality itself. He was in a sort of twilight midway between the
daylight and a dream, and it seemed to him once more that Providence had
kept a special watch over his comrades and himself. How else could they
have escaped so many dangers? How else could fortune have turned to
their side, when the last chance seemed gone? No skill, even when it
seemed almost superhuman, could have dragged them back from the pit of
death. He felt with all the power of conviction that a great mission had
been given to them, and that they had been spared again and again that
they might complete it.
While he yet watched and saw, he visited a misty world. The wind had
risen and out of the dense foliage above him came its song upon the
stalks and blades of the cane. A low note at first, it swelled into
triumph, and it sounded clearly in his ear, bar on bar. He did not have
the power to move, as he listened then to the hidden voice. His blood
leaped and a deep sense of awe, and of the power of the unknown swept
over him. But he was not afraid. Rather he shared in the triumph that
was expressed so clearly in the mystic song.
The note swelled, touched upon its highest note and then died slowly
away in fall after fall, until it came in a soft echo and then the echo
itself was still. Henry returned to the world of reality with every
sense vivid and alert. He heard the wind blowing in the cane and nothing
more. The surface of the river rippled lightly in the breeze, but
neither friend nor enemy passed there. The stream was as lonely and
desolate as if man had never come. He shook himself a little, but the
spiritual exaltation, born of the song and the misty region that he had
visited, remained.
"A sign, a prophecy!" he murmured. His heart swelled. The new task would
be achieved as the others had been. It did not matter whether he had
heard or had dreamed. His confidence in the result was absolute. He sat
a long time looking out upon the water, but never moving. Anyone
observing him would have concluded after a while that he was no human
being, merely an image. It would not have seemed possible that any
living organism could have remained as still as a stone so many hours.
When the sun showed that it was well past noon, Paul awoke. He glanced
at Henry, who nodded. The nod meant that all was well. By and by Mr.
Pennypacker, also, awoke and then Henry in his turn went to sleep so
easily and readily that it seemed a mere matter of will. The
schoolmaster glanced at him and whispered to Paul:
"A great youth, Paul! Truly a great youth! It is far from old Greece to
this forest of Kaintuckee, but he makes me think of the mighty heroes
who are enshrined in the ancient legends and stories."
"That thought has come to me, too," Paul whispered back. "I like to
picture him as Hector, but Hector with a better fate. I don't think
Henry was born for any untimely end."
"No, that could not be," said the schoolmaster with conviction.
Then they relapsed into silence and just about the time the first shadow
betokened the coming twilight Paul heard a faint gurgling sound which he
was sure was made by oars. He touched the schoolmaster and whispered to
him to listen. Then he pulled Henry's shoulder slightly, and instantly
the great youth sat up, wide awake.
"Someone is near," whispered Paul. "Listen!"
Henry bent his head close to the water and distinctly heard the swishing
of paddles, coming in the direction that they had followed in the night.
It was a deliberate sound and Henry inferred at once that those who
approached were in no hurry and feared no enemy. Then he drew the second
inference that it was Indians. White men would know that danger was
always about them in these woods.
"We have nothing to do but lie here and see them as they pass," he
whispered to his companions. "We are really as safe among these dense
canes as if we were a hundred miles away, provided we make no noise."
There was no danger that any of them would make a noise. They lay so
still that their boat never moved a hair and not even the wariest savage
on the river would have thought that one of their most formidable
enemies and two of his friends lay hidden in the canes so near.
"Look!" whispered Henry. "There is Braxton Wyatt!"
Henry and Paul were eager enough to see but the schoolmaster was
perhaps the most eager of all. This was something new in his experience.
He had heard much of Braxton Wyatt, the renegade, once a pupil of his,
and he did not understand how one of white blood and training could turn
aside to join the Indians, and to become a more ruthless enemy of his
own people than the savages themselves. Yet there could be no doubt of
its truth, and now that he saw Wyatt he understood. Evil passions make
an evil face. Braxton Wyatt's jaw was now heavy and projecting, his eyes
were dark and lowering, and his cheek bones seemed to have become high
like those of the warriors with whom he lived. The good Mr. Pennypacker
shuddered. He had lived long and he could read the hearts of men. He
knew now that Braxton Wyatt, despite his youth, was lost beyond
redemption to honor and truth. The schoolmaster shuddered again.
The boat--a large one--contained besides Wyatt a white man, obviously a
renegade, and six sturdy Shawnee warriors who were wielding the paddles.
The warriors were quite naked, save for the breechcloth, and their broad
shoulders and chests were painted with many hideous decorations. Their
rifles lay beside them. Braxton Wyatt's manner showed that he was the
leader and Henry had no doubt that this was a party of scouts come to
spy upon Wareville. It was wholly likely that Braxton Wyatt, who knew
the place so thoroughly, should undertake such an errand.
Henry was right. Timmendiquas, de Peyster and Girty as leaders of the
allied forces preparing for invasion in case Clark could not gather a
sufficient force for attack, were neglecting no precaution. They had
sent forth small parties to examine into the condition of every station
in Kentucky. These parties were not to make any demonstration, lest the
settlers be put on their guard, but, after obtaining their information,
were to retire as silently as they had come. Braxton Wyatt had promptly
secured command of the little force sent toward Wareville, taking with
him as lieutenant a young renegade, a kindred spirit named Early.
Strange emotions agitated Wyatt when he started. He had a desire to see
once more the place where he had been a boy with other boys of his own
white race, and where he might yet have been with his own kind, if a
soul naturally turning to malice had not sent him off to the savages.
Because he was now an outcast, although of his own making, he hated his
earlier associates all the more. He sought somehow to blame them for it.
They had never appreciated him enough. Had they put him forward and
given him his due, he would not now be making war upon them. Foolish and
blind, they must suffer the consequences of their own stupidity. When
Wareville was taken, he might induce the Indians to spare a few, but
there were certainly some who should not be spared. His brow was black
and his thoughts were blacker. It may be that Henry read them, because
his hand slid gently forward to the hammer of his rifle. But his will
checked the hand before it could cock the weapon, and he shook his head
impatiently.
"Not now," he said in the softest of whispers, "but we must follow that
boat. It is going toward Wareville and that is our way. Since we have
seen him it is for us to deal with Wyatt before he can do more
mischief."
Paul nodded, and even the soul of the good schoolmaster stirred with
warlike ardor. He was not a child of the forest. He knew little of
ambush and the trail, but he was ready to spend his strength and blood
for the good of his own people. So he too nodded, and then waited for
their young leader to act.
Braxton Wyatt passed on southward and up the stream of the river. There
was no song among the leaves for him, but his heart was still full of
cruel passions. He did not dream that a boat containing the one whom he
hated most had lain in the cane within twenty yards of him. He was
thinking instead of Wareville and of the way in which he would spy out
every weak place there. He and Early had become great friends, and now
he told his second much about the village.
"Wareville is strong," he said, "and they have many excellent riflemen.
We were repulsed there once, when we made an attack in force, and we
must take it by surprise. Once we are inside the palisade everything
will soon be over. I hope that we will catch Ware and his comrades there
when we catch the others."
"He seems hard to hold," said Early. "That escape of his from Detroit
was a daring and skillful thing. I could hardly believe it when we heard
of it at the Ohio. You're bound to admit that, Braxton."
"I admit it readily enough," said Wyatt. "Oh, he's brave and cunning and
strong. He would not be so much worth taking if he were not all those
things!"
Early glanced at the face of his leader.
"You do dislike him, that's sure!" he said.
"You make no mistake when you say so," replied Wyatt. "There are not
many of us here in the woods, and somehow he and I seem to have been
always in opposition in the last two or three years. I think, however,
that a new campaign will end in overwhelming victory for us, and
Kaintuckee will become a complete wilderness again."
The stalwart Shawnees paddled on all that afternoon without stopping or
complaining once. It was a brilliant day in early summer, all golden
sunshine, but not too warm. The river flowed in curve after curve, and
its surface was always illumined by the bright rays save where the
unbroken forest hung in a green shadow over either edge. Scarlet
tanagers darted like flashes of flame from tree to tree, and from low
boughs a bird now and then poured forth a full measure of song. Braxton
Wyatt had never looked upon a more peaceful wilderness, but before the
sun began to set he was afflicted with a strange disquiet. An expert
woodsman with an instinct for the sounds and stirrings of the forest, he
began to have a belief that they were not alone on the river. He heard
nothing and saw nothing, yet he felt in a vague, misty way that they
were followed. He tried to put aside the thought as foolish, but it
became so strong that at last he gave a signal to stop.
"What is it?" asked Early, as the paddles ceased to sigh through the
water.
"I thought I heard something behind us," replied Wyatt, although he had
heard nothing, "and you know we cannot afford to be seen here by any
white scout or hunter."
The Indians listened intently with their trained ears and then shook
their heads. There was no sound behind them, save the soft flowing of
the river, as it lapped against either bank.
"I hear nothing," said Early.
"Nor do I," admitted Wyatt, "yet I could have sworn a few minutes ago
that we were being followed. Instinct is sometimes a good guide in the
forest."
"Then I suggest," said Early, "that we turn back for a few miles. We can
float with the current close up to the bank under the overhanging
boughs, and, if hunters or scouts are following us, they'll soon wish
they were somewhere else."
He laughed and Braxton Wyatt joined him in his savage mirth.
"Your idea is a good one," said Wyatt, "and we may catch a mouse or two
in our trap."
He gave another signal and the Shawnees turned the boat about,
permitting it to float back with the stream, but as Early had suggested,
keeping it in the shadow. Despite his experience and the lack of proof
that anyone else was near, Wyatt's heart began to beat fast. Suppose
the game was really there, and it should prove to be of the kind that he
wanted most to take! This would be indeed a triumph worth while, and he
would neglect no precaution to achieve it. They had gone back about a
mile now, and he signaled to the warriors to swing the boat yet a little
closer to the bank. He still heard no sound, but the belief was once
more strong upon him that the quarry was there. They drifted slowly and
yet there was nothing. His eye alighted upon a great mass of bushes
growing in the shallow water at the edge of the river. He told the
paddlers to push the boat among them until it should be completely
hidden and then he waited.
But time passed and nothing came. The sun dropped lower. The yellow
light on the water turned to red, and the forest flamed under the
setting sun. A light breeze sprang up and the foliage rustled under its
touch. Braxton Wyatt, from his covert among the bushes, watched with
anger gnawing at his heart. He had been wrong or whoever it was that
followed had been too wary. He was crafty and had laid his trap well,
but others were crafty, too, and would turn from the door of an open
trap.
The sun sank further. The red in the west deepened but gray shadows were
creeping over the east and the surface of the river began to darken.
Nothing had come. Nothing was coming. Braxton Wyatt said reluctantly to
himself that his instinct had been wrong. He gave the word to pull the
boat from the canes, and to proceed up the stream again. He was annoyed.
He had laid a useless trap and he had made himself look cheap before the
Indians. So he said nothing for a long time, but allowed his anger to
simmer. When it was fully dark they tied up the boat and camped on
shore, in the bushes near the water.
Wyatt was too cautious to permit a fire, and they ate cold food in the
darkness. After a while, all slept but two of the Shawnees who kept
watch. Wyatt's slumbers were uneasy. About midnight he awoke, and he was
oppressed by the same presentiment that had made him turn back the boat.
He heard nothing and saw nothing save his own men, but his instinct was
at work once more, and it told him that his party was watched. He lay in
dark woods in a vast wilderness, but he felt in every bone that near
them was an alien presence.
Wyatt raised himself upon his arm and looked at the two red sentinels.
Not a muscle of either had stirred. They were so much carven bronze.
Their rifles lay across their knees and they stared fixedly at the
forest. But he knew that their eyes and ears were of the keenest and
that but little could escape their attention. Yet they had not
discovered the presence. He rose finally to his feet. The Indians heard
the faint noise that he made and glanced at him. But he was their
commander and they said nothing, resuming in an instant their watch of
the forest.
Wyatt did not take his rifle. Instead, he kept his hand on the hilt of a
fine double-barreled pistol in his belt. After some hesitation he walked
to the river and looked at the boat. It was still there, tied securely.
No one had meddled with it. The moon was obscured and the surface of the
river looked black. No object upon it could be seen far away. He
listened attentively and heard nothing. But he could not rid himself of
the belief that they had been followed, that even now a foe was near. He
walked back to the little camp and looked at Early who was sleeping
soundly. He was impatient with himself because he could not do likewise,
and then, shrugging his shoulders, he went further into the forest.
The trees grew closely where Wyatt stood and there were bushes
everywhere. His concealment was good and he leaned against the trunk of
a huge oak to listen. He could not see fifteen feet away, but he did not
believe that any human being could pass near and escape his hearing. He
stood thus in the darkness for a full ten minutes, and then he was quite
sure that he did hear a sound as of a heavy body moving slightly. It was
not instinct or prescience, the product of a vivid fancy, but a reality.
He had been too long in the woods to mistake the fact. Something was
stalking something else and undoubtedly the stalker was a man.
What was the unknown stalking? Suddenly a cold sweat broke out on
Braxton Wyatt's face. It was he who was being stalked and he was now
beyond the sight of his own sentinels. He was, for the moment, alone in
the midnight woods, and he was afraid. Braxton Wyatt was not naturally a
coward, and he had been hardened in the school of forest warfare, but
superstitious terrors assailed him now. He was sorry that he had left
the camp. His curiosity had been too great. If he wished to explore the
woods, why had he not brought some of the Indians with him?
He called upon his courage, a courage that had seldom failed him, but it
would not come now. He heard the stalker moving again in the bushes, not
fifteen yards away, and the hand on the pistol belt became wet. He
glanced up but there was no moon and clouds hid the sky. Only ear could
tell when the danger was about to fall, and then it would be too late.
He made a supreme effort, put his will in control of his paralyzed
limbs, and wrenched himself away. He almost ran to the camp. Then
bringing his pride to his aid he dropped to a walk, and stepped back
into the circle of the camp. But he was barely able to restrain a cry of
relief as the chill passed from his backbone. Angry and humiliated, he
awakened four of the Shawnees and sent them into the woods in search of
a foe. Early was aroused by the voices and sat up, rubbing his eyes.
"What is it, Braxton?" he asked. "Are we about to be attacked?"
"No," replied Wyatt, calming himself with a violent effort, "but I am
convinced that there is someone in the bushes watching us. I know that I
heard the noise of footsteps and I only hope that our Shawnees will run
afoul of him."
"If he's there they'll get him," said Early confidently.
"I don't know," said Braxton Wyatt.
The Indians came back presently, and one of them spoke to Wyatt, who
went with them into the bushes. The moon had come out a little and, by
its faint light, they showed him traces of footsteps. The imprints were
ever so light, but experienced trailers could not doubt that human
beings had passed. The renegade felt at the same time a certain relief
and a certain alarm, relief to know that he had not been a mere prey to
foolish fears, and alarm because they had been stalked by some spy so
skillful and wary that they could not follow him. The Indians had
endeavored to pursue the trail, but after a rod or so it was lost among
the bushes.
Wyatt, apprehensive lest his mission should fail, doubled the watch and
then sought sleep. He did not find it for a long time, but toward
morning he fell into a troubled slumber from which he was awakened by
Early about an hour after the sun had appeared above the eastern forest.
"We must be moving," said Early, "if we're going to spy out that
Wareville of yours and tell our people how to get in."
"You're right," said Wyatt, "but we must watch behind us now as well as
before. It is certain that we are followed and I'm afraid that we're
followed by an enemy most dangerous."
Neglecting no precaution, he ordered a warrior to follow along the bank
about two miles in the rear. An Indian in the deep brush could not be
seen and the renegade's savage heart thrilled at the thought that after
all he might be setting a trap into which his enemy would walk. Then his
boat moved forward, more slowly now, and hugging the bank more closely
than ever. Wyatt knew the way well. He had been several times along this
river, a fine broad stream. He meant to leave the boat and take to the
forest when within twenty miles of Wareville, but, before doing so, he
hoped to achieve a victory which would console him for many defeats.
The warrior left behind for purposes of ambush was to rejoin them at
noon, but at the appointed hour he did not come. Nor did he come at one
o'clock or at two. He never came, and after Wyatt had raged with
disappointment and apprehension until the middle of the afternoon he
sent back a second warrior to see what had become of him. The second
warrior was the best trailer and scout in the band, a Shawnee with a
great reputation among his fellows, but when the night arrived neither
he nor the other warrior arrived with it. They waited long for both.
Three of the Indians in a group went back, but they discovered no sign.
They returned full of superstitious terror which quickly communicated
itself to the others and Wyatt and Early, despite their white blood,
felt it also.
A most vigilant watch was kept that night. No fire was lighted and
nobody slept. The renegade still hoped that the two missing warriors
would return, but they did not do so. The other Indians began to believe
that the evil spirit had taken them, and they were sorry that they had
come upon such an errand. They wished to go back down the stream and
beyond the Ohio. Near morning a warrior saw something moving in the
bushes and fired at it. The shot was returned quick as a flash, and the
warrior, who would fire no more, fell at the feet of the others and lay
still. Wyatt and his men threw themselves upon their faces, and, after a
long wait, searched the bushes, but found nothing.
Now the Indians approached the point of rebellion. It was against the
will of Manitou that they should prosper on their errand. The loss of
three comrades was the gravest of warnings and they should turn back.
But Wyatt rebuked them angrily. He did not mean to be beaten in such a
way by an enemy who remained in hiding. The bullet had shown that it was
an earthly foe, and, as far as Manitou was concerned, he always awarded
the victory to courage, skill and luck. The Indians went forward
reluctantly.
The next night they tied up again by the wooded bank. Wyatt wanted two
of the warriors to remain in the boat, but they refused absolutely to do
so. Despite all that he could say their superstitious fears were strong
upon them, and they meant to stay close to their comrades upon the solid
earth. Dreading too severe a test of his authority the renegade
consented, and all of them, except the guards, lay down among the bushes
near the shore. It was a fine summer night, not very dark, and Wyatt did
not believe a foe could come near them without being seen. He felt more
confidence, but again he was sleepless. He closed his eyes and sought
slumber by every device that he knew, but it would not come. At last he
made a circuit with Early and two of the Indians in the forest about the
camp, but saw and heard nothing. Returning, he lay down on his blanket
and once more wooed sleep with shut eyes.
Sleep still refused obstinately to come, and in ten minutes the renegade
reopened his eyes. His glance wandered idly over the recumbent Indians
who were sound asleep, and then to those who watched. It passed from
them to the river and the black blur of the boat lying upon the water
about twenty yards away. Then it passed on and after a while came back
again to the boat.
Braxton Wyatt knew that optical illusions were common, especially in the
obscurity of night. One could look so long at a motionless object that
it seemed to move. That was why the boat, tied securely to low boughs,
did that curious trick of apparently gliding over the surface of the
river. Wyatt laughed at himself. In the faint light, brain was superior
to eye. He would not allow himself to be deceived, and the quality of
mind that saved him from delusions gave him pride. He did not have a
very good view of the boat from the point where he lay, but he saw
enough of it to know that when he looked again it would be lying exactly
where it had been all the time, despite that illusory trick of movement.
So, to show the superiority of will over fancy, he kept his eyes shut a
longer time than usual, and when he opened them once more he looked
directly at the boat. Surely the shifting light was playing him new
tricks. Apparently it was much farther out in the stream and was
drifting with the current.
Wyatt reproved himself as an unsteady fool. His nerves were shaken, and
in order to restore his calmness he closed his eyes once more. But the
eyes would not stay shut. Will was compelled to yield at last to impulse
and the lids came apart. He was somewhat angry at himself. He did not
wish to look at the boat again, and repeat those foolish illusions, but
he did so nevertheless.
Braxton Wyatt sprang to his feet with a cry of alarm and warning. It was
no trick of fancy. He saw with eyes that did not lie a boat out in the
middle of the stream and every moment going faster with the current. The
power that propelled it was unseen, but Wyatt knew it to be there.
"Fire! Fire!" he shouted to his men. "Somebody is carrying off our
boat!"
Rifles flashed and bullets made the water spout. Two struck the boat
itself, but it moved on with increasing swiftness. Wyatt, Early and the
Indians dashed to the water's edge, but a sharp crack came from the
further shore, and Early fell forward directly into the river. Wyatt and
the Indians shrank back into the bushes where they lay hidden. But the
renegade, with a sort of frightened fascination, watched the water
pulling at the body of his slain comrade, until it was carried away by
the current and floated out of sight. The boat, meanwhile, moved on
until it, too, passed a curve, and was lost from view.
Wyatt recovered his courage and presence of mind, but he sought in vain
to urge the Shawnees in pursuit. Superstition held them in a firm grasp.
It was true that Early had been slain by a bullet, but a mystic power
was taking the boat away. The hand of Manitou was against them and they
would return to the country north of the Ohio. They started at once, and
Wyatt, raging, was compelled to go with them, since he did not dare to
go southward alone.