BAFFLED IN AMBUSH.
An hour after the departure of the exiles, night spread her pall over
the earth, and two men scaled the stockade of Fort Strong and glided
toward the hill lately tenanted by the foe.
The spies—for spies the couple undoubtedly were—boasted of white skins,
and the moon, just rising and showering her light through the trees
beside the river, proclaimed them Wolf-Cap and Mark Harmon.
“I can’t understand this silence,” remarked the old trapper to his
companion. “Surely the demons hevn’t given over the attack.”
“Perhaps they have quarreled among themselves,” said young Harmon.
“It may be. O’Neill is a fidgety fellow, they say, and if he gets
spiteful at Splitlog, why he’ll withdraw his support. Why they didn’t
attack us last night when they could have won, may ever remain a
mystery. But silence now—we’ve reached the hill.”
For some minutes the twain crouched at the foot of the acclivity and
listened, but heard nothing. Where was the foe? Wolf-Cap was puzzled,
and threw one of his queer enigmatical looks into Harmon’s face.
“Bless me! if I don’t b’lieve they’ve vamosed,” he whispered, and then,
bidding his comrade retain his position, he proceeded to extend the
reconnoissance to the top of the hill.
Ten minutes later he returned.
“Good news for the fort, boy!” he said, in tones of undisguised joy.
“The varmints hev vamosed the diggin’s.”
“What! they haven’t retreated with victory in their grasp?” exclaimed
the youth.
“They’re gone, anyhow. The red dogs marched around the hills to the
river, and the Indians took a south-easterly trail. This tells the story
of a family quarrel. O’Neill has got his back up about suthin’ and so he
cut loose from Splitlog.”
“But why didn’t the Indian remain and attack?”
“He wanted to show his choler, too. He wouldn’t stay for spite, but
we’ll hear from him in the Muskingum valley afore long.”
“Then let’s go back and tell the good news,” said Mark Harmon, eagerly.
“Then we hunt for Huldah.”
“Yes; we’ll follow Splitlog until we find Funk, for the outlaw will, of
course, stick with the chief; they’ve been old cronies for years, and
Funk isn’t the man to trust himself among a British regiment with a
pretty woman. O’Neill might want Huldah, you see, and, backed by his
men, Funk wouldn’t hev the ghost of a show as his rival.”
The spies now set out on their return to the fort, and Wolf-Cap rapped
heavily on the gate with the butt of his gun.
“Don’t be afraid to fling ’er wide, boys,” he cried, in a loud tone.
“The devils hev got scared at their own shadow, and the old fort is
saved!”
“Saved! saved! the foe has fled!” shouted the guard, as he opened the
gate, and then cheer on cheer shook the old structure to its staunch
foundation logs.
Fathers dropped their weapons and embraced wives in the transport of
joy, and mothers kissed their children a hundred times, and thanked God
for deliverance with tearful eyes.
“We’re going now, Mark, and I,” said Wolf-Cap to Levi Armstrong, in the
midst of the rejoicings, “and we’re going to fetch your girl back, too.”
“You shall not go alone, Belt. I will—”
“You will stay right where you are!” interrupted the hunter,
imperatively. “You are needed here. Some band of dusky fellows may
attack the fort during my absence, and these helpless women and children
can not spare you. Did I say that Mark and I war going alone? Yes. But
we are not. Silver Hand and Golden Cheek will join us somewhar in the
woods, and those two fellows kin outwit a thousand Night-Hawks.”
Armstrong reluctantly consented to remain in command of the fort.
“When will you return, Belt?” he asked.
“Within five days, or more.”
“Shall we keep Strong untried for five days?”
“No; put him on trial to-morrow. If he is proven a traitor, deal with
him accordingly. You can testify for me, for I have told you all that I
know bearing on the case. But we must be off, Armstrong.”
The trapper put forth his hand, and with many good wishes for the
journey, Armstrong pressed it and saw the twain pass out the gate.
“I may never see him again,” said the old settler, pausing suddenly as
the ponderous gate swung back. “He ought to know all now. I will tell
him; it will make him more cautious, and he will hate me, I know. Yes, I
will disclose the secret.”
Quickly then, he turned to the gate again, and bade the sentry open.
“I want to see Wolf-Cap again,” said Levi, and then he stepped without.
The dusky forms of the two men were still visible toward the river.
He hurried forward; but his heart failed him, for he suddenly returned
to the fort without hailing the trapper.
“I can’t break the spell,” he said, slowly and in an undertone, shaking
his head. “I still hold the blessed belief into which I have schooled my
heart for many years. When Wolf-Cap brings her back, I’ll tell him all.
God give her back to me, for I love her. Though he kill me, I will tell
him all.”
It was the earnest prayer of a brave man, and he soon rejoined the
settlers, still happy over the unexpected deliverance.
But we must return to the British colonel.
At a certain point two miles below the bend in the river, mentioned at
the conclusion of the preceding chapter, several large trees lay on the
ground, hurled down by the fury of some storm-demon. These trees
furnished a natural ambush, almost entirely impenetrable by the human
eye, and from their leafy coverts a company of soldiers could sweep the
stream either way, for a great distance.
The ambush was not untenanted when Roy Funk and his companions left the
Indians, and turned the prows of their canoes toward Lake Erie.
The moon, as she scaled the horizon, looked down upon scarlet uniforms
beneath the leaves, and the night-winds heard low voices.
“Colonel, do you think Gosnoke equal to the emergency?” asked a soldier,
looking at the British colonel peeping through the boughs.
“I do. Ere this, he has obeyed orders, and peacefully too, for we have
heard no noise. Splitlog knows now, that I am not to be trampled, and
spit on with impunity. I played the red-skin devil a British trick
to-night, and he will never forget it. But I’m tired of waiting here. It
is almost time for Gosnoke’s appearance, and here Funk and his accursed
hounds have not hove in sight.”
The officer never took his eyes from the shining surface of the water,
while he answered the private, and his nervous actions proclaimed his
impatience.
The reader can guess the motive that led the Briton to the ambush. He
intended to intercept the exiles, and finish the rivalry that existed
between himself and the Night-Hawk for the face of Huldah Armstrong. He
selected a dozen soldiers whom he could trust, and while the outlaws
were preparing to depart, he led his men to the ambush.
Major Gosnoke was left at the hill to withdraw the British forces from
co-operation with Splitlog’s warriors. He—the colonel—dared not carry
out his treachery in person, for the Wyandot sachem was an impulsive
savage, and he might pay the penalty of his desertion with his life.
For many minutes after the brief conversation between the colonel and
his privates, a dead silence reigned over forest and stream, but all at
once this was broken by the voice of a soldier.
“The boats are coming!”
Colonel O’Neill started and looked up the river. Two black spots were
visible on the shining water. Undoubtedly the canoes belonged to the
Night-Hawk’s party.
“Ready, men?” whispered O’Neill, turning to his troops. “The devils are
sailing right into our clutches. We want no noise now. Murphy, you are
to do the hailing—recollect.”
The soldier nodded, and all eyes were fastened on the approaching boats.
The muskets were at full cock, ready, if needed, to pour a deadly fire
into the barges.
Colonel O’Neill held his breath and glanced anxiously from the boats to
Murphy, who, with the hailing words on his lips, awaited his commands.
“They’re in the shadow now,” said O’Neill, in reply to a look from his
soldier. “When they emerge and execute four more strokes, you may
speak.”
A group of trees threw a belt of shadow across the stream a short
distance above the ambush, and into this darkness the two boats had
glided.
All at once they drifted into the moonlight again, and the studied words
were on Murphy’s tongue, when he suddenly started back, and threw a look
of amazement into the colonel’s face.
The boats were empty!
The men in the ambush exchanged looks of surprise, mingled with
superstition.
Colonel O’Neill was so chagrined that he could not speak for several
moments.
He riveted his eyes upon the boats, reluctantly believing the evidence
of his senses.
“Tom Murphy, swim out and intercept the boats!” he suddenly roared.
“Hell and furies! we have been betrayed!”
Murphy obeyed, and with the aid of several comrades drew the barges
ashore.
To the bottom of one canoe a piece of paper was pinned.
“Take care of my boats, colonel,” it said. “I will take care of myself.”
Roy Funk’s name was appended to the writing!