When the last soldier had disappeared among the trees, Henry turned to
the others. “Well, boys,” he asked, “what are you thinking about?”
“I?” asked Paul. “I'm thinking about a certain place I know, a sort of
alcove or hole in a cliff above a lake.”
“An' me?” said Shif'less Sol. “I'm thinkin' how fur that alcove runs
back, an' how it could be fitted up with furs an' made warm fur the
winter.”
“Me?” said Tom Ross. “I'm thinkin' what a snug place that alcove would
be when the snow an' hail were drivin' down the creek in front of you.”
“An' ez fur me,” said Long Jim Hart, “I wuz thinkin' I could run a sort
uv flue from the back part uv that alcove out through the front an' let
the smoke pass out. I could cook all right. It wouldn't be ez good a
place fur cookin' ez the one we hed that time we spent the winter on the
island in the lake, but 'twould serve.”
“It's strange,” said Henry, “but I've been thinking of all the things
that all four of you have been thinking about, and, since we are agreed,
we are bound to go straight to 'The Alcove' and pass the winter there.”
Without another word he led the way, and the others followed. It was
apparent to everyone that they must soon find a winter base, because
the cold had increased greatly in the last few days. The last leaves
had fallen from the trees, and a searching wind howled among the bare
branches. Better shelter than blankets would soon be needed.
On their way they passed Oghwaga, a mass of blackened ruins, among which
wolves howled, the same spectacle that Wyoming now afforded, although
Oghwaga had not been stained by blood.
It was a long journey to “The Alcove,” but they did not hurry, seeing no
need of it, although they were warned of the wisdom of their decision by
the fact that the cold was increasing. The country in which the lake was
situated lay high, and, as all of them were quite sure that the cold
was going to be great there, they thought it wise to make preparations
against it, which they discussed as they walked in, leisurely fashion
through the woods. They spoke, also, of greater things. All felt that
they had been drawn into a mightier current than any in which they had
swam before. They fully appreciated the importance to the Revolution
of this great rearguard struggle, and at present they did not have the
remotest idea of returning to Kentucky under any circumstances.
“We've got to fight it out with Braxton Wyatt and the Iroquois,” said
Henry. “I've heard that Braxton is organizing a band of Tories of his
own, and that he is likely to be as dangerous as either of the Butlers.”
“Some day we'll end him for good an' all,” said Shif'less Sol.
It was four or five days before they reached their alcove, and now all
the forest was bare and apparently lifeless. They came down the creek,
and found their boat unharmed and untouched still among the foliage at
the base of the cliff.
“That's one thing safe,” said Long Jim, “an' I guess we'll find 'The
Alcove' all right, too.”
“Unless a wild animal has taken up its abode there,” said Paul.
“'Tain't likely,” replied Long Jim. “We've left the human smell thar,
an' even after all this time it's likely to drive away any prowlin' bear
or panther that pokes his nose in.”
Long Jim was quite right. Their snug nest, like that of a squirrel in
the side of a tree, had not been disturbed. The skins which they
had rolled up tightly and placed on the higher shelves of stone were
untouched, and several days' hunting increased the supply. The hunting
was singularly easy, and, although the five did not know it, the
quantity of game was much greater in that region than it had been
for years. It had been swept of human beings by the Iroquois and Tory
hordes, and deer, bear, and panther seemed to know instinctively that
the woods were once more safe for them.
In their hunting they came upon the ruins of charred houses, and more
than once they saw something among the coals that caused them to turn
away with a shudder. At every place where man had made a little opening
the wilderness was quickly reclaiming its own again. Next year the grass
and the foliage would cover up the coals and the hideous relics that lay
among them.
They jerked great quantities of venison on the trees on the cliff side,
and stored it in “The Alcove.” They also cured some bear meat, and,
having added a further lining of skins, they felt prepared for winter.
They had also added to the comfort of the place. They had taken the
precaution of bringing with them two axes, and with the heads of these
they smoothed out more of the rough places on the floor and sides of
“The Alcove.” They thought it likely, too, that they would need the axes
in other ways later on.
Only once during these arrangements did they pass the trail of Indians,
and that was made by a party of about twenty, at least ten miles from
“The Alcove.” They seemed to be traveling north, and the five made no
investigations. Somewhat later they met a white runner in the forest,
and he told them of the terrible massacre of Cherry Valley. Walter
Butler, emulating his father's exploit at Wyoming, had come down with a
mixed horde of Iroquois, Tories, British, and Canadians. He had not
been wholly successful, but he had slaughtered half a hundred women and
children, and was now returning northward with prisoners. Some said,
according to the runner, that Thayendanegea had led the Indians on this
occasion, but, as the five learned later, he had not come up until the
massacre was over. The runner added another piece of information that
interested them deeply. Butler had been accompanied to Cherry Valley by
a young Tory or renegade named Wyatt, who had distinguished himself by
cunning and cruelty. It was said that Wyatt had built up for himself a
semi-independent command, and was becoming a great scourge.
“That's our Braxton,” said Henry. “He is rising to his opportunities. He
is likely to become fully the equal of Walter Butler.”
But they could do nothing at present to find Wyatt, and they went
somewhat sadly back to “The Alcove.” They had learned also from the
runner that Wyatt had a lieutenant, a Tory named Coleman, and this fact
increased their belief that Wyatt was undertaking to operate on a large
scale.
“We may get a chance at him anyhow,” said Henry. “He and his band may go
too far away from the main body of the Indians and Tories, and in that
case we can strike a blow if we are watchful.”
Every one of the five, although none of them knew it, received an
additional impulse from this news about Braxton Wyatt. He had grown up
with them. Loyalty to the king had nothing to do with his becoming a
renegade or a Tory; he could not plead lost lands or exile for taking
part in such massacres as Wyoming or Cherry Valley, but, long since an
ally of the Indians, he was now at the head of a Tory band that murdered
and burned from sheer pleasure.
“Some day we'll get him, as shore as the sun rises an' sets,” said
Shif'less Sol, repeating Henry's prediction.
But for the present they “holed up,” and now their foresight was
justified. To such as they, used to the hardships of forest life, “The
Alcove” was a cheery nest. From its door they watched the wild fowl
streaming south, pigeons, ducks, and others outlined against the dark,
wintry skies. So numerous were these flocks that there was scarcely a
time when they did not see one passing toward the warm South.
Shif'less Sol and Paul sat together watching a great flock of wild
geese, arrow shaped, and flying at almost incredible speed. A few
faint honks came to them, and then the geese grew misty on the horizon.
Shif'less Sol followed them with serious eyes.
“Do you ever think, Paul,” he said, “that we human bein's ain't so
mighty pow'ful ez we think we are. We kin walk on the groun', an' by
hard learnin' an' hard work we kin paddle through the water a little.
But jest look at them geese flyin' a mile high, right over everything,
rivers, forests any mountains, makin' a hundred miles an hour, almost
without flappin' a wing. Then they kin come down on the water an' float
fur hours without bein' tired, an' they kin waddle along on the groun',
too. Did you ever hear of any men who had so many 'complishments? Why,
Paul, s'pose you an' me could grow wings all at once, an' go through the
air a mile a minute fur a month an' never git tired.”
“We'd certainly see some great sights,” said Paul, “but do you know,
Sol, what would be the first thing I'd do if I had the gift of tireless
wings?”
“Fly off to them other continents I've heard you tell about.”
“No, I'd swoop along over the forests up here until I picked out all the
camps of the Indians and Tories. I'd pick out the Butlers and Braxton
Wyatt and Coleman, and see what mischief they were planning. Then I'd
fly away to the East and look down at all the armies, ours in buff and
blue, and the British redcoats. I'd look into the face of our great
commander-in-chief. Then I'd fly away back into the West and South, and
I'd hover over Wareville. I'd see our own people, every last little one
of them. They might take a shot at me, not knowing who I was, but I'd
be so high up in the air no bullet could reach me. Then I'd come soaring
back here to you fellows.”
“That would shorely be a grand trip, Paul,” said Shif'less Sol, “an' I
wouldn't mind takin' it in myself. But fur the present we'd better busy
our minds with the warnin's the wild fowl are givin' us, though we're
well fixed fur a house already. It's cu'rus what good homes a handy man
kin find in the wilderness.”
The predictions of the wild fowl were true. A few days later heavy
clouds rolled up in the southwest, and the five watched them, knowing
what they would bring them. They spread to the zenith and then to the
other horizon, clothing the whole circle of the earth. The great flakes
began to drop down, slowly at first, then faster. Soon all the trees
were covered with white, and everything else, too, except the dark
surface of the lake, which received the flakes into its bosom as they
fell.
It snowed all that day and most of the next, until it lay about two feet
on the ground. After that it turned intensely cold, the surface of the
snow froze, and ice, nearly a foot thick, covered the lake. It was not
possible to travel under such circumstances without artificial help, and
now Tom Ross, who had once hunted in the far North, came to their help.
He showed them how to make snowshoes, and, although all learned to use
them, Henry, with his great strength and peculiar skill, became by far
the most expert.
As the snow with its frozen surface lay on the ground for weeks, Henry
took many long journeys on the snowshoes. Sometimes be hunted, but
oftener his role was that of scout. He cautioned his friends that he
might be out-three or four days at a time, and that they need take no
alarm about him unless his absence became extremely long. The winter
deepened, the snow melted, and another and greater storm came, freezing
the surface, again making the snowshoes necessary. Henry decided now to
take a scout alone to the northward, and, as the others bad long since
grown into the habit of accepting his decisions almost without question,
he started at once. He was well equipped with his rifle, double barreled
pistol, hatchet, and knife, and he carried in addition a heavy blanket
and some jerked venison. He put on his snowshoes at the foot of the
cliff, waved a farewell to the four heads thrust from “The Alcove”
above, and struck out on the smooth, icy surface of the creek. From this
he presently passed into the woods, and for a long time pursued a course
almost due north.
It was no vague theory that had drawn Henry forth. In one of his
journeyings be had met a hunter who told him of a band of Tories and
Indians encamped toward the north, and he had an idea that it was the
party led by Braxton Wyatt. Now he meant to see.
His information was very indefinite, and he began to discover signs much
earlier than he had expected. Before the end of the first day he saw the
traces of other snowshoe runners on the icy snow, and once he came to a
place where a deer had been slain and dressed. Then he came to another
where the snow had been hollowed out under some pines to make a sleeping
place for several men. Clearly he was in the land of the enemy again,
and a large and hostile camp might be somewhere near.
Henry felt a thrill of joy when he saw these indications. All the
primitive instincts leaped up within him. A child of the forest and of
elemental conditions, the warlike instinct was strong within him. He
was tired of hunting wild animals, and now there was promise of a' more
dangerous foe. For the purposes that he had in view he was glad that
he was alone. The wintry forest, with its two feet of snow covered with
ice, contained no terrors for him. He moved on his snowshoes almost like
a skater, and with all the dexterity of an Indian of the far North, who
is practically born on such shoes.
As he stood upon the brow of a little hill, elevated upon his snowshoes,
he was, indeed, a wonderful figure. The added height and the white glare
from the ice made him tower like a great giant. He was clad completely
in soft, warm deerskin, his hands were gloved in the same material,
and the fur cap was drawn tightly about his head and ears. The
slender-barreled rifle lay across his shoulder, and the blanket and deer
meat made a light package on his back. Only his face was uncovered, and
that was rosy with the sharp but bracing cold. But the resolute blue
eyes seemed to have grown more resolute in the last six months, and the
firm jaw was firmer than ever.
It was a steely blue sky, clear, hard, and cold, fitted to the earth
of snow and ice that it inclosed. His eyes traveled the circle of the
horizon three times, and at the end of the third circle he made out a
dim, dark thread against that sheet of blue steel. It was the light of a
camp fire, and that camp fire must belong to an enemy. It was not likely
that anybody else would be sending forth such a signal in this wintry
wilderness.
Henry judged that the fire was several miles away, and apparently in a
small valley hemmed in by hills of moderate height. He made up his mind
that the band of Braxton Wyatt was there, and he intended to make a
thorough scout about it. He advanced until the smoke line became much
thicker and broader, and then he stopped in the densest clump of bushes
that he could find. He meant to remain there until darkness came,
because, with all foliage gone from the forest, it would be impossible
to examine the hostile camp by day. The bushes, despite the lack of
leaves, were so dense that they hid him well, and, breaking through the
crust of ice, he dug a hole. Then, having taken off his snowshoes and
wrapped his blanket about his body, he thrust himself into the hole
exactly like a rabbit in its burrow. He laid his shoes on the crust of
ice beside him. Of course, if found there by a large party of warriors
on snowshoes he would have no chance to flee, but he was willing to take
what seemed to him a small risk. The dark would not be long in coming,
and it was snug and warm in the hole. As he sat, his head rose just
above the surrounding ice, but his rifle barrel rose much higher. He ate
a little venison for supper, and the weariness in the ankles that comes
from long traveling on snowshoes disappeared.
He could not see outside the bushes, but he listened with those
uncommonly keen ears of his. No sound at all came. There was not even
a wind to rustle the bare boughs. The sun hung a huge red globe in the
west, and all that side of the earth was tinged with a red glare, wintry
and cold despite its redness. Then, as the earth turned, the sun was
lost behind it, and the cold dark came.
Henry found it so comfortable in his burrow that all his muscles were
soothed, and he grew sleepy. It would have been very pleasant to doze
there, but he brought himself round with an effort of the will, and
became as wide awake as ever. He was eager to be off on his expedition,
but he knew how much depended on waiting, and he waited. One hour, two
hours, three hours, four hours, still and dark, passed in the forest
before he roused himself from his covert. Then, warm, strong, and
tempered like steel for his purpose, he put on his snowshoes, and
advanced toward the point from which the column of smoke had risen.
He had never been more cautious and wary than he was now. He was a
formidable figure in the darkness, crouched forward, and moving like
some spirit of the wilderness, half walking, half gliding.
Although the night had come out rather clear, with many cold stars
twinkling in the blue, the line of smoke was no longer visible. But
Henry did not expect it to be, nor did he need it. He had marked its
base too clearly in his mind to make any mistake, and he advanced with
certainty. He came presently into an open space, and he stopped with
amazement. Around him were the stumps of a clearing made recently, and
near him were some yards of rough rail fence.
He crouched against the fence, and saw on the far side of the clearing
the dim outlines of several buildings, from the chimneys of two of
which smoke was rising. It was his first thought that he had come upon
a little settlement still held by daring borderers, but second thought
told him that it was impossible. Another and more comprehensive look
showed many signs of ruin. He saw remains of several burned houses, but
clothing all was the atmosphere of desolation and decay that tells
when a place is abandoned. The two threads of smoke did not alter this
impression.
Henry divined it all. The builders of this tiny village in the
wilderness bad been massacred or driven away. A part of the houses had
been destroyed, some were left standing, and now there were visitors. He
advanced without noise, keeping behind the rail fence, and approaching
one of the houses from the chimneys of which the smoke came. Here be
crouched a long time, looking and listening attentively; but it seemed
that the visitors had no fears. Why should they, when there was nothing
that they need fear in this frozen wilderness?
Henry stole a little nearer. It had been a snug, trim little settlement.
Perhaps twenty-five or thirty people had lived there, literally hewing
a home out of the forest. His heart throbbed with a fierce hatred and,
anger against those who had spoiled all this, and his gloved finger
crept to the hammer of his rifle.
The night was intensely cold. The mercury was far below zero, and a wind
that had begun to rise cut like the edge of a knife. Even the wariest of
Indians in such desolate weather might fail to keep a watch. But Henry
did not suffer. The fur cap was drawn farther over chin and ears, and
the buckskin gloves kept his fingers warm and flexible. Besides, his
blood was uncommonly hot in his veins.
His comprehensive eye told him that, while some of the buildings had not
been destroyed, they were so ravaged and damaged that they could never
be used again, save as a passing shelter, just as they were being used
now. He slid cautiously about the desolate place. He crossed a brook,
frozen almost solidly in its bed, and he saw two or three large mounds
that had been haystacks, now covered with snow.
Then he slid without noise back to the nearest of the houses from which
the smoke came. It was rather more pretentious than the others, built of
planks instead of logs, and with shingles for a roof. The remains of a
small portico formed the approach to the front door. Henry supposed that
the house had been set on fire and that perhaps a heavy rain had saved a
part of it.
A bar of light falling across the snow attracted his attention. He knew
that it was the glow of a fire within coming through a window. A faint
sound of voices reached his ears, and he moved forward slowly to the
window. It was an oaken shutter originally fastened with a leather
strap, but the strap was gone, and now some one had tied it, though not
tightly, with a deer tendon. The crack between shutter and wall was at
least three inches, and Henry could see within very well.
He pressed his side tightly to the wall and put his eyes to the crevice.
What he saw within did not still any of those primitive feelings that
had risen so strongly in his breast.
A great fire had been built in the log fireplace, but it was burning
somewhat low now, having reached that mellow period of least crackling
and greatest heat. The huge bed of coals threw a mass of varied and
glowing colors across the floor. Large holes had been burned in the side
of the room by the original fire, but Indian blankets had been fastened
tightly over them.
In front of the fire sat Braxton Wyatt in a Loyalist uniform, a
three-cornered hat cocked proudly on his head, and a small sword by his
side. He had grown heavier, and Henry saw that the face had increased
much in coarseness and cruelty. It had also increased in satisfaction.
He was a great man now, as he saw great men, and both face and figure
radiated gratification and pride as he lolled before the fire. At the
other corner, sitting upon the floor and also in a Loyalist uniform,
was his lieutenant, Levi Coleman, older, heavier, and with a short,
uncommonly muscular figure. His face was dark and cruel, with small eyes
set close together. A half dozen other white men and more than a dozen
Indians were in the room. All these lay upon their blankets on the
floor, because all the furniture had been destroyed. Yet they had
eaten, and they lay there content in the soothing glow of the fire, like
animals that had fed well. Henry was so near that he could hear every
word anyone spoke.
“It was well that the Indians led us to this place, eh, Levi?” said
Wyatt.
“I'm glad the fire spared a part of it,” said Coleman. “Looks as if it
was done just for us, to give us a shelter some cold winter night when
we come along. I guess the Iroquois Aieroski is watching over us.”
Wyatt laughed.
“You're a man that I like, Levi,” he said. “You can see to the inside of
things. It would be a good idea to use this place as a base and shelter,
and make a raid on some of the settlements east of the hills, eh, Levi?”
“It could be done,” said Coleman. “But just listen to that wind, will
you! On a night like this it must cut like a saber's edge. Even our
Iroquois are glad to be under a roof.”
Henry still gazed in at the crack with eyes that were lighted up by an
angry fire. So here was more talk of destruction and slaughter! His gaze
alighted upon an Indian who sat in a corner engaged upon a task. Henry
looked more closely, and saw that he was stretching a blonde-haired
scalp over a small hoop. A shudder shook his whole frame. Only those who
lived amid such scenes could understand the intensity of his feelings.
He felt, too, a bitter sense of injustice. The doers of these deeds were
here in warmth and comfort, while the innocent were dead or fugitives.
He turned away from the window, stepping gently upon the snowshoes. He
inferred that the remainder of Wyatt's band were quartered in the other
house from which he had seen the smoke rising. It was about twenty rods
away, but he did not examine it, because a great idea had been born
suddenly in his brain. The attempt to fulfill the idea would be
accompanied by extreme danger, but he did not hesitate a moment. He
stole gently to one of the half-fallen outhouses and went inside. Here
he found what he wanted, a large pine shelf that had been sheltered from
rain and that was perfectly dry. He scraped off a large quantity of the
dry pine until it formed almost a dust, and he did not cease until he
had filled his cap with it. Then he cut off large splinters, until
he had accumulated a great number, and after that he gathered smaller
pieces of half-burned pine.
He was fully two hours doing this work, and the night advanced far, but
he never faltered. His head was bare, but he was protected from the
wind by a fragment of the outhouse wall. Every two or three minutes he
stopped and listened for the sound of a creaking, sliding footstep on
the snow, but, never hearing any, he always resumed his work with the
same concentration. All the while the wind rose and moaned through the
ruins of the little village. When Henry chanced to raise his head above
the sheltering wall, it was like the slash of a knife across his cheek.
Finally he took half of the pine dust in his cap and a lot of the
splinters under his arm, and stole back to the house from which the
light had shone. He looked again through the crevice at the window. The
light had died down much more, and both Wyatt and Coleman were asleep on
the floor. But several of the Iroquois were awake, although they sat as
silent and motionless as stones against the wall.
Henry moved from the window and selected a sheltered spot beside the
plank wall. There he put the pine dust in a little heap on the snow
and covered it over with pine splinters, on top of which he put larger
pieces of pine. Then he went back for the remainder of the pine dust,
and built a similar pyramid against a sheltered side of the second
house.
The most delicate part of his task had now come, one that good fortune
only could aid him in achieving, but the brave youth, his heart aflame
with righteous anger against those inside, still pursued the work. His
heart throbbed, but hand and eye were steady.
Now came the kindly stroke of fortune for which he had hoped. The wind
rose much higher and roared harder against the house. It would prevent
the Iroquois within, keen of ear as they were, from hearing a light
sound without. Then he drew forth his flint and steel and struck them
together with a hand so strong and swift that sparks quickly leaped
forth and set fire to the pine tinder. Henry paused only long enough to
see the flame spread to the splinters, and then he ran rapidly to the
other house, where the task was repeated-he intended that his job should
be thorough.
Pursuing this resolve to make his task complete, he came back to the
first house and looked at his fire. It had already spread to the larger
pieces of pine, and it could not go out now. The sound made by the
flames blended exactly with the roaring of the wind, and another minute
or two might pass before the Iroquois detected it.
Now his heart throbbed again, and exultation was mingled with his anger.
By the time the Iroquois were aroused to the danger the flames would be
so high that the wind would reach them. Then no one could put them out.
It might have been safer for him to flee deep into the forest at once,
but that lingering desire to make his task complete and, also, the wish
to see the result kept him from doing it. He merely walked across the
open space and stood behind a tree at the edge of the forest.
Braxton Wyatt and his Tories and Iroquois were very warm, very snug, in
the shelter of the old house with the great bed of coals before them.
They may even have been dreaming peaceful and beautiful dreams, when
suddenly an Iroquois sprang to his feet and uttered a cry that awoke all
the rest.
“I smell smoke!” he exclaimed in his tongue, “and there is fire, too! I
hear it crackle outside!”
Braxton Wyatt ran to the window and jerked it open. Flame and smoke blew
in his face. He uttered an angry cry, and snatched at the pistol in his
belt.
“The whole side of the house is on fire!” he exclaimed. “Whose neglect
has done this?”
Coleman, shrewd and observing, was at his elbow.
“The fire was set on the outside,” he said. “It was no carelessness of
our men. Some enemy has done this!”
“It is true!” exclaimed Wyatt furiously. “Out, everybody! The house
burns fast!”
There was a rush for the door. Already ashes and cinders were falling
about their heads. Flames leaped high, were caught by the roaring winds,
and roared with them. The shell of the house would soon be gone, and
when Tories and Iroquois were outside they saw the remainder of their
band pouring forth from the other house, which was also in flames.
No means of theirs could stop so great a fire, and they stood in a sort
of stupefaction, watching it as it was fanned to greatest heights by the
wind.
All the remaining outbuildings caught, also, and in a few moments
nothing whatever would be left of the tiny village. Braxton Wyatt and
his band must lie in the icy wilderness, and they could never use this
place as a basis for attack upon settlements.
“How under the sun could it have happened?” exclaimed Wyatt.
“It didn't happen. It was done,” said Coleman. “Somebody set these
houses on fire while we slept within. Hark to that!”
An Iroquois some distance from the houses was bending over the snow
where it was not yet melted by the heat. He saw there the track of
snowshoes, and suddenly, looking toward the forest, whither they led, he
saw a dark figure flit away among the trees.