THRILLING ADVENTURES.
Moffat took his departure in quest of game, and soon returned with a
wild duck, which he had managed to approach unobserved, and kill with a
well-aimed stone, there being too much danger in firing his gun. The
bird was speedily cooked and eaten, with the keenest of appetites upon
the part of both.
“Now,” said the ranger, “as we ain’t exactly sartin of our neighbors,
we’ll seperate fur awhile. I’ll go to the left and you to the right, and
we’ll jine again, by that point of bank, which you remember is about a
quarter of a mile down the river.”
There was some risk in this, although, with proper prudence, there was
no need of either running into danger. Accordingly they separated, and
each taking the route designated by the scout, and moving with the
stealthy tread of panthers seeking their prey.
They had been separated about fifteen minutes, and each was advancing
silently, cautiously and stealthily, when our hero suddenly discovered
an Indian in his war paint approaching. As quick as thought the young
man “sprang to cover,” by darting behind a large oak tree. The tree
behind which he was sheltered was, as said, a very large one of the oak
species. The protection of the Shawnee was much smaller, and barely
served to cover his body; but it was enough, and all he desired.
Kingman stood a moment, as if to decide his course, and then he walked
with a stealthy tread about ten feet from the tree, and dropped upon the
ground. In doing this, the tree had been kept in a range with the
Indian, so as to still screen his body, and his purpose was unsuspected.
He now sank flat upon his face, and commenced working himself slowly
backward, his eye fixed upon the tree he had just left, and his whole
caution exerted not to deviate from the range.
Had the savage once caught a glimpse of his movements, it would have
been all up with Kingman. As it was, the Shawnee was half expecting some
stratagem or treachery, and never once removed his gaze from the spot
where he supposed his victim to be; but so consummately had our hero
arranged this that as yet not the remotest suspicion had crossed the
mind of the savage. He was, however, doomed to pass a more fearful
ordeal than he yet dreamed.
The wood being open, and the ground devoid of the thick, tangled
undergrowth so common in some other parts, Kingman was compelled to use
the most extreme caution that no mismovement was made upon his part. As
he proceeded, the friendly angle he made with the tree grew less, and
the ground that was safe for him consequently more narrow each moment.
More than once he found himself deviating from the line, and almost
exposing himself. His progress was very slow and wearisome. The distance
necessary to be passed before he could rise to his feet was considerably
over a hundred yards, and not half that distance was yet crossed. When
near the center, and moving slowly and painfully along, Kingman was
startled by his feet coming in contact with some hard substance. Turning
his gaze, he saw a rotten and decayed log lay directly across his path.
This was a new difficulty to be got over, or gone around. But there was
no time for hesitation, and waiting but a second, he lifted his feet and
commenced pushing himself over. His body passed over safely, and,
feeling considerably relieved, he recommenced his novel retreat. But he
had scarcely taken a step, when he heard a sound beside him that made
his blood tingle with horror. It was the warning of the rattlesnake!
Glancing furtively around, Kingman saw the reptile within six feet of
him. His scaly, glittering body lay coiled like a rope, and from the
centre his head, terrible in its beauty, rose some eighteen inches, and
was drawn back, ready for the fatal strike. The tail on the outside of
the horrid ring was gently swaying, giving forth that deadly rattle, and
the whole body seemed alive and excited. Hardly a more terrible
spectacle can be conceived than that of the coiled and bristling
rattlesnake. The one in question was about five feet in length, and was
gathered in a circle of a foot in diameter. The head was drawn back in a
glistening arch, like the neck of a swan. As he lay, a patch of the
sunlight broke through the treetops and rested upon him, making his
whole body to glisten with a thousand brilliant variegated colors. His
eye shone with a malignant glitter, like the ray of the star through the
dark cloud, and his tongue flashed with lightning-like rapidity round
his flat, swaying head. So rapid and incessant were the movements of
this, that to Kingman it resembled a tiny stream of bright red blood
crossing the neck and head in every direction. Several times the
cavernous jaws were distended, and the white fangs, loaded with venom,
could be seen curving inward, and as pointed as a needle.
Kingman saw all this in less time than it takes us to describe it. His
first movement, upon seeing the reptile so nigh him, was an involuntary
recoil, which had well discovered him to his human enemy. He felt the
double danger that now menaced him. The rattlesnake had warned him once,
and in a minute would strike. He could spring to his feet, and, with a
little dexterity, avoid him; but, in the place of the sluggish reptile,
the swift bullet of the Shawnee could not be avoided. No; Kingman made
up his mind that an encounter with the reptile was preferable to one
with the vindictive Shawnee.
Favored by the log over which, as will be remembered, he had just
passed, and by still being in perfect range with the Indian, Kingman
rose upon one knee and grasped his stick with both hands. It was a
dangerous movement, and he durst not turn to see whether the savage had
noticed it. But it must be done, and he could not remove his gaze from
the snake, whose head now rose and drew back several inches, and whose
eye glittered with tenfold brightness at his own threatened danger. He
now rattled for the last time, and drew his neck back like a bent bow,
when the stick of Kingman flashed through the air so rapidly as to be
invisible, and struck the reptile just at the junction of the head and
neck. Any other snake would have dodged the blow, quick as it was; but
this species, besides being sluggish, is easily killed with a slight
wound. As it was, the force with which Kingman struck was so great, and
the blow so well aimed, that, incredible as it may seem, the head was
stricken clean from the body. Kingman heard it snap, and, as the trunk
spurted its hot blood on him, saw something spin like a ball through the
air, and fall several yards away. A glance showed him the head writhing
among the leaves, and the mouth gaping to its utmost extent.
The instant the head of the rattlesnake was severed from his trunk, the
body doubled in a knot, and then whirled with lightning-like gyrations
in his horrible agony. Fortunately for Kingman it took another
direction, and still writhing and twisting, it shot off among the trees.
The greatest immediate danger was now rid of, and Kingman betook himself
again to escaping from the Indian. When he fully realized the imminent
peril from which he had been delivered, a sort of desperate reaction
came over him, and he grew reckless and careless. He turned and made the
rest of his retreat on his feet, stooping very low and moving quite
rapidly. He was, however, unobserved, and reached another small ravine,
for which he had so earnestly wished. Down this he bounded, and ran for
the river.
“It is the opinion of this gentleman that he has gotten into about
enough trouble from leaving broad trails for the Shawnees, and he
proposes another plan.”
With this, our hero stepped into the water and again commenced swimming.
He did not strike for the channel, for this would have been certain
destruction, but continued close along shore. Heavy branches of trees
and huge bushes overhung the water for fifteen or twenty feet from the
shore and afforded an almost impenetrable protection for him. Beneath
these he gently swam, and was half carried by the current, catching at
the leaves and twigs within his reach.
When Kingman and Moffat separated, as mentioned in our last chapter, the
latter concluded that before making his retreat sure, it was best to
determine more definitely the whereabouts and intentions of the
Shawnees. With this purpose he proceeded farther down the ravine and
crossed it in the same place, and a few minutes after Kingman’s pursuer
did; so that three individuals moved over nearly the same spot, and at
nearly the same time, without one suspecting the presence of the other,
except in the case of our hero. Kingman reached the opposite side of the
ravine, and he reascended it for several hundred yards for the purpose
of ascertaining the precise position of the Indian above. This
necessarily required some time, and was only partially successful. He
approached nigh enough to hear the “ugh!” of a savage in conversation
with another, when he deemed it best to make good his retreat.
The fact that the Shawnees were still watching above he considered as
evidence that his stratagem to insure the escape of Kingman had been
perfectly successful; for, if they suspected anything, they would not
still be lying in ambush as they were. With these thoughts, he now made
his way toward the river for the last time, trusting to come upon
Kingman and the boat. He reached the river at a point _behind_ the
Shawnees, pursuing our hero, so that the two latter were below him on
the river. It was singular that the three should be in such proximity
and still ignorant of the other’s proceedings. The appearance of Moffat
upon the ground would have made a material difference in the programme
of affairs; but such was not destined to be the case.
Moffat took a careful survey of the river bank, but of course saw
nothing either of Kingman or the boat. Not doubting, however, but the
latter had made off with it, and was waiting at some point lower down
for him, he proceeded onward. Scarcely a hundred feet lower he saw the
boat lying under and fastened by one of the overhanging bushes. He was
considerably surprised at this, and feared that it augured ill for
Kingman. He waded out and examined it. There were no signs of a struggle
having taken place, and the oars lay precisely as they did when he left
the boat himself. Still, only partially satisfied, he stepped into it,
shoved it out clear from the bushes, and commenced rowing down stream.
The noise made doing this reached the ears of the Shawnee above, but did
not succeed in drawing him from his watch; for, as the reader has
probably noticed, he had fixed his heart upon obtaining Kingman’s scalp,
and was determined that nothing else should draw him from it.
Moffat had rowed several hundred yards as silently as possible, when he
was startled by hearing a movement in the bushes. He dropped his oars
instantly, seized his rifle, and sank into the bottom of the boat.
Fixing his gaze upon the shore, he imagined he could see a dark body
half in the bushes and half in the water, struggling as though it
wounded. Not daring to fire, he rowed within a short distance, and
called out just loud enough to reach it:
“Is that you, Kingman?”
“I am of that opinion. What’s the news?”
“I have just found a poor dog, half drowned, in the water.”
“Why don’t you pick him up, then?”
“Afraid he might swim away, if I should try.”
“Try, and see whether he will.”
Moffat rowed up to him, and took him in.
“Now pull for the other shore,” said Kingman, “for I have had enough of
this for the present.”
In going across, nothing occurred to alarm them, and our two friends
related to each other their experience since they parted. Moffat gave it
as his opinion that Kingman had had quite an adventure—something that
would do to tell when they got home.
“But where do you suppose that Shawnee of yours is?” asked Moffat.
“I suppose he is watching behind that tree yet,” laughed Kingman. “You
haven’t told me yet how you came by this canoe.”
“Oh, there is little to tell of that. When our company dropped their
doors with which they were carrying the Injin fort, and I found every
man was for himself, and all for no, I thought I’d try a journey on my
own hook. So I dug for the woods until I supposed I was clear of the
crowd, when I made tracks for the river. Just before I got there, I come
’cross two little Injin boys—little devils out shooting our men and
learning to scalp on their own hook; and, would you believe it, the
confounded imps had a couple top-knots they had haggled off of some poor
fellow’s head. They found them half dead, I suppose, and then shot and
finished them. They didn’t happen to have loaded their guns yet, and the
way I walked into their meat-houses was a caution to bears. That split
in that rifle stock came from splitting both their heads. I laid ’em out
stark and stiff, so that there’s no likelihood of their lifting the hair
of any more of our boys for a considerable time. Wal, as their guns
wan’t of any use to me, I let ’em alone, and just took their ammunition,
and went on down the river. After going a half mile or so, I stumbled
onto this canoe pulled in snug under the bank. As the owner wasn’t about
to ask permission, I _borrowed_ it until I could return it.
“Wal, I spent that day pulling down the river, keeping close under the
shore, and watching all-fired close for Injin sign. I didn’t see
anything worth noticing through the day, and at night I run into shore,
turned the canoe over me, and curled up for a snooze. The air was so
warm and there was so many musketoes, and I felt so kind of all-overish,
that I crawled out agin, and squatted on top of the boat. I heard a gun
go off, and that started my nerves. I sat watching the river a good long
while. The moon was shining so bright that I could see anything as plain
as day. Purty soon a tree come floating down, and I thought I seed an
Injin’s head in it. Thinking as how it might be the one that owned the
canoe, who was looking for it, I launched it, and when out, I intended
to apologize. The moon shone so bright, that, before I got to him, I
seed it was a white man. The rest you know.”
By this time our friends had reached the opposite shore. Here, after a
short and earnest consultation, they determined to keep the river as
long as possible. Accordingly they again shoved into the stream, and
continued upon their way.