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THE RIFLEMEN OF THE OHIO
A Story of Early Days along "The Beautiful River"
by
JOSEPH A. ALTSHELER
Author of "The Young Trailers," "The Forest Runners," "The Free
Rangers," Etc.
New York and London
D. Appleton and Company
1922
Copyright, 1910, by
D. Appleton and Company
Printed in the United States of America
"The Riflemen of the Ohio," while a complete story in itself, continues
the fortunes of Henry Ware, Paul Cotter, and their friends, who were the
central characters in "The Young Trailers," "The Forest Runners," "The
Keepers of the Trail," "The Eyes of the Woods," and "The Free Rangers."
[Illustration: "The head came up on the other side."]
CONTENTS
I.--THE EYE OF THE FLEET
II.--THE WYANDOT CHIEF
III.--THE SONG OF THE LEAVES
IV.--THE FOREST VILLAGE
V.--PLAY AND COUNCIL
VI.--THE GANTLET
VII.--ALONE IN THE WILDERNESS
VIII.--THE SHADOW IN THE WATER
IX.--THE GATHERING OF THE FIVE
X.--THE GREAT BORDERER
XI.--THE RACE OF THE FIVE
XII.--THE ONE WHO ARRIVED
XIII.--AT THE FORT
XIV.--SIX FIGURES IN THE DUSK
XV.--THE DEED IN THE DARK
XVI.--THE RETURN TRAIL
XVII.--PICKING UP THE STRANDS
XVIII.--THE HALTING OF THE FLEET
XIX.--THE WATERY PASS
XX.--THE TRUMPET'S PEAL
XXI.--FORCES MEET
XXII.--THE SPEECH OF TIMMENDIQUAS
XXIII.--ON THE OFFENSIVE
XXIV.--THE DECISIVE BATTLE
THE RIFLEMEN OF THE OHIO
CHAPTER I
THE EYE OF THE FLEET
The fleet of boats and canoes bearing supplies for the far east turned
from the Mississippi into the wide mouth of the Ohio, and it seemed, for
a time, that they had come into a larger river instead of a tributary.
The splendid stream, called by the Indians "The Beautiful River," flowed
silently, a huge flood between high banks, and there was not one among
the voyagers who did not feel instinctively the depths beneath him.
A single impulse caused every paddle and oar to lie at rest a few
moments, and, while they swung gently with the slow current just beyond
the point where one merged into the other, they looked at the two mighty
rivers, the Mississippi, coming from the vast unknown depths of the
northwest, rising no man knew where, and the Ohio, trailing its easy
length a thousand miles through thick forests haunted by the most
warlike tribes of North America. The smaller river--small only by
comparison--bore the greater dangers, and they knew it.
It was the fleet of Adam Colfax, and the five who had gone to New
Orleans and who had come back, triumphing over so many dangers in the
coming and the going, were still with him. Henry Ware, Paul Cotter, and
Shif'less Sol Hyde sat in the foremost boat, and the one just behind
them contained Silent Tom Ross and Long Jim Hart. After the great battle
on the Lower Mississippi in which they defeated the Indians and
desperadoes under Alvarez, the voyage had remained peaceful as they
pulled up to the Ohio.
"It's our own river again, Henry," said Paul. Both felt a sort of
proprietary interest in the Ohio.
"It's so, and I'm glad to look on it again," replied Henry, "but the
Shawnees, the Miamis, the Wyandots, and others will never let us by
without a fight."
He spoke with gravity. But a boy in years, the many stern scenes through
which he had passed and his natural instinct for the wilderness made him
see far. He was thinking of the thousand miles, every one with its
dangers, that they must travel before they could unload their supplies
at Pittsburgh for the struggling colonists.
No concern of the future troubled the soul of Long Jim Hart. He was once
more in the region that he loved. He looked at one river and then at the
other, and his eyes glowed.
"Ain't it fine, Henry?" he said. "These two pow'ful big streams! Back uv
them the firm, solid country that you kin tread on without the fear uv
breakin' through, an' then the cool steadyin' airs that are blowin' on
our faces!"
"Yes, it is fine, Jim!" said Henry with emphasis.
He, too, ceased to think, for the moment, of the future, and paid more
attention to the meeting of the rivers. The Ohio, at that point,
although the tributary, was wider than the Mississippi, and for some
distance up its stream was deeper. Its banks, sloping and high, were
clothed in dense forest and underbrush to the water's edge. Nothing
broke this expanse of dark green. It was lone and desolate, save for the
wild fowl that circled over it before they darted toward the water. The
note of everything was size, silence, and majesty.
"We begin the second stage of our great journey," said Adam Colfax to
Henry.
Then the leader raised his hand as a signal, hundreds of oars and
paddles struck the water, the fleet leaped into life again, and boats
and canoes, driven by strong arms, swung forward against the slow
current of the Ohio. Some rower in a leading boat struck up a wild song
of love and war, mostly war, and others joined, the chorus swelling to
twenty, fifty, then a hundred voices. It was a haunting air, and forest
and water gave back the volume of sound in far, weird echoes.
But fleet and song merely heightened the effect of the wilderness.
Nobody saw them. Nobody heard them. Desolation was always before them,
and, as they passed, closed in again behind them. But the men themselves
felt neither lonely nor afraid. Used to victory over hardship and
danger, their spirits rose high as they began the ascent of the second
river, the last half of their journey.
Adam Colfax, stern New England man that he was, felt the glow, and Paul,
the imaginative boy, felt it, too.
"I don't see how such an expedition as this can fail to get through to
Pittsburgh," he said.
"I'd like to go on jest ez we're goin' all the time," said Shif'less Sol
with lazy content. "I could curl up under a rail and lay thar fur a
thousand miles. Jest think what a rest that would be, Paul!"
Henry Ware said nothing. The Mississippi had now dropped out of sight,
and before them stretched only the river that hugged the Dark and Bloody
Ground in its curves. He knew too much to trust to solitude and silence.
He never ceased to search the forests and thickets on either shore with
his trained eyes. He looked for little things, a bough or a bush that
might bend slightly against the gentle wind that was blowing, or the
faintest glimpse of a feather on a far hill, but he saw nothing that was
not in perfect accord with nature. The boughs and the bushes bent as
they should bend. If his eye found a feather it was on the back of the
scarlet tanager or the blue jay. Before him flowed the river, a sheet of
molten gold in the sun, current meeting boat. All was as it should be.
But Henry continued to watch. He, more than any other, was the eye of
the fleet, will and use helping the gift of nature, and, as he knew,
they had come to depend upon him. He was doing the work expected of him
as well as the work that he loved, and he meant that he should not fail.
The song, mellow, haunting, and full of echoes, went on, now rising in
volume, then falling to a softer note, and then swelling again. They
finished the last verse and bar, and began a new one, tuned to the
stroke of oar and paddle, and the fleet went forward swiftly, smoothly,
apparently in a world that contained only peace.
Jim Hart turned his face to the cooling airs that began to blow a little
stronger. Paul was rapt far away among the rosy clouds of the future.
Shif'less Sol, who held neither oar nor paddle, closed his eyes and
leaned luxuriously against a mast, but Henry sat immovable, watching,
always watching.
The hours, one by one, dropped behind them. The sun swung toward the
zenith and stood poised in the center of the skies, a vast globe of
reddish gold in a circling sea of blue. The light from the high heavens
was so brilliant that Henry could see small objects on either shore,
although they were in the center of a stream, a mile wide. He saw
nothing that did not belong there, but still he watched.
"Noon!" called Adam Colfax. "And we'll land and eat!"
Rowers and paddlers must have food and plenty of it, and there was a
joyous shout as the leader turned the prow of his boat toward a cove in
the northern shore.
"See anything that looks hostile in there, Henry?" asked Adam Colfax.
He spoke rather lightly. Despite his cautious nature and long
experience, he had begun to believe that the danger was small. His was a
powerful party. The Northern Indians would hear of the great defeat
sustained by their Southern brethren, and would avoid a foe whom they
could not conquer. He looked for an easy and quiet journey up the Ohio.
"I don't see anything but the ground and the trees," replied Henry,
smiling, but continuing, nevertheless, to search the forest with those
wonderfully keen eyes of his.
"Perhaps we can find game, too," added Adam Colfax. "We need fresh
supplies, and a country deserted like this should be swarming with deer
and buffalo."
"Perhaps," said Henry.
When their boat touched the bank, Henry and Shif'less Sol sprang ashore,
and slid silently into the forest. There they made a wide curve about
the cove that had served as a landing, but found no signs of life except
the tracks of game. After a while they sat down on a log and listened,
but heard nothing save the usual sounds of the forest.
"What do you think of it, Sol?" asked Henry.
"O' course, Henry," replied the shiftless one judiciously, "we've got to
expect trouble sometime or other, but I ain't lookin' fur it yet awhile.
We can't have no dealin's with it till it comes."
Henry shook his head. He believed that the instinct of Shif'less Sol,
usually so alert, was now sleeping. They were sitting in the very
thickest of the forest, and he looked up at the roof of green leaves,
here so dense that only slim triangles of blue sky showed between. The
leaves stirred a little. There was a flash of flame against the green,
but it was only a scarlet tanager that shot past, then a flash of blue,
but it was only a blue jay. Around them, clustering close to the trees,
was the dense undergrowth, and they could not see twenty yards away.
The faint, idle breeze died of languor. The bushes stood up straight.
The leaves hung motionless. The forest, which was always to Henry a live
thing, seemed no longer to breathe. A leaf could have been heard had it
fallen. Then out of that deadly stillness came a sudden note, a strange,
wild song that Henry alone heard. He looked up, but he saw no bird, no
singer of the woods. Yet the leaves were rippling. The wind had risen
again, and it was playing upon the leaves in a mystic, solemn way,
calling words that he knew or seemed to know. He glanced at Shif'less
Sol, but his comrade heard only the wind, raising his head a little
higher that its cool breath might fan his face.
To Henry, always attuned to the wilderness and its spirit, this sudden
voice out of the ominous silence was full of meaning. He started at the
first trill. It was not a vain and idle song. A strange shiver ran down
his spine, and the hair on his head felt alive.
The great youth raised his head. The shiver was still in his spine. All
his nerves and muscles were tense and drawn. The wind still sang on the
leaves, but it was a warning note to Henry, and he understood. He sat
rigid and alert, in the attitude of one who is ready to spring, and his
eyes, as he looked up as if to seek the invisible hand among the green
leaves, were full of fire and meaning.
Chance made the shiftless one glance at his comrade, and he was
startled.
"What is it, Henry?" he asked.
"I was hearing something."
"I hear nothin' but the wind."
"I hear that--and much more."
Shif'less Sol glanced again at his comrade, but Henry's face said
nothing, and the shiftless one was not a man to ask many questions. He
was silent, and Henry listened attentively to the melodious breath of
the wind, so gay, so light to one whose spirit was attuned only to the
obvious, but so full of warning to him. He looked up, but he could see
nothing. Nevertheless, the penetrating note came forth, never ceasing,
drumming incessantly upon the boy's brain.
"I think we'd better go back to the camp, Sol," he said presently.
"So do I," said Shif'less Sol, "an' report that thar's nothin' to be
found."
Henry made no reply as they plunged into the green thicket, treading
soundlessly on soft moccasins and moving with such skill that leaves and
boughs failed to rustle as they passed. But the note of the wind among
the leaves pursued the boy. He heard it long after the glade in which
they had sat was lost to sight, fainter and fainter, but full of
warning, and then only an echo, but a warning still.
The feelings color what the eyes see. Shif'less Sol beheld only a
splendid green forest that contained nothing but game for their hunting,
deer, bear, buffalo, wild turkey, and other things good, but Henry saw
over all the green an ominous, reddish tint. Game might be in those
woods--no doubt it was swarming there--but he felt another presence, far
more deadly than bear or panther.
The boy saw a small object on the ground, almost hidden in the grass,
and, without slackening his speed, he stooped and picked it up so
silently and deftly that Shif'less Sol, who was a little in advance,
neither saw nor heard him.
It was the feather of an eagle, one that might have dropped from the
wing of some soaring bird, but the quick eye of the boy saw that the
quill had been cut with a knife, as the feather of a goose used to be
sharpened for a pen.
He suppressed the sharp exclamation that rose to his lips, and thrust
the feather into the bosom of his buckskin hunting shirt. The last echo
of the warning note came to him and then died away in the forest.
They were at the camp fifteen minutes later, and the eyes of Shif'less
Sol beamed at the joyous sight. In all their long journey they had found
no more pleasant anchorage, a sheltered cove of the Ohio, and firm
ground, clear of undergrowth, sloping gently to the water's edge. The
boats were tied in a great curve about the beach, and nearly all the men
were ashore, glad to feel once more the freedom of the land. Some still
sung the wild songs they had picked up in the West Indies or on the
Spanish Main, others were feeding fires that crackled merrily and that
flung great bands of red flame against the glowing yellow curtain of the
sunlight. Pleasant odors arose from pots and kettles. The air of frolic
was pervasive. The whole company was like so many boys with leave to
play.
Henry left Shif'less Sol and approached Adam Colfax, who was sitting
alone on the exposed root of a big tree.
"You found nothing, of course?" said Adam Colfax, who shared the easy
feelings of his men.
"I found this," replied the boy, drawing the eagle feather from his
breast.
"What is that? Merely the feather of some wild bird."
"The feather of an eagle."
"I fancy that many an eagle drops a feather now and then in this
wilderness."
"This feather was dropped last from the head of an Indian warrior."
"How do you know it?"
"See, the quill has been trimmed off a little with a knife. It was part
of a decoration."
"It may have fallen many weeks ago."
"It could not be so. The plumage everywhere is smooth and even. It has
been lying on the ground only a little while. Otherwise it would be
bedraggled by the rain or be roughened by the wind blowing it about
among the bushes."
"Then the feather indicates the presence of hostile Indians?" said Adam
Colfax thoughtfully. "I know by your manner that you think so."
"I am sure of it," said Henry with great emphasis.
"You're right, no doubt. You always are. But look how strong our force
is, men tried in toil and battle, and they are many! What have we to
fear?"
He looked over his light-hearted host, and his blue eyes, usually so
cold, kindled with warmth. One might search the world over, and not find
a hardier band. Truly, what had he to fear?
Henry saw that the leader was not convinced, and he was not one to waste
words. After all, what did he have to offer but a stray feather, carried
by the wind?
"Dismiss your fears, my boy," said Adam Colfax cheerfully. "Think about
something else. I want to send out a hunting party this afternoon. Will
you lead it?"
"Of course," said Henry loyally. "I'll be ready whenever the others
are."
"In a half hour or so," said Adam Colfax with satisfaction. "I knew you
wouldn't fail."
Henry went to the fire, by the side of which his four comrades sat
eating their noonday meal, and took his place with them. He said not a
word after his brief salute, and Paul presently noticed his silence and
look of preoccupation.
"What is the matter, Henry?" he asked.
"I'm going with a little party this afternoon," replied Henry, "to hunt
for buffalo and deer. Mr. Colfax wishes me to do it. He thinks we need
fresh supplies, and I've agreed to help. I want you boys to promise, if
I don't come back, that you'll go on with the fleet."
Paul sat up, rigid with astonishment. Shif'less Sol turned a lazy but
curious eye on the boy.
"Now, what under the sun do you mean, Henry?" he asked. "I've heard you
talk a good many times, but never like that before. Not comin' back? Is
this the Henry Ware that we've knowed so long?"
Henry laughed, despite himself.
"I'm just the same," he said, "and I do feel, Sol, that I'm not coming
back from this hunt. I don't mean that I'll never come back, but it will
be a long time. So I want you fellows to go on with the fleet and help
it all you can."
"Henry, you're plum' foolish," said taciturn Tom Ross. "Are you out uv
your head?"
Henry laughed again.
"It does sound foolish," he admitted, "and I don't understand why I
think I'm not coming back. I just feel it."
"I notice that them things mostly come contrariwise," said Shif'less
Sol. "When I know that I'm goin' to hev hard luck it's gen'ally good.
We'll look for you, Henry, at sundown."
But Paul, youthful and imaginative, was impressed, and he regarded Henry
with silent sympathy.