DAVID BARRING.
The scene opens in the Far West. In the forest the evening’s gloom
already was settling, though here and there, through some narrow vista,
a rich ray of sunlight poured its golden flood far into the shadowy
depths. The place was lonely and drear, yet wild and grand. Approaching
civilization had driven out the red-man, while his place had not,
as yet, been filled by the spreading white. Deep silence reigned,
disturbed only by the myriad sounds of animal and insect life, called
forth by the rare beauties of the evening. The sights and sounds of
civilization were not there; and yet, we should, perhaps, make a single
exception.
Stealing cautiously along, with a tread as light as that of a shade,
was one of that famed and daring class, met nowhere save on the
advance of American settlements—the border scouts, who, born to danger
and inured to hardship, become, as a race, the very embodiment of
bravery, endurance, strategy and recklessness. These are the ruling
characteristics of the class, though as varied in individuals as are
the personalities of “citizens of the world.”
The person to whom we have referred was a worthy specimen of his class.
Tall, erect and graceful in every motion, with eyes and ears from which
not the slightest sign or sound could escape, David Barring, or “Davy
the Scout,” as he was often called, was fitted, both by nature and
education, for the rough life which he was called upon to lead. Though
taller than the average of men, his compact frame and symmetrical
proportions served, in a great measure, to disguise his real height.
His dress was in keeping with his life and habits. Bearskin cap,
deerskin leggins, and Indian moccasins, in addition to the ordinary
hunting suit, tended to enhance the wild character of his person.
There was little necessity for the extreme caution which David still
continued to exercise. It sprung more from habit and long practice than
from any present danger. That the scout was deeply agitated, might
readily be gathered from the manner in which he mused, half aloud, as
he proceeded:
“Four years, since I’ve travelled through this place. But it’s bad
news I bring ’em this time, so it is. Wouldn’t blame ’em if they
didn’t believe me, not a bit; but ’twould be bad times for ’em if they
shouldn’t. Them as knows Davy Barring won’t doubt his word in Injin
matters, not by a long shot. Wonder, though, how the settlers will like
the idee o’ runnin’ away from these four tribes of heathens, with old
Black Hawk and all his crew yellin’ round their ears? Blame me if I
don’t wish there were a hundred or two men jis’ like myself, to rally
here and give ’em a warmin’! Wouldn’t there be a skittish time, though?
But there isn’t; so we may as well take things as they come. Maybe,
arter all, the reds will strike another way, and give these folks a
chance to take the back track. But it does come hard to give up all a
man’s done for six or ten years, and leave it to such ornery villains.
It’s a consolation there isn’t as many o’ the redskins as there would
have been if Davy Barring hadn’t been born; and it’s sure there’ll be
less yet, if nothin’ happens to Mister Davy, and his old rifle don’t
miss fire.”
The scout spoke with an air which showed his sincerity and
determination. Indeed, the mission upon which he was engaged was
one of no ordinary moment. Scouting upon the western shore of the
Mississippi, then unsettled by white men, he had learned the intent
of the savages, who, under Black Hawk, their renowned chief, had
determined to repossess themselves on the soil from which they had been
driven. Justly concerned for the fate of his friends, David at once had
set out to warn them.
“I wonder how the Hinton family will receive this news?” he mused, as
he stole along. “It may be they have moved away, though I presume not.
However, it’s not more’n five miles further to their cabin, and then I
can satisfy myself. Pretty Emily Hinton! A sweeter girl than she never
crossed the path of a mortal man. If I ever hoped to wed, there’s no
other woman I ever saw that would take my fancy like her. But that
can’t be. I never could give up this kind o’ life, and it’s no life for
a woman to share. I always hoped that Charles Markley and Emily would
come together. But that is none of my business.”
The scout paused and looked around. The sun had been for some time
below the horizon, and darkness had spread itself over the forest
depths. David had travelled a long way. He was hungry and weary. For
some moments he stood irresolute.
“It will be three hours before the moon rises,” he said, at length,
“and I can do no better than to wait for it. Perhaps I could find the
cabin in the dark; but more likely I’d miss it, seein’ I haven’t been
over the ground in so long. Leastwise, I’ll reach it sooner to wait
till the old maid overhead gets up a little, and I shall have to use
all my strength in time to come. So I’ll couch here, and may be get an
hour or two of sleep.”
The scout felt no sense of danger, believing that his foes had not yet
left the Mississippi’s banks. Wearied by the severe exertions of the
past few days, he was soon unconscious in profound sleep.
How long he had slept, David could not have determined. He was suddenly
awakened by that ever-present instinct which warns the trained forester
of danger.
It was not the moon which had lifted the weight from his eyelids.
Something of life and motion had been the means of arousing him.
Instead of starting quickly up, he remained perfectly silent. The moon
was not yet sufficiently above the horizon to lighten the forest to
any considerable degree. Still, the acute vision of the scout at once
enabled him to define his disturber.
Bending over him, and peering intently down upon the spot where he lay,
was the dusky form and burning eyes of a savage! David could see more
than this. Grasped in the right hand of the Indian, ready for instant
use, was a heavy tomahawk, clearly defined against the pale sky above
him.
The savage form bending above him, and the careless tramp of many feet
around him, revealed but too plainly to the startled scout that the
invaders were upon him—even between himself and the friends he would
have warned.
The warrior, in carelessly passing the sleeping scout, had struck his
foot against the prostrate form, and, being sensible that something
unusual was in his path, grasped his weapon, and peered cautiously down
upon the object beneath him. Observing the slight start of Barring, the
unsuspicious Indian bent still closer, bringing his head within a foot
of the scout’s face. That was the moment for action.
With a motion like lightning, and a grasp like steel, the scout
clutched the savage by the throat, and, before the astonished barbarian
could collect himself, he was thrown violently to the earth. The
quickness of the motion hurled the tomahawk many yards away, while the
supple white threw himself full upon his gasping victim. Exerting all
his fearful strength, David compressed his grasp, until it seemed the
very fingers would meet through the neck of the writhing savage.
The utmost efforts of the strangling Indian proved insufficient to
warn his fellows, and thus summon assistance. Finding it impossible
to effect this, he adopted another method. Ceasing to struggle, he
lay gasping and immovable. But the wary scout was not thrown from his
guard. Tightening his hold with the left hand, he cautiously moved
his right to where the haft of his knife protruded from his belt. In
another moment the blade had done its work. There was one convulsive
effort of the tawny frame, then a deep, long shudder, and the scout
rose from the still form of his dead adversary.
A moment’s close observation gave Barring a clear perception of his
surroundings. Fortunately, he was not in the direct path of the savage
horde, who were sweeping past him to the northward and eastward. He
perceived that it was a large party—perhaps, indeed, the main body of
the warriors.
The savages were marching in the direct line toward the cabin of the
Hinton family; hence it was a matter of doubt if the scout could reach
the place before it was too late. But he was not the man to hesitate,
and he set forth at once.
The distance to the cabin was nearly passed, yet the anxious man had
not succeeded in outstripping his foes. The cautious and circuitous
route he had of necessity pursued, and neutralized his superior speed
and skill. Suddenly the horde paused, and, dividing into separate
parties, moved rapidly to the right and left. Too well the scout knew
the meaning of this movement, and the clenched hand and compressed lips
showed the stern thoughts which moved him.
“I’ve been a fool!” was his earnest mental ejaculation, as he worked
himself free from the presence of his enemies; “and jest by my own
laziness, is not comin’ on when I might have given the alarm, now I
shall have to stand by and see all my friends murdered! There was time
enough; but, fool I was, I must take it for sleep. But it’s done, and
now I’ll stand by and see if I ken render any sarvice; may be some
lucky chance will happen. After all, it’s a wondrous pity that Davy
Barring has been outwitted and outtramped by a lot o’ these confounded
human tigers.”
A few rods more brought the party into the little clearing surrounding
the cabin of the Hintons. If David had before felt a hope that
the invaders would pass the cabin, it was doomed now to an utter
extinguishment. Favoured by the darkness, the hostile warriors
glided into the clearing, and in a moment the devoted habitation was
surrounded by hundreds of the red fiends, eager for the blood of
innocence.
The pain and anxiety of the scout can be well imagined.
For some minutes David awaited, with anxiety, the expected onset.
Still, all was silent. Filled with vague apprehensions, he crawled
nearer, to gain a more extensive view. Finding himself unopposed, he
worked his way into the clearing, and scanned the prospect before him.
Between the dwelling and its present position, several smaller cabins
had been erected, shutting the former from his view. He could perceive
a large number of savages about the buildings. To gain a point from
which to make another observation, he must move some thirty rods to the
eastward, and, as the quickest mode of reaching the place, he returned
at once to the wood. Here he met no restraint, and had nearly reached
the coveted position, when he espied a crouching figure directly in his
path.
The first thought of the scout was to spring to cover; but, before he
had time to execute it, the query which broke from the savage, in his
authoritative tones, changed the purpose.
“My brave! Where goest thou?” was the demand of the Indian, in the
dialect of the Winnebagoes.
The question revealed to David two important facts! The person before
him was a chief, unaware of the character of the scout. They were
within two yards of each other at the moment, and David cared not to
waste time. With a peculiar motion, he glided a pace nearer the waiting
chief, and, with a movement like the rapid sweep of thought, whirled
his rifle through the air, bringing its heavy breech full upon the
painted scalp of the Indian. Without a sound, he fell to the earth, his
skull cloven in twain.
“One imp the less, to gloat over the poor women and children they will
murder. I hate to spill blood, but that’s what _they’re_ here for, and
they must reap what they sow. But it’s uncommon curious what keeps them
so still.”
Glancing around, to make sure he was not running into an ambuscade,
a few rapid steps carried him forward to the point selected for his
reconnaissance. Here it was soon apparent what had kept the savages so
silent. Large piles of rubbish had been gathered about the principal
cabin, to which fire had been applied in many places. The scout gazed
silently upon the spectacle, while his clenched hands and fierce
expression showed how terrible was the rage within that bosom.
“Oh, my poor friends!” he mused. “I am to blame for all this—I
who might have saved you. But, burn on! There shall be a fearful
recompense.”
At this moment the few savages who had remained standing, threw
themselves prone upon the earth.