LOST IN THE WILDERNESS
The method by which Mr. and Mrs. Ware undertook to teach Henry a sense
of responsibility was an increase of work. Founding a new state was no
light matter, and he must do his share. Since he loved to fish, it
became his duty to supply the table with fish, and that, too, at regular
hours, and he also began to think of traps and snares, which he would
set in the autumn for game. It was always wise for the pioneer to save
his powder and lead, the most valuable of his possessions and the
hardest to obtain. Any food that could be procured without its use was a
welcome addition.
But fishing remained his easiest task, and he did it all with a pole
that he cut with his clasp knife, a string and a little piece of bent
and stiffened wire. He caught perch, bass, suckers, trout, sunfish,
catfish, and other kinds, the names of which he did not know. Sometimes
when his hook and line had brought him all that was needed, and the day
was hot, he would take off his clothing and plunge into the deep, cool
pools. Often his friend, Paul Cotter, was with him. Paul was a year
younger than Henry, and not so big. Hence the larger boy felt himself,
in a certain sense, Paul's teacher and protector, which gave him a
comfortable feeling, and a desire to help his comrade as much as he
could.
He taught the smaller lad new tricks in swimming, and scarcely a day
passed when two sunburned, barefooted boys did not go to the river,
quickly throw off their clothing, and jump into the clear water. There
they swam and floated for a long time, dived, and ducked each other, and
then lay on the grass in the sun until they dried.
"Paul," said Henry once, as they were stretched thus on the bank,
"wouldn't you like to have nothing to do, but wander through the woods
just as you pleased, sleep wherever you wished, and kill game when you
grew hungry, just like the Indians?"
Henry's eyes were on the black line of the forest, and the blue haze of
the sky beyond. His spirit was away in the depths of the unknown.
"I don't know," replied Paul. "I guess a white boy has to become a white
man, after a while, and they say that the difference between a white man
and the Indian is that the white man has to work."
"But the Indians get along without it," said Henry.
"No they don't," replied Paul. "We win all the country because we've
learned how to do things while we are working."
Yet Henry was unconvinced, and his thoughts wandered far into the black
forest and the blue haze.
The cattle pastured near the deepest of the swimming holes, and it often
fell to the lot of the boys to bring them into the palisade at sunset.
This was a duty of no little importance, because if any of the cattle
wandered away into the forest and were lost, they could not be replaced.
It was now the latter half of summer, and the grass and foliage were
fast turning brown in the heat. Late on the afternoon of one of the very
hottest days Henry and Paul went to the deepest swimming hole. There had
not been a breath of air stirring since morning; not a blade of grass,
not a leaf quivered. The skies burned like a sheet of copper.
The boys panted, and their clothing, wet with perspiration, clung to
them. The earth was hot under their feet. Quickly they threw off their
garments and sprang into the water. How cool and grateful it felt! There
they lingered long, and did not notice the sudden obscurity of the sun
and darkening of the southwest.
A slight wind sprang up presently, and the dry leaves and grass began to
rustle. There was thunder in the distance and a stroke of lightning. The
boys were aroused, and scrambling out of the water put on their
clothing.
"A storm's coming," said Henry, who was weatherwise, "and we must get
the cattle in."
These sons of the forest did not fear rain, but they hurried on their
clothing, and they noticed, too, how rapidly the storm was gathering.
The heat had been great for days, and the earth was parched and thirsty.
The men had talked in the evening of rain, and said how welcome it would
be, and now the boys shared the general feeling. The drought would be
ended. The thirsty earth would drink deep and grow green again.
The rolling clouds, drawn like a great curtain over the southwest,
advanced and covered all the heavens. The flashes of lightning followed
each other so fast that, at times, they seemed continuous; the forest
groaned as it bent before the wind. Then the great drops fell, and soon
they were beating the earth like volleys of pistol bullets. Fragments of
boughs, stripped off by the wind, swept by. Never had the boys in their
Eastern home known such thunder and lightning. The roar of one was
always in their ears, and the flash of the other always in their eyes.
The frightened cattle were gathered into a group, pressing close
together for company and protection. The boys hurried them toward the
stockade, but one cow, driven by terror, broke from the rest and ran
toward the woods. Agile Henry, not willing to lose a single straggler,
pursued the fugitive, and Paul, wishing to be as zealous, followed. The
rest of the cattle, being so near and obeying the force of habit, went
on into the stockade.
It was the wildest cow of the herd that made a plunge for the woods, and
Henry, knowing her nature, expected trouble. So he ran as fast as he
could, and he was not aware until they were in the forest that Paul was
close behind him. Then he shouted:
"Go back, Paul! I'll bring her in."
But Paul would not turn. There was fire in his blood. He considered it
as much his duty to help as it was Henry's. Moreover, he would not
desert his comrade.
The fugitive, driven by the storm acting upon its wild nature, continued
at great speed, and the panting boys were not able to overtake her. So
on the trio went, plunging through the woods, and saving themselves from
falls, or collisions with trees, only by the light from the flashes of
lightning. Many boys, even on the border, would have turned back, but
there was something tenacious in Henry's nature; he had undertaken to do
a thing, and he did not wish to give it up. Besides that cow was too
valuable. And Paul would not leave his comrade.
Away the cow went, and behind her ran her pursuers. The rain came
rushing and roaring through the woods, falling now in sheets, while
overhead the lightning still burned, and the thunder still crashed,
though with less frequency. Both the boys were drenched, but they did
not mind it; they did not even know it at the time. The lightning died
presently, the thunder ceased to rumble, and then the darkness fell like
a great blanket over the whole forest. The chase was blotted out from
them, and the two boys, stopping, grasped each other's hands for the
sake of company. They could not see twenty feet before them, but the
rain still poured.
"We'll have to give her up," said Henry reluctantly. "We couldn't follow
a whole herd of buffaloes in all this black night."
"Maybe we can find her to-morrow," said Paul.
"Maybe so," replied Henry. "We've got to wait anyhow. Let's go home."
They started back for Wareville, keeping close together, lest they lose
each other in the darkness, and they realized suddenly that they were
uncomfortable. The rain was coming in such sheets directly in their
faces that it half blinded them, now and then their feet sank deep in
mire and their drenched bodies began to grow cold. The little log houses
in which they lived now seemed to them palaces, fit for a king, and they
hastened their footsteps, often tripping on vines or running into
bushes. But Henry was trying to see through the dark woods.
"We ought to be near the clearing," he said.
They stopped and looked all about, seeking to see a light. They knew
that one would be shining from the tower of the blockhouse as a guide to
them. But they saw none. They had misjudged the distance, so they
thought, and they pushed on a half hour longer, but there was still no
light, nor did they come to a clearing. Then they paused. Dark as it was
each saw a look of dismay on the face of the other.
"We've come the wrong way!" exclaimed Paul.
"Maybe we have," reluctantly admitted Henry.
But their dismay lasted only a little while. They were strong boys, used
to the wilderness, and they did not fear even darkness and wandering
through the woods. Moreover, they were sure that they should find
Wareville long before midnight.
They changed their course and continued the search. The rain ceased by
and by, the clouds left the heavens, and the moon came out, but they saw
nothing familiar about them. The great woods were dripping with water,
and it was the only sound they heard, besides that made by themselves.
They stopped again, worn out and disconsolate at last. All their walking
only served to confuse them the more. Neither now had any idea of the
direction in which Wareville lay, and to be lost in the wilderness was a
most desperate matter. They might travel a thousand miles, should
strength last them for so great a journey, and never see a single human
being. They leaned against the rough bark of a great oak tree, and
stared blankly at each other.
"What are we to do?" asked Paul.
"I can't say," replied Henry.
The two boys still looked blank, but at last they laughed--and each
laughed at the other's grewsome face. Then they began once more to cast
about them. The cold had passed and warm winds were blowing up from the
south. The forest was drying, and Henry and Paul, taking off their
coats, wrung the water from them. They were strong lads, inured to many
hardships of the border and the forest, and they did not fear ill
results from a mere wetting. Nevertheless, they wished to be
comfortable, and under the influence of the warm wind they soon found
themselves dry again. But they were so intensely sleepy that they could
scarcely keep their eyes open, and now the wilderness training of both
came into use.
It was a hilly country, with many outcroppings of stone and cavelike
openings in the sides of the steep but low hills, and such a place as
this the boys now sought. But it was a long hunt and they grew more
tired and sleepy at every step. They were hungry, too, but if they might
only sleep they could forget that. They heard again the hooting of owls
and the wind, moaning among the leaves, made strange noises. Once there
was a crash in a thicket beside them, and they jumped in momentary
alarm, but it was only a startled deer, far more scared than they,
running through the bushes, and Henry was ashamed of his nervous
impulse.
They found at last their resting place, a sheltered ledge of dry stone
in the hollow of a hill. The stone arched above them, and it was dark in
the recess, but the boys were too tired now to worry about shadows. They
crept into the hollow, and, scraping up fallen leaves to soften the hard
stone, lay down. Both were off to slumberland in less than five minutes.
The hollow faced the East, and the bright sun, shining into their eyes,
awakened them at last. Henry sprang up, amazed. The skies were a silky
blue, with little white clouds sailing here and there. The forest,
new-washed by the rain, smelt clean and sweet. The south wind was still
blowing. The world was bright and beautiful, but he was conscious of an
acute pain at the center of his being. That is, he was increasingly
hungry. Paul showed equal surprise, and was a prey to the same annoying
sensation in an important region. He looked up at the sun, and found
that it was almost directly overhead, indicating noon.
All the country about them was strange, an unbroken expanse of hill and
forest, and nowhere a sign of a human being. They scrutinized the
horizon with the keen eyes of boyhood, but they saw no line of smoke,
rising from the chimneys of Wareville. Whether the villages lay north or
south or east or west of them they did not know, and the wind that
sighed so gently through the forest never told. They were alone in the
wilderness and they knew, moreover, that the wilderness was very vast
and they were very small. But Henry and Paul did not despair; in fact no
such thought entered Henry's mind. Instead he began to find a certain
joy in the situation; it appealed to his courage. They resolved to find
something to eat, and they used first a temporary cure for the pangs of
hunger. Each had a strong clasp knife and they cut strips of the soft
inner bark of the slippery-elm tree, which they chewed, drawing from it
a little strength and sustenance. They found an hour or two later some
nearly ripe wild plums, which they ate in small quantities, and, later
on, ripe blackberries very juicy and sweet. Paul wanted to be voracious,
but Henry restrained him, knowing well that if he indulged liberally he
might suffer worse pangs than those of hunger. Slender as was this diet
the boys felt much strengthened, and their spirits rose in a wonderful
manner.
"We're bound to be found sooner or later," said Henry, "and it's strange
if we can't live in the woods until then."
"If we only had our guns and ammunition," said Paul, "we could get all
the meat we wanted, and live as well as if we were at home."
This was true, because in the untrodden forest the game was plentiful
all about them, but guns and ammunition they did not have, and it was
vain to wish for them. They must obtain more solid food than wild plums
and blackberries, if they would retain their strength, and both boys
knew it. Yet they saw no way and they continued wandering until they
came to a creek. They sat a while on its banks and looked down at the
fish with which it was swarming, and which they could see distinctly in
its clear waters.
"Oh, if we only had one of those fine fellows!" said Paul.
"Then why not have him?" exclaimed Henry, a sudden flash appearing in
his eye.
"Yes, why not?" replied Paul with sarcasm. "I suppose that all we have
to do is to whistle and the finest of 'em will come right out here on
the bank, and ask us to cook and eat 'em."
"We haven't any hooks and lines now but we might make 'em," said Henry.
"Make 'em!" said Paul, and he looked in amazement at his comrade.
"Out of our clothes," replied Henry.
Then he proceeded to show what he meant and Paul, too, when he saw him
begin, was quickly taken with the idea. They drew many long strands from
the fiber of their clothing--cloth in those days was often made as
strong as leather--and twisted and knotted them together until they had
a line fifteen feet long. It took them at least two hours to complete
this task, and then they contemplated their work with pride. But the
look of joy on Paul's face did not last long.
"How on earth are we to get a hook, Henry?" he asked.
"I'll furnish that," replied Henry, and he took the small steel buckle
with which his trousers were fastened together at the back. Breaking
this apart he bent the slenderest portion of it into the shape of a
hook, and fastened it to the end of his line.
"If we get a fish on this he may slip off or he may not, but we must
try," he said.
The fishing rod and the bait were easy matters. A slender stem of
dogwood, cut with a clasp knife, served for the first, and, to get the
latter, they had nothing to do but turn up a flat stone, and draw angle
worms from the moist earth beneath.
The hook was baited and with a triumphant flourish Henry swung it toward
the stream.
"Now," he said, "for the biggest fish that ever swam in this creek."
The boys might have caught nothing with such a rude outfit, but
doubtless that stream was never fished in before, and its inhabitants,
besides being full of a natural curiosity, did not dream of any danger
coming from the outer air. Therefore they bit at the curious-looking
metallic thing with the tempting food upon it which was suddenly dropped
from somewhere.
But the first fish slipped off as Henry had feared, and then there was
nothing to do but try again. It was not until the sixth or seventh bite
that he succeeded in landing a fine perch upon the bank, and then Paul
uttered a cry of triumph, but Henry, as became his superior dignity at
that moment, took his victory modestly. It was in reality something to
rejoice over, as these two boys were perhaps in a more dangerous
situation than they, with all their knowledge of the border, understood.
The wilderness was full of animal life, but it was fleeter than man,
and, without weapons they were helpless.
"And now to cook him," said Henry. So speaking, he took from his pocket
the flint and steel that he had learned from the men always to carry,
while Paul began to gather fallen brushwood.
To light the fire Henry expected to be the easiest of their tasks, but
it proved to be one of the most difficult. He struck forth the elusive
sparks again and again, but they went out before setting fire to the
wood. He worked until his fingers ached and then Paul relieved him. It
fell to the younger boy's lot to succeed. A bright spark flying forth
rested a moment among the lightest and dryest of the twigs, igniting
there. A tiny point of flame appeared, then grew and leaped up. In a few
moments the great pile of brushwood was in a roaring blaze, and then the
boys cooked their fish over the coals. They ate it all with supreme
content, and they believed they could feel the blood flowing in a new
current through their veins and their strength growing, too.
But they knew that they would have to prepare for the future and draw
upon all their resources of mind and body. Their hook and line was but a
slender appliance and they might not have such luck with it again. Paul
suggested that they make a fish trap, of sticks tied together with
strips cut from their clothing, and put it in the creek, and Henry
thought it was a good idea, too. So they agreed to try it on the morrow,
if they should not be found meanwhile, and then they debated the subject
of snares.
The undergrowth was swarming with rabbits, and they would make most
toothsome food. Rabbits they must have, and again Henry led the way. He
selected a small clear spot near the thick undergrowth where a rabbit
would naturally love to make his nest and around a circle about six
inches in diameter he drove a number of smooth pegs. Then he tied a
strong cord made of strips of their clothing to one end of a stout bush,
which he bent over until it curved in a semicircle. The other end of the
cord was drawn in a sliding loop around the pegs, and was attached to a
little wooden trigger, set in the center of the inclosure.
The slightest pressure upon this trigger would upset it, cause the noose
to slip off the pegs and close with a jerk around the neck of anything
that might have its head thrust into the inclosure. The bush, too, would
fly back into place and there would be the intruder, really hanged by
himself. It was the common form of snare, devised for small game by the
boys of early Kentucky, and still used by them.
Henry and Paul made four of these ingenious little contrivances, and
baited them with bruised pieces of the small plantain leaves that the
rabbits love. Then they contemplated their work again with satisfaction.
But Paul suddenly began to look rueful.
"If we have to pay out part of our clothes every time we get a dinner we
soon won't have any left," he said.
Henry only laughed.
It was now near sunset, and, as they had worked hard they would have
been thankful for supper, but there was none to be thankful for, and
they were too tired to fish again. So they concluded to go to sleep,
which their hard work made very easy, and dream of abundant harvests on
the morrow.
They gathered great armfuls of the fallen brushwood, littering the
forest, and built a heap as high as their heads, which blazed and roared
in a splendid manner, sending up, too, a column of smoke that rose far
above the trees and trailed off in the blue sky.
It was a most cheerful bonfire, and it was a happy thought for the boys
to build it, even aside from its uses as a signal, as the coming of
night in the wilderness is always most lonesome and weird.
They lay down near each other on the soft turf, and Henry watched the
red sun sink behind the black forest in the west. The strange,
sympathetic feeling for the wilderness again came into his mind. He
thought once more of the mysterious regions that lay beyond the line
where the black and red met. He could live in the woods, he was living
now without arms, even, and if he only had his rifle and ammunition he
could live in luxury. And then the wonderful freedom! That old thought
came to him with renewed force. To roam as he pleased, to stop when he
pleased and to sleep where he pleased! He would make a canoe, and float
down the great rivers to their mouths. Then he would wander far out on
the vast plains, which they say lay beyond the thousand miles of forest,
and see the buffalo in millions go thundering by. That would be a life
without care.
He fell asleep presently, but he was awakened after a while by a
long-drawn plaintive shriek answered by a similar cry. Once he would
have been alarmed by the sound, but now he knew it was panther talking
to panther. He and Paul were unarmed, but they had something as
effective as guns against panthers and that was the great bonfire which
still roared and blazed near them. He was glad now for a new reason that
they had built it high, because the panther's cry was so uncanny and
sent such a chill down one's back. He looked at Paul, but his comrade
still slept soundly, a peaceful smile showing on his face. He remembered
the words of Ross that no wild animal would trouble man if man did not
trouble him, and, rolling a little nearer to Paul, he shut his eyes and
sought sleep.
But sleep would not come, and presently he heard the cry of the panther
again but much nearer. He was lying with his ear to the ground. Now the
earth is a conductor of sound and Henry was sure that he heard a soft
tread. He rose upon his elbow and gazed into the darkness. There he
beheld at last a dim form moving with sinuous motion, and slowly it took
the shape of a great cat-like animal. Then he saw just behind it another
as large, and he knew that they were the two panthers whose cries he had
heard.
Henry was not frightened, although there was something weird and uncanny
in the spectacle of these two powerful beasts of prey, stealing about
the fire, before which two unarmed boys reposed. He knew, however, that
they were drawn not by the desire to attack, but by a kind of terrified
curiosity. The fire was to them the magnet that the snake is to the
fascinated bird. He longed then for his gun, the faithful little rifle
that was reposing on the hooks over his bed in his father's house. "I'd
make you cry for something," he said to himself, looking at the largest
of the panthers.
The animals lingered, glaring at the boys and the fire with great red
eyes, and presently Henry, doing as he had done on a former occasion,
picked up a blazing torch and, shouting, rushed at them.
The panthers sprang headlong through the undergrowth, in their eagerness
to get away from the terrible flaming vision that was darting down upon
them. Their flight was so quick that they disappeared in an instant and
Henry knew they would not venture near the site of the fire again in a
long time. He turned back and found Paul surprised and alarmed standing
erect and rubbing his eyes.
"Why--why--what's the matter?" cried Paul.
"Oh, it's nothing," replied Henry.
Then he told about the panthers. Paul did not know as much as Henry
concerning panthers and the affair got on his nerves. The lonely and
vast grandeur of the wilderness did not have the attraction for him that
it had for his comrade, and he wished again for the strong log walls and
comfortable roofs of Wareville. But Henry reassured him. The testimony
of the hunters about the timidity of wild beasts was unanimous and he
need have no fears. So Paul went to sleep again, but Henry lingered as
before.
He threw fresh fuel on the fire. Then he lay down again and gradually
weary nature became the master of him. The woods grew dim, and faded
away, the fire vanished and he was in slumberland.
When Henry awoke it was because some one was tugging at his shoulder. He
knew now that the Indian warriors had come across the Ohio, and had
seized him, and he sprang up ready to make a fierce resistance.
"Don't fight, Henry! It's me--Paul!" cried a boyish voice, and Henry
letting his muscles relax rubbed the sleep out of his eyes. It was Paul
sure enough standing beside him, and the sun again was high up in the
heavens. The fire was still burning, though it had died down somewhat.
"Oh, my breakfast!" cried Henry as he felt a sudden pang.
"Come, let's see if we're going to have any," said Paul, and off they
went to their snares. The first had not been touched, nor had the
second. The bait was gone from the third, and the loop sprung, but there
was nothing in it. The hearts of the boys sank and they thought again of
wild plums and blackberries which were but a light diet. But when they
came to the fourth snare their triumph was complete. A fat rabbit,
caught in the loop, was hanging by the neck, beside the bush.
"It's lucky the forest is so full of game that some of it falls into our
trap," said Henry.
They cooked the rabbit, and again they were so hungry that they ate it
all. Then they improvised new fishing tackle and both boys began to
fish. They knew that they must devote their whole time to this problem
of food, and they decided, for the present, not to leave the creek. They
were afraid to renew the search for Wareville, lest they wander deeper
into the wilderness, and moreover lose the way to the creek which seemed
to be the surest source of food. So they would stay a while where they
were, and keep their fire burning high as a signal to searchers.
Either the fish had learned that the curiously shaped thing with the
tempting bait upon it was dangerous, or they had gone to visit friends
in distant parts of the creek, for, at least two hours passed, without
either boy getting a bite. When the fish did lay hold it was usually to
slip again from the rude hook, and it was at least another hour before
they caught a fish. It was Paul who achieved the feat, and it repaid him
for being asleep when the panthers came, a matter that had lain upon his
mind somewhat.
They persisted in this work until Henry also made a catch and then they
gathered more plums and berries. They dug up, too, the root of the
Indian turnip, an herb that burnt the mouth like fire, but which Henry
said they could use, after soaking it a long time in water. Then they
discussed the matter of the fish trap which they thought they could make
in a day's work. This would relieve them of much toil, but they deferred
its beginning until the morrow, and used the rest of the day in making
two more snares for rabbits.
Paul now suggested that they accumulate as much food as possible, cook
it and putting it on their backs follow the creek to its mouth. He had
no doubt that it emptied into the river that flowed by Wareville and
then by following the stream, if his surmise was right, they could reach
home again. It was a plausible theory and Henry agreed with him.
Meanwhile they built their fire high again and lay down for another
night's rest in the woods. The next day they devoted to the fish trap
which was successfully completed, and put in the river, and then they
took their places on the turf for the third night beside the camp fire.
The day, like its predecessor, had been close and hot. All traces of the
great rain were gone. Forest and earth were again as dry as tinder. They
refreshed themselves with a swim in the creek just before lying down to
sleep, but they were soon panting with the heat. It seemed to hang in
heavy clouds, and the forest shut out any fresh air that might be moving
high up.
Despite the great heat the boys had built the fire as high as usual,
because they knew that the search for them would never cease so long as
there was a hope of success, and they thought that the signal should not
be lacking. But now they moved away from it and into the shadow of the
woods.
"If only the wind would blow!" said Henry.
"And I'd be willing to stand a rain like the one in which we got lost,"
said Paul.
But neither rain nor wind came, and after a while they fell asleep.
Henry was awakened at an unknown hour of the night by a roaring in his
ears, and at first he believed that Paul was about to have his storm.
Then he was dazzled by a great rush of light in his eyes, and he sprang
to his feet in sudden alarm.
"Up, Paul!" he cried, grasping his comrade by the shoulder. "The woods
are on fire!"
Paul was on his feet in an instant, and the two were just in time.
Sparks flew in their faces and the flames twisting into pyramids and
columns leaped from tree to tree with a sound like thunder as they came.
Boughs, burnt through, fell to the ground with a crash. The sparks rose
in millions.
The boys had slept in their clothes or rather what was left of them,
and, grasping each other's hands, they ran at full speed toward the
creek, with the great fire roaring and rushing after them. Henry looked
back once but the sight terrified him and the sparks scorched his face.
He knew that the conflagration had been set by their own bonfire, fanned
by a rising wind as they slept, but it was no time to lament. The rush
and sweep of the flames, feeding upon the dry forest and gathering
strength as they came, was terrific. It was indeed like the thunder of a
storm in the ears of the frightened boys, and they fairly skimmed over
the ground in the effort to escape the red pursuer. They could feel its
hot breath on their necks, while the smoke and the sparks flew over
their heads. They dashed into the creek, and each dived down under the
water which felt so cool and refreshing.
"Let's stay here," said Paul, who enjoyed the present.
"We can't think of such a thing," replied Henry. "This creek won't stop
that fire half a minute!"
A fire in a sun-dried Western forest is a terrible thing. It rushes on
at a gallop, roaring and crackling like the battle-front of an army, and
destroying everything that lies before it. It leaves but blackened
stumps and charred logs behind, and it stops only when there is no
longer food for it to devour.
The boys sprang out of the creek and ran up the hill. Henry paused a
moment at its crest, and looked back again. The aspect of the fire was
more frightful than ever. The flames leaped higher than the tops of the
tallest trees, and thrust out long red twining arms, like coiling
serpents. Beneath was the solid red bank of the conflagration, preceded
by showers of ashes and smoke and sparks. The roar increased and was
like that of many great guns in battle.
"Paul!" exclaimed Henry seizing his comrade's hand again. "We've got to
run, as we've never run before! It's for our lives now!"
It was in good truth for their lives, and bending low their heads, the
two boys, hand in hand, raced through the forest, with the ruthless
pursuer thundering after them. Henry as he ran, glanced back once more
and saw that the fire was gaining upon them. The serpents of flame were
coming nearer and nearer and the sparks flew over their heads in greater
showers. Paul was panting, and being the younger and smaller of the two
his strength was now failing. Henry felt his comrade dragging upon his
hand. If he freed himself from Paul's grasp he could run faster, but he
remembered his silent resolve to take Paul back to his people. Even were
it not for those others at Wareville he could never desert his friend at
such a moment. So he pulled on Paul's hand to hasten his speed, and
together the boys went on.
The two noticed presently that they were not alone in their flight, a
circumstance that had escaped them in the first hurry and confusion.
Deer and rabbits, too, flew before the hurricane of fire. The deer were
in a panic of terror, and a great stag ran for a few moments beside the
boys, not noticing them, or, in his fear of greater evil, having no fear
of human beings who were involved in the same danger. Three or four
buffaloes, too, presently joined the frightened herd of game, one, a
great bull running with head down and blowing steam from his nostrils.
Paul suddenly sank to his knees and gasped:
"I can't go on! Let me stay here and you save yourself, Henry!"
Henry looked back at the great fiery wall that swept over the ground,
roaring like a storm. It was very near now and the smoke almost blinded
him. A boy with a spirit less stanch than his might well have fled in a
panic, leaving his companion to his death. But the nearer the danger
came the more resolute Henry grew. He saw, too, that he must sting Paul
into renewed action.
"Get up!" he exclaimed, and he jerked the fainting boy to his feet.
Then, snatching a stick, he struck Paul several smart blows on his back.
Paul cried out with the sudden pain, and, stimulated by it into physical
action, began to run with renewed speed.
"That's right, Paul!" cried Henry, dropping his stick and seizing his
comrade again by the hand. "One more big try and we'll get away! Just
over this hill here it's open ground, and the fire will have to stop!"
It was a guess, only made to encourage Paul, and Henry had small hope
that it would come true, but when they reached the brow of the hill both
uttered a shout of delight. There was no forest for perhaps a quarter of
a mile beyond, and down the center of the open glittered a silver streak
that meant running water.
Henry was so joyous that he cried out again.
"See, Paul! See!" he exclaimed. "Here's safety! Now we'll run!"
How they did run! The sight gave them new strength. They shot out of
that terrible forest and across the short dry grass, burnt brown by late
summer days, running for life toward the flowing water. They did not
stop to notice the size of the stream, but plunged at once into its
current.
Henry sank with a mighty splash, and went down, down, it seemed to him,
a mile. Then his feet touched a hard, rocky bottom, and he shot back to
the surface, spluttering and blowing the water out of eyes, mouth and
nostrils. A brown head was bobbing beside him. He seized it by the hair,
pulled it up, and disclosed the features of Paul, his comrade. Paul,
too, began to splutter and at the same time to try to swim.
Splash!
A heavy body struck the water beside them with a thud too great for that
of a man. It was the stag leaping also for safety and he began to swim
about, looking at the boys with great pathetic eyes, as if he would ask
them what he ought to do next for his life. Apparently his fear of
mankind had passed for the moment. They were bound together by the
community of danger.
Splash! Splash! Splash!
The water resounded like the beating of a bass drum. Three more deer, a
buffalo, and any number of smaller game sprang into the stream, and
remained there swimming or wading.
"Here, Paul! Here's a bar that we can stand on," said Henry who had
found a footing. At the same time he grasped Paul by the wrist, and drew
him to the bar. There they stood in the water to their necks, and
watched the great fire as it divided at the little prairie, and swept
around them, passing to left and right. It was a grim sight. All the
heavens seemed ablaze, and the clouds of smoke were suffocating. Even
there in the river the heat was most oppressive, and at times the faces
of the boys were almost scorched. Then they would thrust their heads
under the water, and keep them there as long as they could hold their
breath, coming up again greatly refreshed. The wild game clustered near
in common terror.
"It's a lucky thing for us the river and prairie are here," said Henry.
"Another half mile and we'd have been ashes."
Paul was giving thanks under his breath, and watching the fire with
awe-stricken eyes. It swept past them and rushed on, in a great red
cloud, that ate all in its path and gave forth much noise.
It was now on the far side of the prairie, and soon began to grow
smaller in the distance. Yet so great was the wall of fire that it was
long in sight, dying at last in a red band under the horizon. Even then
all the skies were still filled with drifting smoke and ashes.
The boys looked back at the path over which they had come, and although
the joy of escape was still upon them it was with real grief that they
beheld the stricken forest, lately so grand a sight. It was now but a
desolate and blackened ruin. Here and there charred trunks stood like
the chimneys of burned houses, and others lay upon the ground like
fallen and smoking rafters. Scattered about were great beds of living
coals, where the brush had been thickest, and smoke rose in columns from
the burned grass and hot earth. It was all like some great temple
destroyed by fire; and such it was, the grandest of all temples, the
natural temple of the forest.
"We kindled that fire," said Paul.
"I guess we did," responded Henry, "but we didn't know our spark would
grow into so great a blaze."
They swam to the bank and walked toward the remains of the forest. But
the ground was still hot to their feet, and the smoke troubled them.
Near the edge of the wood they found a deer still alive and with a
broken leg, tripped in its panic-stricken flight or struck by a fallen
tree. Henry approached cautiously and slew him with his clasp knife. He
felt strong pity as the fallen animal looked at him with great mournful
eyes, but they were two hungry boys, and they must have a food supply if
they would live in the woods.
They cleaned and dressed the deer and found that the carcass was as much
as they could carry. But with great toil they lifted it over the hot
ground, and then across another little prairie, until they came to woods
only partially burned. There they hung the body to the bough of a tree,
out of the reach of beasts of prey.
Then they took thought for the future. Barring the deer which would last
some time they would now have to begin all over again, but they resolved
to spend the rest of the present day, there under the shade of the
trees. They were too much exhausted with exertion and excitement to
undertake any new risk just yet.
Paul was afflicted with a great longing for home that afternoon. The
fire and their narrow escape were still on his nerves. His muscular
fiber was not so enduring as that of Henry, and the wilderness did not
make so keen an appeal to him. Their hardships were beginning to weigh
upon him and he thought all the time of Wareville, and the comfortable
little log houses and the certain and easy supplies of food. Henry knew
what was on his comrade's mind but he did not upbraid him for weakness
of spirit. He, too, had memories of Wareville, and he pitied the grief
of their people who must now be mourning them as lost forever. But he
had been thinking long and hard and he had a plan. Finally he announced
to Paul that they would build a raft.
"I believe this is the same river that runs by Wareville," he said. "I
never heard Ross or Shif'less Sol or any of the men speak of another
river, near enough for us to have reached it, since we've been wandering
around. So it must be the same. Now either we are above Wareville or we
are below it. We've got to guess at that and take the risk of it. We can
roll a lot of the logs and timber into the river, tie 'em together, and
float with the stream until we come to Wareville."
"But if we never come to it?" asked Paul.
"Then all we have to do is to get off the raft and follow the river back
up the bank. Then we are sure to reach home."
This was so plausible that Paul was full of enthusiasm and they decided
that they would set to work on the raft early in the morning.