AN ERRAND AND A FRIEND
Two stalwart lads were marching steadily through the deep woods, some
months later. They were boys in years, but in size, strength, alertness
and knowledge of the forest far beyond their age. One, in particular,
would have drawn the immediate and admiring glance of every keen-eyed
frontiersman, so powerful was he, and yet so light and quick of
movement. His wary glance seemed to read every secret of tree, bush and
grass, and his head, crowned by a great mass of thick, yellow hair, rose
several inches above that of his comrade, who would have been called by
most people a tall boy.
The two youths were dressed almost alike. Each wore a cap of raccoon
fur, with the short tail hanging from the back of it as a decoration.
Their bodies were clad in hunting shirts, made of the skin of the deer,
softly and beautifully tanned and dyed green. The fine fringe of the
shirt hung almost to the knees, and below it were leggings also of
deerskin, beaded at the seams. The feet were inclosed in deerskin
moccasins, fitting tightly, but very soft and light. A rifle, a
tomahawk, and a useful knife at the belt completed the equipment.
They were walking, but each boy led a stout horse, and on the back of
this horse was a great brown sack that hung down, puffy, on either side.
The sacks were filled with gunpowder made from cave-dust and the two
boys, Henry Ware and Paul Cotter, were carrying it to a distant village
that had exhausted its supply, but which, hearing of the strange new way
in which Wareville obtained it, had sent begging for a loan of this
commodity, more precious to the pioneer than gold and jewels. The
response was quick and spontaneous and Henry and Paul had been chosen to
take the powder, an errand in which both rejoiced. Already they had been
two days in the great wilderness, now painted in gorgeous colors by the
hand of autumn, and they had not seen a sign of a human being, white or
red.
They walked steadily on, and the trained horses followed, each just
behind his master, although there was no hand upon the bridle. They
stopped presently at the low rounded crest of a hill, where the forest
opened out a little, and, as if with the same impulse, each looked off
toward the vast horizon with a glowing eye. The mighty forest, vivid
with its gleaming reds and yellows and browns, rolled away for miles,
and then died to the eye where the silky blue arch of the sky came down
to meet it. Now and then there was a flash of silver, where a brook ran
between the hills, and the wind brought an air, crisp, fresh and full of
life.
It was beautiful, this great wilderness of Kaintuckee, and each boy saw
it according to his nature. Henry, the soul of action, the boy of the
keen senses and the mighty physical nature, loved it for its own sake
and for what it was in the present. He fitted into it and was a part of
it. The towns and the old civilization in the east never called to him.
He had found the place that nature intended for him. He was here the
wilderness rover, hunter and scout, the border champion and defender,
the primitive founder of a state, without whom, and his like, our Union
could never have been built up. Henry gloried in the wilderness and
loved its life which was so easy to him. Paul, the boy of thought, was
always looking into the future, and already he foresaw what would come
to pass in a later generation.
Neither spoke, and presently, by the same impulse, they started on
again, descending the low hill, and plunging once more into the forest.
When they had gone about half a mile, Henry stopped suddenly. His
wonderful physical organism, as sensitive as the machinery of a watch,
had sounded an alarm. A faint sound, not much more than the fall of a
dying leaf, came to his ears and he knew at once that it was not a
natural noise of the forest. He held up his hand and stopped, and Paul,
who trusted him implicitly, stopped also. Henry listened intently with
ears that heard everything, and the sound came to him again. It was a
footfall. A human being, besides themselves, was near in the forest!
"Come, Paul," he said, and he began to creep toward the sound, the two
darting from tree to tree, and making no noise among the fallen leaves,
as they brushed past, with their soft moccasins. The trained horses
remained where they had been left, silent and motionless.
Henry, as was natural, was in front, and he was the first to see the
object that had caused the noise. A man stepped from the shelter of a
tree's great trunk, and, although armed, he held up one hand, in the
manner of a friend. He was an Indian of middle age and dignified look,
although he was not painted like any of the tribes that came down to
make war in Kentucky.
Henry recognized at once the friendly signal, and he too stepped from
the cover of the forest, walking slowly toward the warrior, who was
undoubtedly a chief and a man of importance. Twenty feet away, the boy
started a little, and a sudden light leaped into his eyes. Then he
strode up rapidly, and took the warrior's hand after the white custom.
"Black Cloud! My friend!" he said.
"You know me! You have not forgotten?" replied the chief and his eyes
gleamed ever so quickly.
"You have come far from your people and among hostile tribes to see me?"
said Henry who instantly divined the truth.
"It is so," replied the chief, "and to ask you to go back with me. Our
warriors miss you."
Henry was moved to the depths of his nature. Black Cloud had come a
thousand miles to ask him this question, and he had a far, sweet vision
of a life utterly wild and free. Again he saw the great plains, and
again came to his ears, like rolling thunder, the tread of the
myriad-footed buffalo herd. He was tempted sorely tempted and he knew
it, but, with a mighty effort he put the temptation away from him and
shook his head.
"It cannot be, Black Cloud," he said. "My people need me, as yours need
you."
A shadow passed over the eyes of the chief, but it was gone in a moment.
He knew that the answer was final, and he said not another word on the
subject.
Black Cloud went on with Henry and Paul half a day, then he bade them
farewell. They watched him go, but it could be only for a minute or two,
because his form quickly melted away into the forest. Then the two boys,
turning their faces steadily toward duty, marched on, and the great
wilderness, gleaming in its reds and yellows and browns curved about
them.