ANOTHER FUGITIVE.
At the end of five or ten minutes Ned Clinton, with his eyes fixed upon
the broad, flat rock, was sure he saw the figure of a man behind it. It
was only the top of his head, thrust a little above the edge of the
stone, as if the stranger were seeking a view of the one who was
watching him without his purpose being detected. The slouched hat and
the eyes and forehead were in plain sight for a minute or two, when they
sank down again and all was as before.
"If he is a friend," thought Ned, "he is very timid, or he has a queer
way of showing his good will."
The distance between the two was too great for either to do anything in
the way of shooting, but the youth was inclined to send a rifle shot in
that direction, as a challenge for the strange craft to come out and
show its colors.
He called down to Jo again, to watch for the approach of any foe, for he
was compelled to give close attention to this particular stranger, and
another might steal up beneath the very tree without the one in the
branches detecting his danger. In this way nearly an hour passed without
any change in the situation, and the fugitives began to look for the
return of the Mohawk, he having promised not to stay away long.
"I wish he would come," said the watchman, to himself, "for it wouldn't
take him a great while to find out what that fellow is driving at. I
don't see that I have much chance of learning without his help."
If there was any opportunity for the stranger to withdraw, Ned would
have suspected the man had done so, but he was satisfied it was
impossible for him to elude him in that way, and consequently he must
still be behind the rock. Clinton at last grew tired and called to Jo
that he was about to fire his gun, to compel the stranger to let him
know who he was and what he wanted. Before doing so, he scanned the wood
in his immediate vicinity, fearing that some other questionable
character had stolen near enough to take a shot at him.
He was relieved, however, when after the closest search he was unable to
find any cause for fear. There seemed to be no grounds for further
delay, and pointing his weapon at the spot where he had last seen the
head, he took a quick aim and pulled the trigger. It was a strange
coincidence that at this very instant the man was in the act of rising
to view again, and the poorly aimed shot, even when the distance was so
great, came near proving fatal to the stranger. The smoke was scarcely
wafted from the muzzle of the rifle, when the man sprang up from behind
the rock, and standing erect, called out in a voice that penetrated far
beyond the point aimed at.
"What the mischief are you trying to do?"
"I was trying to make you show yourself," replied the amazed Ned
Clinton, "and that seemed to be the only way to do it."
"Well, I can't admit that I fancy that style of saying how-de-do to a
fellow. Why don't you sing out to him and ask him what he is after?"
As the individual asked this question in the same loud voice, he
unhesitatingly stepped from behind his concealment and began walking
toward the one that had used him as a target. Ned accepted this
proceeding as a proffer of good will, and although he was not quite
satisfied, yet he began descending the tree, so as to be on the ground
to meet him. He had barely time to acquaint Jo and Rosa Minturn with
what had occurred, when the stranger appeared at the base of the tree
and seemed not a little surprised to meet another young man with his
handsome sister.
The new-comer was a man apparently in middle life, with a yellow, shaggy
beard, reaching nearly to his eyes, dressed in rather tattered garments,
that had more of the look of the farmer than the military about them.
His face, so far as it could be seen, was by no means a pleasing one;
the eyes were of a gray color, but with a strange, restless glitter. His
appearance would lead one to set him down as a vagabond settler--one who
was so lazy that he spent the greater part of his time in hunting the
woods for game, or searching the streams for fish.
He was sharply scrutinized as he came to view, while he, in turn, keenly
surveyed the fugitives.
If he were a settler, as he appeared to be, there was not one of the
three who remembered seeing him before. To Jo Minturn there came a faint
impression that he had met him at some time, though he could not recall
where or when it was. But the stranger quickly recovered from the
temporary embarrassment he showed upon finding himself confronted by
three, where he expected to see only one person.
"Well, now, I am glad to meet you," he said, in a hearty way that
suggested the Mr. Perkins whom they had met when on the other side of
the river. "I cotched sight of that young man climbing a tree, though I
couldn't satisfy myself for a long time whether he was a friend or foe.
I suppose you know me, don't you?"
Ned answered for the others:
"I have no recollection of having ever seen you before."
"Why, I remember you very well. You are Ned Clinton, and that young
gentleman is Jo Minturn, with his sister Rosa."
"You are certainly right, as far as that goes, but you are none the less
a stranger to us for all that!"
"My name is Worrell, and I am a settler, living about a mile up the
river. I have often seen your father--both of them--at Forty Fort."
"That, I suppose, is where you have met us, also?"
"Yes, and at your homes near there. I do a great deal of hunting, and
have sold Mr. Minturn and Mr. Clinton a good deal of game."
"How is it you didn't recognize me when you saw me in the tree?"
"I couldn't make sure, because I couldn't get a fair look at you."
"How is it, too, that you are abroad at this time, when the Indians and
Tories are playing havoc in the valley?"
"That's just the reason," was the ready response of Worrell. "A party of
them came so near my home that I had to dig out. That was day before
yesterday, and I have been roaming about the woods ever since, not
daring to go back home again."
"What did they do with your family?"
"I haven't got any family, so there was nothing done with them."
"What were you doing when you observed me?"
"I had just reached that rock and had sat down to rest myself, when I
was scared by happening to look toward you and seeing you climbing the
tree. I have been dodging the redskins and Tories all of two days, and
have had pretty sharp work, I can tell you, and a good many narrow
escapes. I had three scrimmages with redskins, and came so near losing
my scalp in the last case that I have been mighty careful ever since as
to how I went up to a stranger and shook hands with him till I was
pretty sure he was a friend, which is why I waited so long with you."
"Well, you were cautious, indeed, but perhaps it was as well, for one
can't be too careful at such a time as this."
"Then I take it you're dodging the same parties that I am?" said
Worrell, taking a seat on the log, as if he meant to unite forces with
the little party.
"Yes," replied Ned Clinton, willing to tell their new companion all
their purposes, and glad of his company. "Yes, we set out for
Wilkesbarre, but there are so many Indians in the path that we find the
task a hard one."
"Are you alone?"
"Not exactly," was the answer. "We have an Indian scout with us."
"Who is he? Lena-Wingo, the Mohawk?"
"The same."
It may have been fancy on the part of Rosa but at that moment she saw an
expression flit over the small part of the man's face that was visible,
that she thought betokened disappointment at these words.