June, burdened with nothing more than their rifles and a plentiful
supply of ammunition. They did not follow the direct route but
zigzagged east and west of it, so as to cover a wide range of
territory, the object being to ascertain if any large parties of
Indians were on the move. They came to within a day’s march of the Ohio
without having seen any sign of a war-party, though they had come
upon many traces of small bands and had caught glimpses of them now
and again. In response to their inclinations, as well as with regard
to the demands of the task in which they were engaged, they avoided
unnecessary encounters. Kenton, like Boone, never fought without
provocation, and Hardy had learned his lesson from both.
About seven days after leaving Boonesborough, the scouts--for Kenton
treated Hardy as a full-fledged member of the brotherhood--camped
within sight of the Ohio. They had eaten a venison steak and were
sitting in the gloaming beside the dying embers of their fire. Suddenly
Kenton sprang up, crying:
“Injuns, Hardy! Scoot!”
Each seized his rifle and they dashed into the thicket, side by side,
as a number of rifles were discharged at them. The Indians were
instantly at their heels. Hardy was a fast runner but Kenton could have
easily outstripped him. However, the tall, lithe scout kept beside his
young companion and with a light touch of the hand upon his back helped
him onward. They turned on to a sloping stretch of a few hundred yards
and raced down it for dear life. At the bottom Kenton glanced over
his shoulder and saw that two of the pursuers were gaining rapidly and
must soon overtake them, whilst six or seven more were close behind.
He stopped, wheeled round, and fired. The nearest warrior fell and the
other slackened his pace. Kenton exchanged rifles with Hardy and they
resumed their flight.
Kenton realized at the outset that they were being pursued by a number
of active young braves, and he felt that it was only a matter of time
when they would be overtaken. Alone, he could have distanced the
Indians, but Hardy’s best pace was fatally unequal to the task. Once
more Kenton stopped the leader in the pursuit when he was within twenty
yards of them. Then the others, realizing that the white men were
practically unarmed, set up a yell of exultation and redoubled their
efforts.
Slowly but surely the Indians gained. At length four of them were
within a hundred feet of the fleeing scouts, when Hardy caught his toe
in a vine and fell headlong. Kenton did not check his pace, but on
the contrary increased the speed of his flight. The nearest Indians,
leaving the fallen youth to be captured by those behind, continued
their career after Kenton. The scout began to draw away and had put
nearly one hundred yards between him and the redskins when he suddenly
found himself obstructed by a narrow ravine. Running his eye along the
opening he discerned a place about two hundred yards to the left, where
the rocky sides appeared to come close together.
Kenton turned his course towards the spot where he hoped to be able to
cross, but the change of direction gave the pursuers an advantage, and
by the time the scout had approached the brink they were within a few
feet of him. Kenton went on without check of speed and on the edge of
the ravine gathered himself together, made a mighty effort, and sprang
into the air. He landed safely on the other side.
The Indians stopped short. The leap was at least twenty feet, and none
of them dared attempt it. They proceeded hastily to reload their guns,
but before one of them was ready to fire Kenton had run on beyond range
and they turned back to their companions. The scout, safe from pursuit,
stretched himself at full length upon the ground and lit his pipe.
Hardy had been momentarily stunned by his fall. As he struggled to
his feet he saw Kenton’s form in mid-air, as the scout took his
sensational leap. The next instant Hardy was felled to the ground by a
rap on the head with a tomahawk.
The Indians immediately crossed the river with their captive and camped
for the night on the other side. Hardy was fast bound, hand and foot,
with buffalo thongs, and stretched in the circle which the warriors
formed round the fire. Fortunately, he had eaten his evening meal, for
the redskins did not offer him a scrap of theirs. They ate their fill,
smoked their pipes, and then lay down to sleep.
Hardy lay plunged in gloomy thoughts. He had never before been in the
hands of the Indians, and it is no discredit to him that he was filled
with fearful apprehensions. That he had not been killed he accepted,
with reason, as an indication that his captors were reserving him for
the torture. He thought with a shudder of the terrible stories of
Kenton’s experience, which the scout had related in the long evenings
of the previous winter.
Hardy felt somewhat aggrieved that Kenton had abandoned him so readily.
He was forced to confess to himself that had his friend stopped to
assist him in all probability they would both have been captured. Still
Hardy could not divest his mind of the idea that there was something
savoring of desertion in Kenton’s flight whilst his companion lay
helpless upon the ground. Somehow, the passage of the river seemed to
Hardy to cut him off from hope of help and he lay for hours oppressed
by forebodings.
The Indians were sunk in the slumber of assured security and it was
past midnight when Hardy became conscious that something was stirring
near him. The movement was so slight and noiseless that he supposed it
to be occasioned by some insect or reptile. Snakes were numerous in the
forest and occasionally caused death. Hardy determined to investigate.
This thing, whatever it was, seemed to be just behind his head. Slowly
and cautiously Hardy turned over upon his stomach and raised his head.
The fire had been allowed to burn low, but it still emitted a faint
light. Hardy dimly discerned the form of some large creature within
arm’s length of him. In a few moments it took the shape of a man. Like
a flash the truth broke upon him. It was Kenton.
Hardy lay still as a statue, realizing that his safety depended upon
leaving himself entirely in the hands of his friend. Satisfied that
the captive’s movement had not disturbed the sleepers, Kenton resumed
his wriggling progress, advancing silently and by inches. After what
seemed to the eager prisoner to have been an hour, Kenton was stretched
alongside of him. He felt the relaxation of the thongs about his legs
and knew that they had been cut, though so subtle was the touch of the
keen knife that he neither heard nor felt the bonds sever. Next the
arms were freed, and Kenton whispered in his ear:
“Get away easy, on your belly. Take your time. I’ll get a rifle for you
and join you in a few moments.”
Hardy stealthily crawled away from the camp until he had gained a
distance of about fifty feet, and then he rose and awaited Kenton. The
scout soon rejoined him carrying the arms and ammunition of one of the
savages. His own rifle had been left near by, and after regaining it
they set out for the river.
The scouts had no difficulty in reaching the bank of the stream, but
some hours were consumed in the search for the two canoes in which
Hardy’s recent friends had crossed. At length they were found, and
the fugitives embarked in one, cutting the other loose and turning it
into the current. The first signs of dawn were appearing in the sky
when Kenton took up the paddles and began leisurely to propel the craft
upstream.
For half an hour or so the friends sat in silence, each occupied with
his thoughts. Kenton was turning over in his mind a plan of future
action. Hardy, since the daring rescue by Kenton, had been troubled
with qualms of conscience. He felt ashamed at the doubts he had
entertained of his friend’s loyalty. He longed to ease his mind, but
hardly knew how to go about it. At length he said:
“I am afraid that I did you an injustice last night, Kenton. You see,
when you ran off, leaving me lying upon the ground, I thought that you
might--that is, it seemed to me----”
“I see,” said Kenton, with a laugh. “You thought I had given you
the long leg, eh? I don’t wonder. I’d have stayed by you, Hardy, if
it could have done any good. But if I had, we’d both be going to a
hair-raising party now.”
“I understand,” replied Hardy, “and I understood then. I only want you
to forgive me for having had the least doubt about it.”
“That’s all right, young ’un!” cried Kenton heartily, extending his
hand. “Say no more about it. I think we might make shore here.”
To Hardy’s surprise, Kenton shot the canoe into the north bank, that
is, the one from which they had embarked. Noting the puzzled expression
on his companion’s face, Kenton said:
“Why, you haven’t forgotten that we are bound for Chillicothe, have
you, Hardy? I reckon we’ve shaken your last night’s friends and now
we’ll go about our own business. But we must hide the canoe where we
are likely to find it when we come back. I swam over this morning, but
we may be in a greater hurry than I was when we cross going home.”
They found what appeared to be a safe hiding place for the canoe and
carefully marked the spot. Then they turned their faces towards old
Chillicothe, which lay somewhat more than two days’ journey to the
north. They were now not only in the Indian country during the season
of greatest travel, but passing through a section of it that was cut up
by trails running in every direction. It behooved them, therefore, to
proceed with the utmost caution. They dared not light a fire, and were
forced to subsist upon some water-soaked parched corn which Kenton had
in his wallet and the edible berries that they occasionally found in
the forest.
Hardy realized that these hardships and experiences were the best
possible training for him. He cheerfully accepted the situation and
positively refused to accept the larger portions of their scanty fare
that Kenton pressed upon him. They had many a playful dispute on the
subject, Hardy contending that Kenton was the bigger and therefore
needed the more nourishment, and Kenton maintaining that his stomach
was the better trained and consequently the better able to get along on
short rations. Sometimes, when they were both hungry as wolves, they
would engage in one of these arguments for half an hour, whilst the
untouched corn and berries, lay between them.
With two such tutors as Boone and Kenton, it is hardly necessary to
say that a bright and eager lad such as Hardy Goodfellow was, had by
this time developed into a really creditable woodsman. Kenton’s method
was much the same as Boone’s had been in the dear old hunting days in
Clinch Valley. He let Hardy understand that he was depending upon him
and only interfered to point out some serious oversight or failure on
the part of his pupil.
In this journey to Chillicothe they constantly encountered signs of
Indians. Kenton required Hardy to decide how long a time had elapsed
since the party passed, how many persons there were in it, their sexes
and physical condition, whether or not they had carried burdens, the
speed at which they had been going, and a score of other deductions.
Hardy was very often at fault, but seldom a second time on the same
point.
Before noon of the third day they arrived within sight of Chillicothe,
and lay hidden in the undergrowth to await the shades of evening.
XVI.
THE WHITE SQUAW
Kenton makes a reconnoissance from a tree-top--He stalks a young brave
and captures him--The Indian guides the scouts to Micmacto--Where
they watch the dances and sports from a point of vantage--The
discovery and the alarm--“I am a white woman! For God’s sake take me
with you!”--Three against hundreds--The attackers cannot pass the
“dead line”--The white squaw proves her marksmanship--The escape
over the precipice by night--The boldest course proves to be the
wisest--A three days’ race through the forest--The Ohio is passed in
safety--Boonesborough again.
As the sun sank below the horizon, the scouts began cautiously
approaching the town. They made a détour of a mile or so, in order
to get to windward and avoid discovery by the Indian dogs. A thick
grove of trees on the edge of the woods, and less than a hundred yards
from the village, was the point at which Kenton aimed. They reached
it without mishap, and selecting a large oak clambered into its lower
branches. From this elevation, which was increased by the lay of the
ground, the spies commanded a good view of the square and surrounding
buildings of Chillicothe.
Hardy was very eager to see the town so closely associated with the
adventures of his two heroes. Here was the place in which Boone had
been held prisoner for several weeks, and whence he had made his
wonderful journey to Boonesborough in less than five days. It was here
that Kenton had run the gauntlet, and there upon a mound stood the
council-house into which he had fled. Here, too, in all probability,
Hardy himself would now have been a prisoner, suffering torture and
perhaps bound to the stake, but for his rescue by Kenton a few nights
previous.
To Kenton the condition of the village was an open book. He could
tell from the character of the crowd about the square, from the state
of the wigwams, from the number of the fires and the extent of the
cooking, and from a hundred details which would have seemed trivial to
the ordinary observer, whether the town contained its usual population
or any considerable number of warriors were absent. A short scrutiny
satisfied him that a large proportion of the men were absent, as he had
expected to find them at this time of the year, and that nothing out
of the ordinary was on foot.
There did not seem to be anything further to be learned from their post
of observation, and Kenton was preparing to descend when they observed
a young brave leaving the village and sauntering in their direction.
The scouts crouched, still and watchful, in their leafy hiding place,
whilst the Indian passed almost under their tree and continued his
stroll into the forest. Kenton, whispering to Hardy to follow after
an interval of a few minutes, slipped noiselessly to the earth and
followed the redskin.
Hardy allowed five minutes to elapse before he started after his
companion. He had hardly reached the ground when he heard a rustling
which he rightly inferred to be the sound of a struggle. He hurried
forward and in a few minutes came upon Kenton, calmly sitting upon
his captive, whose mouth was stopped with the scout’s fur cap. Hardy
quickly tied the Indian’s arms to his side and loosely hobbled his
feet. He was then hurried forward, after being made to understand that
at the first outcry, or attempt to escape, he would be shot dead.
The party went on for six or seven miles, during which Kenton used
his best endeavors to confuse the trail. They had struck away from the
beaten paths and were in an unfrequented locality when they came upon
a small stream in the midst of woods. Here Kenton decided to camp. He
had noticed the spoor of deer upon the bank and proposed to get one of
the animals at a later hour of the night when they should come down to
drink in the moonlight. He and Hardy were beginning to feel the need of
substantial food, and would require a supply for future use. He might
discharge his gun and light a fire with less risk at a late hour and,
moreover, it was not at all likely that any Indians would be encamped
so close to the town.
Having selected a resting place about half a mile from the rivulet,
where he left Hardy to guard the prisoner, Kenton went down to the
bank and lay in waiting for the deer. The moon had not been risen more
than half an hour when Hardy heard the crack of a rifle and shortly
afterwards the tall figure of Kenton appeared bending under the burden
of a large buck. The animal was soon skinned and some choice portions
were broiled. The scouts ate heartily and gave their captive all that
he desired. Before lying down to sleep, they set some steaks to smoke.
These were for future provision.
But before seeking repose Kenton pursued the object with which he
had captured the Indian. He gave the redskin to understand that his
future treatment depended upon the truth with which he should answer
the questions that would be put to him. He then demanded to know the
whereabouts of the warriors of Chillicothe, and what designs they
entertained against the settlers. The prisoner replied, with apparent
frankness, that the chief men of his town were at Micmacto, where a
general council of the Shawnees was in progress. The purpose of the
meeting was to consider the advisability of a concerted attack upon the
Kentucky settlements.
Kenton instantly realized the importance of learning, if possible, the
outcome of this council. He determined to go on to Micmacto, which the
captive declared was about sixteen miles to the north of Chillicothe,
or less than a good day’s march from the camp.
Under the guidance of the young brave, who appeared to be quite
tractable, the scouts set out at daybreak and before sunset reached
their destination. Leaving Hardy and the prisoner under cover at a
distance of a mile or more, Kenton went forward to reconnoitre the
place. As at Chillicothe, from the vantage point of a tree on the
outskirts of the village, he secured a good survey.
Micmacto was built in much the same form as Chillicothe. It was not so
large a town as the latter, but a number of abandoned cabins indicated
that it had once contained a larger population than at present. The
village lay in an open plain, upon the bank of a small river. On the
north side of the place stood a group of high, pointed rocks, which
quickly attracted the eye of the observant scout. These needle-like
projections rose abruptly out of the plain, and from the summit of one
in particular it was evident that a clear view of the town and the
adjoining plain could be had. Kenton decided that no better post of
observation could be wished.
Kenton having rejoined Hardy and the prisoner, the party circled round
the town and reached the rocky eminence upon which it was proposed to
take up their station. It was found that whilst three sides of this
elevation were precipitous, the summit might be easily gained by a
sloping approach on the north. The top proved to be a flat space, less
than an acre in extent, and six or seven hundred feet above the level
of the plain. It was broken by crevices and strewn with bowlders,
making it an ideal hiding place.
The shades of night were closing over the scene when the scouts turned
their gaze upon the village lying at their feet. The square was filled
with dusky figures evidently agitated by some unusual occurrence. The
shrill gabble of the squaws and the barking of dogs reached the ears
of the watchers with startling distinctness. In front of the wigwams
burned domestic fires, throwing a fitful light upon the scene.
Presently a huge fire was ignited in the centre of the square and at
the same time the women and children retired to the line of buildings.
Now a score of painted and befeathered warriors advanced to the blaze
in single file and formed a circle round it. They began to move slowly
to the time of a low, solemn chant. Gradually their pace quickened
as their voices rose in faster measure. Louder and louder grew the
song. They brandished their weapons and broke into the wildest antics.
Meanwhile the spectators shouted applause and beat with clubs upon the
walls of the cabins, whilst the dogs added their long-drawn howls to
the din.
At the end of perhaps half an hour a fresh party of braves relieved
the first performers, who retired exhausted. In due course a third
relay took up the dance, and so it was continued far into the night,
finishing in a wild disorderly reel, in which many of the younger women
took part.
“Well, at any rate it isn’t the war dance,” remarked Kenton, as they
composed themselves to sleep. “But when they get to cutting up those
capers, it isn’t long before they work themselves into a crazy fit and
paint the war-post. I’m afraid there’s trouble brewing.”
The next day was spent by the people of Micmacto and their guests in
the usual Indian sports. There were pony races upon the plain. There
were shooting matches, and a sham attack upon the village. Several
parties of young braves contested in the game from which we get
lacrosse. Dances again enlivened the early hours of the night, preceded
by feasting.
Kenton was anxious to remain until the council should reach a decision
and break up. Their conclusion would, he knew, be easily inferable from
the character of the closing festivities. By husbanding their jerked
venison, the scouts and their prisoner could contrive to subsist for
two more days, but an immediate supply of water was needed. As a matter
of fact, it should have been secured the night before, but so intent
had they been upon watching the Indians that the canteens had been
allowed to run dry unnoticed.
As the entire population of Micmacto appeared to be engrossed in the
pastimes taking place at the village, Kenton thought that he could
succeed in reaching the river and returning without detection in
daylight. Accordingly he started for the stream, taking advantage of
all the cover available on the way. He arrived at the bank without
mishap and was in the act of filling the canteens when a piercing
shriek broke upon his ears. He looked up to see two squaws a short
distance from him. One, still screaming, dived into the bushes and
disappeared. The other ran towards Kenton and to his amazement
addressed him in English:
“I am a white woman,” she cried, holding up her hands pleadingly. “For
the love of God, take me with you.”
“Come along,” replied Kenton. “Don’t talk! You can tell me about it
afterwards.”
The white squaw was young and active. She bounded along beside the
fair-haired giant, declining his proffered aid. In a few minutes
they had gained the post upon the rocky summit where Hardy, who had
witnessed the incident, anxiously awaited them. It was at once made
evident that the woman was not going to be an encumbrance. She cast
a surprised glance at the bound Indian but did not waste time with
enquiry about him.
“Will you let me have his rifle?” she asked. “I can make good use of
it.”
When the weapon was handed to her she loaded it deftly, examined the
flint, and then turned her gaze with the others towards the village. A
party of warriors was already on the way to the spot where the scouts
and their new ally awaited them. In answer to an enquiry by Kenton, the
young woman said that the place where they were could only be reached
by the northern approach. By dropping about fourteen feet from a nearby
spot it was possible to gain a difficult pathway down to the plain, but
no one could come up by the same route, and she fancied that few of the
townspeople knew of it.
The Indians were soon at the bottom of the slope. The ascent afforded
no cover, and at a place about midway, and a hundred yards from the
top, the path was so narrow that not more than two men could pass
along it together. It was the passage of this restricted place that
Kenton determined to contest. He instructed Hardy and the woman not
to fire until one or more of the attackers should have reached that
point. It was also agreed that they should shoot in turn so that one,
at least, of the rifles might be always loaded.
Despite the enormous disparity in numbers, the task of the defence was
not such a difficult one as it might seem. The Indians had a rooted
reluctance to facing rifle fire in the open. They could not see their
adversaries, who were safely ensconced behind rocks, and had no idea
of their numbers. Some half dozen braves advanced uncertainly up the
slope. They reached the “dead line” set by Kenton. Crack! Crack! Kenton
and Hardy had fired, and the two foremost dropped in their tracks. The
others checked. Then a third came forward. The white squaw fired and he
fell with a bullet through his brain.
This was too much for the redskins. Three shots and three dead! What
if there were twenty rifles behind the rocks waiting to do similar
execution? By this time a hundred or more warriors were assembled in a
group at the foot of the slope. The distance was well-nigh two hundred
yards, but Kenton decided to give them a reminder that the white man’s
rifle carried far. He aimed at an Indian whose headdress marked him as
a chief, and fired. The savage was seen to stagger and fall into the
arms of the men about him.