THE SHADOW OF DANGER.
"It's a canoe--one of them infernal Indian ones," added Hezekiah. "I
know enough of 'em to be sure of it."
The object in question was close under the Ohio shore, and at the
distance when first seen, might have been mistaken for a common log;
but Waring, who had learned to regard every such manifestation with
suspicion in the Indian country, was convinced that it was something
more the instant he caught a glimpse of it. Besides, Hezekiah was
positive, and if any individual was competent to judge in regard to
the identity of such a vessel, his experience, as related at the
commencement of this tale, should certainly have pointed him out as
that man.
If there were any lingering doubts in the minds of the whites, they
were instantly set at rest by seeing the canoe put out from the
shore, and head across toward the Kentucky bank. The tufted heads of
three Indians were visible, and their paddles flashed brightly in the
sunlight, as the frail vessel shot swiftly over the surface of the
water.
"I didn't mane to alarm yees, but maning no offince to the iligant lady
present, might I vinture to suggest in the mildest terms possible,
there'd bist be none but _men_ on deck jist now."
"He is right," said Waring, in a lower tone to our heroine, "it is best
that you go below."
"I will do so, if you think I should," she replied, suiting her action
to her word. "Do you wish father to come up?"
"There is no need of it."
The girl closed the door, and Waring turned toward his friends.
By this time the canoe had nearly crossed the stream. A few moments
later, it glided under the Kentucky banks, and three Indians sprang out.
It was with peculiar emotions that the inmates of the flat-boat
gradually came opposite this canoe. They had just seen three of their
deadly enemies withdraw under the protection of the shrubbery and
undergrowth of the shore, and they had every reason to believe that
there were others in the vicinity.
"It can't be that they are friendly," suggested Waring, who was all but
certain that such could not be the case.
"Friendly divils!" repeated Pat Mulroony. "Every mother's son of 'em
is in the war paint, and they'd sooner scalp all of us, not barring
the lady--God bless her. Talk of friendly Injins in this part of the
wurruld!"
By this time, the flat-boat was opposite the canoe, whose stern could
be distinctly seen underneath the dense shrubbery that lined the bank.
The conversation ceased of its own accord, and the three men carefully
lowered their heads, so that no stray shot could reach them. In the
sides of the boat were one or two small orifices, which Waring had had
perforated for the purpose of gazing out, just at such times as these,
and our friends used them on this occasion.
Looking out, Hezekiah discerned through the interstices of the
undergrowth the forms of two crouching Indians, their eyes glowing,
their faces all agleam with ferocity, and their bedaubed visages ten
times more horrid in appearance than he could have dreamed it possible
for a human being to be.
When just fairly abreast of them, a jet of fire was seen to flash among
the shrubbery, and as the sharp report of a rifle broke the stillness
of the woods, a bullet grated over the top of the flat-boat, and was
plainly heard by all, as it plainly cut its way through the leaves on
the opposite side of the river, with that peculiar _zip-zip_ made by
the rapid passage of a stone or other object through the trees of a
forest.
"By the Howly Virgin! take that!" exclaimed Pat, springing up and
discharging his rifle at the spot where he saw the faint wreath of
smoke curling upward. "How does that faal?"
"They haven't felt it at all," whispered Waring. "Be careful and keep
your head out of sight, or you'll be struck."
"How do you know he wasn't struck?" demanded Pat in high dudgeon. "Did
you see the passage of the bullet?"
"A wild Indian always yells when a bullet hits him, and they haven't
made the least noise."
"Begorrah! but you're right. I've struck a redskin afore to-day, and
he always screamed like a painter. It was an uncomfortably close rub,
faith, for all that."
Both shores were closely scanned, but nothing more of the savages was
seen; and after drifting half a mile or so down stream, our three
friends ventured occasionally to show their heads to any who might be
lingering along the banks. This, however, was a dangerous proceeding
almost at any time, and as there was no necessity for it, it was not
often done by any of the three. The reason why Waring was not visible
when Hezekiah and Pat first hailed the flat-boat, was not because he
did not see or hear them, but because he had prudence enough to keep
himself out of sight.
By this time the afternoon was considerably advanced, and Waring
invited his two friends to descend into the cabin and partake of the
dinner, which Virginia Lander had just announced.
"And who stays above, if I may be allowed to ask?" inquired Hezekiah,
with an anxious expression of countenance.
"I do myself; have no apprehension upon that score."
His alarm thus quieted, Hezekiah hesitated no longer.
In the cabin he found a plain, substantial meal prepared, to which
he, Pat, Mr. Lander, and our heroine seated themselves. The elderly
personage besought the blessing of God upon the food spread before
them, and spoke not a another word during the meal.
Great as was Hezekiah's hunger, his curiosity was equally great,
and, accordingly, as he masticated the food, he kept his eyes rolling
continually about him in search of knowledge. He noticed that the cabin
was divided into two compartments, one of which he naturally concluded
was devoted to the exclusive use of the young lady who presided at the
table. Several times he was on the point of asking permission to take
a look into this. But his sense of propriety prevented him, and he
devoured his victuals in silence.
As for Pat, he was hungry--that was sufficient. Excepting the food
itself, nothing presented the least attraction to him, and he devoured
this with a gusto that put to shame the achievements of the others.
The meal finished, the two returned to the deck, and took the place
of Waring, while he partook of his dinner. As our two friends looked
out upon the still, solemn forest, and the placid, unruffled river,
down which they were so noiselessly gliding, they could hardly realize
that the profound silence that then held reign was as treacherous as
the calm which precedes the marshaling of the storm king's forces
upon the ocean. And yet they well knew that within the depths of this
wilderness lurked the Indian, whose life was devoted to the one object
of exterminating the white race: that he was as cunning and crafty as
years of war and bloodshed could make him, and that no means would be
left untried to encompass the death of themselves and those with them.
"Hezekiah," said Pat, upon whom this impressive scene had not been
entirely lost, "have you ever been in these parts before?"
"Never in all my born days, and I wish to Heaven I wasn't here now."
"What's the trouble now? Begorrah, ye isn't scart, be yees?"
"Yes, Pat, I ain't ashamed to own it--I am scart. I tell you, 'twixt
you and me, there's danger hangin' over this craft. I can smell it
in the air, I can feel it in my bones. If we don't see trouble afore
to-morrow morning, then I'm most mightily mistaken."
"I incline to the same opinion, though I wouldn't be saying it afore
the lady down there, and frightenin' the wits out of her. I'd like to
know, be the same token, what that old curmudgeon is doin' on this
boat?"
"You mean the old man? I should think it would be the last place for
him. Never mind, Pat, let come what will, you and I stick together,
don't we?"
"Of course we do."
There is nothing that will make friends as soon as a sense of impending
danger hanging over both. Let two entire strangers meet under
circumstances like these, and in ten minutes they will be on as good
terms, and devoted to each other, as though they had been bosom friends
for a dozen years. The cause of this is very plain--it is the interest
of both to be so.
Hezekiah thought he had never met so fine a fellow as Pat Mulroony;
one, whose kindness of heart was so great, and whose friendship was as
disinterested; and as for the Celt, although he did not express himself
thus, his opinion of the New Englander was very nearly the same.
"You asked awhile ago," said Hezekiah, after a moment's pause, "whether
I had ever been in these parts. If you have no objection, I should like
to know whether _you_ have been here?"
"Yes, I was about this place last summer with a party, but we didn't go
any farther down the river."
"I understood that you were further west than you had ever been before;
but then I might have been mistaken. If you have no objection, I should
like to hear the particulars of your visit."
"Can't tell it now," replied the Irishman, as though the subject were
distasteful to him.
At this moment Waring made his appearance, and was shortly followed
by Mr. Lander, who, taking a seat near the cabin, maintained a strict
silence during the conversation of the others.
Hezekiah merely glanced at the young man, and saw, as if by instinct,
that the same sense of impending danger that so troubled himself,
was shared by him also. There was an anxious expression upon his
countenance that he had not seen there before; a certain restless
nervousness in his manner, which he sought in vain to conceal.
"We are going to have a dark night of it," said he, looking up to the
sky.
"As dark as Egypt," added Hezekiah. "I recollect that I nearly battered
my brains out, last night, in trying to walk through the woods."
"The moon will not be up till three o'clock in the morning, and, I
might as well be plain with you, friends, it will be life and death
with us before that time."
"Just what we're thinkin'. Drat the Indians," exclaimed Hezekiah. "I
can feel it in my bones that I am going to get into a scrape to-night."