OPENING COMMUNICATION.
Ned Preston read the note to Deerfoot, the Shawanoe, speaking slowly
and distinctly each word, while the young Indian listened with an
expression of intense interest and pleasure.
"If the Colonel sees that, then will he read those words you have
spoken to me?"
"They will be the same."
"Then he shall see them."
As the young warrior spoke, he extended his hand for the missive,
which was given him. He deftly drew an arrow from his quiver and began
tying the letter to the missile, doing it with much care, for the task
he was about to essay seemed an almost impossible one.
"We are a hundred yards from the block-house," said Ned Preston; "it
is a long shot for the bow and arrow."
"Would my brother like to use his gun?" asked Deerfoot with his
shadowy smile, his question being intended to remind his friend of
the superiority of the primitive weapon over the rifle, at least in
such an emergency as the present.
"The gun is of no use just now," said Preston, "and I mistrust that
your bow will not serve you as well as you think."
"You shall see," was the comment of the owner, who gave his full
attention to the task before him. He used a shred of deer-sinew and
fastened the letter directly behind the iron barb. That done, the
faithful bow was carefully strung, and then the youth bent himself to
the work.
His intention was to send the arrow, if possible, through the narrow
window to the left of the front door of the block-house. This had no
glass, nor screen, but as it was no more than eight inches wide,
although three times as high, and as the shaft was weighted with a
foreign substance, likely to affect its accuracy of flight, some idea
of the difficulty of the feat may be gained.
Furthermore, it was necessary that the shot should be fired secretly.
Deerfoot had no opportunity of standing out on the open ground, where
his limbs would be unimpeded, but he must aim from behind the bank,
so that no vigilant Wyandot would detect him.
He set to work, standing below the bank and pointing between an
intervening bush or two, making sure, however, that an unobstructed
path was open for his arrow. The missile was pointed at an elevation
of fully forty-five degrees; and, with one eye closed, he slowly drew
back the string until the head touched the right hand, which grasped
the middle of the bow.
It was held thus ten seconds, during which the athlete was as rigid
and motionless as if moulded in iron, while his eye rested on the
narrow slit-like window cut in the solid logs, all of a hundred yards
away.
Ned Preston kept his gaze fixed on the Indian, who at that moment
formed a picture worthy of the finest artist that ever touched brush
to canvas.
Suddenly there was a faint twang, the bow straightened out like
lightning, and the arrowy messenger started on its path weighted with
the all-important message.
Preston instantly glanced at the block-house, centering his eye on the
straight opening, but with scarcely a hope that Deerfoot could
succeed in what would certainly be a marvelous exploit.
As the arrow was speeding directly away from the lads, it was
impossible to distinguish its course through the air, though it could
have been seen easily, had they been stationed at right angles to its
line of flight.
The Shawanoe, having discharged the weapon, immediately lowered it,
and then peered forward to learn the result of his shot.
But Preston had scarcely time to fix his gaze on the distant window,
when he saw something like the flutter of a shadow--so to
speak--directly in the opening itself. It came and went with the
quickness of a flash, and he could not define it.
But where was the arrow?
It vanished from sight the instant it left the bowstring, and Ned had
not seen it since. It should have struck somewhere in a very few
seconds, but had the head buried itself in the ground between the
river and the block-house, the eagle-feather would have been visible.
Had it fallen on the roof, its sharp point would have held the shaft
motionless.
"You must have sent it over the block-house," said Ned, turning to
Deerfoot; "and in that case----"
He stopped, for the same shadowy smile on the handsome face of the
young Shawanoe told the truth: the arrow had gone directly through the
window, and the curious fluttering shadow which caught the eye of
Preston was the missile with its message.
"That is the most wonderful shot I ever saw!" exclaimed Ned in a burst
of admiration; "if I could use the bow as you do, I never would touch
a gun. But, Deerfoot, is there not danger that some of the Wyandots
saw the arrow in its flight?"
"If they were looking across the clearing, they saw it perhaps; but
Deerfoot hopes they did not."
"Suppose you had missed the window,--that the arrow had struck the
roof, or the ground, or the logs at the side of the opening, it would
have buried its head and stayed in plain sight, would it not?"
"Yes, and the Wyandots would be certain to see it."
"And would soon know where it came from?"
"Nothing could have prevented."
"My gracious!" exclaimed Ned; "you ran a great risk."
"We did; there was no way to prevent it."
Ned was almost speechless, when he realized how much had depended on
the success of the shot of the Shawanoe: in fact, had he known all, he
never would have consented that the task should have been attempted.
Had the arrow gone a few inches to the right or left, or had it fallen
short, or flown too high, the Wyandots would have swooped down on the
archer and his friends, before they could have left the spot.
Ned Preston regarded the shot as amazing as the mythical one made by
William Tell; and, but for the urgency of the danger, would have given
further expression to his admiration. Deerfoot himself was somewhat
uneasy, and, for several minutes, glanced right and left, and through
the undergrowth for signs of danger; but nothing appeared, and it
looked as though a piece of extremely good fortune had attended the
remarkable exploit.
Such being the case, Preston now devoted his attention to the window,
from which he expected to see the hand of his uncle, Colonel Preston,
waving in friendly signal for them to make the desperate run across
the clearing.
While he was thus employed, the keener vision of the Shawanoe was
roaming over the open space, each side of the stockade, the woods
beyond, and especially did he scrutinize the two deserted cabins that
stood to the right.
The visual search had not continued long, when it was rewarded by the
unwelcome discovery that in the building nearest him were several
Wyandots, who had probably spent the night there. He saw their heads
and shoulders, as they passed the windows where they were beyond sight
of the garrison, but were in plain view of the Shawanoe.
This cabin was much nearer the block-house than were the boys, from
which the daring nature of the project will be understood. Deerfoot
was hopeful before this that the houses were clear of Wyandots, in
which event his friends would have had a much better prospect of
success.
As it was, it all depended on how complete the surprise could be made
for the red men. If they failed to note the running youths until the
block-house was nearly reached, they would be too late to head them
off, except by a shot from their guns, and this risk could not be
avoided under any circumstances.
"_There it is!_"
It was Ned Preston who uttered the exclamation in such excitement that
his voice was dangerously high.
"Sh! not so loud!" whispered Deerfoot, scrutinizing the window through
which he sent his arrow a few minutes before.
Ned Preston was right: the hand of a person was thrust through the
opening and waved several times. It swayed back and forth, and up and
down, with much deliberation, as though the owner was fearful it would
not be observed by his friends along the river bank.
More than that, Deerfoot was sure he saw the face of the one who
signalled them, though the distance was such that nothing like a
recognition took place.
After withdrawing his hand, it was put forth again, and the motion was
repeated. Colonel Preston evidently meant that, if any mistake was
made, it should not be his fault.
Ned Preston now carefully awakened Blossom Brown and explained what
had been done and what was contemplated.
"You have got to run as you never ran before," said his master, "and
when you have once started, there is no turning back."
"What would I want to turn back for?" was the wondering question of
the African.
"You might think it better to stay where we are, and it may be that it
is; but after the Wyandots learn we are here, it is run or die with
us."
"My brother speaks the truth," said Deerfoot, who was looking across
the clearing at the nearest cabin: "there are red men there, and they
will try and hinder you from reaching your friends."
There was no reason to hope the prospect would improve by waiting, and
it was decided to start at once. Deerfoot, it was understood, was to
remain where he was and to make no attempt for the present to enter
the block-house. It was expected that, after Blossom and Ned were
safely within the building, the guide would hasten to Wild Oaks and
bring assistance to the beleaguered garrison.
When the boys were ready, the Shawanoe impressed one fact upon them:
they were not to cease running for an instant, unless stopped beyond
all power to overcome, but, fixing their eyes on the door of the
block-house, strain every nerve to reach the goal.
Each lad was to carry his loaded gun in his right hand, but not to use
it, unless forced to do so: if Colonel Preston should delay admitting
them, they would be lost; but there was no cause to fear such a
miscarriage.
The boys stealthily moved forward and up the bank, and, pausing near
the margin, awaited the word from the Shawanoe. The perilous point, in
the eye of the latter, was the cabin where he knew the Wyandots to be,
and he watched it closely for several minutes. Nothing was to be seen
of them just then, and he said in a low voice--
"Go!"
On the instant, Ned Preston and Blossom Brown bounded across the
clearing in the direction of the block-house: it was a straight run of
a hundred yards over a level piece of land, on which only a few stumps
remained to show that it was once covered by the forest.
The African, it need not be said, strained every nerve and fibre of
his being to reach the goal. His heavy, lumbering build made him less
fleet than Preston, who could have drawn away from the beginning; but
he could not desert his companion in such extremity and he timed his
speed, so as to keep just ahead of Blossom, and thus urge him to his
utmost.
Crouching under the shelter of the river bank, Deerfoot watched the
run for life with the intensest interest. He grasped his strong bow
with his right hand, while one of his arrows was held in the left,
ready to use on the instant it might become necessary for the safety
of either of the fugitives.
Those who knew Deerfoot best, said he was reluctant to employ his
marvelous skill on any person, and would not do so as long as it was
safe to refrain; but it would have required only a single glance at
his glittering eye and compressed lips, to understand that he
considered the emergency was now at hand.
It so happened that the fugitives had gone no more than ten yards on
their swift run, when the Wyandots in the cabin discovered them and
made known the fact in the most alarming manner.
First several whoops broke the stillness within the building, and then
two sharp reports followed. The Wyandots had fired, but their aim was
so hurried that, as it seemed to Deerfoot, neither of the fugitives
was harmed. At least they continued their flight with unabated speed.
But the efforts of the Wyandots to check the boys was not to end with
the simple discharge of their rifles. The two that had used their
pieces, sprang from the front windows of the cabin and dashed
quartering across the clearing, with the intent to head off the
youths, before they could reach the block-house.
This brought both in range of the terrible bow of Deerfoot who placed
the arrow in position; but it was his intention to hold the weapon
until it should become imperatively necessary to use it, for it will
be seen that, if he took part in the singular contest, it would be
such a complete unveiling of his true character that his usefulness to
the whites would be almost destroyed.
Besides, each boy carried a loaded rifle which he knew how to use, and
it was not to be supposed that either would allow himself to be
tomahawked or taken prisoner without resistance.
The Wyandots who ran forth in the effort to throw themselves across
the path of the fugitives, were as daring warriors as ever mingled in
the fierce fight with settlers or those of their own race. They had
emptied their guns in the futile effort to bring down the boys, and,
throwing the weapons aside, they now sprang forward with the
resolution to make them prisoners, despite the risk to themselves, for
they must have known that the garrison would endeavor to protect their
friends, and they could not help suspecting that there was one or more
along the river bank, who were likely to take part in the singular
struggle.
Be that as it may, the red men ran straight from the deserted cabin
across the path of the boys, who found themselves confronted by the
brawny redskins, before they had gone half the distance to the
building.
"Let's sneak 'round ahind de block-house and climb ober de fence and
hide," said Blossom, when he saw the gauntlet he had to run.
"Straight for the door!" commanded Preston: "that is our only chance!"
But the youth had scarcely spoken the words, when he saw that a
collision with the Wyandots was inevitable: they were between them
and the fort, and there was no possible way of flanking them.
The superior fleetness of Ned held him slightly in advance of his
companion. The former ran until close to the Wyandots, when he turned
to the left. The warriors immediately leaped forward so that they were
still directly in front of the fugitives.
"It must be done!" exclaimed Ned, coming to an instant halt, raising
his rifle and aiming at the nearest Indian, who was in the very act of
poising himself to throw his tomahawk.
Everything passed so swiftly that the spectators could scarcely follow
the movements. At the moment Ned drew his gun to position, he caught
the flash of the implement as it circled with lightning quickness over
the bronzed skull of his enemy.
Young Preston knew what was coming. Pausing only long enough to catch
the gleam of the warrior's eyes, over the sights of his rifle, he
pressed the trigger.
The Indian aimed at the head of the youth and drove the tomahawk with
prodigious force and unerring accuracy; but the blade of the
implement glanced against the barrel of the rifle, sending out a
streak of flame, and, with a tremendous rebound or ricochet, shot by
the shoulder of the lad, touching the ground fifty feet away, and
rolling over and over several times, before it lay still. When it left
the hand of the warrior, it was with a force that would have cloven
the skull of the lad, as though it were cardboard.
The throw and miss were remarkable, but, by a striking coincidence,
the rifle of Ned Preston was discharged at the second the two weapons
collided. The violent shock to the gun turned it aside, and the ball
buried itself harmlessly in the ground, far to the right of the
crouching Wyandot.
The latter saw by what a hair's-breadth he had escaped, and snatching
his hunting-knife from the belt at his waist, he bounded toward the
youth, who, nothing daunted, recoiled a single step, and, grasping his
weapon by its barrel, awaited the attack.
All this took place in a few seconds, during which the other Wyandot,
feeling that the dark-faced fugitive was his own, watched the
extraordinary conflict, with an interest as intense as that of the
other spectators further away.
Had the encounter between young Preston and the sinewy Wyandot been
permitted to go on, there could have been but one result; but
Deerfoot, who was holding his breath, with his eyes riveted on the
combatants, now drew his arrow to its head and aimed at the assailing
warrior.
Although the distance between him and his target was no more than half
way across the clearing, yet the feat was immeasurably more difficult
than that of sending the letter through the narrow window; for,
unfortunately, Ned Preston and the Wyandot were standing so nearly in
a line that the young Shawanoe could only see the head and shoulders
of the powerful savage a few feet beyond.
Beside this, the two were likely to change their respective positions
any instant: they might do so indeed after the launching of the arrow,
which would not only miss the red man at whom it was pointed, but was
liable to strike the boy himself.
Even Deerfoot doubted his own success and he therefore aimed with the
greater care and caution, slowly drawing back the shaft, and with
nerves like iron, looked steadily along the reed and at the tableau
far beyond.
But before the fingers let go the string, the necessity for doing so
vanished. The incidents which we have undertaken to describe, passed
with such swiftness that it would have been hard for a spectator to
follow each phase, few as they were; but it need not be said that
every man within the block-house was watching the extraordinary scene
on the clearing with an interest as intense, as absorbing and
breathless, as that of Deerfoot himself.
Colonel Preston was standing by the door, with one hand on the
cumbersome latch, ready to draw it inward the instant the boys reached
the proper point; while Jo Stinger, Jim Turner and Sam Megill held
their rifles ready to use, the very second it should become necessary.
There was such bewildering rapidity in the events narrated, that the
spectators within the block-house did not comprehend the extreme peril
of young Preston, until they saw the Wyandot advancing on him with his
drawn knife.
"Boys," said Jo Stinger, "it's the opinion of the undersigned that
this is a good time of day to fire off a gun."
"Quick!" called out Colonel Preston from below, as he peeped through
the door; "shoot that Indian!"
"That's just what is contemplated," replied Stinger, whose rifle was
already thrust through a loophole, while he was looking along the
gleaming barrel.
But, to the consternation of the veteran, the moment he drew bead on
the warrior, he discovered he stood in such exact line with young
Preston that it was impossible to shoot the red man without the
absolute certainty of striking the lad directly beyond.
"I've got to wait," called out Jo, by way of explaining his inaction,
"until they shift their positions."
Had the vengeful Wyandot comprehended the vast advantage he gained by
holding the youth directly in front, he would have continued to do so;
but it was almost impossible that he should have been subtle enough to
make such a discovery.
Meanwhile, Ned Preston, daring, resolute and defiant, grasped the
barrel of his rifle, and with one foot thrown forward, and with the
stock of his gun flung back in the position, and with the pose of a
skilled batsman awaiting the pitching of a ball, braced himself for
the assault.
The Indian, powerful, active and alert, bent his knees and back
slightly, like a panther gathering for a leap, and glared in the face
of the youthful David, who so calmly confronted the fierce Goliath.
It was a trying position for the boy, who looked dauntlessly into the
hideous countenance daubed with ochre and paint. It was probably the
truth that the Wyandot was testing the power of his eye, as the
rattle-snake does with the bird. If such were the case, the result
could not have been gratifying to the warrior.
All at once, without removing his eyes from those of Ned, the Indian
deftly extended his left foot slightly forward and a brief distance to
one side. Then he gradually shifted the weight of his body over upon
it, until he had transferred himself nearly a foot out of alignment.
Deerfoot the Shawanoe instantly detected this, and pointed his arrow
with full confidence; Jo Stinger was equally on the alert, and his
keen gray eye glanced along the barrel with more certainty; but, not
unnaturally perhaps, the two marksmen, from opposite standpoints,
understood the peculiar maneuvering which the Wyandot had begun: he
intended to circle slowly around the boy, who stood on the defensive,
watching for an opening, which he would seize with the quickness of
lightning.
If such should prove the fact, the spectators had but a short while to
wait: and such did prove to be the fact.
Once more the Wyandot moved his left foot, almost as far as the limb
permitted, and held it motionless, with the toe resting on the ground.
All the time his black eyes were fixed with burning intensity on the
youth, and his right hand grasped the haft of the knife, as though he
would crush it to nothingness.
Ned Preston suspected the purpose of his assailant and he instantly
turned, so as to face him, who had not such an easy task as might have
been supposed.
For a full minute, the left leg of the Wyandot remained extended, with
nothing but the toe of the foot daintily touching, as though he meant
to draw a line upon the earth with it. Then his weight gracefully
glided over upon the limb, the gleaming eyes never once shifting from
the pale face of the boy pioneer.
Scarcely was this movement--slight as it was--completed, when the
oppressive stillness was broken by the explosive report of a rifle, a
blue puff of smoke curled upward from one of the loopholes of the
block-house, and those who were looking at the Wyandot, saw him
suddenly throw his hands above his head, walk rapidly and uncertainly
backward several steps, and then, with a faint cry, fall, with limbs
outstretched, stone-dead.
The second warrior became so absorbed in the scene that he fixed his
gaze on the two, paying no heed to the African, who, he must have
believed, was at his mercy, when he chose to give his attention to
him.
With a shrewdness hardly to be expected, the servant was quick to see
that another's extremity was his opportunity.
"Nobody aint tinkin' 'bout Wildblossom Brown jes' now," was the belief
of the lad, "which shows dat it am a good time to tink 'bout hisself."
He immediately began what may be called a flank movement around the
three parties, who took no notice of him, although Deerfoot and the
onlookers in the block-house observed the prudent action of the lad.
They were greatly relieved, inasmuch as he could not offer the
slightest help by staying behind.
Thus it came to pass that, at the moment the rifle was fired from the
block-house, Blossom was well on his way toward it, and his subsequent
action was like that of a runner who awaited the report as a signal.
At the very instant it broke the stillness, he made a burst of speed
and ran with might and main straight for shelter. The start that his
own foresight had secured, placed him so far in advance of his enemies
that his safety was virtually obtained.
"Open dat door!" he shouted in a voice that must have been heard a
half mile away; "open her wide, or I'll smash her in!"
He plunged across the clearing like a steam-engine, and the door was
drawn inward, while he was twenty paces distant, so that everything
was in his favor.
Without checking himself in the least he "took a header" through the
entrance and went clean across the lower floor and against the
opposite side of the room, with a force that shook the entire
building.
"My gracious, Blossom, it was a narrow escape!" exclaimed the Colonel,
alluding to the flight of the lad from the warrior who had marked him
for his own.
"Yes," said Blossom; "I like to have knocked my brains out agin de
oder side de ole fort."
"I'm more afraid the block-house has been injured than I am that you
have suffered; but you are safe now, and I can only hope that Ned may
be equally fortunate."
The address and courage displayed by the surviving Wyandot aroused the
admiration of the garrison, for it far surpassed their expectation.
The very instant the first red man was struck, and while he was
staggering backwards, Ned Preston started with might and main for the
sheltering block-house: he was thus quick to adopt the only course
that offered safety, for the other warrior still held his knife and
tomahawk at command, and was more alert, cunning and brave than the
one that had fallen.
Young Preston's promptness gained him considerable start, but he was
no more than fairly under way, when the other made for him with the
speed of a deer. Ned was fleet for his years, but he was no match for
the pursuing warrior, who gained rapidly.
The amazing daring of this pursuit can scarcely be explained: the
Wyandot was straining every nerve to overtake the fugitive, who was
striving with equal desperation to reach the block-house before him.
The red man held his formidable tomahawk in his right hand, and was
running straight toward the building from which the shot was fired,
and from which he must have known others were certain to come. It was
precisely as if a single soldier should deliberately charge upon a
masked battery, of whose precise location he was well aware.
As may be supposed, the Wyandot had not run half the intervening
distance, when another blue puff, floating aside from the loophole,
accompanied the report of a rifle. Jim Turner had fired at the
approaching Wyandot, but he did it so hastily that he missed him
altogether.
[Illustration: NED MAKES A NARROW ESCAPE.]
"Is there no way of stopping him?" muttered Sam Megill, hurriedly
bringing his gun to bear and discharging it; but, astonishing as it
may seem, he missed also.
Jo Stinger was hastily reloading his piece, determined that the daring
red man should not escape him, when Ned Preston dashed through the
door and was safe.
As the Colonel quickly shut and fastened the entrance, a heavy thud
was heard. The Wyandot had hurled his tomahawk with such prodigious
force at the vanishing fugitive that the blade was buried half way to
its head, and the handle projecting outward, would have required a
power like that of King Arthur to draw it forth.