WITHIN THE BLOCK-HOUSE.
Having hurled his tomahawk with such venomous force at the vanishing
fugitive, the baffled Wyandot, for the first time, seemed to think of
his own safety.
The momentum of his furious pursuit carried him almost against the
door of the block-house and directly beneath the overhanging floor,
built so as to allow the defenders to fire down on the heads of their
assailants. The rapid shifting of position served to confuse the
garrison to a certain extent, but the action of the Indian was
incomprehensible.
Making a sharp turn to the left, he ran with astonishing swiftness
along the front of the building and stockade, until he was half way to
the north-western angle, around which he had only to dart to be beyond
reach of any bullet; but he seemed to think all at once that he had
made a mistake. He stopped like a flash, turned with inconceivable
quickness, and sped directly over the ground he had traversed,
passing in front of the stockade and the block-house, his evident
purpose being to reach the deserted cabin from which he had emerged in
the first place.
As he was running with tremendous speed in front of the building,
another gun was discharged at him, but he showed no sign of being
harmed, and, without a second's hesitation, made for the cabin, where
a brother brave awaited him.
"I consider that that 'ere beats all creation!" exclaimed Jo Stinger,
aggravated over the repeated escapes of the daring redskin; "all I
want is a chance to get a pop at him."
There was little time to spare, for the movements of the Wyandot
proved him to be no ordinary athlete, and he was going for the open
window of the cabin, like the wind.
Jo Stinger, by the utmost haste, beat him in the novel contest, and,
thrusting his gun hastily through the loophole, aimed and fired with
unusual nervousness.
"I struck him!" he exclaimed in great glee, as the warrior sprang in
air, as if shot upward by a catapult.
"You haven't harmed a hair of his head!" laughed Jim Turner, who was
peering through one of the loopholes; "it wasn't your bullet that made
him jump."
"You're right," muttered the chagrined scout; "if I had another gun, I
would break this one to pieces."
"It wasn't the fault of your _rifle_," was the truthful remark of his
companion.
At the very moment Jo Stinger took his hasty aim and fired his gun,
the fleeing Wyandot was so near the cabin that he bounded upward from
the ground and went through the door, as the performer in the circus
bounds through the hoop covered with paper.
The bullet which so rarely missed its mark did so in this instance by
a hair's-breadth; but under such circumstances, a miss was as good as
a mile, and the courageous Wyandot plunged through the entrance
without a scratch, or so much as the "smell of fire" about his
garments.
He had played a most desperate game and won so brilliantly that the
veteran Jo Stinger, while exasperated over his own failure, felt like
cheering the exploit.
The safety of the brave seemed to be the signal for a general fire
along the lines. The Wyandots began discharging their rifles from the
wood beyond the stockade, north, east and south, while Deerfoot was
somewhat alarmed to hear several shots from the river bank where he
was crouching, and at no great distance from him.
A number crept up to the rear of the nearest cabin, into which they
entered without much danger to themselves, and from the windows of
which they discharged their pieces at the block-house. This seemed a
useless expenditure of ammunition, but there was a chance or two of
doing something. Some of the bullets sent from the woods and cabins
might enter a loophole: a number did pass through the narrow windows
and were buried in the heavy logs beyond.
Unless the inmates were specially careful, one or more of these
invisible messengers would strike them, and it was this hope which led
the assailants to keep up the desultory firing for more than an hour
succeeding the remarkable incidents on the clearing.
The garrison did not throw away their ammunition: they kept a sharp
lookout for signs of their enemies, and, when there was a chance of
doing execution, they were quick to take advantage of it, but there
was no shooting at random, as is too often the case, under similar
circumstances.
While these dropping shots were heard from many different points, the
figure of the fallen Wyandot was stretched on the clearing in front of
the block-house. It lay flat on its back, with the swarthy face turned
upward, still and motionless, and an impressive evidence of the
frightful and inexcusable enmity of the members of the same human
family toward each other.
No one ventured to approach it, although the American Indian leaves no
effort untried to remove his dead from the battle-ground. They would
have gone forward on the present occasion to withdraw the remains, but
they could not expect immunity from the rifles of the Kentuckians.
Under such circumstances, the dead warrior must wait until the
darkness of the night, which is the chosen season of his race for
carrying out his designs against all enemies.
Jo Stinger, who had followed the trail and lived in the woods for many
years, was intensely mortified over his failure, and carefully
reloading his gun, resolved that the blunder on his part should be
retrieved.
He cautioned the new arrivals, and especially the children of Mrs.
Preston, to keep away from the loopholes, through which the leaden
missiles were likely to come any moment, on their mission of death.
The good mother was too sensible of the peril to which they were all
exposed, to allow her children to run any risk that could be avoided:
there were places both above and below stairs, where no bullet could
penetrate, and she made certain that her children never wandered
beyond these somewhat narrow limits.
As soon as the door was securely fastened behind the entrance of
Blossom Brown and Ned Preston, the Colonel, who, of course, was on the
lower floor, grasped each in turn by the hand and congratulated them
most warmly. Mrs. Preston, as soon as it was safe, descended the
ladder and joined in the expressions of thankfulness.
Both the boys were panting from their tremendous exertions, and they
sat down each on a chair until they could recover breath. As Ned drew
forth the letters from his inner pocket and handed them to the
Colonel, he said--
"It was the hardest struggle of my life; I never want to go through
such another."
"Are you hurt in any way?" asked his aunt, laying her hand on the head
of her nephew, who had taken off his cap and was drawing his
handkerchief across his forehead.
"Not in the least, and I thank heaven, for, when that Wyandot let
drive his tomahawk, it came like a cannon-ball, and if it hadn't
struck my rifle-barrel as it did, it would have ended my days. I
wonder whether it hurt the gun," suddenly added Ned, with that rapid
transition from one subject to another which is characteristic of
boyhood.
He examined the weapon, but although the brown barrel was pretty well
scraped, it showed no real injury, and, in accordance with the
teachings of his father, Ned now proceeded to reload the piece, while
the dull reports of the guns, overhead and along the edge of the woods
and the bank of the river, were heard.
By this time, Blossom Brown had recovered his breath, and he imitated
the example of his young master. When he had completed his task, he
regained a great deal of his assurance.
"Tings was sort ob lively for a while," he remarked in his offhand
manner, as though there was nothing remarkable in their escape, "but I
knowed we was comin' out all right."
"How could you know that," asked the surprised Mrs. Preston, "when we
could not be certain, until you were both within the house?"
"I seed from de way dat Injine drawed back his tomahawk and squinted
his eye, dat he wasn't goin' to shoot straight, and I knowed too dat
de tomahawk was gwine to glance along de barrel jes' as it did, which
am why I moved off to one side so dat it wouldn't tech me."
"That won't do," said Ned, with a shake of the head; "you knew just as
much as I did, which was nothing at all."
"P'raps I did and p'raps I didn't," said Blossom in his loftiest
manner, throwing his head back; "I neber brag ob what I'm doin', but I
show from de way I act dat I knows what's what. I seed dat tings was
gettin' mixed, and so I started for de house to impress de Colonel how
it was and to git him to manage tings right."
At this moment, Mary and Susie Preston hurried down the ladder to
greet their cousin.
"O Ned!" they shouted together, as they came near tumbling through the
rounds; "we're so glad to see you!"
And the words were scarcely out of their mouths, when Susie, the
younger, leaped from the middle round straight into the arms of Ned,
which were outspread to receive her. Mary embraced the waist of the
sturdy lad and insisted on attention. So Ned, after kissing the
younger several times, set her down on the floor and did the same with
the elder. Then he resumed his chair, and, holding them on his knees,
laughed and talked as though he had passed through no such fearful
scene as we have described, and as though no peril was yet impending
over their heads.
"I knew the wicked Indians wouldn't hurt you," said little Susie,
turning her pretty face up to that of her cousin.
"And how could you know that, little one?"
"'Cause Mary and I prayed to God, when we saw you coming across the
clearing, to take care of you."
"Well, I prayed hard too," said Ned, "and then did the best I knew
how, and I think God always takes care of those who do that: it isn't
any use of praying unless you try to help yourselves."
This was orthodox, though the sentiment was not very original, and the
little sisters subscribed to it as fully as though they had been
taught it at their mother's knee.
Colonel Preston had delivered the letters to the parties to whom they
belonged, and had read his own. He had looked out for the opportunity
to use his gun, but saw none, and he now turned about and gave his
whole attention to his "recruits."
"Where is Deerfoot?" was his first natural question.
"He was on the edge of the clearing, when we left, and I suppose he is
there yet, unless the Wyandots have driven him out."
"It isn't likely he has been allowed to stay there long, for I notice
that some of the shots come from that direction. How was it he
befriended you as he did?"
"He is a great friend of mine, you know, Uncle."
"That isn't what I mean; how was it he brought you here and helped you
to enter the block-house?"
In a few words, Ned Preston told the story which is already known to
the reader. Before it was finished, the Colonel saw plainly the
purpose of the Shawanoe youth.
"He believed there was instant necessity for me to have more guns at
command, and that was why he used such great exertion to run you in."
"Do you think he did right, Uncle?"
"I must say I cannot see the necessity of his taking such terrible
risks, when your help, although very welcome, was not so all important
that our lives depended on it. Inasmuch as all of you were safely on
the outside, where Jo Stinger tried so hard to get, it would have been
the wiser plan, in my opinion, for you to have made all haste to Wild
Oaks: the distance is not so great that you could not have brought
help to us within two or three days."
"That is just the way I put the case to Deerfoot; but he insisted that
the first thing to be done was to place us inside the block-house, and
nothing could change his view. He knows so much more about such things
than we, that I could not refuse to do as he wished."
"He may have had reasons which he has not made known, for he is an
extraordinary Indian, although still a boy."
"That arrow which came through the window was a surprise, was it not?"
"A very great one: no one had any thought that it was anything other
than a hostile one. I supposed it was intended to set fire to the
building."
"Did you see it coming?"
"None of us saw it; but the thud it made, when it struck, told us its
nature, and I went down to find out whether it was likely to do any
damage. The moment my eyes rested on it, I noticed the paper tied
around the shaft: that told the story, of course, and soon every one
within knew the message. Well, you were not long in getting the signal
you asked for, and you know the rest. That was a wonderful shot of the
young Shawanoe."
"And would you believe, Uncle, that he told me after making it, that,
if he had missed sending the arrow through the window, it would have
been the death of all three of us."
"In what way?"
"The Wyandots would have found it and would have been quick to learn
what it meant: then, as he said, we were in such a position that we
could not get away from them."
"I have no doubt he spoke the truth, which shows what a fearful risk
he ran; but he must have had great confidence in his ability to use
his bow."
"And he has good reason for his confidence, as he has proven more than
once; but, in spite of all his skill, I cannot help feeling that he
has put himself in a trap from which he cannot free himself. Because
the Wyandots have surrounded the block-house, and because some of them
are always watching it, they must have seen the flight of the shaft
through the air."
"If they did, they could not have known its errand."
"No, but they would recall that none of them use the bow except to
shoot burning arrows, and they would be apt to suspect something was
wrong."
"They often use such things to set fire to buildings."
"But this was not one, as they could have seen with but a single
glance; and, had it been, they would have known all about it, if it
was discharged by one of their own party."
"Ned," said Colonel Preston, "I have been talking against my own
convictions, just to see what you thought about it: I agree with you.
Subtle as the Shawanoe is, beyond any of his years, he has done a
thing for which I cannot see the reason, and I believe he has placed
himself in peril that admits of no escape. If such proves to be the
case, he has also deprived himself of the opportunity to do us the
great service we need."
"'Scuse me," interrupted Blossom Brown, who had been showing
uneasiness for several minutes, and who was now snuffing the air in a
suggestive way; "I tinks I smell corn bread, and I haben't dined dis
mornin' yet."