FLAMING MESSENGERS.
Mrs. Preston laughed and asked the boys to pardon her for having
forgotten, in the excitement of the occasion, the duty of hospitality.
The morning meal had been furnished the others, and she now gave her
nephew and Blossom Brown the best she could prepare.
The two were ahungered and ate heartily. It was a striking commentary
on the perils of the life of the early settlers that, while they were
thus engaged, the sound of the rifles was heard, as they were fired
from the upper story, in answer to the shots from the Wyandots.
But we can become accustomed to almost any danger, and the appetites
of the re-enforcements were not affected by what was going on around
them. The windows on the first floor admitted several bullets from the
guns of the dusky marksmen, but every person was careful to keep out
of range. When the meal was finished, all climbed the ladder to the
second story, where the boys were welcomed by the men who stood at the
loopholes with their smoking guns in their hands.
There was more security there, because the openings through which the
leaden balls could enter were much smaller; but, as evidence of the
marksmanship of their enemies, Jo Stinger informed them that three
bullets had struck the interior walls, one of which actually came
along the barrel of a gun, narrowly missing Megill who was in the act
of thrusting it forth.
"That is well for the Wyandots," said the Colonel, "but have you done
anything to teach them that the skill is not all on their side?"
"We suspect we have: Jim caught sight of a warrior creeping along for
a position behind the cabin yonder, and when he fired, the fellow
acted as though something struck him."
"And have not _you_, the best marksman in the company, succeeded in
doing as well as he?"
"He has done better," replied Turner; "for one of the rascals in the
cabin out there had the impudence to thrust forth his painted face in
plain sight; and when Jo drew bead on him and fired, he dropped out
of view and has not been seen since."
"I hope it was the one who flung his tomahawk at me, and which is
still sticking in the door," said Ned Preston.
"It couldn't have been," said the hunter, with an expressive shrug,
"for if it had been, I would have missed him. I never made such a mess
in all my life as I did a while ago."
"Accidents will happen," laughed the Colonel; "and we have every
reason to congratulate ourselves that no one has been harmed, though
we have been exposed to great danger. It was a most providential thing
that I learned of the coming of the war party, before they were ready
for the attack."
"Have you any idea of the number in the woods?" asked Jo Stinger.
"My nephew Ned tells me that Deerfoot the Shawanoe, who ought to be
the best authority, says there are certainly fifty, for he saw nearly
that many, and he thinks it more than likely there are twice that
number."
"I have no doubt there are all of a hundred," observed Jo Stinger,
"judging from the way they sent in the shots a few minutes ago; but
they have stopped, because they must see that nothing can be gained by
such wild firing."
The hunter was right in his last remark, the stillness being as
profound as if no living person was within miles of them.
Colonel Preston told all that had been learned through his nephew of
the doings of Deerfoot the Shawanoe.
"He has put himself in a bad fix," said Stinger, with another shake of
the head: "I know he is one of the cutest varmints in the wilds of
Kentucky, but there are some things which he can't do, and I believe
he has undertook one of 'em now."
"I am afraid so, but I hope not."
"There has been something going on out there by the Licking, where
that arrow of his came from, and, if I ain't mistook, it means they
have dropped down on him this time."
Ned Preston heard these words with a pang, for the death or suffering
of the Shawanoe youth would have been an affliction to him like the
loss of a brother. There was that unswerving loyalty, self-sacrificing
friendship, and astonishing woodcraft which go to make up the ideal
American Indian, and which, though rarely encountered in these later
days, still actually existed a century or more ago, as it does now
among the aboriginal inhabitants of our country. Not often was it
seen, but there are historical facts which attest the truth of such
characters belonging to the Algonquin family of red men.
"It looks to me as if Heaven raised up Deerfoot to be such a friend to
the white people, as Pocahontas was during the early New England
settlements."
Such was the thought that had come to Ned Preston more than once and
which thought was the echo of the one uttered by his father months
before. The lad did not repeat the words now, but the expression of
pain which crossed his face, told his anguish more impressively than
the words themselves could have done.
Without making reply, the youth stepped to one of the loopholes on the
western side of the block-house and looked out toward the river,
fixing his gaze on the point where he had parted company with the
Indian youth.
Everything was as quiet as at "creation's morn." The glimmer of the
flowing Licking, the dim, solemn woods, the unsightly stumps on the
clearing, the blue sky above and beyond--all these wore the peaceful
look they wore when no peril threatened the diminutive settlement.
Only one figure--that of the Wyandot warrior, stark and stiff in the
sunlight--spoke of the dreadful scenes that had been enacted on that
spot such a brief while before.
Ned scrutinized the little clump of bushes which had sheltered the
young Shawanoe, when making his marvelous shot with his bow and arrow,
but not the first sign of life was visible.
"I don't know whether to take heart from that or not," said the lad to
himself; "for, if they had captured Deerfoot, I should think they
would make some display over it, so as to impress us."
"If they got the young redskin," observed Jo Stinger, standing at the
elbow of Ned, "it wouldn't have been _there_; that varmint would have
made a fight, and he would have given them a good run before they
brought him down."
Ned Preston felt the force of this declaration, but he stood silent
several minutes longer, still watching the bushes with a weak hope
that they would give some sign that would bid him take heart.
But he was disappointed, and, withdrawing his gaze, he looked at the
well which stood very near the middle of the square within the
stockade.
"Uncle," said Ned, addressing his relative without regard to his
military title, "I heard you tell father that you meant to dig a well
inside the block-house, so the Indians could not cut off the water."
"I did intend to do so, and it ought to have been done long ago, but
you know that men, like boys, are apt to put off till to-morrow that
which should be done to-day."
"The Wyandots can destroy that well any night, or they can tear away
some of the stockades so as to shoot any one who goes near it."
"That is self-evident, I am sorry to say."
"You have a barrel of water in the house?"
"Yes, an abundance for every purpose, excepting----"
The Colonel hesitated and smiled: all knew what he meant. The most
dangerous enemy they had to fear, was the very one against which no
efficient provision had been made.
When the block-house was erected, and for a considerable time after,
it was practically fire-proof, from the greenness of its timbers. The
hewn logs, plastered between with dried clay, could not be easily
ignited under the most favorable circumstances, if thoroughly seasoned
by the elements; but, when they contained an abundance of sap, there
was nothing to fear from such cause.
It was somewhat the same with the slabs which composed the roof. They
were green at first, but they had been baked for months and years, and
a dry summer had not been long ended, so that they were in reality in
a very combustible state. Such solid pieces of oak do not take a flame
readily, but, to say the least, there were grounds for grave anxiety.
Colonel Preston reproached himself more than did any of his friends,
for this neglect, but it must be borne in mind that the peril was one
which threatened almost every such station on the frontier during the
early days, and it was one which the hardy pioneers had learned to
combat, with a success that often defeated the most daring assailants.
As no immediate attack was feared, the occupants of the block-house
disposed themselves as fancy prompted. Blossom Brown stretched out on
a blanket in a corner and was soon sound asleep. Megill and Turner did
the same, the others occupied seats, with the exception of Mrs.
Preston, who, like a good housewife, moved hither and thither, making
preparations for the noon-day meal of the garrison, while she kept her
children under her eye and made sure they did not wander into
dangerous portions of the building.
Ned Preston played with the little girls, told them stories and taught
them numerous games of which they had never heard, and which he had
picked up for their benefit.
Now and then he walked around the four sides of the room, looking
carefully through the loopholes and exchanging theories with his
uncle, who employed himself in much the same manner.
Thus the time wore on until the day was half gone. The sky was clearer
than twenty-four hours before, and the sun was visible most of the
time, but the air was crisp and wintry, and the slight warmth from the
fire on the hearth down-stairs was pleasant to those who could feel
the grateful glow.
Hours passed without any noticeable change. At noontime, there was a
general awaking, yawning, and stretching of limbs, accompanied by
peeps through the loopholes and an expression of views respecting the
situation. Mrs. Preston passed the dinner to each, and they ate,
sitting on chairs and the bench, drinking sparingly from the water
that had been collected against such an emergency.
Most of the company were in good spirits, for the siege had not
continued long enough for them to feel its irksomeness, nor had the
demonstrations assumed a character to cause real uneasiness and
misgiving of the issue.
After dinner, Colonel Preston and his nephew secured two hours' sleep,
but both were too much concerned to remain unconscious as long as did
the others.
When Ned recovered himself, he walked straight to the southern side of
the room and peered through one of the openings. This gave him a view
of the two cabins, deserted the day before by the pioneers who had
occupied them so long.
He saw nothing alarming on or about these structures, but all at once
something arrested his eye, just beyond the first cabin and on the
edge of the forest. At first, he could not conjecture what it meant,
but as he looked steadily, he observed that it was a smoking point,
showing that an object was burning, although Ned was far from
suspecting its real nature.
Once or twice, he fancied he saw a person moving directly behind it;
but if such were the fact, the individual kept himself well hidden.
Suddenly a tuft of smoke and a fiery point were seen to rise swiftly
in the air, and, curving over in a beautiful parabola, descend toward
the roof of the block-house. A moment after it struck with a quick
thud and then slid down the steep incline to the ground.
Although the burning shaft was intended to stick fast and communicate
fire to the dry roof, it did not do so, but fell harmlessly to the
earth, where it lay smoking and burning directly under the eyes of the
startled garrison who looked down on it.
"I expected it," quietly remarked Colonel Preston, after surveying the
burning missile.
"There will be plenty of fireworks to-night," added Jo Stinger, "for
that's a fav'rit style with the varmints."
This new demonstration had the effect of driving all the garrison to
the loopholes, Blossom Brown being among the most anxious to watch the
actions of the Wyandots.
Even Mrs. Preston looked through the narrow openings with as much
interest as did any of them, while little Mary and Susie must needs be
given a peep at their familiar surroundings.
The red men having discharged one fiery arrow, waited a long time
before repeating the demonstration. As it was deemed likely that the
next missile would be sent from another point, a watch was maintained
on every side of the block-house.
"_Hello, here she come agin!_"
It was Jo Stinger who uttered the exclamation, and he was facing the
Licking river. There was a general rush across the room to gain a view
of the flaming shaft, but before it could be done, it struck the roof
above, held a minute, and then, as if its grip was burned away, it was
distinctly heard as it fell over and slowly slid down the planks and
dropped to the ground, as did the first one.
"If they do that every time," said Ned Preston, "they won't cause us
much harm."
"I don't like it," replied the Colonel; "it kept its place too long on
the roof."
"Not long enough to do any damage."
"I am not so sure: I must see."
Drawing a chair beneath the trap-door, he stepped on it and cautiously
raised the planks a few inches. This permitted a view of all the roof
on that side. He observed a scorched spot within reach of his hand,
but there was no evidence of injury from the flaming arrow which
struck and held a brief time.
The trap was closed again, and the Colonel stepped down from the
chair. All looked expectantly at him, but beyond telling what he had
seen, he said nothing.
The interest of the garrison was such that they kept their places at
the loopholes, through which they scrutinized the clearing, the cabins
and the woods beyond, watchful to detect the first evidence of what
their enemies were doing.
This close attention caused the autumn afternoon to seem much longer
than it really was, but nothing more took place to give the defenders
any uneasiness. They saw the shades of night once more closing about
them, while they were environed so closely on every hand by the
vengeful Wyandots, that flight for any one was utterly out of the
question.
"Wait till night comes," said Jo Stinger meaningly; "then you will
hear music and see sights!"
Every one knew what the old scout meant by his quaint language, and
every one believed he spoke the truth, as in fact he did.