"BIRDS OF THE NIGHT."
The garrison within the block-house saw the November day draw to an
end, and the darkness of night closing in over river, forest and
clearing, with sad forebodings of what was to come before the rising
of the morrow's sun.
Colonel Preston and Jo Stinger agreed that the experiment with the
burning arrows had resulted more favorably to the Wyandots than to the
whites. The flaming missiles were undoubtedly launched as a test or
experiment. True, each one had fallen to the ground without inflicting
material damage, but one of them clung to its position so long as to
encourage the assailants to repeat the attempt.
"When the roof is stuck full of 'em," said Stinger, "and they're
p'inting upward like the quills of a porcupine, and every one of them
arrers is a camp-fire of itself, why then, look out,--that's all I've
got to say."
"I know of no reason why--hello! there's another!"
The speakers ran to the loopholes and looked out. Megill said it had
been fired from the cabin nearest them: he had noticed the wisp of
burning tow at the moment it sprang upward from the window. The archer
who dispatched it, kept himself out of view, Megill only catching
sight of his brawny hand, as he launched the flaming shaft.
This arrow was not heard to slide down the roof and fall to the ground
as did the others. It kept its place, and so profound was the
stillness within the block-house that every one distinctly heard the
crackling of the flames overhead.
More than one heart beat faster, as the friends looked at each other,
and more than one face blanched, when the full import of this ominous
occurrence became known.
Jo Stinger drew his chair beneath the trap-door and carefully lifted
the slabs a few inches. He saw the arrow, which had been fired with
astonishing accuracy, and which had been sent to such a height that it
descended almost perpendicularly, the flint-head sinking a full inch
in the dry wood.
This rapid sweep through air had fanned the twist of tow into a strong
blaze, and it was now burning vigorously. The flame was so hot indeed
that the shaft had caught fire, and it looked, at the first glance, as
though it would communicate with the roof itself.
This was hardly likely; though, as Stinger himself had declared, the
danger would be very imminent when a large number were burning at the
same time on different portions of the top of the building.
The pioneer extended the barrel of his rifle until he reached the
burning missile, when he knocked it loose by a smart blow. As before,
it slid down the steeply shelving roof and dropped, smoking, to the
ground, where it burned itself harmlessly away.
The expectation was general on the part of the garrison that a shower
of burning arrows would now be sent from every portion of the wood.
The suspense was great, but, to the surprise of all, the minutes
passed without any demonstration of the kind.
The night, like the preceding one, was chilly and crisp, but it was
clearer. A gibbous moon shone from the sky, save when the straggling
clouds drifted across its face, and sent grotesque shadows gliding
along the clearing and over the block-house and woods. A dozen black
specks, almost in the shape of the letter Y, suddenly passed over the
moon, and the honking cry which sounded high up in air, showed they
were wild geese flying southward.
As the minutes wore on without any molestation from the Wyandots, Mrs.
Preston went down the ladder and started the smouldering embers into
life. This was not for the purpose of cooking, for enough of that was
done at noon, and the rations had already been distributed; but it was
with a view of adding to the comfort of those above, by giving them a
little warmth.
She took care to keep out of the range of any lurking red men who
might steal up and fire through the windows on the opposite side, the
only spot from which a shot could reach her; but to attain the point
of firing, an Indian would have been forced to scale the stockade, and
none of them as yet had attempted that.
Ned Preston stooped at the loophole, looking out over the clearing
toward the Licking, from which he and Blossom Brown had made such a
daring run for life and liberty. Out in the darkness beyond, he had
parted from Deerfoot the Shawanoe, the Indian youth who was so deeply
attached to him. Ned more than suspected his friend had given up his
life for his sake. Placed, as was Deerfoot, there seemed to be no
possibility of his eluding the Wyandots, who looked upon him as the
worst of traitors that encumbered the earth.
"He asked me about the Great Spirit of the white man," thought Ned
Preston, as he recalled that conversation over the letter which was
tied to the arrow sent through the window; "and I promised I would
tell him something: I feel as though I had not done my duty."
The lad was thoughtful a moment, oppressed by the remorse which comes
to us when we feel we have thrown away an opportunity that may never
return; but he soon rallied, as he remembered the words so often
spoken by his good mother.
"God knows all hearts and he judges us aright: if Deerfoot was groping
after our Great Spirit, he found him before he died, for God is so
good and kind that he has gone to him, but O how glad I would be, if
I could only believe Deerfoot had got away, and that I shall see him
again!"
Ned Preston was roused from these gloomy reflections by the discovery
that something was going on in front of him, though for some time he
could not divine its character.
The uncertain light of the moon annoyed him, and prevented his
learning what would have been quickly detected by Jo Stinger.
When the moon shone with unobstructed light, Ned could follow the
outlines of the Wyandot warrior stretched out in death on the clearing
in front: when the clouds drifted over its face, everything was
swallowed in darkness.
In the mood of young Preston, a person sometimes shows a singular
disposition to observe trifling details and incidents. On almost any
other occasion he would not have noticed that the body of the Wyandot
lay in such a position that the head was within an arm's length of a
stump, while the feet was about the same distance from another.
At the moment of deepest mental depression, the boy noted this, and he
muttered to himself, during the succeeding minutes, until the moon
came out again from behind the clouds. Just then he was looking toward
the prostrate figure, and he observed that it had shifted its
position.
The head was within a few inches of a stump, while the feet were
correspondingly removed from the other. The difference was so marked
that there was no room for self-deception in the matter.
"It must be he is alive!" was the thought of Ned, "and has been
feigning death all these hours."
He was on the point of calling to his uncle, when he reflected that no
mercy was likely to be shown the warrior, in case he was only wounded.
Ned felt a sympathy for the poor wretch, and, though he had been his
most merciless enemy, the boy resolved that he would do nothing to
obstruct his final escape.
He now centered his gaze on the figure and watched it with deep
interest. So long as the flood of moonlight rested on it, it remained
as motionless as the stumps near it; but at the end of ten minutes a
thick cloud sailed slowly by the orb, obscuring its light only a few
minutes.
As soon as all was clear, Ned exclaimed--
"_He's moved again!_"
"That's so, but he had help."
It was Jo Stinger who stood at the elbow of Ned, looking through the
adjoining loophole. The boy turned to the scout, and said in an
entreating voice--
"Don't shoot him, Jo; give the poor fellow a chance!"
Jo laughed--
"I don't waste ammunition on dead men: that varmint has been as dead
as Julius Cæsar ever since he was shot."
"But how does he manage to move himself then?"
"Bless your soul, he doesn't do it: there's a Wyandot behind that
stump at his head, and he's taking a hitch at him whenever the moon
gives him a show."
Ned Preston was astonished, for the truth had never occurred to him.
Jo added--
"I've catched a glimpse of him once or twice, as he darted from one
stump to another. He came from the river bank, and I could have picked
him off, but I knowed what he's arter, and it's a principle with the
Colonel and me, never to interfere with the varmints when they want to
bury their dead."
Ned Preston was greatly relieved to hear this, but the two said
nothing to the others, through fear that Megill or Turner would not be
so considerate of the wishes of the Colonel, whose authority over them
was more nominal than actual.
The Wyandot who had taken on himself the duty of carrying away the
body of his fallen companion, seemed to acquire confidence from his
success. While Ned and Stinger were watching his movements, and while
the moon shone with unobstructed light, they saw the body drawn
entirely behind the stump, where, after some maneuvering, the warrior
partly straightened up, holding the burden over his shoulders and
back.
Then he sped with surprising quickness for the river bank, down which
he vanished with the load.
His work was done, and the deliverer doubtless believed he had
outwitted the whites, who could have shot him without difficulty as he
ran.
Colonel Preston, and indeed all the garrison, were constantly
expecting the shower of burning arrows, and, because they were
delayed, no one dared hope the Wyandots had given over the intention
of burning them out of their refuge.
When Ned grew weary of scanning the clearing with its uncertain light,
he walked to the northern side of the room which commanded a view of
one portion of the stockade.
Before doing so, he turned to converse a few minutes with his uncle
and aunt. There was no light burning in the upper story, for the
reason that it was likely to serve as a guide to some of the Indian
marksmen who might steal up near enough to fire through the loopholes.
The children had lain down in the corner, where, after saying their
prayers, they were sleeping the sweet refreshing sleep of innocency
and childhood.
"Their mother is pretty well worn out," said the Colonel, "and I have
persuaded her to take a little rest while the opportunity is hers."
"I am glad of that, but there is no telling when she will be
awakened----"
"Hello! there's more mischief!"
The exclamation was recognized as that of Jo Stinger, who had also
shifted his position to the northern side. Colonel Preston and his
nephew instantly hastened to the loopholes and looked out in the
gloom, which just then was at its deepest, as a mass of clouds were
gradually gliding before the moon, which could be seen only very
faintly, when some of the torn edges allowed its rays to steal
through.
"What is it, Jo?" asked the Colonel, rifle in hand.
"About a minute ago, I seen the heads of two of the varmints; I
oughtn't to have hollered as I did, but I was sort of took off my
guard, as you may say."
"Where were they?"
"Out yonder on the stockade; I make no doubt they're climbing over."
"Give them a shot the moment you get the chance."
"You may be sure I will," replied Jo, who was just able to catch a
glimpse of the moon, which seemed to be struggling to free itself from
the clouds that were smothering it.
Colonel Preston and Ned also shoved their guns through the loopholes,
so as to be ready to fire the instant the opportunity offered.
Jo had indicated the exact place, so that their gaze was turned to the
right point. The Wyandots were not forgetful of the uncertain light
which alternately favored and opposed them. When, therefore, the eyes
were directed toward the proper point, nothing was seen but the
sharply pointed pickets pointing upward, and which looked as difficult
to scale as the spiked fences of modern days.
"They're there," whispered Jo, "and when you see a head, blaze away at
it."
The words were yet in his mouth, when the outlines of a tufted crown
appeared above the stockade, where the Wyandot paused, as if peeping
over. Then a second was outlined at his elbow, the two remaining
stationary a full minute.
"Don't shoot just yet," whispered Stinger.
Ned wondered why the delay was suggested, after his previous
instruction; but, a moment after, the two Wyandots, no doubt with the
assistance of others, suddenly rose higher, so that their shoulders
and bodies were dimly seen. They were climbing over the stockade.
"_Now!_" said Jo Stinger.
All three fired, and the red men instantly vanished. It was almost
impossible to take fair aim, but it looked as if the warriors had been
"hit hard."
"We dropped them," said Ned, with some excitement.
"Yes, but they dropped themselves; they're inside the stockade."
"What harm can two of them do, if they _are_ there?" asked Colonel
Preston, quite hopeful that they had slain the Indians.
"There are a half dozen of the varmints at least inside," was the
disquieting statement of Stinger.
"We ought to be able to see them," observed Colonel Preston, looking
searchingly at the spot where the two were discovered.
"When they stand still, you can't see 'em; but when they stir around,
you can just make 'em out."
The reason why the Wyandots had selected this side of the stockade,
was now apparent. The position of the moon in the heavens was such
that the pickets threw a wall of shadow several feet within the
square. When the warriors dropped to the ground, they were in such
gloom that it was almost impossible to see them, except when they
moved away from the fence.
All this being true, it still was not easy to divine their purpose in
climbing the pickets. So long as they remained within the square, they
were in range of the Kentuckians' rifles as much as though on the
clearing in front.