OUT-DOORS ON A DARK NIGHT.
In the meantime Jo Stinger, the veteran frontiersman, had not found
the "plain sailing" which he anticipated.
It will be remembered that he passed out upon the clearing in front of
the block-house, because he feared that, if he entered the yard
inclosed by the stockade, he would find himself among the Wyandots,
who would be quick to detect his identity.
His presence immediately in front of the structure would also draw
attention to himself, and he therefore glided away until he was fully
a hundred feet distant, when he paused close to the western pickets.
Looking behind him, he could not see the outlines of the building
which he had just left. For the sake of safety Colonel Preston allowed
no light burning within the block-house, which itself was like a solid
bank of darkness.
"It would be easy enough now for me to make my way to Wild Oaks,"
reflected Stinger; "for, when the night is like this, three hundred
Indians could not surround the old place close enough to catch any one
crawling through. But it is no use for me to strike out for the Ohio
now, for the boys could not get here soon enough to affect the result
one way or the other. Long before that the varmints will wind up this
bus'ness, either by going away, or by cleaning out the whole concern."
Jo Stinger unquestionably was right in this conclusion, but he
possessed a strong faith that Colonel Preston and the rest of them in
the block-house would be able to pull through, if they displayed the
vigilance and care which it was easy to display: this faith explains
how it was the frontiersman had ventured upon what was, beyond all
doubt, a most perilous enterprise.
Jo, from some cause or other which he could not explain, suspected the
Wyandots were collecting near the well, and he began working his way
in that direction.
It was unnecessary to scale the stockade, and he therefore moved along
the western side, until he reached the angle, when he turned to the
right and felt his way parallel with the northern line of pickets.
Up to this time he had not caught sight or sound to show that an
Indian was within a mile of him. The fine particles of snow made
themselves manifest only by the icy, needle-like points which touched
his face and hands, as he groped along. He carried his faithful rifle
in his left hand, and his right rested on the haft of his long
hunting-knife at his waist. His head was thrust forward, while he
peered to the right and left, advancing with as much care as if he
were entering a hostile camp on a moonlight night, when the
overturning of a leaf is enough to awaken a score of sleeping red men.
A moment after passing the corner of the stockade something touched
his elbow. He knew on the instant that it was one of the Wyandots. In
the darkness they had come thus close without either suspecting the
presence of the other.
"Hooh! my brother is like Deerfoot, the dog of a Shawanoe."
This was uttered in the Wyandot tongue, and the scout understood the
words, but he did not dare reply. He could not speak well enough to
deceive the warrior, who evidently supposed he was one of his own
people.
But there was the single exclamation which he could imitate to
perfection, and he did so as he drew his knife.
"Hooh!" he responded, moving on without the slightest halt. The
response seemed satisfactory to the Wyandot, but could Jo have seen
the actions of the Indian immediately after, he would have felt
anything but secure on that point.
The brave stood a minute or so, looking in the direction taken by the
other, and then, as if suspicious that all was not what it seemed, he
followed after the figure which had vanished so quickly.
"I would give a good deal if I but knowed what he meant by speaking of
Deerfoot as he did," said Jo to himself, "but I didn't dare ask him to
give the partic'lars. I make no doubt they've catched the Shawanoe and
scalped him long ago."
Remembering the openings which he had seen in the stockade before the
darkness became so intense, Jo reached out his right hand and run it
along the pickets, so as not to miss them.
He had gone only a little way, when his touch revealed the spot where
a couple had been removed, and there was room for him to force his
body through.
Jo was of a spare figure, and, with little difficulty, he entered the
space inclosed by the stockade. He now knew his surroundings and
bearings, as well as though it were high noon, and began making his
way with great stealth in the direction of the well standing near the
middle of the yard.
While he was doing this, the Wyandot with whom he had exchanged
salutations was stealing after him: it was the old case of the hunter
going to hunt the tiger, and soon finding the tiger was hunting him.
The task of the Wyandot, however, for the time, was a more delicate
one than was the white man's, for the dusky pursuer had lost sight of
his foe (if indeed it can be said he had ever caught a view of him),
instantly after the brief salutation between them.
The warrior, when he reached the first opening in the stockade, had no
means of knowing that the pale-face had passed through. Had there
been any daylight to aid his vision, he could have learned the truth
at once; but if there had been daylight, there could have been no such
necessity, inasmuch as Jo Stinger would have stayed in the
block-house.
The fact that he could not trace the daring scout with any certainty,
did not deprive the Wyandot of the ability to do something for himself
and companions.
When Jo Stinger passed within the stockade, he fixed the direction in
which lay the well, and then began advancing toward it. The result of
this venture proved again, how often the most careful preparation is
defeated by some simple obstruction against which a child ought to
have guarded.
"I must be pretty near the spot," thought Jo, when he had groped
vaguely for some distance; "I can't imagine what the varmints can be
doin' here, but they've got some plan on foot which I'm bound----"
At this instant, with a shock which made his hair fairly rise on end,
he stepped directly into the well and went down!
The rickety inclosure of slabs, with the crank and windlass, had been
removed by the Wyandots, so that in case any of the garrison ventured
out, under cover of darkness, to get water, they would be unable to do
so.
The theft of the curb, bucket, and appliances, shut off the supply
from that source as utterly as though it had never existed. And yet,
not a single member of the garrison, knowing as they did that the
Wyandots were carrying out some design, suspected what their real
purpose was.
Providence alone saved Jo Stinger from an ignominious end, for had he
gone to the bottom of the well, the Indians could not have failed to
discover it, and they would have carried out their own will concerning
him.
But the life of peril which Jo had led so many years, greatly
developed a certain readiness and presence of mind natural to him; but
it was probably the instinctive desire to catch himself, which led him
on the instant to place the gun in his left hand in a horizontal
position. The diameter of the well was much less than the length of
the old-fashioned flint-lock rifle; and thus it came about that muzzle
and stock caught firmly, and Jo was suspended in the middle of the
opening by one hand. Hastily shoving his knife back in his girdle, he
seized the barrel with both hands and easily drew himself from his
dangerous position. Then he took out his knife again and indulged in
an expression of opinion concerning his performances of the last
twenty-four hours.
This opinion it is not necessary to place on record: the reader need
not be told that it was the reverse of complimentary, and that it
would have hardly been safe for any one else to repeat the same
vigorous comments in the presence of Jo himself.
He was not without gratitude for his delivery from the consequences of
his own carelessness, but he was exasperated beyond expression by the
stupidity which had seemed to brood over the counsels of the garrison
from the first and to direct everything done.
While a prey to this gnawing chagrin, he suddenly became aware that
one of the Wyandots was at his elbow again.
"My brother treads like the shadows of the clouds which sweep over the
forest: there is no sound, and he glides----"
"This is his style of gliding," interrupted Jo Stinger, who was in a
most dangerous mood, as he bounded like a panther toward him.
The grapple was short and terrific: there was one wild piercing shriek
from the dusky foeman, and then it was all over. Jo hurried from the
spot, for he knew others would be there in a few seconds, and they
would be quick to detect or at least to surmise the truth.
He hastened back over the path by which he had approached the well,
passing through the same opening that had admitted him. Then, with a
view of avoiding any one who might be using the same route, he moved a
rod or two away from the stockade, turning the corner nearly as before
and starting on his return to the block-house.
Jo's belief was that he could accomplish nothing more by staying
outside the building. He had learned that about the well which he
ought to have known long before, and the Wyandots had already
ascertained that one of the garrison, or possibly some friend from
another point, was on the outside. They would take precaution against
his entering the block-house, and doubtless would exert themselves to
detect and slay him.
He felt therefore that it would not do to delay his return. He did not
do so, and yet, quick as he was, he made the discovery after all that
he was just too late. Approaching the door of the building with
extreme caution, it did not take him long to learn that the Wyandots
were there before him.
He withdrew with the same care, and continued stealing some distance
further in a southern direction, finally halting close to the cabin
from which the Wyandots had issued when they interfered with the
flight of Blossom Brown and Ned Preston across the clearing.
Jo felt the situation was becoming serious. He had not thought of
anything like this, and he had made no arrangement for a system of
signals to meet the difficulty. Colonel Preston would detect his low,
tremulous whistle, by which the scout was accustomed to make known his
presence on the outside and his desire to enter; but there was no
means of apprising the Colonel of the alarming fact that a number of
Indians were waiting in the darkness to take his place.
Had Jo thought of all this beforehand, there would have been no such
startling occurrence at the door, as has been described.
He did not believe it probable the Wyandots would emit any signals
which would deceive Colonel Preston into the belief that it was a
friend and not an enemy who was asking admission into the station.
While the pioneer stood aloof in the darkness, debating and asking
himself what was best to do, his keen vision was able to mark the
shape of something which puzzled him only for the moment. It was a
parallelogram of a faint yellow glow only a short distance in front of
him.
"That comes from a light in the cabin, where them varmints have been
loafing ever since the rumpus yesterday morning."
Jo was right in this supposition: he had approached the dwelling,
wherein were several Wyandots who had a fire burning on the hearth.
The yellow reflection showing through one of the side-windows led Jo
to detect its meaning with scarce a moment's hesitation.
As yet he had succeeded in learning nothing of importance, for no one
would attempt to draw any water from the well during the night, and
if the block-house should remain on its foundations until morning,
every one of the garrison could see for himself that the supply was no
longer available.
What secret might not the old cabin give up to him? Was it not there
that he should seek the key to the problem which had baffled him thus
far?
These and similar questions Jo Stinger put to himself, as he advanced
toward the structure wherein he was certain to find more than one
Wyandot.
As his approach was from the side instead of the front, as it may be
called (by which is meant that part of the cabin which faced the
block-house itself), the red men within had taken no precautions
against observation from that direction.
While Jo was yet ten feet from the window, he gained a view of the
interior that showed everything in the room, with whose contour he was
familiar. The sight which met his gaze was a most interesting one
indeed.
There were three Indians seated, cross-legged like Turks, on the
floor, smoking their pipes, while they talked earnestly together. One
of these, from his dress and manner, Jo knew was the chief or leader
of the war party. It was, in fact, Waughtauk who was holding a
consultation with his two lieutenants, if they may be termed such, on
the "conduct of the war."
Jo Stinger had no doubt that such was their occupation, and he was
certain that, if he could overhear their words, he was likely to
gather the very information he was seeking.
As we have already intimated, he understood the Wyandot tongue, and he
was eager to catch the expressions, especially those which fell from
the lips of the chief himself.
"The pale-faces will come from the Ohio," were the first words which
Stinger was able to hear, and they were uttered by Waughtauk himself;
"if we wait until to-morrow, they will be here before nightfall."
This implied rather rapid traveling on the part of the party of rescue
from Wild Oaks, and it was more than likely that the chief, with a
view of adding force to his remarks, exaggerated matters to a certain
extent.
"One of the Yenghese is abroad to-night," said the warrior next the
chief. As he spoke, he took his pipe from his mouth and used it in
gesticulating; "he has slain one of our braves."
"He shall die for his offence, as all the Yenghese shall die," replied
the chieftain, in a voice so loud that the listener could have caught
his meaning had he been a rod further away. "None of them shall see
the sun rise again. They shall be burned in the block-house, which has
encumbered our hunting-grounds too long."
This threat was only what might have been expected, but Waughtauk the
next minute imparted the very tidings which Jo Stinger sought, and for
the sake of which he had risked so much.
"The wind blows strong; the Great Spirit will soon fan the fire into a
blaze, and will carry it from this cabin to the block-house."
There it was!
The whole scheme was laid bare to the scout in the last sentence
spoken by the Wyandot chieftain. The wind was setting in strongly from
the south, that is, from the building in which the three warriors
gathered, directly toward the block-house.
Should the former be fired, the probability was the gale would carry
the sparks to the other and set that in a blaze, in which event there
would be scarcely an earthly hope left for a single one of the
inmates.
Jo had heard enough, and his wish now was to get back to his friends
with the least possible delay, that they might make preparation
against the assault that could not be postponed much longer.
Knowing the superstition of the American Indian, the scout now
resorted to an artifice as daring as it was startling. Although a man
trained in border-warfare, accustomed to the frightful cruelties of
the aborigines, and knowing the fierce purposes of the Wyandots
surrounding Fort Bridgman, he could not bring himself to the point of
deliberately shooting down one or more of the conspirators, who, in
point of fact, were at his mercy.
Many a brave hunter or pioneer, placed in his situation, would have
seized the opportunity to shoot the chieftain himself while sitting in
the cabin, unsuspicious of his danger; but Jo Stinger was not of such
a disposition.
[Illustration: JOE STINGER PUTS IN AN APPEARANCE.]
Raising his long rifle to his shoulder, he pointed it straight at
Waughtauk, and then advanced until the muzzle was thrust through
the window, while he himself stood no more than a foot outside.
At that instant one of the warriors reached down and stirred the
blazing sticks of wood burning on the hearth. The flames leaped
higher, filling the room with a warm ruddy glow. A slight noise caused
the three Wyandots to turn their heads toward the open window, when
they saw a sight which held them spell-bound.
A tall spare man, in the garb of a hunter, stood with his deadly rifle
pointed straight at them, and the muzzle was not twelve feet distant
from the head of Waughtauk the chief.
Looking along the barrel, pointing like the finger of fate at the
Wyandot leader, the bony fingers of the left hand were seen grasping
the dark iron, while the right hand, crooked at the elbow, encompassed
the trigger-guard, and the forefinger was gently pressing the trigger.
The hammer clutching the yellow flint was drawn far back, like the jaw
of a rattlesnake when about to bury its fangs in its victim, and just
behind that the single open eye of the hunter himself seemed to be
agleam with a fire that was likely to ignite the powder in the pan,
without the flash of the quartz.
The coonskin cap, the grizzly whiskers, the rough garments were
frosted with tiny snowflakes which glistened and glinted in the
fire-light like points of burnished silver. The figure was as
motionless as were the three Wyandots, who could only stare at what
must have seemed an apparition from the other world. As they gazed,
the figure spoke in a slow sepulchral voice--
"Let the Wyandot chieftain and his warriors go back to their squaws
and pappooses, for the pale-face is hurrying through the forest to
burn his lodges and to make captive his children! The Great Spirit
commands that the Wyandots shall go."
Having uttered these extraordinary words, Jo Stinger took several
steps backward, without moving a muscle of the upper portion of his
body, so silently and imperceptibly that he seemed to dissolve in the
surrounding darkness.
The moment after, Waughtauk uttered a cry of such distress that the
Wyandots in the immediate neighborhood heard it and hurried to him.
Stinger was quick to perceive his chance, and hurrying to the door of
the block-house, he rapped so sharply on it that the listening Colonel
Preston hurried down the ladder and approached the entrance.
"Who's there?" asked the commandant, in a guarded voice.
"Me--Jo; it's all right; quick, let me in afore the varmints get
back!"
There was no mistaking the voice, and Colonel Preston removed the
fastenings with a nervous haste, which did not leave him until his
friend was inside, and the bars were replaced in their sockets.
He then grasped the hand of Jo and shook it warmly, for the relief of
all over the return of the invaluable scout was beyond expression.
They hurriedly went up the ladder, where all, including Mrs. Preston,
who declared she could sleep no more that night, listened to the
stirring story which Jo had to tell. His auditors fairly held their
breath when he drew the picture of himself standing at the window of
the cabin, with his rifle pointed at the Wyandot chief, and commanding
him in the name of the Great Spirit to hasten to protect his own
lodges from the invading white man.
"You gave him such a fright that he may strike his tents and leave,"
suggested Colonel Preston.
"No," said Jo; "such things have been done, and Simon Kenton once
played the trick so well that he kept a party of Delawares from
massacreing a white family going down the Ohio, but Kenton had a much
better show than me."
"It seems to me, Jo, you had everything in your favor," said Megill,
who, like all the others, was deeply interested in the narrative of
the hunter.
"There's just the trouble; the chief and his men were scared out of
their moccasins for a minute or so, and if it had happened that I
hadn't showed myself afore, and the Wyandots didn't know I was
outside, the scare might have amounted to something; but when the
other warriors come around the chief, and he learns what has took
place--if he didn't know it all before--he'll see that the whole thing
was a trick, and he will be madder than ever. I think he'll open the
music agin very soon."
"If he fires the cabin," said Colonel Preston, "it will be apt to make
it pretty warm in here, for the wind does come from that direction,
and I wish the thing didn't stand quite so near us as it does. But the
sides of the block-house are not so dry as the roof, and I hope we can
stand more heat from _that_ source than the Wyandots think."
"We have considerable water left," said Jo, "and we must take mighty
good care that none of it is wasted."
"Did you find the tomahawk in the door?" asked Ned.
"I felt for it, but it was gone."
The prospects were discussed in low, earnest tones, while every one
was in a fever of expectancy. There was constant peeping through the
loopholes, and the occasional whistling and whooping were accepted as
signals to open the last decisive attack.
Jo Stinger was moving about in this manner, doing what he could to
cheer his friends, when some one caught his elbow.
"Who is it?" he asked, stopping short.
"It is I, Ned Preston," replied the boy; "I want to ask you a
question."
"Well, younker, what is it?" said the hunter in a kindly manner, and
lowering his voice, so that the others could not overhear them.
"I wanted to ask you whether you learned anything about Deerfoot, when
you were out."
"Nothing partic'lar; I heard his name mentioned by that varmint that
run against me, after I didn't fall into the well."
"How was it?"
Jo related the incident in which he was compared to the young
Shawanoe.
"What do you think about it, Jo?"
"Well, of course none of us knows anything for sartin,--but it's my
opinion--since you ax it--that Deerfoot has slid under for good."
"I am afraid so," said Ned Preston faintly. "Poor Deerfoot!"