THE LONG CLEARING.
Deerfoot, the young Shawanoe, despite his extraordinary exertions and
his own wonderful woodcraft, had fallen into the hands of the hostile
Wyandots, and with a grim satire upon the skill which had given the
youth his great fame, Waughtauk, chief of his enemies, had decreed
that his life should be staked upon the result of a race with the
fleetest runners of the tribe.
The captive would have welcomed such a contest, could it have been
conducted on anything like equal terms, but he seemed in a pitiable
condition, unable to bear the weight of his body for more than a
second on one foot. Had it been otherwise, Waughtauk never would have
made the conditions what they were.
The promised enjoyment was so eagerly looked for by the warriors that
the chief decided to gratify them and himself, without delay.
It was now near noon, and the sun shining overhead gave no indications
of the clouds and snow-fall that came with the close of day. The "Long
Clearing," of which the chief spoke, was an open space, beginning
fifty rods north of the block-house and extending for a third of a
mile, parallel with the Licking river. It had a width varying from a
hundred feet to five times that extent. It was a natural clearing or
opening, which, it would seem, offered a much better site for a
block-house than the one selected by Colonel Preston, when he erected
the building now placed in such danger.
It presented an open space for the distance named, and, before the
founding of the settlement, was often used by Indians for their games
and athletic contests: no more suitable place could have been found
for the extraordinary contest decreed by Waughtauk, chief of the
Wyandots.
As this exhibition was ordered during the time when the siege was to
be maintained, it was impossible that more than a fractional part of
the warriors could take part in or witness it. Waughtauk selected six
of his men who were to be the actors in the tragedy, he himself
purposing to be the leader and director.
As the wolf, before destroying the lamb, sought a pretext for his
cruelty, so the chief assumed a certain air of justice in arranging
for what might be termed a race for life.
The warrior who had struck Deerfoot was given his bow, the youth being
allowed to retain his knife, tomahawk, and quiver. None of the
Wyandots were permitted to carry their guns, the only weapon of that
kind being in the hands of the chief, who was also magnanimous enough
to give the fugitive a start of some fifty yards.
Deerfoot was too proud to open his lips, when the conditions were
explained to him. He stood grim and silent, watching the preparations
and noting the exultation which often reached boisterousness.
"Great is Deerfoot, the swiftest runner of the Shawanoes!" said one
mockingly; "he is the eagle, and he will leave the Wyandots far out of
sight, as the great bird leaves the smaller ones in his flight through
the heavens!"
"Deerfoot is the friend of the Yenghese and the Long Knives, who have
come to take away the hunting-grounds of the red man."
"The pale-faces will come to the help of Deerfoot, for who has been a
better friend to them than he?"
These and similar taunts fell upon ears which appeared to hear them
not. Those who uttered the cruel words came close to the youth and
peered into his face, with hideous grimaces, but he stood calm and
silent. He was a shade paler, and there was a strange gleam in his
black eyes, but he looked beyond his tormentors at Waughtauk, who
deliberately paced off the distance, giving liberal measure, as it is
only justice to record.
When the fifty steps had been taken, Waughtauk stopped, stamped the
heel of his moccasin in the earth, and, turning about, beckoned to
Deerfoot to approach. The young Shawanoe, as he hobbled painfully
forward, presented a spectacle which ought to have excited the pity of
the hardest heart; but the Wyandots laughed and were impatient for the
contest, if such it may be called, to open.
Deerfoot limped the greater part of the distance and then stopped to
rest a moment, seemingly unable to advance another step. Several
taunting exclamations followed this display of weakness, and,
summoning his energies, the youth resumed his labored advance, finally
reached the side of Waughtauk, who concealed, as well as he could, his
impatience.
"Deerfoot will stand _here_," said he, pointing to the indentation the
heel of his moccasin had made in the ground; "when he hears Waughtauk
give forth the war-whoop of the Wyandots, he will teach my warriors
how to run."
The young Shawanoe opened his lips to make answer, but they closed
more tightly than before, and not a word was uttered. His
self-restraint was perfect.
Waughtauk walked back to the edge of the Long Clearing, where the six
warriors eagerly awaited the signal for the sport to begin. Despite
the usual stoicism and indifference of their race, the braves were as
frolicsome as so many school-boys. They elbowed and crowded each other
for their places, and one or two vigorous wrestling bouts occurred,
before the chieftain placed them in line.
At last the six Wyandots were drawn up in position, one foot thrown
forward, while they swayed restlessly back and forth, inching along
the advanced foot, like so many runners eager for the slightest
advantage. Each carried his knife and tomahawk at his girdle, but the
arms were free. He who claimed the bow of Deerfoot had thrown it
aside, now that he was about to run.
Waughtauk looked at his men and then he placed himself in alignment at
their right. He still held his loaded gun, probably as an emblem of
his authority, and as a notification that he would use it in the event
of any warrior disregarding orders.
The seven now looked out upon the Long Clearing at the fugitive who
was to go through this mockery of a race with the sinewy-limbed
Wyandots, eager and thirsting for his life.
The pose of Deerfoot was much the same as that of his enemies. His
left foot was in advance of the other, while his weight gently
oscillated back and forth, like the swinging of a long pendulum.
Unnoticed by any of the Wyandots, he had edged fully ten feet beyond
the proper starting-point. His face was turned as if looking at the
autumnal woods on his right, but as his handsome profile was thrown
against the sky beyond, his eyes were scrutinizing every action of his
foes, as they arranged themselves and awaited the signal.
At this juncture it must have occurred to more than one that the
Shawanoe was balancing himself with remarkable ease for one whose
sufferings from a sprained ankle were so acute. If such a thought came
to the Wyandots, they did not lose sight of the fact that the time for
an investigation was past.
For a single minute complete quiet prevailed. The river on the left
flowing calmly northward, the solemn autumn woods on the right, the
stretch of the Long Clearing, with its irregular contour,--the single
solitary youth poised as if he were a Grecian athlete,--the seven
swarthy Indians, like so many fierce hounds, impatient for the moment
when they might spring at the lamb and bury their fangs in its
throat:--these made a picture striking beyond imagination in its
details.
"_Whoop! whoop! whoop!_"
In quick succession the war-cry of the Wyandots rang out on the still
air, and like an electric shock it thrilled through every being who
heard the startling signal.
The ringing shout had scarcely left the lips of Waughtauk, when
Deerfoot made a tremendous leap of nearly a dozen feet, and the
instant he lightly struck the ground he bounded away with a burst of
speed which astounded the spectators. There was no lameness now--there
had never been the slightest. The young Shawanoe when he saw his
capture was inevitable, resorted to this strategy with the quickness
of inspiration. The sprained ankle was a fiction--a fiction not
essayed with any thought that he would be subjected to such a special
test, but with the belief that a chance might come in which he could
make a break for freedom and for life.
A series of fierce shouts went up from the thunderstruck Wyandots, as
they saw the fugitive ricocheting over the grounds, as may be said,
like the ball from the throat of a Columbiad.
The halt and the lame who were the first to step into the pool of
Siloam, after the angel had stirred the waters, were no more quickly
healed than was Deerfoot by the ringing war-cry of the Wyandot
chieftain.
A consuming anger like that of the wolf, when the panther robs him of
his prey, must have fired the hearts of the Wyandots, at the moment
they saw the trick played on them by this despised youth. He, a boy in
stature and years, had pitted his skill, his strategy, his woodcraft,
his brains against theirs, and he had won.
The readiness of Deerfoot added several rods to the advance originally
given, so that a great advantage was thus obtained, and it was
improved to the utmost.
The wonderful youth ran as never before. His lithe legs doubled under
him with inconceivable quickness, the eye seeing naught but the
twinkling of the beaded moccasins. The still wind cut by his face as
though it was a gale. He was a gladiator stripped for the struggle,
and every nerve and muscle was strained to the last tension. He seemed
a swallow skimming close to the ground, or a shaft driven from his own
bow, so graceful was his arrowy swiftness.
There were swift runners among the Wyandots, and the seven warriors
included their fleetest, who now put forth every exertion of which
they were capable. The difference in their speed was shown by their
immediate separation, with rapidly increasing spaces between them; but
the young Shawanoe drew away from them, as a child draws away from the
stationary object which frightens it.
Deerfoot saw the half mile sweeping under his feet, as the steel rails
glide under the plunging engine, and the single glance he threw over
his shoulder told the glad fact that he had not misjudged his own
matchless ability as a runner. Muscle and nerve and sinew never did
their work more splendidly than now, when their existence was staked
on the manner in which that work was to be done. Human ingenuity could
never construct a piece of mechanism which could do such marvelous
service, as did those limbs of the flying fugitive on that crisp
autumn day nearly a century ago, in Kentucky.
Although, as we have stated, there were many rapid runners among the
Wyandots, there was not one who could attain and hold the terrific
pace of the Shawanoe, whose victory, it may be said, was assured from
the beginning. Fired by their fury and chagrin, they made prodigious
exertions to run down the youth, or at least to approach close enough
to hurl their tomahawks; but this was useless, and with an
exasperation beyond expression they saw their victim slipping
irrecoverably from their grasp.
Suddenly a shot rang out on the frosty air. Waughtauk, the chieftain,
and the only one who had a rifle, came to a dead halt and fired point
blank at the vanishing youth, hoping at least to disable him, so he
would fall into their hands. Deerfoot heard the firing of the bullet,
as it nipped his cheek, but he did not hasten his pace, because he was
unable to do so, and no need existed. From the first he had done his
best, and there was no room for an increase in the way of speed.
A third of a mile is soon traversed at such a rate of travel, and in a
brief while Deerfoot approached the end of the Long Clearing. His
swiftness was unabated, but, when he once more glanced around and saw
that the whole seven Indians had given up the pursuit and were
standing at varying distances from each other looking at him, he
instantly slackened his pace.
Coming to a dead halt he faced about and, swinging his arms over his
head, gave utterance to whoops and taunting exclamations.
"Have the Wyandots learned to run? Who is Waughtauk, that a youth of
the Shawanoes should teach him to walk? Let the Wyandots go back to
their lodges and tell their squaws that Deerfoot has taught them
knowledge! Are the Wyandots tired that they must sit down and rest?
Shall Deerfoot come back to them and show them what to do, when their
enemies are around them?"
No more stinging taunts than these can be imagined, and the Wyandots
felt their full force. They were silent, possibly because their tongue
contained no words which could give suitable expression to their
feelings.
Clearly it was idle to maintain the pursuit any longer, and the seven
Wyandots, including Waughtauk the chieftain, stalked back toward the
block-house, for the purpose of pressing the siege with more vigor
than ever.
Up to this point they had in reality accomplished nothing toward the
reduction of the place. They had lost several of their warriors, and
Deerfoot, as they all agreed, would make all haste to Wild Oaks to
procure help for the beleaguered garrison.
An individual capable of such speed as he, would reach the Ohio before
nightfall; and, under the stress of necessity, the settlers would be
at Fort Bridgman before the sun could cross the meridian on the
morrow.
Such was the reasoning of Waughtauk, and all of his counsellors agreed
with him. A brief while before they would not have believed it
possible that help could be brought before the following night; but
since the occurrence just described they were prepared to believe
Deerfoot capable of doing almost anything.
The precise conversation between the maddened red men, of course, can
never be known to the historian, and it is not desirable that it
should be; but the parties concerned were so interested in the words
that they were close to the stockade of the block-house before it was
recalled that the long valuable bow taken from Deerfoot was left lying
on the ground where the new owner threw it when ready to join in the
chase.
This was too valuable a trophy to be lost, and the Wyandot immediately
turned about and hastened toward the Long Clearing to recover it,
while the others passed on to mingle with those who were striving so
hard to encompass the destruction of the little party in the garrison.
The Indian who hurried back, it will be remembered, was the one that
had struck Deerfoot when he was a captive. He had been the most cruel
in his taunts, and his hatred of the youth seemed more malignant, if
possible, than that of the others.
He ground his teeth together, as he dropped into a walk, and recalled
the inimitable cleverness with which the young warrior outwitted them.
"Why did we not know the dog spoke with two tongues? Why did we not
make sure he could not run? Why did not some of our warriors lie in
the woods at the end of the Long Clearing to catch him, if he should
escape us?"
"He is a dog--he is a traitor!" muttered the fierce Wyandot,
approaching the spot where he had thrown the bow, "and he shall yet
fall by my hand----"
He was about to stoop forward to pick up the weapon, when a slight
exclamation caught his ear, and he straightened up like a flash.
Less than twenty feet distant stood Deerfoot the Shawanoe, quietly
looking at him. Both had reached the spot on the same errand, and thus
they met.
The youth had the advantage of detecting the other first, and, as a
consequence, was prepared. In the language of the west, it would have
been said, under similar circumstances, that Deerfoot "had the drop"
on the other Indian.
The latter, as he looked up, saw that the hand of the youth grasped
his tomahawk, which was held so far back of his hip that only a
glimpse of its edge could be seen. The arm extended straight down so
that it needed to be thrown upward and backward, before the formidable
missile could be launched.
Fate seemed to favor Deerfoot that day; for not only had he escaped
from a cruel death, but the being whom he hated above all others, and
with an intensity which only a barbarian can feel, now stood before
him.
There was no misunderstanding the situation on the part of either. The
Wyandot would have resorted to any treachery to slay Deerfoot, and he
was aware that Deerfoot knew it. He had inflicted indignities upon the
young Shawanoe which nothing less than the grace of heaven will
enable the North American Indian to forgive.
The two gazed fixedly at each other without speaking, and for a second
or two neither stirred a muscle. Then, while the Wyandot centered his
burning gaze upon the bronzed face before him, his right hand began
slowly stealing up from his hip to his girdle. It was seeking the
handle of his tomahawk, but, guarded as was the movement, the Shawanoe
saw it.
So absolute was Deerfoot's faith in his own prowess and unequalled
celerity that, knowing as he did the meaning of his enemy's action, he
permitted the hand to touch the weapon, before he affected to notice
it.
The instant the Wyandot griped the tough wooden handle, he snatched it
forth with surprising quickness and threw his hand back over his head
with the purpose of hurling it at the defiant youth.
But the latter was the quicker. His left hand made one lightning-like
sweep, and the tomahawk shot from his grasp with the suddenness of the
thunderbolt. Although the Wyandot threw his almost at the same
instant, yet there was just enough difference in time to make one a
success and the other a failure.
Deerfoot's weapon sped as direct as a rifle-ball, and clove the skull
of the Wyandot as though it were card-paper. The tomahawk of the
latter, which was in the act of leaving his hand, was so disarranged
by the shock that it was thrown up in the air and fell at his feet, as
he toppled over backwards, with a shriek which reached Waughtauk and
his warriors, and whose meaning they knew too well.
Deerfoot advanced and recovered his tomahawk, that had done this
terrible execution. Then he picked up his valued bow from the ground
and examined it to make sure that it had suffered no injury.
He did not stoop to take the scalp of the dead warrior, who hoped so
ardently a brief while before to capture his. The Shawanoe had never
scalped a vanquished foe; but when he caught sight of several Wyandots
hastening to the spot, he flourished his bow defiantly in the air,
gave utterance to several taunting cries, and, turning his back upon
them, plunged into the wilderness with such speed, as to render all
thought of pursuit out of the question.
And as he sped like a hound on a trail, the face of Deerfoot the
Shawanoe was turned toward the settlement of Wild Oaks on the far-away
Ohio.