IN WHICH NATHAN FINDS THE PAPERS
Among the last to leave Forty Fort after its surrender was Barnabas
Otter. In the dusk of the evening he slipped through the gate with
others, and made his way, unobserved, to a large rock several hundred
yards back from the river. He was joined almost immediately by Nathan,
and presently Reuben Atwood and Collum McNicol arrived at the same spot.
The two latter knew all about Captain Stanbury's papers, and were to
assist in getting them. The little party had previously arranged to meet
here secretly for this purpose, and they hoped to complete their task
and push some miles down the Susquehanna that same night.
"All here, are ye?" said Collum McNicol, who was the last to arrive.
"Let's make haste and have done with the business. My heart is sore
after what I've seen yonder this afternoon--"
"Peace, man," interrupted Barnabas. "The less said the better. We're all
sore at heart, I'm thinking--aye, an' something more. I feel myself like
a panther stripped of her cubs. Don't put fire to our passions, or we'll
be tempted to some desperate deed."
"It ain't likely, with not a fire-arm among us," said Atwood. "There's
no chance of a shot at Tory or redskin. We must bide our time for
vengeance till we're back with the army."
"Aye, we'll have a reckoning then," replied Barnabas. "Every Redcoat
will stand for Wyoming--Hist! who comes?"
Soft footsteps were heard, and a settler named Morgan Proud glided up to
the rock. "Four of ye?" he said, peering at the group. "I won't be
intrudin', men, but I followed hither for a purpose. Do you want arms?"
"Do we?" exclaimed Barnabas. "An' kin you pervide them, man?"
"That I can," said Proud. "When we come up to the fort from Wilkesbarre
yesterday--ten of us--we brought nearly two muskets apiece along. But
we hid the guns and ammunition down by the river, half expectin' the
fort would be surrendered and all arms given up. And we acted wisely--"
"Lead the way, man," broke in Barnabas. "This deed'll win you a golden
crown some day. But are you sure the stuff is there yet?"
"They're well hid," replied Proud, "and I told our men, who just
started, to take a musket apiece and leave the rest. Will your party
join us, Barnabas? We're going down river in flat-boats from
Wilkesbarre."
"We have an errand over yonder first," said Barnabas, jerking his thumb
northward. "We might ketch up with you, but don't wait on us."
"No, we'll take no risk," Proud answered, "seein' as we'll have women
and children dependin' on us. But you're welcome to the arms all the
same."
Without further speech he led the party obliquely toward the river, and
they came speedily to a windfall under the bluff. Proud's friends had
been here and gone, but the extra muskets were safe in their hiding
place. The man handed out the requisite number, adding a generous supply
of powder and ball.
"I'll wait here a bit," he said. "There'll be others coming by, and I
have three guns left."
Barnabas and his companions wished him farewell and good luck, and then
mounted the bank and struck into the woods. Now that they were armed
they felt like new men, and a great weight was lifted from their minds.
In single file they made a detour to the rear of the fort, and pressed
rapidly northeast through the woods for a mile and a half, speaking not
a word on the way. Every heart beat faster as the northern edge of the
battle-field was skirted, and now a sharp turn was made to the left. Ten
minutes later, as the moon peeped above the horizon, the party reached a
little cabin in a clearing. The tears came into Nathan's eyes as he saw
the home where his happy boyhood had been spent--the spot sacred to the
memory of his lost father. Here was the spring, and there the out-shed
where the winter's supply of logs was always stored. The path leading
to the step could still be traced between the weeds and grass.
"Cheer up, lad," said Barnabas, divining his thoughts. "It'll all come
right in the future. And now we'll be making that search."
They entered the cabin, the door of which was wide open. It had escaped
the torch of the Indians, and the interior was much as it had been left
on the day when Captain Stanbury started for the war. The end window was
closed, but the shutter was off the one in front. The ladder still led
to the sleeping-loft overhead, and in the room down-stairs were a table
and a broken chair. A few earthen dishes stood on the shelf, and a layer
of ashes covered the fireplace.
"It's a bit out of the way," remarked Barnabas, looking around, "an'
that's why no one has lived here since. Where shall we begin, lad?
Which, to your mind, is the most likely spot? The captain said the
papers were under the floor."
"I never knew the boards to be loose," Nathan answered, in a husky
voice. "Suppose we try the fireplace."
"A good idea," approved Barnabas. By the light of the moon he scraped
the ashes off the big slab of stone that was set in the floor of the
chimney, and he was about to pry the stone itself loose when something
seemed to occur to him. He straightened up, and glanced toward the door.
"What is the matter?" asked Nathan.
"I'm thinking of Simon Glass," Barnabas answered.
"Why, I forgot all about him," exclaimed Nathan. "He and what was left
of his party must have turned back. I didn't see them at the fort."
"But I did, lad," declared Barnabas. "Glass marched in with the Rangers,
and that young Godfrey was close behind him."
"Yes, I seen 'em both," corroborated Atwood.
"I was watching the Indians all the time, and Colonel Butler," said
Nathan. "So Glass has arrived then? But you don't think he'll give us
any more trouble?"
Barnabas only shook his head.
"McNicol," he said, "stand yonder by the door, an' keep your ears to the
wood. Watchin' won't come amiss."
The man went to his post, and Barnabas stooped down and lifted the slab.
He dropped to his knees, dug rapidly into the dirt with a knife, and
lifted out a flat tin box, much rusted. He forced the lid open and
handed Nathan a packet of papers sealed with green wax.
The lad pressed it reverently to his lips. "I won't look at them," he
declared. "The seal shall remain unbroken until I find my father, or
until I am satisfied that he is dead."
"It would be wise to learn the contents, lad," said Barnabas.
Nathan shook his head. "My father's secret is sacred to me," he replied.
"If he is alive, he would wish me to guard it, I know. But the papers
must not be lost. Will you keep them for me?"
[Illustration: BARNABAS HANDED NATHAN A PACKET OF PAPERS]
Barnabas readily--even eagerly--assented. The packet was not large, and
he thrust it deep down into one of his wide-topped boots. "It's just
damp enough not to crackle," he said, as he dropped the slab back into
place, and cunningly strewed the ashes over it again--a wiser bit of
forethought than he knew.
"Now," he added. "We'll be off--"
"Hist, men!" McNicol interrupted, in a whisper. "Come hither, quick!"
The three joined the Scotchman at the door, but they did not need to ask
what he meant. The forest was alive with whispering voices--with the
passage of feet over dry twigs and rustling grass. A light danced among
the thick foliage.
It was too late for retreat, and, as the little band crouched behind the
shadowy doorway, they beheld a startling sight.
By twos and threes a group of Tories and Indians glided into the glade,
close to the spring. The two foremost held a shrinking man between them,
and as they came nearer, one said aloud, in a familiar voice that made
Nathan shudder: "Is this the place, you rebel dog?"
"It's Captain Stanbury's cabin," muttered the prisoner, who had
evidently been made to serve as an unwilling guide.
"You know what you'll get if you're lying," Simon Glass--for it was
he--replied with an oath. "Come, men," he added.
"God help us!" whispered Barnabas. "There's no escape unless we kin keep
hid. But they're comin' to the cabin, an' Colonel Butler's promise won't
count with such fiends. They'll kill every man of us in cold blood."
Low as the words were spoken, they reached the ears of the enemy, and a
creaking noise made by McCollum's heavy boots completed the betrayal.
"There are rebels here!" roared Simon Glass. "Don't let a blasted one
escape! Surround the cabin!"
"It's all up," cried Barnabas. "Give 'em a volley, an' remember the
massacre. Now--fire!"
Four muskets flashed and roared, and, as the echo fled down the valley,
the night rang with yells of rage and agony.
There was no time to look for the result of the volley through the
drifting smoke. Barnabas instantly slammed the door shut, and dragged
the heavy table against it. "Down, all of you," he shouted. "Stick to
the floor. Nathan, you guard the rear wall, an' watch through the cracks
of the logs. McNicol, you an' Atwood take the two ends. I'll tend to the
open winder here in front."
The three crawled to their posts of duty, and for a time the silence
outside was broken only by an occasional moan of pain. The wary enemy
had taken to cover at once, until they could learn the strength of their
assailants.
"Did you kill Glass?" McNicol whispered across the room.
"He ain't in sight," replied Barnabas. "He moved his head just as I
fired. The Tory with him is lyin' dead here on the grass, an' the
prisoner is beside him--he's better off, for he'd a been tomahawked
anyway. An' there's a wounded Indian dragging hisself past the spring.
I won't waste powder on the wretch."
"Glass must have learned where we were bound, and followed us here for
revenge," said Nathan.
"It's either that or a deeper motive," Barnabas answered, and even as he
spoke a hot fire was opened on the cabin from three sides. The fusillade
lasted for several minutes, the bullets tearing through the crevices or
burying themselves in the thick logs, but by crouching flat all escaped
harm.
As the fire slackened the enemy boldly showed themselves here and there
in the moonlight, but they learned a lesson in prudence when McNicol
shot two of their number from a loophole, and Atwood picked off a third.
Barnabas kept blazing away at the gleam of a torch some distance off in
the wood, where a part of the enemy was probably assembled. As nearly as
could be judged, the besieging force numbered nearly a score.
"It's a bad lookout," said Atwood, "we can't count on help from any of
the settlers."
"More likely the shooting will bring the whole party from the fort,"
replied Barnabas. "We might make a dash by the rear if there was a
winder. The enemy ain't showed up on that side yet."
"They're here now," whispered Nathan. "I see the bushes moving--" Bang!
the lad's musket cracked, and with a screech an Indian fell dead. Two
more who had been reconnoitering the rear of the cabin bounded into the
woods.
"That's the way to do it," said Barnabas. "Load quickly, men, an' don't
all let your muskets get empty at once."
An interval of silence followed, lasting perhaps ten minutes, and then a
harsh voice from the forest called for a truce.
"Only one kin come near," shouted Barnabas. "What do you want, Glass, if
that's you?"
"I'm willing to make fair terms," replied the Tory, who was careful to
keep hidden. "Come out and give up your arms, and not one of you shall
be hurt."
"We'd sooner surrender to a rattlesnake than to you, Simon," Barnabas
answered. "We're goin' to hold the cabin, an' that's our last word."
Glass accepted the ultimatum with a torrent of profanity and threats,
and a moment later the firing recommenced. For some minutes the bullets
rained against the logs, while the besieged, flattened on the floor,
kept watch at loopholes and crevices for any of the enemy who might
expose themselves. The plucky little band well realized that their fight
was desperate and well-nigh hopeless, but not a word or sign of fear
betrayed what they felt.
Presently the firing ceased, and now there were indications that the foe
intended to make a combined rush. So certain of this was Barnabas that
he summoned Nathan and his companions to the front wall. But for at
least once in his life the old woodsman was outmatched. The Indians and
Tories advanced only to the edge of the clearing, whence they let drive
a straggling volley, and while this diversion was going on, three
torches were thrown from the rear upon the roof of the cabin.
A strong breeze happened to be blowing, and with amazing rapidity the
flames took hold and spread. The roof was soon burned through in
patches, and now the loft floor caught fire. Clouds of suffocating smoke
rolled to the lower room, and a shower of sparks and blazing embers made
the situation unbearable.
"It's all up with us here," cried Barnabas, "an' there's nothin' left to
do but die fightin'. Come, men, let's open the door, give the devils a
volley, an' make a rush. Each one for hisself arter that, an' mebbe one
or two of us kin reach the woods."