DAYS OF PERIL
Although Pep Frost was as tired out as anybody in the party, yet the
old pioneer did not rest until he had found a cave-like opening under
some of the largest of the rocks in that vicinity.
To this spot all of the party retired, and here found shelter from the
rain and wind, and here they remained until morning.
By that time the storm had passed away and the sun came out as brightly
as ever. Joe and his father managed to find a little dry wood and with
this a fire was kindled, all being careful to keep the smoke from
ascending in a solid cloud. By the fire the remainder of the bear meat
was cooked, and all partook of their share and washed down the meal
with a drink from a nearby spring.
How to turn next was the all-important question, and nobody had a very
definite answer.
“O’ course we can push on westward fer Fort Boone,” said Pep Frost.
“But I aint allowin’ as how ye want to do thet.”
“Thee art right, friend Frost,” answered Mrs. Parsons. “I would first
learn what has become of my daughter Clara, and I doubt not but what
Friend Winship would like to learn what has become of his good wife,
Mistress Winship, and his daughter Cora.”
“That is true,” answered Ezra Winship. “If they are dead I want to know
it, and if they have been carried off I feel that I must do all I can
to rescue them.”
“Yes, yes, we must learn the truth,” cried Harmony, while Joe nodded
his head to show that he agreed.
A discussion followed that lasted fully an hour, and then it was
decided that Mr. Winship and Pep Frost should go off on a scout,
leaving Joe and Harry to watch over Mrs. Parsons and Harmony.
“We may not be back in two or three days,” said Ezra Winship. “For we
will not only try to learn what has become of all the other members of
the company that was with us before the attack, but also try to find
some of the things that belong to us.”
“Never mind the things, father,” said Joe. “Just find mother and Cora
and I’ll be content.”
“And I say to thee, find Clara and I will be content, Friend Winship,”
added Mrs. Parsons.
In the canoe that Long Knife had occupied was a small bag containing
Indian meal, and another containing pease, and a strip of jerked beef,
so that those left behind would not starve during the absence of the
men. The men themselves took nothing but the guns and horns of powder,
ball and shot, with a tinder box, declaring that they would hunt down
whatever they needed.
“Do not show yourselves on the river,” were Ezra Winship’s last words
of caution. “Those redskins are still over there, and they may remain
there for days, trying to locate us.”
After the two men had left, the spot seemed lonelier than ever. To
occupy her time Mrs. Parsons soaked some of the pease in a hollow
of water, and then set them to baking on a flat stone, rimmed with
dried clay. On another flat stone she mixed some of the Indian meal
into a dough which afterwards turned out into fairly good corn cakes.
While this was going on Harry set to work fishing in a pool under the
brushwood bordering the river, and caught several fish of fair size.
“To be sure, ’tis not eating fit for a king,” declared Mrs. Parsons,
“but for such as ’tis, let us all be truly thankful.” And they were
thankful.
While the others were thus occupied, with Harmony doing what she could
to help the Quakeress, Joe took his way to the top of the rocks. Here
grew a tree of good size, and this he easily climbed to the top.
The view he obtained from this elevation was a disappointment to him.
As far as eye could reach stretched the hills and valleys, with here
and there a stream of water and a tiny lake. Across the river directly
in front of him he could see the late Indian camp, now deserted, and
this was the only sign of life anywhere.
“Not even a deer, much less a white man or an Indian,” he murmured.
“But then I suppose the redskins are keeping out of sight the same as
ourselves.”
He looked long and earnestly in the direction his father and Pep Frost
had taken, but neither of them appeared, and at last he descended and
rejoined the others.
The day passed quietly until about four o’clock in the afternoon, when
Harry, returning from another fishing expedition, a little further down
the river, announced that two canoes were in sight, each containing at
least half a dozen Indians.
“Oh, I hope they don’t attempt to land here!” cried Harmony, in dismay.
“We’ll put out the fire and hide,” said Joe, and this was done, Mrs.
Parsons and the girl secreting themselves in a nearby split in the
rocks, and Harry and Joe taking themselves close to the water’s edge
where they might watch the progress of the canoes.
The canoes were large affairs, and as they came closer the two young
pioneers saw that they contained other persons besides the Indians.
There was a heap of goods in the center of each canoe, and likewise
several captives.
“Clara is in the front canoe,” whispered Harry excitedly.
“And Cora is in the other,” announced Joe a moment later.
The other captives were men and women who had belonged to the
unfortunate expedition. All had their hands tied behind them, and not a
few were suffering from wounds made by arrows and tomahawks.
“Those Indians must belong to the tribe under Red Feather,” whispered
Harry, and he was right, as it later on proved.
The boys were itching to do something for their captive sisters and the
others of their friends, but such a move was, just then, out of the
question. Their only weapons were their bows and arrows, and the canoes
hugged the opposite shore, too far to be reached with any degree of
accuracy.
“I am going to follow those canoes as far as I can,” declared Joe, and
ran along the river bank behind the brushwood. But soon the rocks and a
curve of the watercourse cut him off, and a little later the two canoes
passed from sight.
When the craft were gone the two youths went back to where the others
had been left. Both Mrs. Parsons and Harmony were, of course, surprised
to learn that they had seen Cora and Clara.
“Where will they take them?” cried Harmony, wringing her hands, while
the tears stood in the Quakeress’ eyes.
“I wouldn’t be surprised if there was an Indian village somewhere up
this stream,” said Joe. “If you’ll remember, Long Knife spoke about
taking Harmony to his wigwam.”
“Father said he had heard of an Indian village up there,” answered
Harry. “Daniel Boone told him of it. Boone was at the village once,
when the redskins were off on a hunt.”
“I wish Daniel Boone was here now,” answered Joe. “He knows how to
fight Indians, if anybody does.”
“He may be in this vicinity for all we know,” put in Harmony. “He
doesn’t stay at Fort Boone all the time.”
Harmony was very anxious to know if her mother had been in either of
the canoes, but neither Joe nor Harry could answer that query.
“There were some folks we couldn’t see on account of the distance and
the goods piled up in the canoes,” said Joe. “I wouldn’t be surprised
if she was there.”
Night came on quickly and they remained in the dark, not caring to
light another camp-fire.
Harry climbed a tree to see if he could detect any fire in that
vicinity.
“Not even a torch,” he declared on coming below. “Everybody on both
sides is keeping shady.”
“Those Indians that went by didn’t keep very shady, Harry.”
“That is true, Joe,--which proves that they didn’t belong to the
party that we have been fighting. It’s more than likely they have met
some of the others since passing here, and now they are on guard like
ourselves.”
It was decided that the boys should take turns at picket duty, as Harry
called it, for it was not deemed wise for all to sleep at once.
The two boys drew straws as to which should keep awake the first half
of the night, and it fell to Harry’s lot. Worn out, Joe turned in
immediately, if not to sleep at least to rest, and Mrs. Parsons and
Harmony soon followed his example. But, though their minds were in sore
distress, abused Nature soon claimed her own, and all slept the sleep
of the exhausted.
To keep his own eyes open Harry moved around, up and down the rocks,
and then along a stretch of the river bank which was comparatively free
from brushwood and trees.
It was a lonely vigil, and more than once the youth’s eyes closed in
spite of himself. To keep himself awake he decided to bathe his head
and arms.
He was engaged in this agreeable occupation when something floating on
the surface of the river attracted his attention. At first he could not
distinguish what it was, but at last made it out to be a small tree, or
large tree branch. On the top rested a dark object that looked like the
huddled form of a man.
“Hullo, here is something new!” he thought. “If that is a man is it a
white person or an Indian?”
As the object came nearer he strained his eyes to see more clearly. As
he did this, the man on the driftwood raised himself slightly and gave
a moan.
“A white man, and he is likely wounded,” said the young pioneer to
himself, and without hesitation he ran for one of the canoes, launched
it, and soon had the sufferer ashore.
Harry had called Joe while launching the canoe, and now the latter
joined him and the two carried the unknown one to the shelter under the
rocks. He was suffering from a wound in the shoulder, and from another
in the left leg, and both of these were bound up by Mrs. Parsons, who
in her younger days had been a famous nurse for the sick and wounded.
It was noon of the next day before the unknown man opened his eyes and
attempted to sit up.
“You--you are kind to me,” he gasped--“very kind, madam, and I will not
forget you for it.”
“How came you in such a situation?” questioned Harry.
“Nay, nay, my son, do not question so sick a mortal,” interposed Mrs.
Parsons. “Time enough when he is stronger.”
“The story is soon told,” said the wounded man with an effort. “I was
on my way from Fort Boone, with Daniel Boone and three others, to
join a party which is expected there soon by a man there named Peter
Parsons----”
“My husband!” ejaculated Mrs. Parsons.
“Then you are of that party?”
“Yes.”
“’Tis a strange place for you, madam.” The wounded man looked at the
rocks. “But as I was saying, I was with Boone and the others, when we
became separated in the heavy rainstorm. The Indians tracked me, and I
was wounded and captured. But some time ago I escaped and fled to the
river. Then I swam to a tree that was floating by, and crawled on it
more dead than alive. And now I am here, thanks----”
The wounded man got no further, for at that moment the form of a man
appeared on the rocks above the shelter--a tall white man, dressed in
the garb of a hunter.
“Hullo, who are you?” demanded Joe, leaping to his feet and feeling for
his hunting knife.
“Why, that’s Daniel Boone!” cried the wounded man, before the newcomer
could answer Joe’s question.