WITH NO TIME TO SPARE
“The Indians are encamped in the valley beyond this hill!” cried Joe.
“In that case we will soon find out whom they have as captives with
them.”
With extreme caution the hunters and pioneers climbed the slope until
about fifty feet from the ridge.
Then the men and boys were allowed to crawl among the trees and
brushwood to the very top and look over into the valley below.
A plain of tall grass and low brush met their gaze, extending for
quarter of a mile in width and several miles in length. In the very
center was a small brook, moving peacefully along between the reeds and
rushes.
The encampment of the red men was along the bank of the watercourse
next to the hill occupied by the whites. Here several wigwams had been
temporarily erected and here two camp-fires had just been started. On a
slight rise of ground lay several bundles of goods which belonged to
the ill-fated pioneers, and not far away several horses and mules were
tethered.
But the gaze of those on the ridge of the hill was not directed to the
Indians, the bundles, or the horses, but to the captives, who were in a
group by themselves not far from one of the wigwams.
The captives were six in number--two women, two girls, and two men, one
of the latter just grown to manhood. Each was bound, and it was plain
to see that each had suffered much since being taken a prisoner.
“I see Cora!” exclaimed Joe in a low voice. “Do you see mother?”
“I do not,” answered Ezra Winship, and the tone of his voice showed
keen disappointment.
“That other girl is Dorothy Reasoner, and the two women are Mrs.
Landrop and Mrs. Gellott,” went on the boy.
“The men are old Hank Kassoway and young Paul Broker, the young fellow
they said looked like you, Joe.”
“Do you suppose they have any other captives, father?”
“There may be some in one of the wigwams, but it is doubtful.”
Word was now passed along that the hunters must be silent, and for
some minutes not a word was spoken.
During that interval several of the Indians were seen to run to the
group of prisoners and bring forward the young fellow named Paul Broker.
In a twinkle the hunting shirt was ripped off the young pioneer and
he was hurled flat on his back on the ground. While he was being held
there by two red men others tied cords to his wrists and ankles and
these were afterward secured to four short stakes driven securely in
the soil.
“They are going to torture that young man!” exclaimed Mr. Winship in
horror.
After the victim was so secured that he could scarcely move some of the
Indians began to dance around him, uttering the words of a wild song
and flourishing their tomahawks and scalping knives. Occasionally one
would leap forward and make a move as if to cut off the nose or gouge
out an eye of the victim.
They thought by this to make the young man cry out in fear and beg
for mercy, but Paul Broker had learned the lesson that the Indian is
merciless when it comes to torturing an enemy and so he remained mute.
The girl and women prisoners shrieked in horror at the scene and,
unable to stand the sight, one woman fainted dead away.
Burning fagots were now brought forward and the Indians prepared to
place them upon the naked breast of the victim. One fagot was held
close to his face, so that his eyebrows were singed.
While this was going on, Boone crawled from one to another of his party
and gave a few hurried directions.
It was now growing dark, and, keeping as much in the shadows of the
hill as possible, the hunters moved over the ridge and down close to
the Indian encampment.
The Indians around Paul Broker were just on the point of placing the
fagots upon the victim’s breast when Daniel Boone gave the order to
open fire.
Crack! crack! bang! went the rifles and shotguns, and at the first
irregular volley three of the Indians were killed outright and five
others badly wounded. In those days powder and ball were scarce, and no
man discharged his weapon unless he was tolerably sure of his aim.
“Forward!” cried Daniel Boone, and led the way, reloading as he ran.
The red men had not yet thrown out their guards for the night and were
taken completely by surprise. As the shots rang out and so many of
their number fell, the others were almost panic-stricken.
“The palefaces! the palefaces!” they cried, and ran for their bows and
arrows and other weapons.
Colonel Boone knew well how to fight Indians and had given instructions
to make as much noise as possible. Consequently the hunters under him
came onward with many loud yells and shrieks, uttered in all sorts
of tones, giving the red men the impression that the attacking party
numbered a hundred or more.
Guns and pistols were discharged and reloaded with all possible speed,
and as the whites drew closer they brought forth their tomahawks and
hunting knives. It was Boone himself who leaped to the rescue of Paul
Broker, closely followed by Mr. Winship and others. Joe ran straight to
his sister Cora.
Realizing that the battle was against them the Indians made but a
feeble resistance, and then those who were able did what they could to
escape across the valley to the hills.
As one tall red man dashed past the captives he aimed a blow with his
tomahawk at Cora. But before the hatchet could reach the girl’s head
Joe swung around the butt of his gun and struck the Indian’s arm a
crushing blow, breaking that member and causing the tomahawk to fall
to the ground.
“Joe! Joe!” burst from Cora Winship’s lips. She could not say more.
Some of the Indians attempted to reach the horses, but were blocked and
two others were shot down. Then the rest ran in all directions, their
only idea being to hide themselves under cover of the coming night.
But the pioneers were thoroughly aroused to the situation, and, under
the leadership of Daniel Boone, those left of the evil band were
hunted not only during the night, but all of the next day. In this
hunt Joe took no part, preferring to do the duty assigned to him and
four others, namely, that of looking after the women and girls and the
horses and goods in the camp. But Ezra Winship went with Boone and his
men, and this following of the red men’s trail resulted in the downfall
of two more Indians and the taking prisoner of the chief, Red Feather,
who had been wounded at the very start of the fight.
In the battle four of the whites had been wounded and one man--a very
old frontiersman named Hollenbeck--was killed. The wounds of those hurt
were not serious and were dressed with care by the women and girls who
had been rescued.
It was a long story that Cora Winship had to tell concerning her
captivity, but it need not be repeated here, for it is very similar to
hundreds of such stories which have already been told. The Indians had
treated her with alternate kindness and harshness, and she had been
given to understand that she was to be taken to some Indian village far
to the northward, along one of the lakes.
“I do not know what has become of mother or of Harmony,” she said.
“Harmony is safe at the fort,” answered Joe. “Do you know what has
become of Clara Parsons?”
“I do not, Joe. We were together at first, but the Indians soon
separated us, just as they separated Harmony from the others. So
Harmony is safe? Well, I am glad to learn that. But poor dear mother!”
And the girl shook her head sorrowfully.
When Mr. Winship came back from the hunt after the fleeing Indians Cora
sprang into his arms with a joyful cry. It was a happy moment for all
despite the fact that the mother and wife was still missing.
The Indian chief, Red Feather, refused to talk when brought in, nor
would any threats induce him to open his mouth.
[Illustration: “HIS GUN STRUCK THE INDIAN’S ARM A CRUSHING BLOW.”--P.
104.]
“The palefaces may do as pleases them,” were his words. “Red Feather,
the mighty chief of the Cherokees, has nothing to say to them.”
But one of the other Indians was not so close-mouthed, and from this
warrior it was learned that the reason Paul Broker had been tortured
was because he had attacked and attempted to kill Long Knife, Red
Feather’s brother chief.
“Long Knife was in a canoe with a white maiden when the paleface shot
him with an arrow,” said the Indian to Daniel Boone, in his native
language.
The old pioneer had heard Joe’s story, and he quickly turned to the
youth and told him what the Indian said.
“That was not Paul Broker, but myself,” said Joe.
“Ha! now we have the truth of it!” cried Paul Broker, who was standing
near. “I told the redskins that I had done nothing of the kind, but
they would not believe me. In the darkness Long Knife probably mistook
Joe for myself.”
As the youth and the young man looked so much alike, this was accepted
as the true explanation of the affair.
“It is lucky we came along as we did,” said Joe to Paul Broker. “If we
hadn’t you would have suffered horribly on my account.”
None of the Indians could tell what had become of Long Knife further
than that he had appeared at the camp badly wounded and that he had
been taken away by two warriors acting under Red Feather’s orders.
“Red Feather and Long Knife are related,” said Daniel Boone. “If either
suffers the other will do what he can to right the injury. Now that
Long Knife has escaped he will probably keep shady until he is well
again, and then he will do what he can to cause us more trouble. But I
have a card I shall play against him.”
“You mean Red Feather?” said Ezra Winship.
“Yes. I shall keep him a captive and notify the Indians for miles
around the fort that if an attack is made Red Feather shall suffer
most horribly for it, but if they keep the peace Red Feather shall
be released at the end of six months and be given half a dozen best
blankets and a fine horse.”
“But what will you do about my wife and the others who are still
missing?” asked Mr. Winship anxiously.
At this Daniel Boone shook his head slowly and thoughtfully.
“I hate to say it, friend Winship, but--but----”
“But what?”
“I am sorely afraid that all of the others who were taken captives are
dead,” answered Daniel Boone.
“Do you really mean that?” cried Joe, with a sinking heart.
“I do. I have tried my best to find some trace of them, but there is
none, and when a redskin refuses to speak on that subject after talking
about all others it is pretty safe to say that the truth is too awful
to mention.”