TALL TODD’S WARNING.
Having gotten a drink of water, as he had set out to do, Jerome quietly
returned to his room. He told Kingdom what had happened and they wisely
determined to sleep with one eye open. This they did, their trained
senses ready to detect the first unusual sound, but nothing occurred to
disturb them, and even Ring, their faithful dog, sleeping beside the
bed, showed no sign of uneasiness.
“Mr. Duff and Mr. Dexter ain’t up yet,” the landlord explained, as he
set out a scanty breakfast for the boys, when morning came. But the
young friends made no comment, and though the man stood around hoping to
hear some expression from them as to what they thought of the worthy
pair of whom he spoke, his curiosity was unsatisfied.
An almost perfect autumn day followed the stormy night. The sky was
flecked with clouds, but between them the sun shone bright and cheery
and a soft, warm wind aided in drying the muddy roads. The young
emigrants, safely on their way once more, were in the best of spirits.
They talked at length of the strange actions of the men at the Eagle
tavern, and although they could reach no satisfactory conclusion as to
the meaning of the piece of frayed paper the fellows had had, they
attached not a great deal of importance to it—far, very far, less than
it deserved, as they were destined in time to learn.
A long journey lay before these two boys, whom readers of “Far Past the
Frontier” will have recognized as Return Kingdom and John Jerome, on
their way once more to the wilderness beyond Fort Pitt or Pittsburg. Six
months earlier they had left their little cabin in the forests to return
to their home in Connecticut. In company with them was Big Pete Ellis,
whom they had rescued from the Indians, he and Return having escaped
together from a band of Mingoes, who, headed by a Delaware Indian, Big
Buffalo, had attacked the boys’ cabin and after a desperate fight
captured Kingdom. Also with the lads when they went back to Connecticut,
it will be remembered, was Tom Fish, the woodsman whose friendship they
had formed on their first trip West, and Arthur Bridges, Tom’s friend,
who was a cousin of Nesbit, the outlaw. Bridges had suddenly appeared
one evening at the cabin, and as it had been believed that he was dead,
there was great rejoicing. Gladly he had gone with Tom Fish and Kingdom
and Jerome to Connecticut where for years his mother had been living
upon the hope that he would sometime return.
It was in May that the boys and their friends had gone from the savage
country where they had built their cabin; and now having worked as
harvest hands during the summer, they were headed once more for the land
of the Delawares, their cart packed with a well selected stock of
supplies for their own use and a variety of articles for trade with the
Indians.
On their previous venture, when they had first set out to make homes for
themselves in the new country, the two friends had done well as traders;
and though this time they meant to give more attention to clearing land
for farms, they knew that the Indians would receive them more kindly if
they came with merchandise to exchange for furs, while they would be
quite unwelcome if they came only as settlers. Such at least, had been
their former experience and, notwithstanding the trouble they had had
with the Mingoes and Big Buffalo, they hoped to have no further
difficulty, as Hopocon, or Captain Pipe, as the white men called him,
the chief of the Delawares, had promised his protection when they had
paid him for the land on which they built their cabin.
Indeed, they were certain that Big Buffalo would not have dared lead the
Mingoes against their cabin, had it not been that Captain Pipe and most
of his warriors had gone to the far northwest for fighting which was
expected to take place there.
From Connecticut to Ohio in these days is not a very long journey. It
was different in the year 1791 when Return Kingdom and John Jerome were
making the trip over rough roads, through the forests and an almost
unbroken wilderness, constantly growing wilder, as they progressed, and
the way more dangerous, especially after passing Pittsburg. Steadily,
however, they continued on. The weather was for the most part pleasant,
and though the evenings were cool, blazing camp fires gave all the
warmth desired.
Only one night after leaving the Eagle tavern did the boys spend under
roof, for there were few inns along the way and as the borders of
civilization were left farther and farther behind, none whatever. No
adventure of importance befell them, however, until they reached
Pittsburg, then a rough frontier hamlet built up about the fort from
which it took its name. They had learned the road on their previous
journey, and though a number of mishaps had occurred, including a hard
fall John had had from a great rock he climbed in hope of getting a shot
at a bear which had trotted across the rough trail some distance ahead
of them, none of these were serious.
And thus, in the late afternoon of a hazy October day the young men
drove slowly into the frontier settlement which would be the last sign
of civilization they expected to see for a long time to come.
It might be years before they would return to Connecticut again. Return
Kingdom, being an orphan, who had known no home except as the bound boy
of Henry Catesby, had few near friends there. Mrs. Catesby and her
daughter, Mary, had been very kind to him after Mr. Catesby’s death, but
they were now living in town that Mary might attend school. Captain
William Bowen, an old friend, was the only other person, unless it was
Pete Ellis, who cared much about him, he thought. Why should he wish to
return? There was only one other tie to bind him to Bruceville, his
boyhood home. His mother’s grave was in the little churchyard there. She
had been dead a long time, but he loved her memory. His father, killed
in the Revolutionary war, he had never known.
As for John Jerome, he was one of a large family. His father was poor.
Their little farm would scarcely support them all and work was scarce.
That he would be missed John knew, but he also knew that his chances of
getting along—of making something of himself—were better in the newer
country. He would go home some day to visit, surely, but he had set out
to make his own way, and it might be years before the opportunity again
to see those he loved, would come.
Maybe both boys were thinking of the friends left behind, as very
soberly they drove into Pittsburg. Their heavy, covered wagon drawn by
one strong horse attracted no little attention as they passed down the
main street of the rough, stockaded town of brick and log buildings, and
with the easy familiarity of the early times many called out to them in
a friendly, hospitable way to ask whence they came and whither they were
going. There were words of astonishment, and grave shaking of heads when
the travelers answered that they were bound for the unbroken West. Said
one man in a worn-out soldier’s uniform:
“You’ll be safe enough if you go down the river with some big party, but
you’ll be scalped, sure, if you go toward Sandusky Plains, as you say.
Why, there’s terrible times! General St. Clair left Fort Washington not
six weeks ago to march into that country and there’ll be murderin’ an’
scalpin’ to beat all get out! St. Clair was here in the spring, an’ all
summer long he has been recruitin’ at Fort Washington for the biggest
kind of fightin’; an’ it’s bound to come just as soon as he gets into
the Redskins’ country. He’s got two boys o’ mine with him—young fellers
’bout same age as you, but I ain’t worried half like I would be if they
was goin’ off by themselves, not a hundred miles west o’ here!”
As the boys drove up to the public house where they had stopped on their
former trip to the West, they were recognized by a number of men seated
on a split log bench just outside, smoking their pipes.
“Thunder an’ lightnin’! Where ye goin’?” exclaimed one of the loafers, a
great, lanky fellow known as Tall Todd, as Kingdom and Jerome, rather
enjoying the excitement their appearance caused, stepped up to shake
hands with their acquaintances.
“Goin’ back to yer cabin beyond old Fort Laurens? By jinks, ye ain’t!
It’s sartin death to both of ye. Wasn’t ye both purty near murdered an’
one of ye purty near burned to the stake? D’ye s’pose them Mingoes will
hev forgot that ye killed three or four of the war party at yer cabin?
D’ye s’pose that Big Buffalo devil will hev forgot his grudge ag’in ye?
By jinks! a Redskin don’t never fergit these things! Fellers, we had all
orter be hung fer murder if we let these young shavers throw their lives
away, this here way!”
The vehemence with which Todd spoke, refusing to be interrupted, though
both Kingdom and Jerome tried to break in on his exclamations, caused
the boys some uneasiness; not so much for fear of their safety beyond
the border, as for the possibility that their friends would be
unpleasantly insistent that they must abandon their trip. They realized
that their undertaking was hazardous, but they relied on their ability
to make peace with the Indians as they had done before, and they were
certain that if Captain Pipe, the Delaware Chieftain, were in his
village, a few miles from which their cabin stood, Big Buffalo would not
dare attack them again. When their horse had been led away to the
stable, and all were seated before the door of the house which did duty
as tavern, the young men explained these things to Tall Todd and the
others.
“What was Tom Fish an’ Bridges doin’ that they let ye come ’way off here
by yerselves?” suddenly asked Todd, who had been shutting his eyes and
mouth tight, and shaking his head most emphatically, in answer to
everything the boys had said.
“Oh, they said to wait until winter and they would come with us. But we
did not agree to that, and as they lived so far away, we did not see
them again. It was in July that we saw them last. When we got ready, we
started. If they had come it would have been only for a little hunting,
and we were afraid they would think they were obliged to go with us, if
we sent them word.”
“It was only last week that a white man was found dead and scalped just
beyond old Fort McIntosh,” said an elderly man, quietly. “About a month
ago a chap named Keaton was tomahawked and his scalp taken, not a day’s
march from this very spot. Both were killed in a mysterious way, too—one
shot from ambush, the other attacked while he was cooking himself a
meal; and he never knew what hit him, from all appearances, they say. It
looks mighty bad. I’ve been through the woods a good many times, and I
don’t get scared at my shadow, but honest to goodness I mean it, when I
say that I wouldn’t care to go a great ways into the Ohio country alone,
now.”
“By jinks, it is queer how them two fellers was killed, ain’t it?” put
in Tall Todd. “An’ it jest reminds me o’ ol’ man Crane that was killed
the same way four days after he left here for the Moravian settlement.
Nobody knew how, nor nothin’. Ye remember some fellers comin’ up river
picked up his carcass. Not a thing he had was touched. Only his bullets
an’ powder was gone—an’ his hair. His gun an’ knife—everything else was
layin’ jest as he fell!”
“Well, who did it?” demanded John Jerome, quite abruptly.
“That’s jest it! Who did it?” Todd answered.
“There’s a story told,” said the quiet, elderly man, “that a Redskin who
got away at the time of the massacre of the Christian Indians at the
Moravian settlement, ten years ago, come next March, has lately come
back to these parts and kills every white man he sees, on sight. A
couple of hunters and traders coming in here from Kentucky told the
tale. We don’t know how true it is.”
“There ain’t nothin’ of it, I’ll bet a gun,” said Todd. “I’ve heard the
yarn, an’ it don’t stand to reason. ’Cause as you jest said, Eli, the
Moravians was killed ten years ago, come March, an’ that score was all
settled when Crawford was burned. An’ right there, youngsters, is
somethin’ to put in yer nightcaps, when yer countin’ on the friendship
of that ornery Delaware, Captain Pipe, by jinks! He was one of the
critters that burnt Colonel Crawford!”
“Yes, we knew that before we ever met him,” said Kingdom cheerfully,
lest his friend Jerome should be depressed by these alarming reports.
“I only started out to say that the killin’ of the Moravians was so long
ago, that it ain’t likely any Injun has just now started out to hunt
scalps and satisfaction on account of it,” Todd replied, somewhat taken
back by the young traveler’s cheery reply to his doleful warning against
Captain Pipe.
The sun had gone down as the men and boys were talking and now the
guests at the place were called to supper. Only one of those who were
sitting outside arose and went in with the boys. The others, being there
only as loungers, remained where they were or went to supper elsewhere.
The man who accompanied Kingdom and Jerome to the table had little to
say, but ate of the roast venison and corn bread which was placed before
them, silently. He was a genteel appearing person, of about sixty years,
wearing a wig and a riding suit of fine texture. His smoothly shaven
face bore marks of refinement though there was a certain look of
dissipation about him. He had not spoken outside and the two boys had
not learned his name or business, though they knew from his sombre dress
that he was a Quaker.
“I tell you, Ree, the stories of those chaps being killed so
mysteriously bothers me more than anything else,” said John Jerome to
his friend. “Honestly, I would think Ichabod Nesbit was still alive,
shooting at people from behind, and all that, if I didn’t know
positively that Black Eagle killed him.”
The stranger at the opposite side of the table gave a sudden start,—a
start as if an unseen hand had struck him on the back, as the name of
Nesbit was mentioned. He cast a quick, intent look toward the two young
friends, and perceiving that his agitation had been noticed, put his
hand before his mouth and coughed violently, plainly trying to make
believe that some obstruction of his throat caused his sudden
disturbance.