THE CABIN BY THE RIVER.
With anxious haste John began tearing away the brush from over the heap
of stones which, he was now certain, covered all that remained of the
body of Ichabod Nesbit, the outlaw, whom Black Eagle, the Indian, had
killed a year before.
“You remember Black Eagle’s telling us that he placed stones on Nesbit’s
body, don’t you?” he asked of Ree, who was working more quietly, but no
less industriously than himself. “‘Put stones on him and Great Spirit
never find him,’ he said, you know.”
Ree did remember these words of the Indian, but he was thinking of
something else, and said:
“We can hunt here all day, John, and we will find the bones of Nesbit
under this pile of stones and brush, I’m sure; but the other half of
that letter is not here. I’ll tell you where it is, though. I’ll bet a
coonskin cap the chaps we saw at the Eagle tavern have it.”
“I remember! You mean that piece of paper or letter, or whatever it was,
that they were so afraid I’d see!”
“And don’t you recollect how curious they were to know all we could tell
them of Nesbit, and how he was killed, but especially where? As sure as
shootin’ they have one half of that paper telling where some one buried
a fortune, and they must have known that Ichabod Nesbit had the other
half! Why, it is as plain as day!”
Five minutes later the boys had completely uncovered the bones of a man.
That they were those of their one-time enemy, Ichabod Nesbit, there
could be no doubt. John recognized the remnants of a blue homespun shirt
which Nesbit had worn, but Ree clinched the matter by making the
discovery that the skull of the skeleton was missing. For they recalled
how Black Eagle had journeyed to this western country and carried away
the skull to convince another Indian that he had really killed Nesbit.
“It’s too bad,” said Ree, quite sorrowfully. “Nesbit might have been a
prosperous man if he had but used his gifts in the right way. And here
he lies!”
“Thunderation! He would have killed us, if Black Eagle hadn’t killed
him,” John broke out, almost indignantly.
“But we ought to give his bones as decent a burial as possible, ’way off
here; that is what I was thinking of,” Ree made answer. “Yet, we haven’t
time to do it now. Our friend up there may have taken a delirious spell
and fallen out of the cart before we get back, as it is.”
Meanwhile the boys were searching the ground about the skeleton
carefully. They found nothing, however, and rightly judged that Black
Eagle had taken all of Nesbit’s property which was in sight, for which
he cared, at the time he killed the man.
The manner in which their dog had chanced to find the snuff box—the one
thing which had not been carried away—was plain. It had fallen away from
the rotted clothing still clinging to the bones, at which unknown
animals had been gnawing, and was brought to light when Ring tried to
get at these burrowing creatures in their holes.
Returning the stones and brush to the position in which they had found
them, but agreeing to return some day and bury the skeleton properly,
Ree and John lost no time in hastening back to their camp. The mystery
of the snuff box and the writing in it had been partially solved, and
now their thoughts were again chiefly of reaching their long-deserted
cabin as speedily as possible.
Within an hour after their discovery of the lonely, last resting place
of Ichabod Nesbit’s body, they were again making their way farther and
deeper into the wilderness, one of whose manifold gloomy and terrible
secrets had that morning been revealed to them. They little knew at that
time what others were in store.
The young emigrants were now not a great deal more than one day of
successful traveling distant from the little log house on the bluff
above the Cuyahoga river, which had been, and was again to be, their
home.
“We don’t want to get there at dark, but should have plenty of time to
look about us and get beds fixed up, and all that, when we do reach the
shanty,” John Jerome told his chum. “We better go just as far as we can
to-day, and then maybe we can reach our house by noon to-morrow.”
Ree accepted the suggestion as a good one, and, though they did their
best for the sick man in the cart, Theodore Hatch, had he been possessed
of his senses, would have said he had a pretty rough ride, as Neb was
urged to the best possible speed over the hilly, densely wooded country
through which the little party was now traveling.
Within a mile or two after leaving camp on this day the boys passed
through the valley where their horse had been shot and killed on their
previous trip into the wilderness. There stood the cart they had had,
practically as they had left it, but presenting a most forlorn
appearance with the rank grass and low bushes growing up all about it.
On examination, however, the weather-beaten vehicle was found to be in
fairly good condition, and the two friends determined that some time
soon they would return for it. Though they were already provided with a
strong, heavy cart, it would be very convenient to have another in case
of accident, and as the abandoned property was their own, there was no
reason why they should not reclaim it.
With the coming of another evening camp was made not more than four
miles, the boys judged, from their destination. They exercised the same
care as before, and one remained up with the wounded stranger and on
guard until morning; but save for the unusually loud howling of a pack
of wolves, finding it harder to obtain food now that winter was coming
on, there was nothing to disturb the lads throughout the night.
John did guard duty from some time after midnight until dawn, and,
taking a little walk not far from camp at daybreak, saw and shot a fine
young deer.
“We will not want to move into our house with an empty pantry,” he
delightedly told Ree, the latter springing up upon hearing the discharge
of the rifle.
John’s elation over the killing of the deer was quite unusual. It was
not that such an occurrence was uncommon or that he had made an
extremely good shot; but this was a very important day to him. To
Kingdom it was the same—the day to which they had looked forward for
many months, and especially during the weeks since they had left
Connecticut; and both were genuinely happy. The weather was cool and
bracing. Most of the trees were bare and every stream was covered with
floating leaves, save where the current was strong enough to sweep them
away. All nature was preparing for winter, and the effect was
invigorating. It made the young pioneers anxious to do the same.
Except for the one Redskin who had shown a hostile disposition, no
trouble with any Indians had been experienced. There was promise that
game would be no less abundant than the previous winter, for the summer
had been favorable. There was a prospect, also, of probably two weeks of
Indian summer in which to get ready for the colder, stormy weather.
Thus were the hearts of the two friends light, and their hopes buoyant,
as they began their last day’s journey. Their progress was excellent,
though the road was through the unbroken forest. Every few minutes they
recognized some spot that they knew, as they drew nearer and nearer to
the home they sought, and so did they come at last, when the sun was
still in midsky, to the top of the hill from which, looking across the
valley to the high knoll rising beside the river, they could see the
cabin they had so hurriedly left six months before.
John was driving. Ree had gone some distance in advance of the cart but
was waiting for it to come up; and as though they read each other’s
thoughts, the two lads went forward together to a point which would
afford them a complete view of the little valley whose natural clearing
they had enlarged in their first work of home building.
Silently they stood side by side and gazed upon the quiet scene. There
was the cabin, seemingly just as they had left it. Between it and them
was the little field of corn they had planted. Indians had carried away
most, if not all, of the grain, it was plain to be seen; but the stalks
remaining showed that there must have been a good yield. To the right
was the little plot of ground which they had ploughed, after a fashion,
for potatoes. The grass and some weeds had so grown up there, however,
that it was impossible to determine at once whether this crop had grown,
and if so, whether the potatoes had been stolen. Squashes and beans had
been planted in the same way, and a closer investigation would need to
be made to discover what had come of the work of the springtime, so far
as these were concerned, also.
All in all the deserted, lonesome look which pervaded the scene made
John blue and melancholy. Quick to notice this, and anxious to dispel
such a feeling in his friend, Ree cheerily said:
“At any rate, John, there is a lot of grass grown up on our farm, and we
will need to cut a lot of it for two horses.”
“It makes me almost homesick,” the other answered with a sigh.
“Fiddlesticks! We’ve got too much to do to be homesick! Wait here and
keep your eye on the cart while I scout over to the cabin. I’ll be back
and help you down the hill, but we want to know that all is serene
before we drive into the open.”
So saying, Ree trotted down the hill, skirted the edge of the forest a
little way, and then, seeing that all was quiet, walked quickly across
the clearing and up the steep slope to the rude little house. An
involuntary, almost imperceptible shudder passed over him as he noticed
at once the deep dents in the heavy door of the cabin, recalled the
attack which Big Buffalo had led upon them, and saw a great dark blot
upon the threshold, which he knew had been dyed there by blood of that
fight.
But putting the gloomy thought from his mind, with a determination such
as he well knew how to exercise, he pulled the latch-string still
hanging out, and pushed open the door. A damp, musty odor greeted him,
and with only a hasty glance inside, and leaving the door open to admit
the fresh air, he turned and hurried across the valley and up the hill
to where John was waiting.
“Keep your eyes wide open, Ree,” Jerome called out as Kingdom came near,
“that sneaking Redskin is not far away!”
As all had been very quiet it was hard to understand what John meant,
but the latter pointed to Phœbe, the wounded Quaker’s mare, as Ree asked
for information, and it was enough. The poor beast was terror-stricken
as when before it had scented that lone savage who had so nearly killed
its master.
“I haven’t seen a thing,” Jerome went on, “but I’ll wager that the mare
is not mistaken.”
As though in emphatic confirmation of John’s words, a rifle sounded and
a bullet sped through the canvas of the covered cart.
In an instant Return Kingdom’s weapon was in readiness. A streak of
darker hue against the background of the trees mid which he was
watching, darted like a shadow between two large oaks. Quick as
lightning the boy fired.
A piercing yell followed Ree’s shot. John, no slower than his companion
to see the flitting form of the Indian, dashing away among the trees,
also fired just as the savage screamed. But there came no answering
bullet or sound.
“I rather guess we got him—one of us,” said John, exultingly. “I never
saw so slippery a heathen, though. He glides along fast as an arrow and
with no more noise. Why, his feet hardly touched the ground!”
Having quickly reloaded his rifle, Ree was watching keenly in all
directions; but when no sight or sound of the wary savage appeared, he
replied to his friend’s remark.
“Slippery as an eel; maybe we _have_ finished him.”
Careful search, however, failed to reveal to the boys any trace of the
Indian whose body John had been quite confident they would find
stretched upon the leaves not far away. As he had done before, the
fellow had disappeared instantly and completely as a puff of thin smoke
in a raging gale.
Considerably disturbed, the lads took their cart and horses down the
hill and into the open space between the forest and the cabin, with the
greatest caution. They had hoped they were quit of their mysterious foe,
and his sudden reappearance, when there had been reason to believe he
was far away, was more than annoying.
“At any rate we will have four good, strong walls between ourselves and
the murderous scamp to-night,” said John Jerome, as they drove up the
hill to the cabin. “It is funny that on our other trip we were
mysteriously shot at in just this way.”
“It is probably the fellow they told us of in Pittsburg,” Kingdom
answered. “I am glad he hasn’t tried to shoot the horses; maybe he will
let them alone. We will have to build a lean-to for them, right away.”
In a few minutes the journey which had taken so long was over. The cart
of the young pioneers was drawn up before the cabin door, and there was
so much to be done in the next hour or two that the prowling Redskin
might have been more successful in his secret attacks than he had yet
been, had he improved the opportunity. Fortunately he did not, and in a
short time a bright fire was driving the chill, damp air from the little
log house, and a bed was fixed up in a snug corner and Theodore Hatch
was carried to it. The horses were watered and tethered near the door,
and a late dinner was prepared by John, while Ree proceeded with the
unloading of the cart.
Though still unconscious and so weak that he could scarcely lift his
hand, his threshing about and calling out in delirium long since over,
no one seemed to feel the change in the situation more than did the
wounded stranger. As was his custom, Ree gave him the best attention in
his power, before eating his own dinner, and as he did so, could not but
notice the change for the better which his patient showed. And he was
not greatly surprised by the greater change soon following.
Sitting astride a chest, a pewter plate between them, the young pioneers
were eating their noonday meal when a groan came from the stranger’s
rude couch. Immediately Ree was at the man’s side to make his position
more comfortable, and John arose to help, if necessary.
Slowly the Quaker’s eyes opened. Slowly there came into them a gleam of
intelligence he had not hitherto shown. Ree stooped to adjust the coarse
pillow under the injured head.
“I fear I have been ill. What place is this, young friend?”
It was the voice of Theodore Hatch, low and weak, but clear and sane. No
sound could have given Return Kingdom or John Jerome greater pleasure
than this indication that their work and worry and constant efforts to
save the life of this man, a stranger, but a human being and brother
white man still, would be rewarded by seeing him recover. But his tones
were so pitifully feeble and his loss of strength so complete, that John
turned away, tears in his eyes.
“You are still sick, and must lie very quiet,” Ree answered the
unfortunate man in a gentle voice. “You are with friends who will do
anything they can for you.”
It seemed to take a full minute for the man’s injured brain to
comprehend what was said to him. At last he seemed to remember what had
happened. There came a look of great alarm upon his face, and in husky,
deeply anxious tones he said, struggling to rise up:
“Hast seen my saddle bags? Where—where are they? Surely—surely—”
“Here they are, all safe and sound,” John answered, as Ree gently bore
the sufferer down on his bed again; and as he felt his property placed
in his hands, the wounded Quaker, holding them with all his remaining
strength, allowed his eyes to close. Soon he slept and it required no
doctor to tell that the crisis had been passed and Theodore Hatch was on
the way to health again.