AN ALARM.
The English were exultant over the victory won by their champions,
while the Scotch-Irish claimed, as they well could, that the best shots
had been made by two of their competitors. If decided upon the real
merits of the match, they believed the championship belonged to them.
Still, that was not exactly according to the rules of the trial, which,
it could now be seen, had not been made so as to obtain the fairness
intended. The truth was, no one had anticipated such marksmanship among
the young rivals.
With the contest of the youthful members over, talk concerning the
trial among the men speedily put the other in the background, except to
a few. If excitement had run high before, it was evident it would reach
boiling pitch this time, and the more timid began to tremble for the
result.
As in the other match, representatives were to be chosen for each side,
the difference being that only three were to participate from each
party this time. But in order to satisfy others who were desirous of
showing their skill, a third trial was to be had, in which all were to
be allowed to take part in a sort of off-hand shooting.
Knowing his unerring skill with his rifle, it was natural the
Woodranger should be urged by both sides to champion their cause. But
the forester was wise enough to see that it would be better for him, if
not for the rest, to keep in the background.
“Such doings may be well and fitting for lads, but it seems to me a
grievous waste o’ powder for ol’ men to be shooting at a stave. No good
can come o’ it. It’s the unwritten law o’ natur’ that men should war
on the wild creatur’s o’ the forest, and if they must, it is enough to
burn their powder for the helpless and innocent that cannot speak for
themselves. The lads have made a good showing, if I do say it. When the
war-whoop o’ the red man is heard again in our midst, as it is sartin
to be at no distant day, it shows we shall have bonnie boys to take our
places. No; these doings ain’t to my consarn. I may have a knack at
drawing bead on the buck or the b’ar, or the red man if he crosses my
path, but I do not believe in wanton waste o’ powder. Besides, I’m no
man’s inimy. The wild, boundless forest is my free domain, and the good
Lord gave it to me as neutral ground.”
These words, spoken in his deliberate, impressive way, emphasised with
a shake of the head, convinced the others that it was useless to urge
the forester further to enter the match. But if he would not become a
principal in the proceedings, would he not act as manager? Finally,
with great reluctance, seeing what no one else foresaw, that an open
rupture was imminent before the affair was well over, he consented to
accept the responsible part. He did this more in the hope of averting a
crisis than for any other reason.
The distance for the men was to be the same as for the boys, but with
the former only bull’s-eye shots were to count, except in case no one
should hit the centre, when the nearest shot would be considered. After
one round at the target, a trial at a living mark by the successful
ones was to end the matter.
It soon proved that the men were more unreasonable than the boys had
been, and more competitors wished to enter than were called for. It
required all of the tact at the command of the Woodranger to select
those who should enter the competition. In the midst of his perplexing
duties, Zack Bitlock, still barefooted and dishevelled in appearance,
pushed his way forward to the forester’s side, saying, in his peculiar
tone:
“Ef yit’s all th’ same to ye, Ranger, I want the taking o’ yer rifle
a leetle bit. I thought mebbe I sh’uld wanter be in th’ shoot at
live things, an’ yit mought be prudent fer me to try th’ iron a bit
aforehand, seein’ yit’s new to my hand, an’ Frinch, too.”
Woodranger paused in his work, to gaze on the speaker fully a minute
before he replied:
“Sich a request passes my comprehension, seeing a man’s rifle is the
last thing he should surrender. I remember when I was with that brave,
but misguided man, Cap’n Lovewell, that a red man asked that same
question o’ me. It may be he lacked your politeness about it, for the
ways o’ a red man ain’t the ways o’ a white man, and something must be
’lowed for the difference. Well, as I was saying, when I interrupted
myself, the red man asked, in his way, for my rifle. I ’lowed Old
Danger to answer for himself. I reckon the red was satisfied with the
reply, for he never repeated his request. No, Bitlock; I will give the
last crumb o’ dried bread or the last shred o’ venison in my wallet to
a suffering fellow man; but my rifle, never! I would not do that for
my brother, had I been blessed with sich. A man’s rifle is a part o’
himself.”
“Put the Puritan fool off the ground!” cried a brawny Presbyterian,
starting forward, as if to carry out his threat. This aggressive action
instantly called forth decisive opposition, and the rash speaker was
seized and rudely flung to the earth. The spark which alone had been
needed to set fire to the combustible natures of the rival factions had
been unwittingly applied. Words and blows lie near together.
Seeing the inevitable result, the Woodranger was about to appeal to
the hot-headed leaders, when a most unexpected turn was given to the
situation. It was so sudden and startling as to carry a new terror to
every heart.
A newcomer appeared upon the scene,――a young boy, bare-headed,
bare-footed, and so nearly exhausted from long running that he could
scarcely get his breath. Facing the wondering crowd a moment, he
finally managed to utter the single word:
“_Fire!_”
There are few words in the language of man which carry greater terror
with them than that monosyllable, and the personal differences of
the spectators were quickly forgotten, as every one waited for the
explanation expected.
Seeing the boy was going to fall, Captain Goffe sprang forward to catch
him in his arms. After a brief rest the young messenger aroused enough
to say:
“There is a fire in the pines above Lund’s. It’s going like the wind
toward Benson’s house. It’s licking up everything before it. They sent
me to tell you here, and I ran as fast as I could.”
A forest fire at that season was always a source of danger, and this
one, beyond the control of those who had set it, meant more than
the usual peril. Several homes were menaced, to say nothing of the
threatened loss in other ways. It was perhaps fortunate that a part of
those homes in danger belonged to Scotch-Irish people, who had settled
in the vicinity of Cohas, for that would surely enlist them in fighting
the flames. Of course the shooting-match was instantly abandoned. All
feelings of animosity quickly put aside, the two factions, as one, ran
down the road toward the scene of the conflagration.
Now that their attention had been turned in that direction, huge
columns of black smoke could be seen rising above the tree-tops, and
some declared they could hear the crackling and rumbling of the flames.
In a little more than a minute after the news had reached them every
person had left the grounds about the target pine, so swiftly did one
and all awaken to their duty.
Norman had been talking with Robert Rogers and Johnny Goffe when the
announcement came, and they were among the foremost in the rush for the
scene of the fire.