Earnestly and with anxious faces the settlers discussed the chances of
the coming war.
With one voice Colonel Boone was selected as the commander of the
station.
Messengers were dispatched to warn the neighboring settlements.
Then Boone, taking Kenton and Lark aside, suggested that they should
make a scout into the Shawnee country and discover, if possible,
against which settlement the Indian attack would be directed.
The suggestion suited well with the bold and daring spirit of the
border, and both Kenton and Lark gladly expressed their willingness to
accompany the skillful and daring woodman.
Boone gave Jackson a hint as to his intention, and then the three left
the settlement and entered the forest, heading toward the Ohio.
Reaching the river, Lark drew from a little tangled thicket near the
river’s bank a canoe. He had previously hidden it there when he had
crossed the Ohio on his way from the Shawnee country to Point Pleasant.
By means of the canoe the three crossed the river. On the northern bank
they concealed the canoe in the thicket, and then, striking to the
north-west toward the Scioto river, they plunged into the wilderness
and took the trail leading to the villages of the Shawnee nation.
On through the tangled thickets went the three rangers, all their
senses on the alert to discover traces of the hostile red-skins.
After many a weary hour’s march, the three came near to the village of
Ke-ne-ha-ha.
Then they proceeded with increased caution. As yet they had not seen a
single trace that denoted the presence of the Shawnees.
The scouts were now within some two miles of Chillicothe, where
Ke-ne-ha-ha’s village was located.
Then Boone called a halt.
“Now, boys,” said the leader, “we are nigh to the red devils, an’ we
must be careful or we’ll stumble upon some of ’em afore we knows it.
I think our best plan is to find some hiding place to serve for a
head-quarters, and then, separately, after dark, we’ll scout into the
village, an’ maybe we’ll be able to discover some of the plans of the
red varmints.”
“I know just the place for us,” said Lark. “We’re nigh to it, too.”
Then Lark piloted the way through the forest--the three had been
standing by the bank of the Scioto--and at last halted by a huge oak
tree, at the base of which grew a tangled mass of bushes.
“Hyer’s the spot,” said Lark, pointing to the tree.
“Whar?” asked Boone, who could not perceive any hiding-place except it
was in the branches of the oak.
“Hyer.”
Then Lark parted the tangled bushes with his hand. Boone and Kenton
saw that the trunk of the oak was hollow. It contained a cavity, fully
large enough to afford a secret refuge to the three, and the bushes
closing behind them after they had entered the hollow oak completely
concealed them from sight.
“This hyer is an old hidin’-place o’ mine,” said Lark, as they stood
within the hollow. “I diskivered it one day when I shot a b’ar nigh
hyer. The b’ar made for this bit of bush. He had his den in this very
tree-trunk. I followed him up an’ that’s the way I diskivered it.”
The shade of night was now fast descending upon the earth, and darkness
was vailing in the forest and river with its inky mantle.
“Now, we’ll scout into the village,” said Boone; “we’ll meet hyer ag’in
in the morning--that is, if the savages don’t captivate us.”
“Agreed,” responded the two others, and then all three left the hollow
oak.
With a silent pressure of the hand they separated, each one picking out
a path for himself, but all tending in the direction of the village of
Ke-ne-ha-ha.
The three hunters had been gone some ten or fifteen minutes when a dark
form stood by the oak.
He plunged his eyes carefully into the darkness that surrounded him, as
if fearful of being watched.
At last, apparently satisfied that no human eye looked upon his
movements, carefully and cautiously he separated the bushes in front
of the oak, and entered the hollow space within the tree. The bushes
closed with scarce a rustle behind him.
The insects of the night who had been disturbed and awed to silence by
the tread of the light foot, that prowled so cautiously along the dim
aisles of the forest, began again their nocturnal cries.
The tree-toads cried, and the crickets chirruped. The air seemed full
of life. The owl--the minion of the night--came forth from his perch in
the tree-trunk. The young moon, too, rising, cast its silver sheen over
the forest.
Then again, suddenly, the voices of the night sunk into silence,
for, forth from the hollow of the oak, that the three daring scouts
had selected for their rendezvous, came the dark figure that but a
few minutes before with stealthy steps had stolen beneath the leafy
branches. It was evident that the secret of the hollow tree was known
to another than the scouts.
Cautiously through the forest stole the dark form. The tree-toad hushed
its cries; the cricket noiselessly crept to his hole; the owl peered
forth from its cavity in the tree-trunk, and then with its great eyes
shining with fear, shrunk back within the darkness of its lair, when it
caught sight of the dark form that so silently glided amid the trees.
On went the dark form through the forest. All living things seemed to
shrink from it in horror.
The moonbeams, slanting down and tinging the green of the forest top
with rays of silvery light, fell upon the figure as it glided through a
little opening in the woods.
The moonbeams defined the figure of a huge gray wolf, who walked erect
like a man, and who had the face of a human. The dark form held in its
paw an Indian tomahawk.
The moonbeams were gleaming upon the Wolf Demon, the terrible scourge
of the Shawnee tribe.
On through the forest went the hideous form, almost following in the
footsteps of the scout, Kenton, who had little idea of the terrible
creature that lurked behind him.
Boone had selected the bank of the river as his pathway to the village
of the Indians.
Carefully the ranger proceeded onward.
As he approached near to the Shawnee village, he could hear the sound
of the Indian drums and the war-cries of the warriors.
From the sounds Boone easily guessed that the Indians were preparing
for the war-path.
Boone reached the edge of the timber. Before him lay the village of his
deadly foes.
A huge fire was burning before the council-lodge in the center of the
village, and the warriors were dancing around it.
“Look at the red devils!” muttered Boone, who from the convenient
shelter afforded by a fallen tree, just on the edge of the timber,
could easily watch the scene before him. “They’re pantin’ to redden
their knives in the blood of the whites.”
Then the scout counted the Indians who were dancing around the fire,
and the others who were either watching the scalp-dance, or lounging
leisurely around the village. The number of the red-men astonished the
borderer.
“Jerusalem!” he muttered, “thar’s a tarnal heap of them. I judge
they’ll take the war-path soon.”
Then a squaw, with a gourd in her hand, evidently going to the river
for water, left the village and came directly toward the spot where
Boone was concealed.
The alarm of the hunter was great.
“Dod rot the luck!” he muttered, in disgust, “why on yearth don’t she
go straight to the drink, cuss her! She’ll come plumb down on me if she
keeps on, an’ then she’ll raise the village with her squalls.”
The squaw, who was quite a young girl, and very handsome, came directly
on toward the ambush of the spy.
Then Boone saw that she was followed by one of the Indian braves.
The great hunter began to feel extremely nervous. In truth, unless the
squaw changed her course, his position was one of real peril.
“They’ll lift my ha’r if that blamed squaw diskivers me, sure,” he
muttered, in consternation.
The girl paused for a moment.
The heart of the hunter beat quick with hope.
“Now go to the river, you durned red-skin,” he said. It is hardly
necessary to remark that the observation was not intended to reach the
ears of the girl.
But the squaw hadn’t any intention of going to the river. The gourd
carried in her hand was simply an excuse to leave her wigwam.
When the girl found that the young brave--whom in reality she had
stolen forth to meet--was following her, she continued on her course,
which led directly to the fallen tree, behind which Boone was concealed.
“Oh, cuss the luck!” he muttered, in despair. “I wish she was at the
bottom of the Scioto. If she diskivers me thar’ll be a row. I’m in for
it like a treed coon.”
The girl, now satisfied that her lover had seen her leave the wigwam,
and conscious that he understood her motive, approached the tree and
sat down upon the trunk.
The young brave carelessly, so as not to excite the attention of the
other Indians, if any of them had chanced to see him, strolled toward
the thicket. Reaching it, concealed by the shadow cast by the forest
line, he took a seat upon the fallen tree by the side of the squaw.
Boone hardly dared to breathe, lest he should betray his presence to
the twain. The scout was in a trap from which he saw no escape.