EUREKA! THE ELDORADO!
"So the boat's brawny crew the current stem
And, slow advancing, struggle with the stream;
But if they slack their hands or cease to strive,
Then down the flood with headlong haste they drive."
--_Dryden_.
It was still early dawn when Hugh Lark reached the hunter's cabin.
Hunter Tom was cleaning his rifle and before the door was a pot of lead
melting o'er a slow fire. A bullet mould was lying near by ready for
use.
"Halloo, Tom!" said Hugh, as he dismounted.
"Good-morning," said the old hunter, a little curtly and yet with some
dignity, for he liked not the unceremonious manner of Hugh, though Hugh
was the only intimate acquaintance he had resident in the neighbourhood.
"Going hunting?"
"No," said the old hunter, a little more friendly. "I was down the creek
and saw some Shawnese."
"Why, ye don't expect a brush with them in these days of peace?"
"I tell ye," said the old man, testily, "those were the enemies of my
father and, peace or no peace, I trust them not unless I have Brown
Bess ready and a quantity of powder and ball nigh at hand," and he
continued his polishing and oiling.
"Well, we have some work and we would like to have ye along, if ye can
go." The old man made room for him on the rude bench, and looked at him
inquiringly. Hugh related the purposed expedition.
"And ye think there is a silver mine, and ye want me to help find it,
and if I do I go fair shares?"
"Aye," and Hugh nodded. "Ye see there are two young chaps, travellers,
prospectors; they say they know ye----"
"Aye! ye mean the English travellers, Mr. Ande and Mr. Dick."
"Well, ye see they are prospectors and know the real stuff when they see
it."
"So they told me," said the old man, nodding.
"Well, we want ye to go along and use your big canoe. I calculate
between your intimate knowledge of the section and their prospecting
science and my divining rod that we can get at the bottom of this.
To-night will be full moon and we would like to start from your place
for up stream about eight o'clock."
"Aye," said the old hunter, but he looked a bit dubious when Hugh
mentioned the divining rod. Hugh was a firm believer in the accuracy of
the rod that he had constructed. It was witch-hazel, curiously carved
and with a bit of silver at the end of it. The principle, according to
Hugh's statement, was like attracted like.
"Well, I'll go," said the old man, after some thought. "I warn ye,
though, to take your guns with ye, for the Shawnese are here."
"Oh, they'll give us no trouble, but we'll take our guns. There may be a
chance of shooting a deer or so," said Hugh as he departed. The old man
shook his head, forebodingly, as Hugh's form disappeared down the trail.
On his way back to Burgtown the pilot met the Shawnese, a full fifteen
in number, great, strong, athletic fellows, but beyond a brief, cursory
"Howdy!" and a glance they passed on.
* * * * *
At about seven o'clock that evening Hugh Lark rode up to the tavern of
Burgtown. Burke, the tavern keeper, met him at the entrance.
"Going rafting, Hugh?"
"No. Air the two strangers here?"
"Been rafting?"
"No. Air Mr. Ande and Mr. Dick here?"
"But ye surely have more rafts to run, Hugh?"
"Ye ken well enou' that I'm not a-going rafting. How could I go rafting
a-horse-back. But perhaps ye think that I can get the gray mare to pull
an oar, and I've no doubt that she could do that, for she has a heap
more sense than some men I know that are not very far from me," said
Hugh, exasperated.
"Yes, the mare has great sense," replied Peter, gazing at the animal
with a bland eye. "I kalkilate you uns air going to find that mine,
Hugh?"
"We are going a-hunting," said the nettled Hugh.
At this moment Ande and Dick came forth upon the long porch, and Hugh's
anger was mollified.
"Are ye ready?"
"Yes," said Ande, and the next moment two horses were led around to the
front by the stable lad and they vaulted into their saddles and prepared
to leave.
"I say, Mr. Ande,"--the tavern keeper had the habit of calling them by
their first names, perhaps from Hugh's custom--"I say, air you uns
a-going hunting fer thet mine?"
Ande gazed at the curious tavern keeper gravely and then responded:
"The primary intention of our nocturnal expedition is to reconnoitre the
situation of the argentiferous fissures indigenous to this locality, the
elucidation of which will be beneficial to us and of salient value to
the community at large."
"Oh, I thought you uns were a-going to find the mine," said Burke,
apologetically, and as they rode off he said, to himself, "Wot
langwidge! wot a scholard! He beats Bill, but,--dang it, if I believe
they're going fishing, though. They hain't no hooks or rods and who ever
hearn tell of a man going fishing with a gun."
So saying, he went within.
The sun had gone down and twilight was creeping on, enveloping the earth
with its soft hazy light, as the three rode over the lower bridge and
o'er the trail to the forks of the creek. The moon was not up, but it
was twilight still when they forded the Big Creek and turned up the
trail to Hunter Tom's cabin. A short distance, and a glimmering light
penetrated the trees and underbrush ahead.
"Some one on the trail," said Dick.
"No," responded the pilot, "'tis a light from Hunter Tom's cabin. The
old man must be getting ready to start."
The light was dimmed by a brighter effulgence beyond. A rim of silver
shoved itself above the neighbouring hills, and then a semi-circular
disc, gradually growing in brightness and flooding hill and ravine with
mellow light. Giant boulders and tree trunks were silhouetted against
its rising disc, and on a tree branch just athwart the centre was,
grotesque and huge, the figure of the lone bird of night--an owl.
"Plenty of light to-night," said Hugh.
"But not more than we need; the search will require all the light we can
get," said Ande.
They arrived at Hunter Tom's cabin and dismounted. The horses were
hobbled and turned out to graze in the clearing. Tom, hearing the noise,
opened the door, and cheerfully welcomed them within. The hunter was
clothed in his customary fringed buckskin and home-made moccasins, but in
his belt, in addition to the usual hunting knife, was a small Indian
tomahawk.
"Why, Tom, one would think ye were on the warpath," said the pilot,
jokingly.
"Aye, and a warpath it may prove," soberly, and then seeing the look of
the pilot concentrated on the tomahawk in his belt: "This tomahawk I
secured in the Indian country of the Ohio in 1812. It is an effective
weapon."
"But surely you don't expect a fight," said Dick.
The old man shook his hoary locks mysteriously and muttered, "The
Shawnese."
By the light of the turnip lamp the pilot brought forth his map and
spread it out on the rough wooden table. The hunter scanned it
approvingly, and then:
"Where did ye get it, Hugh?"
The pilot related his experience with the Canadian Indian, and the
hunter nodded his head as the pilot repeated the Indian legend and
directions.
"I know the place so well that ye have no need of a map."
"Ye ken the place without a map?" said Hugh.
"Aye! haven't I searched for it full eighteen years ago, and ten years
ago, before there was a settler in the region; I hunted until I was
weary. If ye find no more success than I found, ye will have your labour
for your pains. But we can try. The place where we will land is there."
The hunter placed his knotty finger on a portion of the map. All crowded
around the table.
The old hunter's finger was placed on the map at the mouth of a small
stream. A moment passed in silent contemplation.
"And now we must be off if we would do much to-night." The old hunter's
words aroused all to action. A couple of pickaxes, a shovel and a
crowbar, that were in readiness, were shouldered by the pilot, and Dick,
at the hunter's suggestion, took up an old tin lantern, pierced with
holes and having a candle within, to be used in an emergency. The hunter
carefully extinguished the turnip lamp and drawing the door shut behind
him led the way to the canoe. The tools were placed in the stern and
then the pilot, followed in regular sequence by the hunter, Dick and
Ande, took their stations, and soon under the steady sweep of four stout
paddles the canoe, though heavily laden, glided up stream.
The evening was still, save for the cry of some wild bird of night and
the plash of some wavelet breaking on the shelving shore. Trees and
shrubbery, underbrush of the shores, glided by slowly, and were
swallowed up in the obscurity of the regions passed. Here and there with
a skilful sweep of the paddle the pilot changed the course of the canoe
to escape contact with some rock or sunken log. Now and then the hunter
would give a sign of silence, and the paddles in their incessant sweep
would be stilled into inactivity, while the canoe would drift for a
moment until the hand of the pilot in the bow grasped some over-swinging
tree branch and stayed her downward course. A moment of silence, in
which the hunter strained his ears, would ensue, and then with a shake
of the head he would give the sign to proceed. Once he insisted much to
the protests of the pilot of going ashore. They drew in to the heavily
wooded bank and he disappeared with no change on his immovable
countenance. The pilot grumbled to himself at this unnecessary caution.
The old man was in his dotage or had become filled with childish fear,
thought he, and so he informed the others when the hunter was absent.
Who was going to hurt them? Not the settlers, for they were all safe
abed by this time. Not that wandering band of Shawnese. It would be too
perilous for them in these days of peace and in a section already
vacated by their fathers to make room for the settlers. After the first
hour the work of paddling became less arduous, the force of the current
had abated, and they shot into a long stretch of slightly moving water.
"Still Water," said the pilot. "It'll be easy from now on until we reach
some distance above."
"Aye," murmured the hunter; "but it'll not be still for long."
"No sign of rain; the sky up there is so closely studded with stars that
there's not room for a cloud. There'll be no rain, or I'm no pilot.
Haven't I piloted here for years, and before I came to this region I run
as many rafts down the Susquehanna as any raftsman in the State."
The hunter raised his hand as if deprecating the sound of the pilot's
voice, and then said in low tones:
"I have lived in the cabin at the Loop for nigh ten years, and have
tramped these regions before my cabin was built, and I can read the
stream as well as a scholar reads his book. In three hours what we call
the 'Still Water' will be running like a mill race."
The pilot smiled a smile of superior wisdom.
"Look," said the hunter, as he dipped his palm in the water and drew up
a little for the pilot's inspection. "The stream is turbid and
discoloured, the first sign of the coming flood. There has been great
rain at the headwaters. I can see it in the water; I can smell it in
the air."
The pilot's smile left his features and he scanned the bosom of the
Still Water and then:
"There's some truth in that."
"Aye," said the hunter, "and if we would get to the place we must paddle
as strongly as possible. There's the swifter water beyond."
All bent to the paddles again with renewed efforts and the Still Water
was soon passed, and the heavier paddling in the swifter water of the
upper stream followed. Now they were in the shadow of some towering hill
or under the dark tree boughs--that interlaced and formed a dark canopy
overhead; now again the canoe shot out into a flood of pale moonlight.
The latter the hunter disapproved and the pilot, grumbling, changed the
course at times, avoiding the moonlight sections of the stream for the
shadowy regions along the shores. At length the hills receded from the
stream on the right and gave place to a gently rising plain, burdened
with oaks and wild grasses, while the hills to the left seemed to be
higher and more precipitous than those down stream.
"The place is nigh here," said the hunter.
They rested on their paddles for a moment in the shadow of a great
boulder that stayed the downward drift of the canoe. Ande and the pilot
instinctively felt for their maps and tried to refresh their memory in
reference to the directions, but the dim light almost made it useless.
Hunter Tom, in the meantime, was scanning the stream and shores and
seemed to be ill at ease.
"The mouth of the little run is but a dozen rods up stream. Ye can put
away the maps, lads, for I know the place." At the words of Hunter Tom
both Ande and the pilot dropped their maps in the canoe, and all bending
to the paddles while the hunter with his keen sight directed their
movements, they moved on. Then came the babbling, rippling sound of a
little run as it leaped, gurgling with delight, into the stream, like a
child into the arms of its mother. The craft was turned to shore and
soon grated on the pebbly beach. They stepped ashore and stretched their
cramped limbs, while Hunter Tom tied the canoe to a swaying pine, and
then pursuing his directions, they followed up the run. Ten yards up the
run a divided oak was located.
"Now," said the Hunter, as he gazed around uneasily, "fifty yards due
north."
Dick, having a pocket compass, now took the lead, following a course due
north, and in the rear was the pilot balancing his divining rod, while
Ande as closely as possible measured the distance. Hunter Tom, taking
little interest in the affair, seemed to concentrate his attention on
the trees, underbrush and regions around about.
"'Tis here, as near as I can calculate it, that the fifty yards end,"
said Ande.
"And the divining rod says the same, and it tells truth," said Hugh, the
pilot, with a little triumph in his tones.
"My calculations, heretofore, located the spot a bit beyond," said the
hunter, with the first interest he had betrayed since they landed. "Ye
may be right."
Dick and the pilot grasped the pickaxes and set to work with vigour,
while Ande used the shovel and occasionally removed with his hands some
large boulder that impeded their work. The hunter seemed to constitute
himself watchman and was incessantly on guard. The work went on for an
hour, and considerable debris was removed when Dick's pickaxe slipped
from his hands and disappeared from sight. With an exclamation he leaned
forward and found that it had disappeared in an old excavation a few
feet in depth. The excavation was widened and the pilot, leaping in,
began to work with increased vigour. Hunter Tom now became as deeply
interested as the others. It was at a spot that he had not investigated
before. That old excavation must mean something, he thought.
There was the sound of a metallic click as the pilot's implement struck
something hard. With an exclamation of "I've found it," he reached down
and grasped something which he handed up to Ande for investigation. It
was a small tobacco or snuff-box of ancient make.
"Time enough to look at that when we find the ore," said Ande, as he
placed it in his inside pocket. The work was again resumed. The labour
of excavation now became harder and Dick with his great strength took
the pilot's place. At length a peculiar, grey, metallic substance
rewarded their labour. A handful of small cubes and octahedral pebbles
were passed up for inspection.
The tin lantern was lighted and around about clustered the pilot, Dick,
and the hunter, while Ande held the handful close to the flame.
"The grey, metallic lustre looks like silver glance. It may be the
blossom of sulphide of silver or sulphide of lead. We ought to have
daylight for a better examination," said Ande; "now----"
Crack! Crack! Crack!
Crack! Crack! Crack!
There was the whistling of bullets in the trees around them, and
spiteful thuds as leaden missiles flattened themselves against the
rocks. The lantern fell with a crash to the ground, perforated with a
dozen bullets. The candle sputtered and went out.
"Quick!" shouted Hunter Tom. "'Tis the Shawnese. Aye, I feared it."
The pilot grasped his rifle and the prospectors theirs.
"This way! To the canoe!" roared Tom, and slipping from tree to tree,
they reached the landing in breathless haste. Then came a yell that
echoed through the hills, a yell--hellish and replete with rage.
Trusting in their numbers, scorning concealment and fearing their
victims would escape, the Shawnese charged after them. At the landing
there was a sanguine scene, and now it was that old Tom showed the
experience and skill he had gained in the Ohio region. Stationing
himself behind a tree the old hoary-headed hunter fired, loaded, and
fired again and again, and each time by the yell the bullet had found a
mark. But the Shawnese were now close at hand and a hand to hand
conflict ensued that was savage in the extreme. Hunter Tom seemed to be
possessed with the fury of a madman. The presence of the foes that had
tortured his father seemed to fill him with a wrath that was demoniacal.
With clubbed rifle he beat back the foremost and sent him to the ground,
lifeless, then with a swift turn he flung the useless weapon into the
canoe, and with knife and tomahawk gave blows right and left. Swifter
than a weaver's shuttle the bright weapons flashed in the pale
moonlight. Nor was the hunter alone active in the fray, for Dick--great
Dick, made more effective use of the butt of his gun than the muzzle by
using it as a farmer would his flail. Ande and the pilot, for a time,
had fired from a natural breast-works of boulders along the shore, but
the proximity of the enemy was so close that they, too, were compelled
to resort to the butts of their guns. At one time the pilot was down,
but the dusky face over him went down a moment later under a crashing
sweep of Ande's gun. The desperate valour of these few men was beginning
to tell upon the spirits of their foes. One-third of their number were
upon the ground, dead or helpless. There was a shout and a few
unintelligible words among them, and then, as if in concert, they began
to retreat slowly, followed by the impetuosity of Dick and Ande. Tom
thanked his good fortune then for his understanding of the Shawnese
tongue; he understood their plan to draw them from the shore and to give
chance for two or three skulking forms to gain the rear.
"To the canoe! Back for your lives!" he shouted, and simultaneously
rushed for the shore. Dick and Ande were either too confused by the
yells around them or hard pressed in the conflict to give heed. Not so
the crafty pilot. With instinct he seemed to understand the import of
the retreat, and rushed headlong into the water after the canoe. The
rope by which it was attached had stretched itself to its full length
and the canoe had edged out by the force of the rising current. He had
almost reached it when a shot rang out from the shore, and the pilot,
flinging up his arms, plunged into the muddy tide. Hunter Tom who was
next to him, tried ineffectually to grasp his falling form, but the next
moment the swirling waters bore him away. There was no time for regret.
The canoe was hauled in and Tom in its bow, with knife ready to sever
the rope, looked shoreward for his friends.
Ah! What a scene! A sight that, though it filled the old hunter with
alarm, yet thrilled him with admiration. Ande, apparently deeply
wounded, was on the ground and Dick--did he ever appear so heroic?
Standing head and shoulders above the tall savages, he seemed like a
pine surrounded by scrub oaks. Nor was the giant Cornishman idle for,
like a child's toy, the heavy rifle whirled and whistled around his head
and shoulders. Death lurked in its sweeping circle. Nor was strategy of
any avail. One sought to run in under his guard, while another was
receiving the attack, but the attacking party went down under a terrific
swing, while the stooping, swiftly moving strategist received, the next
moment, a jolt from the end of the gun barrel that was as disastrous as
the blow of the butt. Four had already fallen under those sweeping
blows. Old Tom paused not for an instant. While some occupied Dick's
attention in front, one or two were edging toward the rear, and should
they accomplish their purpose the end was certain. With a cry of "Have
at them," the hunter leaped from the canoe, beat off the skulking forms
in the rear, and then reaching down he grasped the unconscious Ande,
like a father would a child, and hurriedly placed him in the canoe.
"Back, Dick, lad!" he shouted as he pushed out a little from the shore.
Dick heard the call, and with another sweep of his weapon cleared a
broader circle, but the rifle unused to the unnatural strain, broke at
the lock. Flinging the shattered piece in the face of an advancing enemy
he leaped to the shore. Two Shawnese, one a powerful built fellow,
strove to intercept him, but there were other defences.
Crack! A shot rang out from the canoe. It was the trapper's gun that
spoke, and one fell under that unerring aim. Crash! went Dick's great
fist on the countenance of the other, and the dazed Shawnese sat down in
a heap. Hunter Tom could have laughed then and there at the repulse of
the latter, but there was not much time for sentiments of any kind. Dick
had leaped into the stream after the canoe and was pushing toward it
through the swift current. There were a few yells of disappointment on
shore, and then a perfect fusillade of bullets hissed spitefully on the
waters and crashed through the underbrush on the farther shore and
then--like the falling of a forest giant that had felt the biting
steel in its vitals, Dick fell. He struggled for a moment to reach the
hunter's outstretched hand and then sank, and the swift current, now a
roaring turbulent, gyrating mass, swelled to foaming madness by the rain
at the headwaters, whirled his great body under the bellying bow of the
canoe--and he was gone from sight.
With a quick sweep of the knife Hunter Tom cut the rope, and the canoe,
freed, bounded away on the surface of the flood like a thing of life.
Carefully pillowing Ande's head on his rolled up wamus in the rear, he
lay down in the bow and with one hand over the gunwale, holding the
paddle, he sought to guide the swiftly floating craft, while with his
head slightly raised he kept a keen lookout for the bodies of Dick and
the pilot. The Shawnese kept up a running fire on shore for the distance
of a half a mile, when the fire slackened, and evidently the swiftness
of the current and the gloom cast by the heavy foliage overhead had
caused pursuit to be abandoned. The Still Water was reached and the aged
hunter perceived with grim satisfaction that his prediction had come
true. What was some hours before a still, softly flowing body was now a
rollicking, turbulent mass that glowed with a yellow, dunnish hue in the
moonlight. Onwards bounded the canoe, the hunter guiding it with
unerring hand, now avoiding a towering rock, now bending with the full
power of his muscles to guide the craft around a sharp bend in the
stream. Fear of pursuit having long been left behind, he had arose to a
sitting posture, and was lending to the onward force of the current the
might of his own arms. No vessel ever scudded before a gale faster than
the canoe on that eventful night. Once the sole, lone canoeist thought
he saw the body of Dick floating before him on the surface of the tide
and he redoubled his efforts to overtake him. The object was reached,
but proved but a piece of driftwood, darkly dappling the yellow flood.
With the first feeling of relief that he had experienced that night he
saw the winding course of the Loop before him. Once more the paddle was
brought into vigorous requisition, and then with a sigh of relief he
turned the prow toward shore and the keel grated on the shelving beach.
Tenderly he lifted Ande from the stern and laid him on the sward, then
turning to the canoe he lifted it bodily from the water and, taking it a
few yards inland, hid it securely in the underbrush. Then returning to
his unconscious companion he carried him to his cabin home. Knowing that
he dared not leave his wounded friend, and yet wishing to arouse the
citizens of Burgtown, he went without, unhobbled the horses, and with a
smart blow sent each galloping home to town. This done he returned to
the cabin, barricaded the house, both window and door, loaded his rifle,
and feeling secure, turned to resuscitate the wounded man. With a
woodsman's skill he laboured through the long hours of the night until
the dawn appeared, examining, with muttered commentations.
"Ah, a wound in the arm. It could not have been the last. A brave young
man and fought like an old Indian fighter. Aye, another wound in the
leg; 'tis only a flesh wound and will heal soon or old Tom doesn't know
his art. And here's a slash of a knife in the breast. Ah! 'twas a cruel
stroke, that. But none of them are strong enough to lay such a man out.
He has the strength of a young lion and Tom will bring him through. But
what's this?" In handling the unconscious man's head the hair had fallen
aside and revealed the stroke of a tomahawk or knife. "Zounds! A ghastly
wound that. It must have stunned him." With water taken from an earthen
basin in the corner of the cabin he bathed the wounds, poured in some
healing lotion and bound them up with a rude skill. Then, having poured
a little brandy down his throat, he began to chafe his hands and wrists
until, with the glimmering light of dawn, the light of consciousness
returned.
"Where am I?"
"Safe here in my cabin, lad."
"And Dick and the pilot?"
"They are gone, my lad, the Lord knows where," answered the old hunter,
and with his eyes glistening with tears he related the closing scenes of
the fight, and how Dick and the pilot were shot and swallowed up in the
flood.
"Poor Dick--I have lost in him the pearl, and my dream is fulfilled."
He sank back in weariness and closed his eyes. Suddenly the wounded man
started to a sitting position and whispered with excited face:
"The Shawnese. Don't you hear them, Tom, Hunter Tom? They are stealing
through the woods and around the house. I hear them. Give me a gun, and
we'll defend the cabin."
The effort was too much, and he sank back again on the couch of
deerskins in a semi-conscious condition.
Tom, too, had heard something, but it was not the tread of Indians. The
next moment there was a shout without and the clatter of approaching
horses' feet. 'Twas the settlers.