Gradually, Norton's mind settled out of chaos into order. The girl
was no daughter of Abel Grigg; so much was certain. He felt a hot
anger at thought of her in the hands of such a man. There was no
chance that Grigg had lied to her about the eagle, for his very use
of the term "just a bauble" showed Norton that the backwoodsman had
not known what it was. No man who was a member of the Cincinnati but
reverenced the order and all it stood for, and whenever he thought of
those words Norton felt hot anger thrilling him.
Turning to his own situation, he dismissed the remembrance of Kitty
Grigg for the present. Had her father overheard their conversation?
If so, there was a bare chance of finding trouble waiting near Blue
River. He saw, however, that she had suggested the wisest course to
him. Half an hour later, coming to a fork in the trail, he promptly
turned off to the south.
His best plan now lay in finding the man Red Hugh, of whom Boone had
spoken, and enlisting his services. There might also be a messenger
at Dodd's Tavern, if Ayres kept his word.
Norton perceived very plainly that he had been neatly driven out of
Louisville as a fugitive, but he firmly intended to return
otherwise--for divers reasons. If he was to detect the river-pirates
or whoever formed the band of Blacknose, he must do it by means of
scouting along the river. It might require weeks and months of
arduous work and woods-living, and such a man as Red Hugh would prove
invaluable. Were Boone right in his description of the man who slew
Indians--and Norton knew of too many such to doubt--this Red Hugh
would be more than apt to know all the river-haunts this side the
Mississippi.
"After all," he told himself cheerily, "things seem to have turned
out very well! If Ayres does not forget his promises, we may yet
bring Blacknose to book."
He passed one or two scattered cabins that afternoon, shot a wild
turkey, and camped for the night beside a creek, in perfect content.
In case Grigg had not overheard his plan, he decided to let the man
think he had followed the Tennessee trail; he was not at all sure
that Duval and Grigg were not leagued against him, and knew better
than to trust in the lawyer's seeming apology. Kitty's words rang in
his mind--"If Charles Duval gave you an apology, look to your steps!"
"She knew the breed all right," he reflected, the next morning. "I
should have known better myself. Well, now for the north and west!"
He made no effort to hide his camp. As the creek ran north,
seemingly to the Ohio, he led his horse along its bed for a good
mile, picked hard ground for the emergence, and rode off, leaving a
carefully covered trail. Even were he followed, his pursuers would
be a day or two later, he knew, so before noon he flung off all care
and rode on through the woods.
Another turkey and a small deer fell to his rifle that morning, after
which he wended his solitary way in peace, with meat and to spare.
Stopping at noon, he lighted a small fire and proceeded to smoke
enough of his fresh meat to last for a few days, as he was going on
to the river, where game was thinned out. He had been following no
trail and had seen no one all that morning; the forest seemed
limitless and desolate, empty of all human life.
Norton, however, did not relax his vigilance. While he was engaged
with his meat, he paused suddenly, caught up his rifle, and drew the
feather from the touch-hole. He heard no sound, but he had a subtle
warning that someone was near; before he had unstopped his
powder-horn, the bushes opposite were flung aside and two Indians
appeared.
"How!"
They gazed at him, motionless, with only the single word of peace,
and Norton returned the stare with interest. Both men were dressed
in beaded buckskin; both wore medals and carried Kentucky rifles, and
both were unpainted; the larger man was strikingly handsome, while
the other, who possessed but one eye, had a wild ferocity in his
features.
Without a word more, the larger man laid his rifle on the ground and
made an inquiring motion toward the meat. Norton told them to help
themselves, and endeavoured to make them talk; but neither would say
a thing, save for a swift exchange of gutturals between themselves.
He watched them in no little interest as they ate, and came to the
conclusion that they were no ordinary warriors. He knew little of
the northern tribes, but from the fact that the one-eyed man wore
moccasins of unmistakable Cherokee make, he guessed the two had been
on a trip to the south. Having none of the Kentuckian's contempt for
the Indian, Norton went on about his work quietly though watchfully,
rather perplexed by the oddity of their silence. Pouring fresh
powder into his pan, he set his rifle ready to hand, whereat he
thought the handsome Indian smiled a little.
When they had eaten the better half of his deer, they both drew out
small pipes of the precious calumet stone--a thing which in itself
marked them as men of rank. Norton silently proffered them tobacco.
The handsome chieftain made the ceremonial of four puffs and handed
his pipe to Norton, who repeated it, thinking they would now talk.
In this he was mistaken. The one-eyed man emitted a grunt as Norton
made the four puffs in Indian fashion to the four quarters of the
heavens, but that was all. Although he ventured a question, neither
replied.
With that Norton gave a shrug, rose, and began tying his smoked meat
to his saddle. He wished that he knew more about the northern
redskins, for these were certainly men of some importance, but his
experiences had been confined to Creek, Cherokee, and Seminole, while
these two were quite clearly of a different race--whether Shawnee,
Miami, Wyandot, or Ottawa he could not tell.
As he turned to pick up his rifle, the larger man rose and came
forward, smiling. He reached forth an empty powder-horn, which was
finely carved, and indicated by signs that Norton was to give him
powder; it was not a demand, but a courteous request. Norton, at
first inclined to anger, found himself suddenly impressed by this
unknown Indian; having plenty of powder himself, he at length
assented and poured a few charges into the empty horn.
At this, the Indian gravely proffered him a shilling--and Norton
noted that it was English money. He was well aware that he was going
through a remarkable experience, there being little enough money in
the settlements themselves, to say nothing of Indians using it--a
thing unheard of.
"You're welcome," he smiled, waving back the coin. "I don't wish
payment--you're quite welcome, though I don't suppose an Indian would
ever hand me out free powder."
Whether he was understood or not, he could not tell. The one-eyed
man, still sitting over his pipe, grunted out something; the other
turned with swift anger in his face and poured forth a flood of
words. Norton guessed shrewdly that the one-eyed man had expressed
entire willingness to give him free powder at any time--from the end
of a rifle.
Abruptly, the friendly chief turned to Norton again, and made signs
for the latter to remove his moccasins--at the same time unfastening
his own. Puzzled, the Louisianian hesitated a moment and finally
obeyed, seeing that the other meant it. Then the Indian held out his
moccasins--ankle-high, and elaborately beaded and quilled. Norton
drew back, glancing at his own torn and stained and unbeaded pair,
which he had obtained from a Creek squaw on his way north.
"You mean to exchange with me?" he asked, wondering. "No, I can't do
that, man! Why, those moccasins of yours are magnificent! Want to
sell them?"
A lightning flash of terrible anger shot into the swarthy features,
but was gone instantly. Again the Indian nodded and held out his
moccasins. Understanding that he was being paid in this fashion for
his hospitality, Norton reluctantly accepted, amazed that an Indian
should even think of payment. When he had donned the new and
unusually fine pair of the Indian, he put out his hand--and met a
smiling refusal to shake.
Frowning, he turned to his horse and mounted. As he rode away, his
friend sent him a wave of the hand; then he splashed across the
shallow creek near his camp, and the strange pair of redskins were
lost behind him. It was odd, undoubtedly; that refusal to shake
hands had been a very manly way of saying they were enemies, yet he
knew there was no Indian war going on at present.
Unable to account for the whole experience, he dismissed it from his
mind. It was one of the weird silent happenings which the wilderness
holds in store for those who penetrate her fastnesses; strange
things, memories which remain for ever, yet which may never react
upon the future, the ebb and flow of Dead Sea tides leaving nothing
upon the shores of life save the brine of wasted energy. Had John
Norton known who his two guests were, however, he might not have
considered the incident closed, so far as he himself was concerned.
To them, indeed, it might well prove a momentary thing.
So he dismissed it lightly enough, and looked ahead. As he sat by
his campfire that night and considered his situation, he found it
good. He was to seek a certain unnamed settlement on the Indian
shore, twelve miles this side of the Blue River, and on the Kentucky
side would find Red Hugh; then on to Blue River, Dodd's tavern, and
the messenger from Ayres. That afternoon he had seen the river hills
to the north; so by keeping due west, getting off early, and pushing
hard, he might find Red Hugh's cabin by the next night. He must have
come a good twenty miles, he considered, of the forty-five lying
between Louisville and his destination, for all that he had taken a
circuitous course.
Before sunrise he was up and on his way again. Two hours later he
drew up on a rising knoll amid the hills, and saw the signal-fire of
Destiny awaiting him.
It was a spiral of blue smoke, ascending from the valley beyond, and
perhaps a mile away. Norton sat watching it for a moment; to his
trained eye it showed a fire of green wood, too small for a careless
settler's building, too large for that of Indian or backwoodsman.
Since his meeting with the two redskins, Norton had regained his
caution. He knew that the Kentucky woods were filled with
adventurers and peculiar individuals of all descriptions, to say
nothing of Indians who might or might not be hostile. So, having
made certain that there were no settlers' cabins in the vicinity, he
dismounted and went forward on foot. His horse, an Indian pony he
had bought at Fort Massac, followed at a little distance behind him,
treading almost as silently as did Norton himself.
After proceeding some distance, he tied the beast to a tree and went
on more cautiously still, for that fire interested him. It was
evidently built by someone who feared nothing in the woods, yet was a
stranger to woods' ways, and Norton thought for a fleeting instant
that he might have chanced upon the retreat of Blacknose. With his
rifle ready loaded and primed, he stole forward, using all his
woodcraft.
But his all was not enough, it proved. While he was crossing a
thickly overgrown hollow, he flushed up two cardinals from a
canebrake just ahead, and as the birds went up Norton realized that
his cunning had been in vain. He was just about to plunge into the
high canebrake when the tall yellowish stalks were brushed aside to
disclose a figure of nearly his own height, and a white man stepped
forth.
For a moment the two men stared at each other in mutual surprise and
admiration, for both were striking in looks--Norton in his capable,
alert, piercing-eyed way, the stranger in sheer manly beauty. He was
an inch shorter than Norton, was this stranger who had risen from the
midst of the cane; the effeminacy of the long hair curling over his
shoulders was at once offset by a strong nose, large mouth, and
square chin, and very large, deep-set, commanding dark eyes.
Norton was startled by the appearance of this man, who seemed not of
the woods and yet a woodsman. He wore a magnificent ruffled shirt of
finest French linen, flung open at the throat to display a neck as
bronzed as Norton's own; his coat and knee-breeches were of black
satin, his knee-high moccasins of rude home make; a watch fob-ribbon
hung on one side of his belt, a powder-horn and hunting-knife
opposite. Over one ear was stuck a long crayon, while in his hand he
held a thin board with paper fastened to it.
"_Parbleu_!" exclaimed the stranger, then continued instantly in
excellent English, staring hard at Norton: "Your coming was most
unfortunate, sir! You frightened away the finest specimen of
Kentucky cardinal I have seen this year!"
"Accept my apologies, monsieur," smiled Norton, speaking in French.
"You are a Frenchman, then?"
"I? Not at all!" cried the other. "I was born in Louisiana,
removing later to France, but this is my country. Who are you, sir,
who speak French so excellently in this wilderness? Do you come from
the French Grant up-river?"
"No, I gained that language in New Orleans," returned Norton,
wondering greatly who this eccentric stranger might be. "I regret
having frightened away your bird--I trust you did not anticipate
dining upon him?"
The other looked bewildered.
"Eh? Dining? Do you eat such birds, sir?"
"Heavens, no!" And Norton laughed despite himself. "But what else
could you want of him?"
The stranger broke into a frank laughter; so winning and direct was
his whole attitude that the puzzled Norton felt an odd liking for the
man.
"It seems we were both mistaken then! I was limning the bird--but
come to the higher ground in here. Did you ever see a cardinal's
nest?"
"I never looked for one," returned Norton curtly. He followed to a
small patch of drier ground in the centre of the cane-brake, and the
stranger eagerly pointed to a nest in the branches of a young
cottonwood, to one side.
"Sit down--stay quiet!" commanded the other quickly. "They will
return in a half-hour, sir----"
"Then I'll be on my way," broke in Norton drily, "for I have other
business than watching birds, sir."
He turned, when the stranger set down the paper and board, on which
only a few sketchy lines were visible, and caught at his arm.
"Pardon, sir--one moment! Are you lately from Louisiana? Do you
know that country well?"
"I've lived there all my life, practically," said Norton. "Why?"
"Well"--and the other seemed to forget his birds temporarily--"I was
but a child when I went to France, and last year I heard a monstrous
strange story of Upper Louisiana, which I have never been able to
authenticate. I met one of the men who had been on Colonel Burr's
ill-fated expedition, and he assured me that on the banks of the
Missouri there is a mountain of salt----"
"Travellers' tales," laughed Norton, but the other continued quickly:
"Wait, sir! He also stated very decidedly that had Colonel Burr
succeeded in his venture, he would have been joined by a great tribe
of Indians. This tribe inhabit a country of some nine hundred square
miles, around the salt mountain, fight always on horseback, and are
armed with the short Spanish carbines----"
"My dear sir," inquired Norton in frank wonder, "are you in earnest?"
"Of course I am!" And indeed there was no mistaking the eager
interest of the stranger's handsome face. "I am a student of
ornithology, sir--that is, I pursue the study in my spare time--but I
am also keenly interested in such matters of ethnology, and if you
could enlighten me as to this Indian tribe, I would appreciate it.
You seem a person of no little refinement and culture----"
"Thank you," laughed Norton heartily. "Well, sir, I can assure you
that this tale is a myth in all its branches, is not worthy of
credence, and your informant was wholly wrong. I trust that is
sweeping enough. Now, as I am in some haste, I will leave you to
your birds and pursue my way. Do you know how far I am from the Blue
River?"
"I do not, sir"--and the frank eyes twinkled at him. "I have been in
camp here for a week past, watching this pair of birds at work.
Fortunately my sketches are completed, but my provisions are gone,
and I have lost my spare flints and cannot shoot. How say you--shall
we seek the Blue River together, sir, and become gentleman
adventurers through the wilderness?"
Something in the merry, careless, wholly engaging manner of this man
made the Louisianian warm toward him. He could not mistrust that
frank, sturdy, piercing-eyed face; here was a man in whom there was
no guile, and almost involuntarily Norton struck his hand into that
of the other.
"Done!" he laughed happily. "By thunder, sir. I like you! Hold on,
though." He paused in dismay as a sudden thought struck him. "I
must refuse your company, sir, for your own good. I am in some
danger, and if you travelled with me it might turn out badly all
around."
"Danger?" And when the other frowned Norton discovered a strange
quality of power in the strong face. "Do not tell me you are a
criminal."
"I'm not." Norton hesitated, in some embarrassment. Another steady
look from the deep-set eyes of the stranger, and he concluded
suddenly to open his heart to this man, to whom he felt so greatly
drawn. "Frankly, sir, I am in Kentucky for the purpose of rooting
out a gang of river pirates known as Blacknose's gang. Their
organization has discovered my purpose, and----"
"Oh, is that all!" And the other laughed, passed his arm through
Norton's, and gently urged him through the canes ahead. "Nonsense,
friend! _En avant_!"
"I guess you don't know much about that gang," grunted Norton.
"Well, I ought to," retorted the other drily. "Last year I lost a
dozen hogsheads of the finest tobacco, some prime ginseng cured in
Canton fashion, and a good load of flax! I know them, and appreciate
your danger. I am with you, sir, and with all my heart--there's the
hand of John Audubon on it!"
"Audubon!" repeated Norton, his eyes kindling. "Why, I met your
partner at Louisville--" He halted abruptly.
"And I'll wager that Rosier told you I was touched in the head, eh?"
Audubon broke into a peal of ringing laughter. "Every man to his
trade! Rosier cannot understand why I will not settle down behind
the counter and make money. Nay, but I cannot! Now come along--here
is my camp."
Norton followed into a small glade of cottonwoods, where a horse
grazed beside a rudely erected brush shelter. He remembered that
Rosier had said his partner was touched in the head, but he did not
need to remember what else Rosier had said. He knew already that he
could trust John Audubon--in fact, he felt that he could more than
trust him.