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Complete in one Number. Price, 5 Cents.
[Illustration: NICKEL LIBRARY]
Entered according to Act of Congress by PICTORIAL PRINTING CO. In
the office of the Librarian at Washington. D. C., in the year 1877
SERIES ONE. CHICAGO. NUMBER 17
LITTLE OSKALOO,[A]
OR,
THE WHITE WHIRLWIND.
BY T. C. HARBAUGH.
[A] Changed from LITTLE MOCCASIN.
[Illustration: =THE TRAILERS OF THE FOREST.--See page 4.=]
CHAPTER I.
HISTORY AND A MYSTERY.
If, in the month of July, 1794, an observing white man could have
traveled unmolested from the banks of the Ohio river due north to the
famous Maumee rapids, he would have been struck with the wonderful
activity manifested in the various Indian villages on his route.
No signs of idleness would have greeted his eye; the young warrior did
not recline in the shadow of his birchen lodge enjoying the comforts of
summer life in mid forest. If his image was reflected in the clear
streams, it was but for a moment, as his lithe canoe shot from bank to
bank. Everything between the two rivers portended war.
Indian runners were constantly departing and arriving at the several
native villages, and excited groups of Shawnees, Delawares and Wyandots
discussed--not the latest deer trails nor the next moon-feast, but the
approaching contest for the mastery of power.
A few years had passed away since they had met and conquered Harmar and
St. Clair. Those bloody victories had rendered the Indian bold and
aggressive. He believed himself invincible, and pointed with pride to
the scalps taken on the ill-fated 4th of November, '91.
But a new foe had advanced from the south--treading in the tracks of St.
Clair's butchered troops, but with his stern eye fixed on victory. The
Indians were beginning to exhibit signs of alarm--signs first exhibited
at the British posts in the "Northwestern Territory," where the powers
and generalship of Wayne were known and acknowledged.
It was the impetuous, Mad Anthony who led the advancing columns through
the Ohio forests. He had entered the blood-drenched territory with the
victory of Stony Point to urge him on to nobler deeds, and with the firm
determination of punishing the tribes, as well as of avenging the defeat
of his predecessors.
Tidings of his advance spread like wildfire from village to village, and
councils became the order of day and night alike.
The Indians knew the Blacksnake, as they called Wayne, and some, in
their fear, counseled peace. But that was not to be thought of by the
chiefs and the young Hotspurs whose first scalps had been torn from the
heads of Butler's men.
Such sachems as Little Turtle, Blue Jacket, and Bockhougahelas stirred
the Indian heart, and not a few words of encouragement came from the
British forts on the Maumee.
Simon Girty and kindred spirits moved from tribe to tribe underrating
Wayne before the august councils, until a united cry of "war to the
knife!" ascended to the skies.
The chase suddenly lost its charms to the scarlet hunter; the dandy
turned from his mirror to the rifle; the very air seemed heavy with war.
The older warriors were eager to lay their plans before any one who
would listen; they said that Wayne would march with St. Clair's
carelessness, and affirmed that the order of Indian battle, so
successful on _that_ occasion, would drive the Blacksnake from the
territory.
Under the Indian banner--if the plume of Little Turtle can be thus
designated--the warriors of seven tribes were marshalling. There were
the Miamis, the Pottawatamies, Delawares, Shawnees, Chippewas, Ottawas,
and Senecas; and in the ranks of each nation stood not a few white
renegades.
It was a formidable force to oppose the victor of Stony Point, and the
reader of our forest romance will learn with what success the cabal met.
We have thought best to prelude our story with the glimpses at history
just given, as it enables the reader to obtain an idea of the situation
of affairs in the locality throughout which the incidents that follow
take place.
* * * * *
It was near the close of a sultry day in July, 1794, that two men
reached the right bank of the Maumee about ten miles below Fort
Defiance, which Wayne had erected and garrisoned.
They looked like Wyandot warriors, painted for the warpath. They were
athletic men, and one, as could be seen despite the profusion of paint
which his face wore, was at least twenty years the other's senior.
Long-barreled rifles were trailed at their sides, and their belts
carried the Indian's inseparable companions--the tomahawk and scalping
knife.
"There goes the sun," said the youngest of the pair in unmistakable and
melodious English. "Look at the old planet, Wolf Cap, if you want to see
him before he goes to bed. These are dangerous times, and one does not
know when the sun sets if he will be permitted to greet it in the
morning."
"That is so, Harvey," was the reply, in the brusque tone of the rough
frontiersman, and the speaker looked at the magnificent god of day whose
last streaks of light were crimsoning the water. "There was a time when
I didn't care if I never beheld the sun again. It was that night when I
came home and found no house to shelter me; but a dead family among a
heap of smoking ruins, and in a tree hard by a tomahawk buried to the
handle."
"You have told me," the younger said, as if to spare his companion the
pain of narrating the story of the Indian descent upon his cabin in
Kentucky.
"So I have, but I never grow weary of talking about it. It makes me
think of the revenge I have taken, and it nerves my arm anew. Boy," and
the speaker touched the youth's shoulder with much tenderness, "boy, I
was goin' to say that I hope the Indians will never do you such an
injury."
"I hope not, Wolf Cap; but I hate them all the same."
The frontiersman did not reply for a moment, but looked across the river
longingly and sad.
"Harvey," he said, suddenly starting up, "we have been separated for
four days. Have you heard of him?"
"Of----" the young scout hesitated.
"Of Jim Girty, of course."
"No; but we may obtain some news of him in a few moments."
"In a few moments? I do not understand you."
"I will tell you. I am here by appointment," said the youth. "In a few
moments I hope to meet a person who will give me valuable information
concerning the hostiles. She----"
"A woman?" interrupted the oldest scout. "Boy, you must not trust these
Indian girls too far."
"How do you know she is an Indian girl?" asked Harvey Catlett, starting.
"Because there are precious few white girls in these parts. Don't trust
her further than you can see her, Harvey. I would like to take a squint
at the dusky girl."
The youth was about replying when the dip of paddles fell upon his
practiced ears, and Wolf Cap started back from the water's edge, for he,
too, had caught the sound.
"Indians!" he said, and the click of his rifle was not heard six feet
away, but the youth's painted hand covered the flint.
"No enemy at any rate," he whispered, looking in the scout's face. "Stay
here till I return. It is Little Moccasin."
Without fear, but cautiously, Harvey Catlett, Wayne's youngest and
trustiest trailer, glided to the edge of the water, where he was joined
by a canoe containing a single person.
His giant companion rose, and, full of curiosity, tried to distinguish
the features of the canoe's occupant, who was met with a tender welcome
at the hands of the young scout.
But the sun had entirely set, and the couple formed dark silhouettes on
a ghostly background.
For many minutes the conversation continued at the boat, and the
impatient Wolf Cap at last began to creep forward as if upon a napping
foe.
"I want to get a glimpse at that girl," he was saying to his eager self.
"If I think she is soft soapin' the young feller, why, this shall be
their last meetin'."
The young couple did not suspect the scout's movements, and as he
crouched not twenty feet from the boat and within ear shot, he was
surprised to hear Catlett say:
"I'll let you go when I have shown you to my friend. He wants to see
you. Come, girl."
Wolf Cap saw a lithe, girlish figure slip nimbly from the canoe, and
when the youth turned his face toward the forest, as if to speak his
name, he rose.
"Here I am," he said. "Forgive me, boy, but I've been watchin' you.
Couldn't help it, as you talked so long. So this is Little Moccasin?"
As the border man uttered the euphonious title he stooped, for he was
almost unnaturally tall, and peered inquisitively into the girl's face.
It was a pretty face, oval and faultlessly formed. The skin was not so
dark as a warrior's, and the eyes were soft and full of depth. Wolf Cap
did not study the close-fitting garments, well beaded and fringed, nor
did he glance at the tiny, almost fairy-like moccasins which she wore.
It was the face that enchained his attention.
All at once his hand fell from Little Moccasin's shoulder, and he
started back, saying in a wild, incautious tone:
"Take that girl away, Harvey! For heaven's sake don't let her cross my
path again! And if you know what is good for yourself--for Wayne and his
army--you will keep out of her sight. Is she not goin'?"
The excited scout stepped forward with quivering nerves as he uttered
the last words.
"Yes, sir," said the youth quickly, but throwing himself between the
forest beauty and Wolf Cap. "She is going now."
"And will you promise never to see her again?"
"We'll talk about that at another time. Come."
The last word was addressed to Little Moccasin, upon whose face an
expression of wonderment rested, and Harvey Catlett led her to the
canoe.
For several minutes he held her hand, talking low and earnestly the
while, and then saw her send her light craft into the deep shadows that
hung over the water.
When the sound of her paddles had died away the young scout turned to
inquire into Wolf Cap's unaccountable conduct; but to his surprise the
rough borderman was not to be seen.
But Harvey Catlett was not long in catching the sound of receding
footsteps, and a moment later he was hurrying forward to overtake his
companion.
He soon came upon Wolf Cap walking deliberately through the forest, and
hastened to address him.
"Here you are! Wolf Cap, I want to know who Little Moccasin is."
The borderman did not stop to reply, but looked over his left shoulder
and said, sullenly:
"I don't know! Do you?"
Harvey Catlett was more than ever astonished; but a moment later, if it
had not been for the dangerous ground which they were treading, he would
have burst into a laugh.