THE forest was breaking. The arcades of spell-bound woods that for
three days had hemmed the road were losing their continuity, giving
place to glades choked with underbrush and dappled with sunbeams. The
chill of the swamp land was vanishing and the landscape was momently
sweetening with the fragrance of annis grass and of fern. Now and again
golden-green branches showed against a blue, cloud-flecked sky.
Jack and Alagwa, the latter mounted on Cato’s horse, were riding behind
the wagon, chatting together and looking forward, not altogether
eagerly, to the change in surroundings which they knew must be at hand.
The strain of the first night had for the moment exhausted the girl’s
capacity to hate. She had touched a high point and had sunk back.
When she saw that Jack and Cato were awake, reaction had overcome her
and she had sunk back on her couch in the wagon, mind and heart both
blank. When, later, she had forced herself to crawl from the wagon
to join the others in a hasty breakfast, she had done so listlessly
and silently. Still later, though she had gathered strength and vigor
with the mounting day, she had found herself incapable of thinking
of either the past or the future. Like any other wild creature that
had been driven beyond its strength, she could do nothing but exist.
When the thought of the future and of her mission rose in her mind
she deliberately forced it back. She had refused to countenance an
attack upon the wagon when it was at her mercy; never again would she
connive at its destruction. She had taken early occasion to warn Cato
that his dereliction from duty had not passed unobserved, and she had
won his eternal gratitude, to say nothing of his vows never to sleep
on watch again, by promising not to tell Jack. Apart from this, then,
was nothing for her to do until she reached Fort Wayne. Until then she
could live only for the moment.
For the moment also she had laid aside her distrust of Jack. His heart
might be bad, but his words were pleasant, and she would enjoy them
while she could.
Swiftly the hours sped by. Her wound was healing fast and gave her
little trouble. After the first day she found herself able to ride a
little, and on the last day she remained almost continuously in the
saddle, Jack by her side, talking the hours away.
Infinite was her ignorance of the life which Jack and his people led
far away to the south and great was her curiosity concerning it. She
told herself that it was merely the strangeness of the life that
roused her interest. For her it could have no personal interest. That
she could ever dwell with the enemies of her people was unthinkable.
But--well, it was pleasant to hear of so many things that had been far
beyond her ken. Jack, on the other hand, found unexpected delight in
enlightening the virgin field of her mind. Again and again he laughed
at her ignorance, but his laughter was not of the kind that hurts. Long
before the third day had begun, Jack had decided that this Indian-bred
boy was the most interesting he had ever known, and Alagwa had
unconsciously decided that Jack was very different from the others of
his race. “If all white men were like him,” she thought, “there would
be no enmity between his people and mine.” The bond of sympathy between
the two was growing very strong.
“We’ll be at Fort Wayne soon, Bob, I guess,” Jack was saying, as they
neared the edge of the forest. “I reckon it’s mean for me to wish it,
but I do hope we won’t find your friends there. I didn’t know how much
I needed a jolly little chum.”
Alagwa caught her breath. Almost she had forgotten Fort Wayne.
Grimly her forgotten mission rose before her. When she reached the
fort--Hastily she shook her head. “The white chief will find no friends
of mine,” she declared, soberly. “I have no friends.”
“Oh! You must have friends somewhere, you know, and I’ve got to try to
find them. I must do my best to let them know you’re alive. You may
have a father and mother, still grieving for you. But if I can’t find
them----”
“And if you can not find them?” The girl was talking desperately,
saying anything to prevent herself from thinking of what awaited her.
“Then I reckon I’ll have to take you back to Alabama with me when I
go--though the Lord knows when that’ll be. You’ll love Alabama, though
it’s mighty different from this Ohio country. Alabama is Shawnee--no,
it’s Creek--for ‘here-we-rest!’ The Creeks called it that because it is
so pleasant. You’ll come with me, won’t you, Bob?”
“I?” Alagwa drew herself up. For the moment she was once more the
Shawnee maiden. “Am I a dog to live among those who hate me?”
“Hate you!” Jack stared. “Good Lord! What are you talking about? Why!
Dad would go crazy over you. He’s the best old dad that ever lived.
Cato’s already deserted me for you. He’s your sworn slave. He thinks
you’re the spirit and image of the Telfair family. By the way, he
told me yesterday that you sure did have the Telfair nose. You may
not think that’s a compliment, but Cato meant it for one. As for the
neighbors----”
Jack stopped short. He had just remembered that for several days he had
failed to grieve over Sally Habersham and that he had quite forgotten
that his life was blighted. An expression of gloom came over his
features.
Alagwa noticed it, but she said nothing. She had been taught not to
force her chatter on a warrior, and her experience with white men had
been too brief to change the ingrained custom of years. Besides, she
was startled by Cato’s remark. Woman-like, she had already discovered
the strong family likeness she bore to Jack; and it had pleased rather
than troubled her. But Cato’s perception of it made her anxious. If he
noticed it, others might do so and might grow suspicious; her identity
might be detected, and if it was, her mission would fail.
Before Jack could notice her abstraction the break in the forest
came. The trees stopped short, leaning westward as if dragged toward
the sunset by some mighty impulse, only to be held back by one yet
mightier. To north and to south the line of the forest ran interminably
away, till it blended with the long grasses that swelled to meet it.
In front stretched the prairie, mile after mile of billowing green,
flower-studded, cobweb-sheeted, ablaze with the painted wings of
butterflies. Over it the breeze blew softly, laden with whispers, heavy
with the scent of sun-dried grass.
With a gasp both Jack and Alagwa reined in. Then with wild whoops of
delight they shook their reins and drove their heels into their horses’
sides and darted forward, out from behind the wagon, over the fresh
springy turf.
As they passed, Williams, seated by Cato on the box, leaned forward and
hailed them. “We’re near Fort Wayne,” he called. “An’ there’s white
men there--none of your d--d Indian lovers. We’ll see what they’ve got
to say about your high-handed ways. And”--venomously--“we’ll see what
they’ve got to say about that half-breed boy, too.”
Jack did not answer. He scarcely heard. All his thoughts were on the
mighty plain that stretched before him. To him, as to Alagwa, the
prairie was a revelation. All her life the girl had lived amid forests;
all her life her view had been circumscribed by the boles of massive
trees. Never had she dreamed of the vast sweep of the grassy plains.
Jack’s experience was wider, but even he had never seen the prairies.
Like two children they shouted from very rapture. Along the flat they
raced, intoxicated with the whistle of the wind, the smell of the
grass, and the thunderous drumming of their horses’ hoofs. Mile after
mile they galloped, fronting the sunset, fleeing before their own
enormously lengthening shadows. When at last they dragged their steeds
to a walk, Jack had quite forgotten his gloomy pose and was talking and
laughing as excitedly as if he were still the schoolboy he had been so
short a time before.
Then suddenly he reined in and rose in his stirrups. The road, curving
to the north around a great grassy swell, had come out upon a level
at the far edge of which rose a great quadrilateral, with frowning
blockhouses at its alternate corners. Under its protecting walls
smaller buildings showed where the pioneers of a dauntless race were
laying deep the foundations of a mighty state.
Smilingly he turned to Alagwa. “There’s our destination! We’ll stay
there tonight and tomorrow I’ll start back. You’ll be too tired to go,
of course.”
Startled, the girl looked up. But her face cleared as she saw that Jack
was smiling and guessed that he was mocking her.
Rapidly the quadrilateral swelled out of the plain. A great gate,
midway of its southern side, stood invitingly open and toward this the
travellers directed their way. A sentry stared at them curiously as
they passed in but did not challenge or stop them.
Just inside the gate Jack reined in, looking for a moment at the
unfamiliar scene. On the parade ground that occupied the square
interior of the fort a company of forty soldiers was drilling under
command of a heavy man, rotund and stout. At the left, in the shade of
the walls, stood a group of men and boys, some of them white but most
of them Indian.
Some one called out and the members of the group turned from watching
the drill and stared at the newcomers. The captain of the company, too,
was plainly curious, for he turned his men over to a sub-officer and
crossed to join the rest. He bore himself with an air of authority that
bespoke him the commander of the fort.
Jack rode up to him and reined in, sweeping off his hat with a
boyish flourish. “Good evening, sir!” he cried. “Have I the honor of
addressing Captain Rhea?”
The officer shook his head. His face was flushed and the veins on his
forehead were swollen. Obviously he had been drinking heavily. “Captain
Rhea is ill,” he grunted. “I’m Lieutenant Hibbs, in command. Who are
you?”
Jack hesitated. He had not expected to find a drunken man in charge of
so important a post as Fort Wayne. Heavy drinking was not rare in those
days; rum was on every man’s table and “Brown Betty” was drunk almost
as freely by both sexes and all ages as coffee is today. The code of
the day, however, condemned men in responsible positions for drinking
more than they could carry decently.
As Jack hesitated the officer grew angry. His flushed face grew redder.
“Speak up!” he growled. “Who are you and what do you want?”
Jack could hesitate no longer. Lightly he leaped from his saddle,
looping the bridle over his arm and came forward. “I’m glad to meet
you, Mr. Hibbs,” he said. “I am Mr. Telfair, of Alabama, up here
on personal business. I turned aside at Girty’s Town to escort a
wagon-load of ammunition that General Hull had sent you----”
“Ammunition!” The officer’s manner changed. He drew his breath with a
long sobbing gasp. “Ammunition. We need it bad enough. Thank God you’ve
come. General Hull sent you with it?”
“Not exactly. He sent it by two wagoners, but one of them”--Jack
dropped his voice--“murdered an Indian and I had to arrest him and take
charge of the wagon. I----”
“Murdered an Indian! Arrest him! Good God!” Mr. Hibbs was staring at
the wagon, which was just appearing through the gates. “Who’s that?”
he demanded. “Damnation! It’s Williams! You don’t mean you’ve arrested
Williams!” He threw up his hand. “Hey! Williams!” he shouted. “Come
here!”
Williams jumped from the box and came forward.
Jack did not wait. “I had to arrest him,” he declared. “I’ll be only
too glad to explain all the circumstances if I can see you privately.”
He cast a glance around the listening throng. “It seems hardly wise to
speak too freely here----” He stopped, for Mr. Hibbs had brushed by him
and had gone forward to meet the wagoner.
“Hello! Williams!” he hiccoughed. “You back? Where’s Wolf?”
The company that had been drilling had been dismissed and the men came
running up. Plainly they were anxious to learn what news the newcomers
might have brought. Most of them waved their hands to Williams as they
drew near, though they did not venture to break in on his talk with
their officer.
Williams paid little attention to them. He was choking with anger.
“Wolf’s dead,” he rasped. “Killed by a dog of a Shawnee. I guess you’d
better ask that young squirt about it.” He jerked his head toward Jack.
“He’s running this expedition.”
Mr. Hibbs’s brow darkened. He glanced at Jack doubtfully. “Did General
Hull put him in charge of the ammunition?” he asked.
“Ammunition? What ammunition?” Williams snarled scornfully.
“The ammunition you brought, of course.”
“I ain’t brought no ammunition. Those durned Injun agents are always
fussing about honest traders, and I got by Colonel Johnson’s deputy at
Piqua by saying that I had ammunition. But I ain’t got a bit. I ain’t
got nothing but whiskey and trade goods. This young know-it-all, he
hears what I says to the agent, and he takes it on himself to escort
the ammunition and I lets him do it.”
A roar of laughter went up from the crowd. Aristocrats were not popular
on the frontier and Jack was plainly an aristocrat. Besides, Williams
was a friend and the crowd was very willing to follow his lead.
Jack flushed hotly as he realized how completely he had been humbugged.
He tried to speak, but his voice was drowned by jeers.
Mr. Hibbs, however, neither laughed nor jeered. The failure to get
ammunition seemed to strike him hard. Furiously he swung round on Jack.
But before he could speak Williams thrust in. “I got those things you
wanted, lieutenant,” he said. “But he’s taken charge of ’em.” He jerked
his thumb toward Jack. “Maybe he’ll give ’em to you if you go down on
your knees and ask for ’em pretty.”
Mr. Hibbs found his voice. “What the devil does this mean?” he
demanded. “You, sir, I mean.” He glared at Jack. “I’m talking to you.
What have you got to do with this thing, anyway?”
Jack refused to be stampeded. He was horribly abashed by the fiasco
of the ammunition, and he saw that no explanation that he could make
was likely to be well received. “I’d rather wait and go into things
privately, lieutenant,” he demurred.
“Privately! H--l! You go ahead and be d-- quick about it!”
Before Jack could speak a tall, thin man, who had been watching the
scene with growing disgust, stepped forward hurriedly. “I think the
young man is right, Mr. Hibbs,” he said. “It seems to me that it would
be much better to talk in private.” He turned to Jack. “I am Major
Stickney, the Indian agent here, Mr. Telfair,” he said.
Mr. Hibbs gave him no time to say more. Furiously he turned upon him.
“It seems best to you, does it,” he yelled. “Yes, I reckon it is just
the sort of thing that would seem best to a greenhorn like you. But you
might as well understand here and now, that I’m in command here and
that you nor anybody else can tell me what to do.” He turned to Jack.
“Go on,” he roared.
Further objection was evidently useless. Jack spoke out. “I charge
this man,” he said, pointing to Williams, “with the deliberate and
uncalled-for murder of a friendly Shawnee chief, at the moment that
he was making the peace sign. This man shot him down without any
provocation and without any warning. After he had shot him the Indian
sprang at him and at his companion, a man named Wolf, tore Wolf’s gun
from him, and brained him with it. Then he sprang at Williams, who
struck him down with his hatchet and then scalped him.”
“Good! Good! Bully for you, Williams.” A roar of applause rose from the
soldiers. Mr. Hibbs did not check it.
Jack hurried on. “You understand, sir,” he said, “what terrible
consequences this might have led to at this particular time. Tecumseh
has already led several hundred Shawnees north to join the British,
and the murder of a friendly chief, if it had become known in its true
aspect, might have roused the remainder of the tribe and turned ten
thousand warriors against the white settlements. I did the only thing
I could to prevent it. I placed this man under arrest and took him
to Girty’s Town, where I hoped to turn him over to Colonel Johnson.
Colonel Johnson was not there, however, and so I gave out that the
Indian had been killed by Wolf in a personal quarrel. I left a note for
Colonel Johnson explaining the true circumstances of the case. Then,
knowing your urgent need for ammunition and thinking this wagon was
loaded with it, I came on here as quickly as I could, bringing this man
as a prisoner to be dealt with as you might think fit.”
Mr. Hibbs was rocking on his feet. Scarcely did he wait for Jack to
finish. “Shot an Injun, did he?” he burst out. “Well, it’s a d-- good
thing. I wish he’d shot a dozen of the scurvy brutes. And you’re
complaining of him, are you? How about yourself? What were you doing
while the fight was going on?” He swung round on Williams. “What was he
doing, Williams?” he asked.
The wagoner laughed scornfully. “He warn’t doing nothing,” he sneered.
“He sat on his horse and watched the Injun kill Wolf without raisin’
a hand to stop him. But he was mighty forward in stopping me when I
started to wipe out that half-breed boy yonder.”
A snarl rose from the crowding men. But the reference to Alagwa served
momentarily to divert their attention.
“That boy was with the Injun,” went on Williams; “and he come at Wolf
with a knife. Wolf shot him through the leg and he fell, and after I’d
done for the Injun I started after the cub. But this here sprig run me
down with his horse an’ took my gun away before I could get up.”
Again the crowd snarled. “Duck him! Flog him! Hang him!” it cried. The
calls were low and tentative, but they were gaining volume.
Mr. Hibbs made no effort to check them or to keep his men in hand.
Rather he urged them on. “Well! sir!” he demanded, truculently. “What
have you got to say?”
Jack’s lips whitened. He was little more than a lad, and the incredible
attitude of this officer of the United States army, from whom he had
the right to expect support, confounded him. He had yet to learn, as
the country had yet to learn, that the United States army was then
officered by many men who had gotten their positions by political
influence and were totally unfitted for their work--men who were to
bring disgrace and dishonor on the American flag.
Doggedly, Jack tried to protest. “The boy is white, lieutenant,” he
interrupted. “You’ve only to look at him to see that. For the rest,
this man is perverting the facts. He committed a wanton murder, and if
it makes the Indians rise----”
“Let ’em rise and be d--d! Who cares whether they rise or not?” Mr.
Hibbs hesitated a moment and then went on. “We’ve just got news from
General Hull. He’s crossed into Canada and scattered the redcoats
and the red devils. We’ll have all Canada in a month. And if any of
the Injuns anywhere try to make trouble we’ll shoot ’em. And if any
white-livered curs from the east try to make trouble we’ll shoot them,
too. Wolf was a d-- sight better man than you’ll ever be.”
Jack threw his head back and his jaw stiffened. The insults that had
been heaped upon him made his blood boil. But he remembered that Mr.
Hibbs was an officer in the army of his country and, as such, entitled
to respect.
“Sir!” he said, almost gently. “I will not enter into comparisons or
arguments. I have done what I thought was my duty. I am an American
citizen and it is surely my duty, as it is yours, sir, to try to
prevent friends from turning into foes----”
“My duty!” Mr. Hibbs broke in with a roar. “You’ll teach me my duty,
will you? By God! We’ll see.” He swung round. “Officer of the guard!”
he trumpeted.
“Sir!” An officer stepped forward.
“Call two men and take this young cub to the calaboose and flog him
well. We’ll teach him to meddle in matters that don’t concern him.”
Flogging was common in those days. Privates in the army were flogged
for all sorts of misdeeds.
The crowd surged forward. Beyond question its sympathies were with
Hibbs and against Jack. The note of savagery in its snarl would have
frightened most men.
It did not frighten Jack. His blue eyes gleamed with an anger that did
not blaze--a frosty anger that froze those on whom it fell.
“Just a moment,” he cried. “The first man that lays hand on me dies.”
The crowd hesitated, clutching at pistols and knives. The moment was
freighted with death.
Then, abruptly, some one pushed a rifle--Williams’s rifle--into Jack’s
hands and he heard Alagwa’s voice in his ear. “White chief kill!” she
gritted. “Sing death song. I die with him.”
On the other side Cato pressed forward. “I’se here, Mars’ Jack,” he
quavered. “Cato’s here.”