Jules Lapon is Disappointed
Steve Mainwaring had suddenly leaped higher in the estimation of his
comrades, and even Tom Mainwaring, who was apt to look upon his son
with the proud eye of an indulgent father, now regarded him with eyes
which shone with strange enthusiasm. For Steve had done well. Even
when he was only a little mite he had shown courage, and as he grew
bigger and stronger, and mastered the ways of the backwoodsmen and
the habits of the Indians, amongst some of whom he was often thrown,
his elders had seen that he was a promising pupil, while the redskins
themselves had christened him the Hawk, no small compliment from such
a race. Then Steve had a great advantage. While learning the ways of
the backwoods, he had had an excellent education from his father,
which added something to his astuteness. And now, little by little,
these grizzled veterans of the forest were beginning to discover his
worth. They had already found in him a lad who could barter their
pelts far better than they could. Hitherto they had been always able
to rely upon his sagacity, his courage, and his shooting, and now----
"Cap'n," repeated Jim again, pushing his coon-skin cap back from
his bald head and gripping Steve's hand. "That 'ere plan air 'cute.
Thunder! One of these here redskin skunks wouldn't ha' thought of it,
and when they see us come out from the bank, why----"
The thought was too much for the old hunter. He stood staring into
Steve's face, taking closer stock of the lad perhaps than he had
ever done before, for familiarity with a person often makes us slow
to discover virtues, which, after all, are only buried beneath the
surface. Good points, which are hardly skin deep, and which have
escaped our notice hitherto, only become apparent when some unusual
incident brings them prominently before our eyes.
"That air a lad to be proud of, Judge," he said, wiping the
perspiration from his forehead. "Reckon he's lain quiet up to this,
or else we should ha' found him out. He's got a bit of your way of
stayin' quiet, and openin' his mouth only when he's axed a question or
when there's need for a lawyer or a cap'n. It's sartin he's got the
hang of this matter, and I votes that he leads till we're home agin.
'Twon't do no harm to us. What do yer say, red head?"
Mac doubled an enormous fist, shook it in Jim's face and grinned, a
grin which set his lips back from his teeth, and exposed a cavity
reaching almost from ear to ear. It was the grin of a man who has
suddenly heard good news, and who has had a load taken from his mind.
"Red head! Bedad, 'tis mesilf as will choke the loife out of ye,
Huntin' Jim. 'Twould be aisier for ye to stand out there and ax some
of thim varmint to put a bullet into ye, so it would. Red head!"
The knuckles of his tanned and brawny fist rested against Jim's nose,
but provoked not a movement.
"Waal, what do yer say?" Jim growled, his eyes flashing.
"Say? Sure that Oi'll be onaisy if Steve don't take over the place.
Faith, 'tis his idea, and a man should have the chanst of carryin' it
out."
"It is an honour, and one which the boy will appreciate," said Tom,
solemnly. "Steve, we appoint you the captain. Give your orders."
"Yes, give the orders, lad," cried Jim, his kindly features lighting
up with real pleasure, while he continued to stare at this tall young
hunter, noticing his good looks, his fearless and alert appearance,
and the good temper which lurked in every line of his sun-tanned face.
"You've settled about them canoes. Git along with the job."
Steve was somewhat overcome at the turn events had taken, but a glance
at his father and at his old companions soon assured him that they
were in earnest, and would support him.
"I feel too young for the task," he said, "but I grant the experience
will be a fine one, and may some day be of the utmost use to me. Then
we'll set to work. Take your hunting knives and slit two of the canoes
down through the centre of the bow and stern. Mac, get along and
cut a few vine tendrils, and keep that red head down. The redskins
couldn't miss you."
There was a roar at that, a hearty laugh which showed that Steve's
plan had encouraged the whole party, and had shown them a method by
which they might extricate themselves from a very awkward and serious
predicament. And to hear this young fellow commence his command by a
little good-humoured banter delighted them.
"Arrah, now, Masther Steve. Is that the way ye'd reward me?" cried the
jovial Mac, as he powdered the pan of his heavy musket. "Have a care,
me bhoy. 'Tis yerself as will be howlin' for mercy if Mac gets a holt
of ye."
Steve waved him away, and while the Irishman went to get the tendrils,
he and the others splashed through the oozy bed of the river, pushing
their way through the reeds till they came to the canoes hidden there
by their pursuers. Every now and again a report rang out on the far
side of the river, and a bullet whistled through the reeds, but
fortunately without hitting any of them, though some came very near.
Indeed, on one occasion they were in the greatest danger, for one of
the enemy, suspecting that they were amidst the reeds, crept higher
up the far bank, till he could get a full view of the nose of the
canoe which had first caught Steve's eye. He reckoned that if the pale
faces were there they would be in amongst the craft, and levelling his
barrel to what he thought must be the correct position, he fired.
"Thunder!" exclaimed Jim, as Tom's skin cap leaped into the air, spun
round, and flew in amongst the reeds. "Them 'ere varmint kin shoot.
Jest a moment while I talk to that critter. Get out of these reeds."
They crept to the bank and lay down under the bushes, while the active
trapper clambered into a tree and stared across the river. Presently
they saw his barrel come to the horizontal position, where he held it
till something caught his eye. Then the stock went to his shoulder,
his brown cheek fell closer to it, and his eye squinted along the
sights. There was a sharp crack on the far side, a spurt of flame
and smoke issued from the bushes, while a bullet ploughed into the
reeds, and thudded heavily against the bank. At the same instant
Jim's piece spoke, and as his comrades looked they saw the barrel of
a gun suddenly emerge from the cover opposite. It seemed to leap into
the air, and after it came the painted face and then the body of an
Indian. He stood stock still for an instant, staring at the reeds, and
then with a hideous yell fell face foremost into the river, his death
bringing loud whoops from his friends.
"Reckon that'll make 'em a bit careful," said Jim, clambering down
and reloading. "Them skunks had got to think that we couldn't shoot.
They'll see now that some of us know the business-end of a musket.
Them orders, Steve?"
"Let us tackle the canoes and make ready."
Once more they crept into the reeds, their hunting knives in their
hands. A few slashes cut through the strong sinews with which the ends
of the craft were sewn, while Steve divided the huge strip of birch
back along the centre. Another canoe was served in the same manner,
when they found themselves in possession of four pieces as long as
their own canoe, or almost so. And now they threw themselves on a
third canoe, erecting their strips along the side, and pegging them
in position with pieces cut from a tree, while Mac made all secure by
piercing the strips and lashing them firmly with vine tendrils. The
work came happily to their hands, for backwoodsmen were skilled in the
manufacture of canoes.
"That 'ere ship air ready," said Jim at length. "We can fill her till
the water comes above the gunwale of the canoe, and she won't sink."
"And if we care to carry out the same work with these other two, we
can have two ships floating side by side, and they at least should
keep out the bullets," said Steve. "What do you think?"
"Think! Ain't you the cap'n?"
"Then we'll do it. Let's get along with the job."
While Steve and Jim began to construct a second craft which would hold
a pile of reeds, Mac and Tom crept through the osiers, cutting bundles
away with their hunting knives. They kept steadily at the work till
they had cut down the greater part of the bed, leaving a thick outer
fringe to hide them from the enemy. The leaves were then lopped off,
and the stems piled into the first of the special craft constructed,
till they reached to a point above the high sides provided.
"Float her now and see whether she is top heavy," said Steve. "That
was a good idea of Mac's to put a few rocks at the bottom."
Very carefully they pushed the strange craft into the water till she
floated close beside their own canoe. Then they tested her stability
by pressing the load over to either side.
"As steady as you could wish," said Steve. "Her gunwale is a couple
of inches above the water, so she will ship very little. Now for the
second."
Within an hour they were ready, the two craft laden with reeds being
lashed firmly together and floated to the far side of their own canoe.
There was still a little to do. At Tom's suggestion Mac cut a couple
of stout boughs, and these were attached to the stem and stern of the
nearest craft, and the other ends to the stem and stern of the canoe
in which they would take their places.
"If a bullet does happen to come through, it will drop in the water,"
he said. "Again, we might find it convenient to set fire to the reeds
in the outer one, and make use of the smoke as a covering. The wind
is blowing right across to the far side of the river, and the reeds
happen to be well soaked after last night's rain. There would be
little danger of the covering being burned too soon."
"A grand idea," cried Steve. "What do you say, Jim?"
"That Tom and Steve air mighty 'cute, and don't want no teachin'.
Judge, I guessed as yer had somethin' in that big head of yours. That
'ere idea air almost better'n Steve's. Set fire to the reeds we will,
and a fine smoke them Injuns'll see. Reckon they'll be choked."
He went off chuckling to bring in Silver Fox, the latter having
meanwhile kept an eagle eye on the far bank.
"They have moved a little," he said slowly. "The enemy have spread up
and down the bank, and watch us like hawks. Do my brothers think to
paddle away? Surely there will be few of us to whom a bullet will not
come."
"And supposing we wait till it is dark?" asked Steve.
"Then our scalps will hang at their belts. A little sooner will make
no difference. Silver Fox is ready."
"And supposing again that we move off now and have some cover, for
instance, this, and set fire to the reeds in the outer canoe?"
Steve pointed to the strange craft which they had prepared, and waited
eagerly for the answer, for Silver Fox was a cunning Mohawk, and if a
thing could pass his eyes and meet with approval, then it was good. He
strode towards the growing reeds, tore one up by the roots and bit it,
just as Jim had done. Then he turned gravely to the party.
"The pale faces are great and brave foes," he said. "They press on and
on into the forests, which were the hunting grounds of the Indian, and
they forget the defeat they have suffered, the dead they have left.
Nothing can or will stop them. They die like buffalo, fighting for
their lives. Their cunning is at first as nothing to the cunning of
the Shawnees and other foes, and so their scalps hang in many and many
a wigwam. But death and loss have taught them. They have become men of
the river and forests themselves, and their cunning is great. Surely
the Great Father must have aided them, for how else could they have
thought of such a device. Silver Fox has spoken and is ready."
He walked to the tree at the foot of which Steve and Tom had
reverently laid the body of poor Talking Bear, and looked closely into
his face. Then he stooped, took the belt, the tomahawk, and the bullet
pouch of the fallen redskin, and strode down the bank.
"Farewell, my brother," he said. "You have been a faithful friend,
a kind companion, and a mighty fighter. The wigwam will know you no
more, and the men of the war parties will miss your strong arm. These
I take so that all may keep your memory."
It was a very simple little ceremony, but affecting for all that, and
caused Steve to gulp down something which seemed to fill his throat.
For the lad, though a skilful hunter, was not hardened to the ways
of the Indians and the pioneers of the forest. A life was a life, a
friend a friend to be mourned after his death and thought of often.
And so they turned away from the silent figure, leaving the still
form of the painted warrior lying there in his blanket, shaded by
the foliage of a mighty tree, which has long since been felled to
make way for the iron road which now bears the rapid conveyance of
this bustling century. Who of those thousands who pass along the line
and look out of the windows at the fascinating scenery of the Mohawk
think of the days of which we write, or ever paint in their own minds
the birch canoes which then were paddled over the silent waters, and
the painted faces which stole through the forests, hunting the pale
faces, the sturdy fathers of a sturdy race which now fills the land of
promise?
"Ready?" asked Steve, taking the lead. "Then, father, show us the way,
please, and take the paddle right astern. I will take that in the
bows, while Mac can use the one in the centre. Jim, we'll pile the
muskets just in front of father, and you will get in a shot if there
is an opportunity. One moment. Break up those spare paddles, Mac."
All stepped quietly into their places, while Steve waded into the
water and steadied the canoe, pushing the one which held their stores
well behind him. When all was in readiness, he waded still farther in
and sprinkled a little powder on the reeds which filled the strange
craft farthest away. A few strokes of his steel against the flint set
the powder fizzling, and in a minute one of the reeds, which happened
to be drier than the others, was well alight. Using this as a match,
he went all along the load, firing it at close intervals. Then he
came back to the stern and made ready to push the canoes out. And
meanwhile the flames had done their work. Licking round the portions
of the outside layer of reeds, which happened to be dry, they soon set
them ablaze, and then began to ignite the damper portions. A cloud of
dense black smoke rose above the reeds, and, caught by the wind, went
billowing out across the river. Almost at once fierce whoops came from
the far shore, and there was a commotion amidst the forest cover.
"Shout and dance, me beauties," laughed Jim grimly. "Set to at one of
yer war dances, if that'll do yer good. Reckon them 'ere varmint has a
notion we're burnin' their canoes. That's what all the rustle's about."
"They will slay us with the torture should it chance that we fall into
their hands," said Silver Fox gravely. "This is a sore blow to our
enemies."
"Then they have worse to follow," chimed in Steve. "I fancy that when
they see us floating away up the river they'll be more than a trifle
angry. Paddles out. Ready? Then, here we go."
He pushed slowly till there was way on the canoes, and then with one
vigorous push sent the whole lot surging against the barrier of reeds
which hid the party from the enemy. And as he pushed for the last
time, he leaned his full weight on the sides of the canoe, and with a
dexterous movement clambered aboard.
"Get hold of the paddle and make ready to swing round," sang out Tom.
"We come out bows on, remember that, and shall have to face their
fire. There goes the first musket."
They were out. The canoes had burst through the reeds into the open
river, and for a minute perhaps Steve looked at the opposite bank. He
saw a figure suddenly stand erect and emerge from behind a tree, and
watched as the barrel of a musket was levelled at him. There was a
loud report, a bullet whisked over his head, and smoke gushed from the
forest. Then there was a deafening explosion just behind him, and for
a few seconds he experienced the deafness and pain which are felt when
a weapon is discharged close to one's ear. But his eyes held to the
far bank, and once more he had need to praise Jim's shooting.
"That 'ere redskin ain't too careful," growled the trapper. "Ef he'd
put his iron jest a bit lower, he'd have plugged Huntin' Jim as sure
as I'm standin'. Reckon he ain't fit to try again."
It was true. The unerring eye of the trapper had fastened upon the
Indian as he levelled his musket, and Jim seldom made a mistake. He
was one of the hardy pioneers versed in Indian warfare who had learned
that it is better to hold one's fire and keep one's finger from the
trigger rather than send a bullet wide of the mark.
"Yer can't afford to miss, Steve," he had often remarked, when the
young trapper was out on some excursion with him. "Some of these days
yer may run into a crowd of them redskins, and then you'll know that
the man as can shoot has a chance of keepin' his scalp. Reckon the
chap as don't know how ain't fit to wear haar."
"Round with her. Paddle!" shouted Steve. "That's better. Now they can
fire till they are tired of the game. Whew! Doesn't it sound queer to
hear the bullets striking."
Indeed it did. As the paddlers forced the strange craft up the river,
their course was followed by frantic whoops and by a perfect hail of
bullets. As fast as twenty men could fire and load again the muskets
sent their contents at the floating target, and time and again the
leaden messengers crashed into the reeds, many passing through the
outer pile and lodging in the centre of the second one, proving that
Steve's suggestion was a good one. Occasionally a bullet would hit the
mark somewhere near the top, and a shower of shredded reed would be
scattered over the party. Then, too, numbers of missiles flew astern
and ahead, for the smoke upset the aim of the enemy.
And so for an hour Steve and his friends paddled up the river,
confident now of their security from bullets. As they progressed the
howling band ran abreast of them on the bank, and one or two of the
redskins actually entered the water in their frantic eagerness to come
up with the pale faces. But Jim put a stop to that. The smoke hid
him entirely from the sight of the enemy, while he himself had a good
view of the bank, and was well protected by the reeds. He stood in the
canoe, a pile of muskets at his feet, and just the top of his head
showing above the barrier. Then, every now and again, he straightened
himself a little more, his weapon went to his shoulder, and a shriek
told that the eye of the trapper had not erred. Indeed his good
shooting, the pace at which they paddled, and perhaps a failure in
ammunition soon resulted in a lull in the contest. Only an occasional
bullet now plunged into the reeds.
"We can say good-bye to them very soon," said Steve suddenly, craning
his head round the barrier. "A couple of miles up, Swan creek runs
into the stream, and that should stop them. They will have to swim or
climb, and in either case we can draw away from them. When I give the
word, cut away the canoes and upset them. A few blows with a tomahawk
will make them useless, and send them to the bottom. Is that right,
father?"
He appealed to Tom, for as yet this position of leader was strange to
him, and he felt somewhat abashed and modest, considering the age and
experience of his comrades. However, he had nothing to fear, for Tom
nodded energetically, while the garrulous Jim burst forth with a reply.
"Jest you recollect as you're the cap'n," he laughed. "When yer give
an order, why, let it be an order. No hankey pankey, lad. If Mac
don't set to and follow your words, why, pass him along to me. I'll
make short work of the feller."
"Bedad!" growled the Irishman. "Huntin' Jim, there'll be trouble for
ye sooner than ye expect. Will ye be quiet and listen to what the
cap'n's sayin'?"
They were a merry party now. Merry and light-hearted, as in truth they
had a right to be, for every minute lightened their danger. Indeed,
hardly an hour had passed when they came abreast of the creek of
which Steve had spoken. It was wide and shallow, and cut into a big,
sweeping hollow formed in the side of a long rocky ridge.
"There ain't a redskin as would attempt to swim it," said Jim with
decision, "and ef they make round behind the cliff, why, Steve, you
and me and Tom and Mac'll be at home long before they come out on the
far side. Reckon they'll give it up and get back to their huntin'
grounds. Boys, when we're back at the settlement we'll send the news
round, and there won't be another party making this side of the fall
for Albany. Murderin' cut-throats like them ought to be hounded down,
and ef they was our way----"
"We should root them out," said Tom, quietly, "No body of
self-respecting settlers would put up with such a state of things.
Against such a band we of the settlement are secure. But it will not
be always so."
He shook his head dubiously, while Jim and Mac nodded in agreement.
"Reckon the thirteen States has got to put aside their baby squabbles
and put their backs to this work ef we air to stay at the settlement,"
exclaimed Jim. "Trappers ain't powerful enough to stop the journeys of
the French and Injuns."
How true his words were likely to prove the reader will be able
to learn. For the time had come long since for concerted action.
France had set a covetous eye on the valley of the Ohio, on the
smiling forest country lying to the west of the Alleghany Mountains,
and resistlessly, unchecked as yet, she had poured into the land.
There had been no concerted movement to check her. The thirteen
States which then constituted our American colonies made no combined
movement against the enemy. For the most part they were absolutely
apathetic. And while they sat at their ease, surrounded by comfort and
security, hundreds and hundreds of the log huts and settlements of
their brothers were being ravaged by the French and their relentless
Indians. The guns and the courage of thousands of trappers and hardy
backwoodsmen were insufficient now to stem the torrent.
"The times are bad. There is trouble ahead," said Tom, thoughtfully.
"Let us hope it will pass by and leave our settlement undisturbed. But
I fear that that is too much to hope for. There is Jules Lapon."
Yes. There was Jules Lapon, leader of the most reckless and cruel
bands of Indians, and a near neighbour now of Tom and his friends.
"Well, we won't think of him and the troubles now," sang out Steve
cheerily. "We're well out of shot, and can cut the canoes adrift. Let
us get free of them and push on towards home."
They hacked through the creepers which bound the ends of the boughs to
their own canoe, and then cut holes in the two craft which they had
so deftly prepared, ripping the sides and throwing the reeds out into
the river. A few minutes later the canoes which had proved so useful
were sweeping along, hopelessly injured, and long before Steve and his
friends had turned round the bend of the cliff they had disappeared
under the water.
They dug their paddles into the stream now with a vengeance, and
sent their craft surging up the Mohawk, the echo of discordant yells
and whoops still coming to their ears. But they were secure from
pursuit, and never even troubled to look behind them. Turn and turn
about they struggled at the paddles, and in the course of seven days
found themselves at the end of their river journey. They had reached
the lake which emptied into the river, and their coming was greeted
by a tribe of Mohawk Indians. Then for two days they trudged through
the forest, the Mohawks helping to carry their stores. Above their
heads the branches grew in one long, continuous arch, hiding the
sun. Steve led the way, his record with this tribe of hardy warriors
now vastly increased after his recent exploits. His eye followed the
numerous blazes on the trees, slashes cut with Jim's tomahawk, and the
trappers' sure method of marking a path.
"The last stage, I think," said Tom, on the evening of the second day,
when they came in sight of water.
That evening there was a serious palaver round the camp fire, and
Silver Fox and his friends were rewarded with a portion of the stores.
On the following day when Steve and his friends stepped into a canoe
which had been hidden in the forest and pushed out on to this new
strip of water, the Mohawks waved a farewell to them from the bank.
"Health and strength go with you, our brothers," cried Silver Fox,
his features wearing their usual impassiveness. "Call should there be
danger, and Silver Fox and his friends will surely come."
Steve watched them as they dived into the forest, and then stared
down the river. They were on the Alleghany now, and a strong stream
was bearing them down to their own beloved settlement. Indeed, the
following day was hardly three hours old when all gave a shout of
recognition.
"Thar's the place. And thar's Jimmy!"
It was Jim who waved his cap and shouted, while a faint huzza came
back from the shore. They put the nose of the canoe towards a break in
the forest, and very soon Jim and Mac were greeting their wives, while
Tom and Steve looked on in silence. They unpacked the canoes, pulled
them up, and separated, Steve and his father making for their own
humble but comfortable log cabin.