BURNING OF THE CABIN
It was not long before the two young hunters heard the Indians quite
plainly. Evidently the redmen did not deem it necessary to advance with
more than ordinary caution for they conversed with each other in a low
tone, to which Dave and Henry listened with interest, although they
could understand little of what was said.
Presently one warrior took up a position in front of the crevice and not
over five yards from where the youths lay concealed. Evidently he was
listening for some sound from them, and they hardly dared to breathe. As
might be expected Dave at that instant felt a strong inclination to
sneeze, but he suppressed the desire, although almost bursting a blood
vessel in consequence.
Soon another Indian came up and then a third. A talk lasting several
minutes followed, and one warrior started to light a torch. But the
others stopped this, fearing it might draw the fire of the whites. Then
one redman shifted to the right, another to the left, while a third
crawled up over the rocks and through the bushes growing above the
opening.
By the time the Indians were out of hearing, and they dared to breathe
more freely, the darkness of night had settled heavily and high overhead
the stars came peeping forth one by one. They waited a little longer and
then Henry caught Dave by the arm.
"What do you think?" he whispered. "Are they gone?"
"I think so," returned the younger lad. "But there is no telling when
they will be back. Still I reckon we had better get out of here."
"I agree. But we can't take the course we were following. I think the
best we can do is to turn further to the left and strike Risley's from
the west," added Henry.
Dave was willing, and as cautiously as possible they climbed back out of
the crevice the way they had come. Just as Dave was about to step into
the clearing a sudden whirr of noise caused him to jerk back.
"What's that?" came quickly from his cousin.
"Some wild animal," was the answer after a pause.
"Did it attack you?"
"No, but it came pretty close. I thought first it was an Indian leaping
up out of the grass."
They moved off, side by side, and each with his gun ready for use. As
Henry was the hunter of the Morris family and knew the forest better
than anyone, Dave allowed him to do such guiding as seemed necessary.
They pursued their course over one rise and then another, and after that
followed the windings of a tiny brook which Henry said ran to within
gun-shot of the Risley homestead.
They were just making a bend of the watercourse when another wild animal
started up directly under Henry's feet. It was a fox resting in a hollow
log, and in its anxiety to get away the animal struck against Dave's
legs, upsetting him.
"Oh!" cried Dave as he went down. "Help! shoot him!"
"It's a fox!" ejaculated Henry, and as the animal shot past him he made
a dive and caught the beast by the brush. The fox gave a snarl and tried
to bite him, but ere the head came around the young hunter swung the fox
in a circle and brought him down with a dull thud on the log. The first
blow was followed by another, which crushed the beast's skull as though
it were an egg-shell.
"There! he'll never bother anybody again," said Henry, as he threw the
beast down. "Wish I had time to skin him. But we had better not lose a
minute."
"Henry, you're a wonder of a hunter!" burst out Dave. "I don't believe I
could have done that. It was much better than shooting him, for it saved
powder and saved making a noise too."
"Sam Barringford taught me that trick--although not on a fox. I once saw
him hammer the life out of a limping wolf that way, and he often catches
up snakes by the tail and snaps their heads off, whip fashion."
Leaving the fox where it had fallen, they continued on their way along
the stream until a tiny clearing was gained. Beyond this was a belt of
tall and heavy timber, which, on the opposite side, marked the boundary
of Uriah Risley's new land claim, one he had obtained, through Colonel
Washington, from old Lord Fairfax, who still resided at Greenway Court.
"I see a light!" said Dave, as they stopped on the edge of the timber.
"Look!"
Henry did so. It was a small blaze, apparently, and in the direction
where stood Risley's cabin.
"Can that be an Indian camp-fire?" went on the younger hunter.
"I don't think so, Dave. It's worse than that."
"Worse? Oh, Henry, do you think it is Risley's cabin that is burning?"
"Just what I do think. See, the flame is growing brighter. Either it's
the cabin or that cattle shed he has been building. Come on; we'll soon
know."
Henry now set off on a run through the timber, picking the way with all
the skill of an old frontiersman. Dave kept close behind his cousin. As
they advanced they saw the fire more plainly and beheld it spread out
and mount further skyward. It was Uriah Risley's cabin beyond a doubt,
and now the new cattle shed had caught and was also being consumed by
the devouring element.
"This is the work of the redskins," panted Henry, as they leaped over
rough rocks and tore their way through a clump of saplings. "And it
proves beyond a doubt that they are on the war-path."
While he was speaking a gun-shot sounded out, coming from a great
distance. Another report followed and then all became as silent as
before.
"That must be Risley, or somebody else, fighting the Indians off," said
Dave. "We'll have to be careful or we'll run into a trap."
"Keep in the timber," answered Henry. "For all we know there may be a
hundred redskins in this vicinity. Hark! They are around the cabin sure
enough."
They listened and amid the crackling of the flames they now heard the
whooping and yelling of a score of Indians, while the flickering glare
showed to them the dusky forms moving in one direction and another. Some
of the Indians had found a demijohn of liquor belonging to the
Englishman and were gulping this down in great glee, while others
paraded around with various spoils of war in their hands.
"I'd like to give 'em a shot--they deserve it," muttered Dave.
"Don't you do it," interposed Henry, hastily. "They'd be on us like a
wind-fall."
"What do you suppose has become of Mr. Risley and his wife?"
"Heaven alone knows, Dave. I trust they have escaped."
"If that was Mr. Risley shooting, do you suppose his wife is with him?"
"There is no telling. Perhaps he wasn't home when the Indians came up.
If that's so then Mrs. Risley is either dead or a prisoner."
"Was she alone?"
"I think so--at least I didn't hear of anybody going over lately."
"I wonder if we can't get a bit closer without being seen? Perhaps we
can learn something to our advantage."
"We might skirt the timber a bit. But be careful, and if the Indians
come for us we had better run without stopping to fire,--unless, of
course, they get too close," added Henry.
Once again he led the way, slowly and cautiously, flitting from one tree
to another in absolute silence. The fire was now at its height, lighting
up the sky for a long distance around. The sparks were blowing in their
direction, but the light fall of snow had wet the trees and brushwood,
so no harm was done.
Presently they found themselves again close to the brook, which at this
point crossed a garden patch that Uriah Risley had gotten into shape the
season before. At the side of the brook was a roughly constructed
milk-house, made of large stones for walls and untrimmed timbers for a
roof. Behind this the boys crouched, to take another view of what was
going on in the center of the clearing.
The Indians who had been drinking from the demijohn were growing
hilarious and their wild whooping could be heard for a long distance. At
the start of the fire some furniture had been hauled forth, a chest of
drawers and a bureau, and now some of the redmen set to work to break
open both articles, to see what they contained.
"They are after everything of value they can lay hands on," muttered
Dave. "What a shame! Do you see anything of----?"
The young hunter broke off short, for at that instant came a low moan of
pain from the interior of the milk-house.
"Are you--you white people!" came in a gasp. "If you are, for the love
of heaven--sa--save me!"
"It's Mrs. Risley!" burst out Dave, for he remembered that voice well.
He raised his head up to a crack in the rude planking. "Mrs. Risley, are
you alone?" he questioned. "It is I, Dave Morris, who is speaking."
"Dave Morris!" A groan followed. "Oh, Davy, lad, save me, won't you? I
am almost dead!"
"I'll do what I can for you, Mrs. Risley. My cousin Henry is with me. We
were out hunting when the Indians almost captured us. The woods are full
of them. Is Mr. Risley around?"
"No, he went to Will's Creek on business. I saw the Indians coming and I
tried to run away. But they shot at me with their arrows and one passed
through my left shoulder. Then I pretended to go into the house and
hide, and when they came in I leaped through a back window and ran for
this place. I got into the water up to my shoulders and pulled a bit of
a board over my head, to keep out of sight. They came down here and I
thought sure they'd find me, but they did not. But I am nearly perished
with the cold, and the wound from the arrow has made me very faint. You
will help me, won't you?"
"To be sure we'll help you," put in Henry. "But all we can do at present
is to lead you into the woods, and you can have my dry jacket if you
want it. We had better start directly for our house."
"I see a glare of a fire. Have they--they----?" The poor woman could not
finish.
"Yes, I am sorry to say the cabin is about burnt up," said Dave. "But
come, if your husband isn't around, we had better not waste time here.
We may be needed at home. It may be just as bad there, you know."
Both of the young hunters crawled around to the milk-house door and went
inside. The board was quickly raised and they helped Mrs. Risley from
the watery hole in which she had been squatting with her chin resting on
her knees. She was so chilled and stiff, and so weak from her wound, she
could scarcely stand, and they had literally to carry her into the
timber whence they had come.