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THE EYES OF THE WOODS

      *      *      *      *      *

By JOSEPH A. ALTSHELER


THE CIVIL WAR SERIES

The Guns of Bull Run
The Guns of Shiloh
The Scouts of Stonewall
The Sword of Antietam
The Star of Gettysburg
The Rock of Chickamaugua
The Shades of the Wilderness
The Tree of Appomattox


THE WORLD WAR SERIES

The Guns of Europe
The Hosts of the Air
The Forest of Swords


THE YOUNG TRAILERS SERIES

The Young Trailers
The Forest Runners
The Keepers of the Trail
The Eyes of the Woods
The Free Rangers
The Riflemen of the Ohio
The Scouts of the Valley
The Border Watch


THE TEXAN SERIES

The Texan Star
The Texan Scouts
The Texan Triumph


THE FRENCH AND INDIAN WAR SERIES

The Hunters of the Hills
The Shadow of the North
The Rulers of the Lakes


BOOKS NOT IN SERIES

Apache Gold
The Quest of the Four
The Last of the Chiefs
In Circling Camps
A Soldier of Manhattan
The Sun of Saratoga
A Herald of the West
The Wilderness Road
My Captive


D. APPLETON AND COMPANY, NEW YORK

      *      *      *      *      *


THE EYES OF THE WOODS

A Story of the Ancient Wilderness

by

JOSEPH A. ALTSHELER

Author of
"The Young Trailers," "The Shadow of the North,"
"The Hunters of the Hills," "The Tree of Appomattox," Etc.

Illustrated by D. C. Hutchison







[Illustration: "It was the shiftless one who had shot the bear,
and he was proud"]



D. Appleton and Company
New York and London: 1917

Copyright, 1917, by
D. Appleton and Company

Printed in the United States of America




FOREWORD


"The Eyes of the Woods" is an independent story, telling of certain
remarkable events in the life of Henry Ware, Paul Cotter, Shif'less Sol
Hyde, Silent Tom Ross and Long Jim Hart. But it is also a part of the
series dealing with these characters, and is the fourth in point of
time, coming just after "The Keepers of the Trail."




CONTENTS

CHAPTER                          PAGE

   I.  THE FLIGHT                   1

  II.  THE GREAT JOKE              23

 III.  A MERRY NIGHT               45

  IV.  THE CAPTURED CANOE          67

   V.  THE PROTECTING RIVER        89

  VI.  THE OASIS                  111

 VII.  INTO THE NORTH             130

VIII.  THE BUFFALO RING           149

  IX.  THE COVERT                 168

   X.  THE BEAR GUIDE             186

  XI.  THE GREATER POWERS         209

 XII.  THE STAG'S COMING          225

XIII.  THE LEAPING WOLF           245

 XIV.  THE WATCHFUL SQUIRREL      266

  XV.  THE LETTER                 286




LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS

"It was the shiftless one who had shot the bear, and
he was proud"                                _Frontispiece_

"'A lot of 'em are dancin' the scalp dance'"             78

"Red Eagle rose to address his hosts"                   204

"A gigantic wolf ... launched himself straight at the
warrior's throat"                                       254




THE EYES
OF THE WOODS




CHAPTER I

THE FLIGHT


A strong wind swept over the great forest, sending green leaves and
twigs in showers before it, and bringing clouds in battalions from the
west. The air presently grew cold, and then heavy drops of rain came,
pattering at first like shot, but soon settling into a hard and steady
fall that made the day dark and chill, tingeing the whole wilderness
with gloom and desolation.

The deer sought its covert, a buffalo, grazing in a little prairie,
thrust its huge form into a thicket, the squirrel lay snug in its nest
in the hollow of a tree, and the bird in the shelter of the foliage
ceased to sing. The only sounds were those of the elements, and the
world seemed to have returned to the primeval state that had endured for
ages. It was the kingdom of fur, fin and feather, and, so far as the
casual eye could have seen, man had not yet come.

But in the deep cleft of the cliff, from which coign of vantage they had
fought off Shawnee and Miami, Henry Ware, Paul Cotter and Long Jim Hart
sat snug, warm and dry, and looked out at the bitter storm. Near them a
small fire burned, the smoke passing out at the entrance, and at the far
end of the hollow much more wood was heaped. There were five beds of dry
leaves with the blankets lying upon them, useful articles were stored in
the niches of the stone, and jerked meat lay upon the natural shelves.
It was a secret, but cheerful spot in that vast, wet and cold
wilderness. Long Jim felt its comfort and security, as he rose, put
another stick of wood on the fire, and then resumed his seat near the
others.

"I'm sorry the storm came up so soon," said Henry. "Of course, Sol and
Tom are hardened to all kinds of weather, but it's not pleasant to be
caught in the woods at such a time."

"And our ammunition," said Paul. "It wouldn't hurt the lead, of course,
but it would be a disaster for the powder to be soaked through and
through. They'd have to go back to the settlements, and that would mean
a long journey and a lot of lost time."

"I don't think we need be afraid about the powder," said Henry.
"Whatever happens, Sol and Tom will protect it, even if their own bodies
suffer."

"Then I'm thinkin' they'll have to do a lot of protectin'," said Long
Jim. "The wind is blowin' plum' horizontal, an' the rain is sweepin'
'long in sheets."

Henry, despite his consoling words, was very anxious. Since their great
battle with the invading Indian force and the destruction of the cannon,
their supply of ammunition had run very low, and without powder and
bullets they were lost in the wilderness. He walked to the narrow
entrance of the cave, and, standing just where the rain could not reach
him, looked out upon the cold and dripping forest, a splendid figure
clothed in deerskin, specially adapted in both body and mind to
wilderness life.

He saw nothing but the foliage bending before the wind and the chill
sheets sent down by the clouds. The somber sky and the desolation would
not have made him feel lonely, even had he been without his comrades. He
had faced primeval nature too often and he knew it too well to be
overcome or to be depressed by any of its dangers. Yet his heart would
have leaped had he beheld the shiftless and the silent ones, making
their way among the trees, the needed packs on their backs.

"Any sign, Henry?" asked Paul.

"None," replied the tall youth, "but they said they'd be here today."

Paul, who was lying on a great buffalo robe with his feet to the fire,
shifted himself into an easier position. His face expressed content and
he felt no anxiety about the traveling two.

"If Shif'less Sol promised to be here he'll keep his word," he said,
"and Silent Tom will come without making any promises."

"You do talk won'erful well sometimes, Paul," said Long Jim, "an' I
reckon you've put the facts jest right. I ain't goin' to be troubled in
my mind a-tall, a-tall 'bout them fellers. They'll be here. Tom loves
nice tender buffler steak best, an' I'm goin' to have it ready fur him,
while Sol dotes most on fat juicy wild turkey, an' that'll be waitin'
fur him, too."

He turned to his stores, and producing the delicacies his comrades loved
began to fry them over the coals. The pleasant odors filled their rocky
home.

"I give them two a half hour more," he said. "I ain't got any gift uv
second sight. I don't look into the future--nobody does--but I jest
figger on what they are an' what they kin do, an' then I feel shore that
a half hour more is enough."

"Henry," asked Paul, "do you think the Miamis and the Shawnees will come
back after us?"

"I reckon upon it," replied Henry, still watching the wet forest. "Red
Eagle and Yellow Panther are shrewd and thoughtful chiefs, and Braxton
Wyatt and Blackstaffe are full of cunning. They are all able to put two
and two together, and they know that it was we who destroyed their
cannon when they attempted the big attack on the settlements. They'll
look upon us as the scouts and sentinels who see everything they do."

"The eyes of the woods," said Paul.

"Yes, that expresses it, and they'll feel that they're bound to destroy
us. As soon as the warriors get over their panic they'll come back to
put out the eyes that see too much of their deeds. They know, of course,
that we hold this hollow and that we've made a home here for a while."

"But as they won't return for some time I mean to take my comfort while
I can," said Paul sleepily. "I wouldn't exchange this buffalo robe, the
leaves under it, the fire before my feet and the roof of rock over my
head for the finest house in all the provinces. The power of contrast
makes my present situation one of great luxury."

"Power uv contrast! You do use a heap uv big words, Paul," said Long
Jim, "but I 'spose they're all right. Leastways I don't know they ain't.
Now, I'm holdin' back this buffler steak an' wild turkey, 'cause I want
'em to be jest right, when Sol an' Tom set down afore the fire. See
anythin' comin' through the woods, Henry?"

"No, Jim, nothing stirs there."

"It don't bother me. They'll 'pear in good time. They've a full ten
minutes yet, an' thar dinners will be jest right fur 'em. I hate to brag
on myself, but I shorely kin cook. Ain't we lucky fellers, Paul? It
seems to me sometimes that Providence has done picked us out ez speshul
favorites. Good fortune is plum' showered on us. We've got a snug holler
like this, one uv the finest homes a man could live in, an' round us is
a wilderness runnin' thousands uv miles, chock full uv game, waitin' to
be hunted by us. Ev'ry time the savages think they've got us, an' it
looks too ez ef they wuz right, we slip right out uv thar hands an' the
scalps are still growin' full an' free, squar'ly on top uv our heads. We
shorely do git away always, an' it 'pears to me, Paul, that we are
'bout the happiest an' most fort'nate people in the world."

Paul raised his head and looked at Jim, but it was evident to the lad
that his long comrade was in dead earnest, and perhaps he was right. The
lad shifted himself again and the light of the blaze flickered over his
finely-chiseled, scholarly face. Long Jim glanced at him with
understanding.

"Ef you had a book or two, Paul," he said, "you could stay here waitin'
an' be happy. Sometimes I wish that I liked to read. What's in it, Paul,
that kin chain you to one place an' make you content to be thar?"

"Because in the wink of an eye, Jim, it transports you to another world.
You are in new lands, and with new people, seeing what they do and doing
it with them. It gives your mind change, though your body may lie still.
Do you see anything yet, Henry, besides the forest and the rain?"

"A black dot among the trees, Paul, but it's very small and very far,
and it may be a bear that's wandered out in the wet. Besides, it's two
dots that we want to see, not one, and--as sure as I live there are two,
moving this way, though they're yet too distant for me to tell what they
are."

"But since they're two, and they're coming towards us, they ought to be
those whom we're expecting."

"Now they've moved into a space free of undergrowth and I see them more
clearly. They're not bears, nor yet deer. They're living human beings
like ourselves."

"Keep looking, Henry, and tell us whether you recognize 'em."

"The first is a tall man, young, with light hair. He is bent over a
little because of the heavy pack on his back, and the long distance he
has come, but he walks with a swing that I've seen before."

"I reckon," said Long Jim, "that he's close kin to that lazy critter,
Shif'less Sol."

"Closer even than a twin brother," continued Henry. "I'd know him
anywhere. The other just behind him, and bent also a little with his
heavy pack, is amazingly like a friend of ours, an old comrade who talks
little, but who does much."

"None other than Silent Tom," said Paul joyfully, as he rose and joined
Henry at the door. "Yes, there they are, two men, staunch and true, and
they bring the powder and lead. Of course they'd come on time! Nothing
could stop 'em. The whole Shawnee and Miami nations might be in between,
but they'd find a way through."

"An' the buffler steak an' the wild turkey are jest right," called Long
Jim. "Tell 'em to come straight in an' set down to the table."

Henry, putting his fingers to his lips, uttered a long and cheerful
whistle. The shiftless one and the silent one, raising their heads, made
glad reply. They were soaked and tired, but success and journey's end
lay just before them, and they advanced with brisker steps, to be
greeted with strong clasps of the hand and a warm welcome. They entered
the rocky home, put aside the big packs with sighs of relief and spread
out their fingers to the grateful heat.

"That's the last work I mean to do fur a year," said Shif'less Sol.
"'Twuz a big job, a mighty big job fur me, a lazy man, an' now I'm goin'
to rest fur months an' months, while Long Jim waits on me an' feeds me."

"Jest now I'm glad to do it, Sol," said Jim. "Take off your clothes, you
an' Tom, hang 'em on the shelf thar to dry, an' now set to. The steaks
an' the turkey are the finest I ever cooked, an' they're all fur you
two. An' I kin tell you fellers that the sight uv you is good fur weak
eyes."

Shif'less Sol and Silent Tom ate like epicures, while, denuded of their
wet deerskins but wrapped in dry blankets, they basked in the heat.

"Not a drop of rain got at the powder," said the shiftless one
presently, "an' even ef we don't capture any from the Injuns we ought to
hev enough thar to last us many months."

"Did you see anything of the warriors?" asked Henry.

"We hit one trail 'bout fifty miles south uv here, but we didn't have
time to foller it. Still, it's 'nough to show that they're in between us
an' the settlements."

"We expected it. We discovered sufficient while you were gone to be sure
they're going to make a great effort to end us. They look upon us as the
eyes of the woods, and they've concluded that their first business is
with us before they make another attack on our villages."

Shif'less Sol helped himself to a fresh piece of the wild turkey, and
made another fold of the blanket about his athletic body.

"Paul hez talked so much 'bout them old Romans wrapped in their togys
that I feel like one now," he said, "an' I kin tell you I feel pow'ful
fine, too. That wuz a cold rain an' a wet rain, an' the fire an' the
food are mighty good, but it tickles me even more to know how them
renegades an' warriors rage ag'inst us. I've a heap o' respeck fur Red
Eagle an' Yellow Panther, who are great chiefs an' who are fightin' fur
thar rights ez they see 'em, but the madder Blackstaffe an' Wyatt git
the better I like it."

"Me, too," said Silent Tom with emphasis, relapsing then into silence
and his preoccupation with the buffalo steak. The shiftless one regarded
him with a measuring gaze.

"Tom," he said, "why can't you let a feller finish his dinner without
chatterin' furever? I see the day comin' when you'll talk us all plum'
to death."

Silent Tom shook his head in dissent. He had exhausted speech.

Paul, who had remained at the door, watching, announced an increase of
rain and wind. Both were driving so hard that leaves and twigs were
falling, and darkness as of twilight spread over the skies. The cold,
although but temporary, was like that of early winter.

"We needn't expect any attack now," said Henry. "Join us, Paul, around
the fire, and we'll have a grand council, because we must decide how
we're going to meet the great man hunt they're organizing for us."

Paul left the cleft, and sat down on a doubled blanket with his back
against the wall. He felt the full gravity of the crisis, knowing that
hundreds of warriors would be put upon their trail, resolved never
to leave the search until the five were destroyed, but he had full
confidence in his comrades. In all the world there were not five others
so fit to overcome the dangers of the woods, and so able to endure their
hardships.

"I suppose, Henry," said Paul, with his mind full of ancient lore, "now
that the Roman Senate, or its successor, is in session you are its
presiding officer."

"If that's the wish of the rest of you," said Henry.

"It is!" they said all together.

Henry, like Paul, was sitting on his doubled blanket with his back
against the stony wall. Jim Hart, his long legs crossed, occupied a
similar position, and, by the flickering light of the fire, Shif'less
Sol and Silent Tom, wrapped in their blankets, looked in truth like
Roman senators.

"Will you tell us, Henry, what you found out while we wuz away?" asked
the shiftless one. Henry had made a scouting expedition while the two
were gone for the powder and lead.

"I made one journey across the Ohio," replied their chief, "and at
night I went near a Shawnee village. Red Eagle was there, and so were
Blackstaffe and Wyatt. Lying in the bushes near the fire by which they
sat, I could catch enough of their talk to learn that the Shawnee and
Miami nations are going to bend all their energies and powers to our
destruction. That is settled."

"I feel a heap flattered," said Shif'less Sol, "that so many warriors
should be sent ag'inst us, who are only five. What wuz it that old
feller was always sayin', Paul, every time he held up a bunch o' fresh
figs before the noses o' the Roman senators?"

"_Delenda est Carthago_, which is Latin, Sol, and it means just now,
when I give it a liberal translation, that we five must be wiped clean
off the face of the earth."

"I've heard you say often, Paul, that Latin was a dead language, an' so
all them old dead sayin's won't hev any meanin' fur us. I kin live long
on the threats o' Braxton Wyatt an' Blackstaffe, an' so kin all o' us.
But go on, Henry. I 'pologize fur interruptin' the presidin' officer."

"I learned all I could there," continued Henry, "but I was able to
gather only their general intention, that is their resolve to crush us,
a plan that both Wyatt and Blackstaffe urged. However, when I trailed a
large band two days later, and crept near their camp, I discovered
more."

"What wuz it?" exclaimed the shiftless one, leaning forward a little,
his face showing tense and eager in the glow of the flames.

"They're going to spread a net for us. Not one body of warriors will
seek us, but many. Red Eagle will lead a band, Yellow Panther will be
at the head of another, Braxton Wyatt will be in charge of a third,
Blackstaffe will take a fourth, and there will be at least seven or
eight more, though some of them may unite later. Shif'less Sol has put
it right. We'll be honored as men were never honored before in this
wilderness. At least a thousand warriors, brave and skillful men, all,
will be hunting us, two hundred to one and maybe more."

"And while they're hunting us," said Paul, his eyes glistening, "we'll
draw 'em off from the settlements, and we'll be serving our people just
as much as we did when we were destroying the big guns, and filling the
warriors with superstitious alarm."

"True in every word," said Henry, his soul rising for the contest. "Let
'em come on and we'll lead 'em such a chase that their feet will be worn
to the bone, and their minds will be full of despair!"

"You put it right," said the shiftless one. "I think I'll enjoy bein' a
fox fur awhile. The forest is full o' holes an' dens, an' when they dig
me out o' one I'll be off fur another."

"We know the wilderness as well as they do," said Henry, "and we can use
as many tricks as they can. Now, since they're spreading a great net, we
must take the proper steps to evade it. Having besieged our refuge here
once, they'll naturally look again for us in this place. If they catch
us inside they'll sit outside until they starve us to death."

"Which means," said Paul regretfully, "that we must leave our nice dry
home."

"So it does, but not, I think, before tomorrow morning, and we'll use
the hours meanwhile to good advantage. We must begin at once molding
into bullets the lead that Sol and Tom brought."

Every one of the five carried with him that necessary implement in the
wilderness, a bullet mold, and they began the task immediately, all save
Henry, who went outside, despite the fierce rain, and scouted a bit
among the bushes and trees. The four made bullets fast, melting the
lead in a ladle that Jim carried, pouring it into the molds, and then
dropping the shining and deadly pellets one by one into their pouches.
Three of them talked as they worked, but Silent Tom did not speak for a
full hour. Then he said:

"We'll have five hundred apiece."

Shif'less Sol looked at him reprovingly.

"Tom," he said, "I predicted a while ago that the time wuz soon comin'
when you'd talk us to death. You used five words then, when you know
your 'lowance is only one an hour."

Tom Ross flushed under his tan. He hated, above all things, to be
garrulous. "Sorry," he muttered, and continued his work with renewed
energy and speed. The bullets seemed to drop in a shining stream from
his mold into his pouch. But Shif'less Sol talked without ceasing, his
pleasant chatter encouraging them, as music cheers troops for battle.

"It ain't right fur me to hev to work this way," he said, "me sich a
lazy man. I ought to lay over thar on a blanket, an' go to sleep while
Jim does my share ez well ez his own."

"When I'm doin' your share, Sol Hyde," said Long Jim, "you'll be dead.
Not till then will I ever tech a finger to your work. You are a lazy
man, ez you say, an' fur sev'ral years now I've been tryin' to cure you
uv it, but I ain't made no progress that I kin see."

"I don't want you to make progress, Jim. I like to be lazy, an' jest now
I feel pow'ful fine, fed well, an' layin' here, wrapped in a blanket
before a good warm fire."

Henry went back to the cleft, and took another long look. The conditions
had not changed, save that night was coming and the wilderness was chill
and hostile. The wind blew with a steady shrieking sound, and the
driving rain struck like sleet. Leaves fell before it, and in every
depression of the earth the water stood in pools. Over this desolate
scene the faint sun was sinking and the twilight, colder and more solemn
than the day, was creeping. He looked at the wet forest and the coming
dusk, and then back at the dry hollow and the warm fire behind him. The
contrast was powerful, but only one choice was left to them.

"Boys," he said, "we'll have to make the most of tonight."

"Because we must leave our home in the morning?" said Paul.

"Yes, that's it. We'll have to take to the woods, no matter how hard it
is. Chance doesn't favor us this time. I fancy the band led by Braxton
Wyatt will make straight for our house here."

"Since it's the last dry bed I'll have fur some time I'm goin' to
sleep," said Shif'less Sol plaintively. "Everybody pesters a lazy man,
an' I mean to use the little time I hev."

"You've a right to it, Sol," said Henry, "because you've walked long and
far, and you've brought what we needed most. The sooner you and Tom go
to sleep the better. Paul, you join 'em and Jim and I will watch."

The shiftless one and the silent one turned on their sides, rested their
heads on their arms and in a minute or two were off to the land of
slumber. Paul was slower, but in a quarter of an hour or so he followed
them to the same happy region. Long Jim put out the fire, lest the gleam
of the coals through the cleft should betray their presence to a
creeping enemy--although neither he nor Henry expected any danger at
present--and took his place beside his watchful comrade.

The two did not talk, but in the long hours of rain and darkness they
guarded the entrance. Their eyes became so used to the dusk that they
could see far, but they saw nothing alive save, late in the night, a
lumbering black bear, driven abroad and in the storm by some restless
spirit. Long Jim watched the ungainly form, as it shambled out of sight
into a thicket.

"A bad conscience, I reckon," he said. "That b'ar would be layin' snug
in his den ef he didn't hev somethin' on his mind. He's ramblin' 'roun'
in the rain an' cold, cause's he's done a wrong deed, an' can't sleep
fur thinkin' uv it. Stole his pardner's berries an' roots, mebbe."

"Perhaps you're right, Jim," Henry said, "and animals may have
consciences. We human beings are so conceited that we think we alone
feel the difference between right and wrong."

"I know one thing, Henry, I know that b'ars an' panthers wouldn't leave
thar own kind an' fight ag'inst thar own race, as Braxton Wyatt an'
Blackstaffe do. That black b'ar we jest saw may feel sore an' bad, but
he ain't goin' to lead no expedition uv strange animals ag'inst the
other black b'ars."

"You're right, Jim."

"An' fur that reason, Henry, I respeck a decent honest black b'ar, even
ef he is mad at hisself fur some leetle mistake, an' even ef he can't
read an' write an' don't know a knife from a fork more than I do a
renegade man who's huntin' the scalps uv them he ought to help."

"Well spoken, Jim. Your sense of right and wrong is correct nearly
always. Like you, I've a lot of respect for the black bear, and also for
the deer and the buffalo and the panther and the other people of the
woods. Do you think the rain is dying somewhat?"

"'Pears so to me. It may stop by day an' give us a chance to leave
without a soakin'."

They relapsed again into a long silence, but they saw that their hope
was coming true. The wind was sinking, its shriek shrinking to a whisper
and then to a sigh. The rain ceased to beat so hard, coming by and by
only in fitful showers, while rays of moonlight, faint at first, began
to appear in the western sky. In another half hour the last shower came
and passed, but the forest was still heavy with dripping waters. Henry,
nevertheless, knew that it was time to go, and he awakened the sleepers.

"We must make up our packs," he said.

The five worked with speed and skill. All the lead, newly brought, had
been molded into bullets, and the powder, save that in their horns,
was carried in bags. This, with the blankets and portions of food,
constituted most of their packs. Some furs and skins they left to those
who might come, and then they slipped from the warm hollow, which had
furnished such a grateful shelter to them.

"It's just as well," said Henry, "that we should let 'em think we're
still in there. Then they may waste a day or two in approaching, so hide
your footprints."

The earth was soft from the rain, but the stony outcrop ran a long
distance, and they walked on it cautiously so far as it went, after
which they continued on the fallen trunks and brush, with which the
forest had been littered by the winds of countless years. They were
able, without once touching foot to ground, to reach a brook, into which
they stepped, following its course at least two miles. When they emerged
at last they sat down on stones and let the water run from their
moccasins and leggings.

"I don't like getting wet, this way," said Henry, "but there was no
choice. At least, we know we've come a great distance and have left no
trail. There'll be no chance to surprise us now. How long would you say
it is till day, Sol?"

"'Bout two hours," replied the shiftless one, "an' I 'spose we might ez
well stay here a while. We're south o' the hollow an' Wyatt an' his band
are purty shore to come out o' the north. The woods are mighty wet, but
the day is goin' to be without rain, an' a good sun will dry things
fast. What we want is to git a new home fur a day or two, in some deep
thicket."

They began to search and presently found a dense tangle, with several
large trees growing near the center of it, the trunk of one of them
hollowed out by time. In the opening they put their bags of powder, part
of their bullets and other supplies, and then, wrapped in their
blankets, sat down in the brush before it.

"Now, Henry," said Shif'less Sol, "it's shore that we ain't goin' to be
besieged, though our empty holler may be, an' that bein' the case, an'
the trouble bein' passed fur the moment, you an' Jim, who watched most
o' the night, go to sleep, an' Tom an' Paul too might take up thar naps
whar they left 'em off. I'll do the watchin', an' I'll take a kind o'
pride in doin' it all by myself."

The others made no protest, but, leaning their backs against the tree
trunks, soon fell asleep, while the shiftless one, rifle under his arm,
went to the edge of the canebrake, and began his patrol. He bore little
resemblance to a lazy man now. He was, next to Henry, the greatest
forest runner of the five, a marvel of skill, endurance and perception,
with a mighty heart beating beneath his deerskins, and an intellect of
wonderful native power, reasoning and drawing deductions under his
thatch of blonde hair.

Shif'less Sol listened to the drip, drip of water from the wet boughs
and leaves, and he watched a great sun, red and warm, creep slowly over
the eastern hills. He was not uncomfortable, nor was he afraid of
anything, but he was angry. He remembered with regret the pleasant
hollow, so dry and snug. It belonged, by right of discovery and
improvement, to his comrades and himself, but it might soon be defiled
by the presence of Indians, led by the hated renegade, Braxton Wyatt.
They would sleep on his favorite bed of leaves, they would cook where
Long Jim Hart had cooked so well, though they could never equal him, and
they would certainly take as their own the furs and skins they had been
compelled to leave behind.

The more he thought of it the stronger his wrath grew. Had it not been
for his fear of leaving a betraying trail he would have gone back to see
if the warriors were already approaching the hollow; but his sense of
duty and obvious necessity kept him at the edge of the brake in which
his comrades lay, deep in happy slumber.

Morning advanced, warm and beautiful, sprinkling the world at first
with silver and then with gold, the sky gradually turning to a deep
velvety blue, as intense as any that the shiftless one had ever seen.
The myriads of raindrops stood out at first like silver beads on grass
and leaves, and then dried up rapidly under the brilliant rays of the
sun. A light breeze blew through the foliage, and sang a pleasant song
as it blew.

Shif'less Sol felt a wonderful uplift of the spirits. In the darkness
and rain of the night before he might have been depressed somewhat at
leaving their good shelter for the wet wilderness, but in the splendid
dawn he was all buoyancy and confidence.

"Let 'em come," he said to himself. "Let Braxton Wyatt an' Blackstaffe
an' all the Miamis an' Shawnees hunt us fur a year, but they won't get
us, no, not one of us."

Then he sank silently in the deep grass and slid cautiously away, not
toward the dense brake, but to a point well to one side. His acute ear
had heard a sound which was not a part of the morning, and while it
might be made by a wild animal, then again it might be caused by wilder
man. He thanked his wary soul, when, looking above the tops of the
grass, he saw two warriors, Shawnees by their paint, emerge from the
woods and walk northward, to be followed presently by a full score more,
Braxton Wyatt himself at their head.

And so the band had come out of the south, instead of the north!
Doubtless they had circled about before approaching, in order to make
the surprise complete, and the trigger drew the finger of the shiftless
one like a magnet, as he looked at the renegade, the most ruthless
hunter among those who hunted the five. Although the temptation to do so
was strong, Shif'less Sol did not fire, knowing that his bullet would
draw the attack of the band upon his comrades and himself. Instead, he
followed them cautiously about half a mile.

He was confirmed in his opinion--in truth, little short of certainty in
the first instance--that they were marching against the hollow, and its
supposed inmates, as presently they began to advance with extreme care,
kneeling down in the undergrowth and sending out flankers. Shif'less Sol
laughed. It was a low laugh, but deep, and full of unction. He knew that
the farther march of Wyatt and his warriors would be very slow, having
in mind the deadly rifles of the five, the muzzles of which they would
feel sure were projecting from the mouth of the rocky retreat. It was
likely that the entire morning would be spent in an enveloping movement,
dusky figures creeping forward inch by inch in a semi-circle, and then
nothing would be inside the semi-circle.

Shif'less Sol laughed to himself again, and with the same deep and
heartfelt unction. Then he turned and went back to his comrades, who yet
slept soundly in the brake. The cane was so dense that they lay in the
dimness of the shadows, and there was no disturbing light upon their
eyes to awaken them. Shif'less Sol contemplated them with satisfaction,
and then he sat down silently near them. He saw no reason to awaken
them. Braxton Wyatt was now formally arranging the siege of the rocky
refuge and its vanished defenders, and he would not interrupt him for
worlds in that congenial task. For the third time he laughed to himself
with depth and unction.

The sun rose higher in a sky that arched in its perfect blue over a day
of dazzling beauty. The last drop of rain on leaf or grass dried up, and
the forest was a deep green, suffused and tinted, though, with a
luminous golden glow from the splendid sun. The shiftless one raised his
head and inhaled its clear, sweet odors, the great heart under the
deerskins and the great brain under the thatch of hair alike sending
forth a challenge. Not all the Shawnees, not all the Miamis, not all the
renegades could drive the five from this mighty, unoccupied wilderness
of Kain-tuck-ee, which his comrades and he loved and in which they had
as good a right as any Indian or renegade that ever lived.

It was so still in the canebrake that the birds over the head of the
watcher began to sing. Another black bear lumbered toward them, and,
catching the strange, human odor, lumbered away again. A deer, a tall
buck, holding up his head, sniffed the air, and then ran. Wild turkeys
in a distant tree gobbled, a bald eagle clove the air on swift wing, but
the sleepers slept placidly on.




CHAPTER II

THE GREAT JOKE


Mid-morning and Henry awoke, yawning a little and stretching himself
mightily. Then he looked questioningly at Shif'less Sol who sat in a
position of great luxury with his doubled blanket between his back and
a tree trunk, and his rifle across his knees. The look of satisfaction
that had come there in the morning like a noon glow still overspread his
tanned and benevolent countenance.

"Well, Sol?"

"Well, Henry?"

"What has happened while we slept?"

"Nothin', 'cept that Braxton Wyatt an' twenty Shawnee warriors passed,
takin' no more notice o' us than ef we wuz leaves o' the forest."

"Advancing on our old house?"

"Yes, they've set the siege by now."

"And we're not there. I'll wake the others. They must share in the
joke."

Paul, Long Jim and Silent Tom wiped the last wisp of sleep from their
eyes, and, when they heard the tale of a night and a morning, they too
laughed to themselves with keen enjoyment.

"What will we do, Henry?" Paul asked.

"First, we'll eat breakfast, though it's late. Then we'll besiege the
besiegers. While they're drawing the net which doesn't enclose us we
might as well do 'em all the harm we can. We're going to be dangerous
fugitives."

The five laughed in unison.

"We'll make Braxton Wyatt and the Shawnees think the forest is full of
enemies," said Paul.

Meanwhile they took their ease, and ate breakfast of wild turkey,
buffalo steak and a little corn bread that they hoarded jealously. The
sun continued its slow climb toward the zenith and Paul, looking up
through the canes, thought he had never seen a finer day. Then he
remembered something.

"I suggest that we don't move today," he said. "They won't approach the
hollow until night anyway, and it wouldn't hurt for us to lie here in
the shelter of the brake and rest until dark."

Henry looked at him in surprise.

"Your idea is sudden and I don't understand it," he said.

"So it is, Henry, but it never occurred to me until a moment ago that
this was Sunday. We haven't observed Sunday in a long time, and now is
our chance. We can't wholly forget our training."

He spoke almost with apology, but the leader did not upbraid him.
Instead, he looked at the others and found agreement in their eyes.

"Paul talks in a cur'ous manner an' has cur'ous notions sometimes," said
Shif'less Sol, "but I don't say they ain't good. It's a long time since
we've paid any 'tention to Sunday, but the idee sticks in my mind. Mebbe
it would be a good way fur us to start our big fight ag'inst the tribes
an' the renegades."

"When Cromwell and his Ironsides advanced against the Royalists," said
Paul, "they knelt down and prayed first on the very field of battle.
Then they advanced with their pikes in a solid line, and nothing was
ever able to stand before them."

"Then we'll keep Sunday," said Henry decisively.

Paul, feeling a thrill of satisfaction, lay back on his blanket. The
idea that they should observe Sunday, that it would be a good omen and
beginning, had taken hold of him with singular power. His character was
devout and a life in the wilderness among its mighty manifestations
deepened its quality. Like the Indian he wanted the spirits of earth and
air on his side.

The five had acquired the power of silence and to rest intensely when
nothing was to be done. Their food finished, they lay back against their
doubled blankets in a calm and peace that was deep and enduring. It was
not necessary to go to the edge of the canebrake, as in the brilliant
light of the day they might be noticed there, and, where they lay, they
could see anyone who came long before he arrived.

Paul, as he breathed, absorbed belief and confidence in their success.
Surely so bright a sky bending over them was a good omen! and the tall
canes themselves, as they bent before the wind, whispered to him that
all would be well. Henry in his own way was no less imaginative than his
young comrade. He let his eyelids droop, not to sleep, but to listen.
Then as no one of the five stirred, he too heard the voice of the wind,
but it sang to him a song far more clear than any Paul heard. It told of
triumphs achieved and others yet to come, and, as the great youth lifted
his lazy lids and looked around at the others, he felt that they were
equal to any task.

The afternoon, keeping all its promise of brilliant beauty, waxed and
waned. The great sun dipped behind the forest. The twilight came, at
first a silver veil, then a robe of dusk, and after it a night luminous
with a clear moon and myriads of stars wrapped the earth, touching every
leaf and blade of grass with a white glow.

Still the five did not stir. For a long time they had seemed a part of
the forest itself, and the wild animals and birds, rejoicing in the dry
and beautiful night after the stormy one that had passed, took them to
be such, growing uncommonly brave. The restless black bear came back,
looked at them, and then sniffing disdainfully went away to hunt for
roots. The great wings of the eagle almost brushed the cane that hung
over Henry's head, but the little red eyes were satisfied that what
they saw was not living, and the dark body flashed on in search of its
prey.

"Three hours more at least, Paul," said Henry at last, "until Sunday is
over."

"And I suggest that we wait the full three hours before we make any
movement. I know it looks foolish in me to say it, but the feeling is
very strong on me that it will be a good thing to do."

"Not foolish at all, Paul. I look at it just as you do, and since we've
begun the observance we ought to carry it through to the finish. You
agree with me, don't you, boys?"

"I shorely do," said the shiftless one.

"Ef Paul thinks it's right it's right," said Long Jim.

"Can't hurt anythin'; it may help," said Silent Tom.

They resumed their silence and waiting, and meanwhile they listened
attentively for any sound that might come from those who were stalking
their old home. But the deep stillness continued, save for the light
song of the wind that sang continually among the leaves. Henry, in his
heart, was truly glad of Paul's idea, and that they had concluded to
observe it. A spiritual atmosphere clothed them all. They had come of
religious parents, and the borderer, moreover, always personified the
great forces of nature, before which he was reverential. The five now
were like the Romans and the Greeks, who were anxious to propitiate the
gods ere going into action.

Henry gazed at the moon, a silver globe in the heavens, and he
distinctly saw the man upon its surface, who returned his looks with
benevolence, while the countless stars about it quivered and glittered
and shed a propitious light. Then he gazed at his comrades, resting
against the trunks of the trees, and unreal in the silver mist. They
were yet so still that the wild animals might well take them to be
lifeless, and the power to sit there so long without stirring a muscle
was one acquired only by warriors and scouts.

A faint whining cry came out of the silver dark, a sound that had
traveled a great distance on waves of air, and every one of the five
understood it, on the instant. It was one of the most ominous sounds of
the forest, a sound full of ferocity and menace, the howl of the wolf,
but they knew it came from human lips, that, in truth, it was a signal
ordered by the leader of the besieging band. Presently the reply, a
similar cry, came from another point of the compass, traveling like the
first on waves of air, until it died away in a savage undernote.

"They've probably set their lines all the way around our hollow, and
they're sure now they'll hold us fast," said Henry, with grim irony.

"That's 'bout it, I take it," said Shif'less Sol, "an' it 'pears to me
that this is the time for us to laugh, purvidin' it won't be in any way
breakin' uv our agreement to keep the day till its very last minute."

He looked questioningly at Paul.

"To laugh is not against our compact," replied the lad, "since it has
such good cause. When a net is cast for us, and those who cast it are
so confident we're in it, we've a right to laugh as long as we're
outside it."

"Then," said Shif'less Sol with conviction, "ez thar's so much to laugh
at, an' we've all agreed to laugh, we'll laugh."

The five accordingly laughed, but the laughs were soundless. Their eyes
twinkled, their lips twitched, but the canebrake, save for the ceaseless
rustle of the singing wind, was as silent as ever. No one five feet away
would have known that anybody was laughing.

"Thar, I feel better," said Shif'less Sol, when his face quit moving,
"but though they're a long distance off I kin see with my mind's eyes
Braxton Wyatt an' his band stalkin' us in our home in the rock, an'
claspin' us in a grip that can't be shook off."

"Shettin' down on us," said Silent Tom.

The shiftless one bent upon him a reproving look.

"Thar you are, Tom!" he said, "talkin' 'us to death ag'in. Can't you
ever give your tongue no rest?"

Silent Tom blushed once more under his tan, but said nothing, abashed by
his comrade's stern rebuke.

"Yes, I kin see Braxton Wyatt an' his band stalkin' us," resumed
Shif'less Sol, having the floor, or rather the earth, again to himself.
"Braxton's heart is full o' unholy glee. He is sayin' to hisself that we
can't git away from him this time, that he's stretched 'bout us a ring,
through which we'll never break. He's laughin' to hisself jest az we
laugh to ourselves, though with less cause. He's sayin' that he an' his
warriors will set down at a safe distance from our rifles an' wait
patiently till we starve to death or give up an' trust ourselves to his
tender mercy. He's braggin' to hisself 'bout his patience, how he kin
set thar fur a month, ef it's needed, an' I kin read his mind. He's
thinkin' that even ef we give up it won't make no diff'unce. Our scalps
will hang up to dry jest the same, an' he will take most joy in lookin'
at yours, Henry, your ha'r is so fine an' so thick an' so yellow, an' he
hez such a pizen hate o' you."

"Your fancy is surely alive tonight, Sol," said Henry, "and I believe
the thought of Braxton Wyatt's disappointment later on is what has
stirred it up so much."

"I 'low you're right, Henry, but I'm thinkin' 'bout the grief o' that
villain, Blackstaffe, too. Oh, he'll be a terrible sorrowful man when
the net's closed, an' he finds thar's nothin' in it. It will be the
great big disappointment o' his life an' I 'low it will be some time
afore Moses Blackstaffe kin recover from the blow."

The silent laugh again overspread the countenance of the shiftless one
and lingered there. It was one of the happiest moments that he had ever
known. There was no malice in his nature, but he knew the renegades were
hunting for his life with a vindictiveness and cruelty surpassing that
of the Indians themselves, and he would not have been true to human
nature had he not obeyed the temptation to rejoice.

"A half hour more and Sunday will have passed," said Henry, who was
again attentively surveying the man in the moon.

"An' then," said Long Jim, "we'll take a look at what them fellers are
doin'."

"It will be a good move on our part, and if we can think of any device
to make 'em sure we're still in the hollow it will help still more."

"Which means," said Paul, "that one of us must pass through their lines
and fire upon them from the inside, that is, he must give concrete proof
that he's in the net."

"Big words!" muttered Long Jim.

"I think you put it about right," said Henry.

"Mighty dang'rous," said Shif'less Sol.

"I expected to undertake it," said Henry.

"You speak too quick," said the shiftless one. "I said it wuz dang'rous
'cause I want it fur myself. It's got to be a cunnin' sort o' deed, jest
the kind that will suit me."

"By agreement I'm the leader, and I've chosen this duty for myself,"
said Henry firmly.

"Thar are times when I don't like you a-tall, a-tall, Henry," said
Shif'less Sol plaintively. "You're always pickin' out the good risky
adventures fur yourse'f. Ef thar's any fine, lively thing that will
make a feller's ha'r stan' up straight on end an' the chills chase one
another up an' down his back, you're sure to grab it off, an' say it wuz
jest intended fur you. That ain't the right way to treat the rest o' us
nohow."

"No, it ain't," grumbled Silent Tom, but Shif'less Sol turned fiercely
on him.

"Beginnin' to talk us to death ag'in, are you, Tom Ross?" he exclaimed.
"Runnin' on forever with that garrylous tongue o' yourn! You jest let
me have this out with Henry!"

Again Tom Ross blushed in the darkness and under the tan. A terrible
fear seized him that he had indeed grown garrulous, a man of many and
empty words. It was all right for Shif'less Sol to talk on forever,
because the words flowed from his lips in a liquid stream, like water
coursing down a smooth channel, but it did not become Tom Ross, from
whom sentences were wrenched as one would extract a tooth. Paul laughed
softly but with intense enjoyment.

"When I die, seventy or eighty years from now," he said, "and go to
Heaven, I expect, when I pass through the golden gates, to hear a steady
and loud but pleasant buzz. It will go on and on, without ceasing. Maybe
it will be the droning of bees, but it won't be. Maybe it will be the
roar of water over a fall, but it won't be. Maybe it will be a strong
wind among the boughs, but it won't be. Oh, no, it will be none of those
things. It will be one Solomon Hyde, formerly of Kentucky, and they'll
tell me that his tongue has never stopped since he came to Heaven ten
years before, and off in one corner there'll be a silent individual, Tom
Ross, who entered Heaven at the same time. And they'll say that in all
the ten years he has spoken only once and that was when he passed the
gates, looked all around and said: 'Good, but not much better than the
Ohio Country.'"

Both Shif'less Sol and Silent Tom grinned, but the discussion was not
pursued, as Henry announced that he was about to leave them in order to
enter the Indian ring, and make Wyatt and the warriors think the rocky
hollow was defended.

"The rest of you would better stay in the canebrakes or the thickets,"
he said.

"We won't go so fur away that we can't hear any signal you may make,"
said Long Jim Hart. "Give us the cry uv the wolf. Thar are lots uv
wolves in these woods, Injun an' other kinds, but we know yourn from the
rest, Henry."

"And don't take too big risks," said Paul.

"I won't," said Henry, and he quickly vanished from their sight among
the bushes. Two hundred yards away, and he stopped, but he could not
hear them moving. Nor had he expected that any sound would come from
them to him, knowing that they would lie wholly still for a long time,
awaiting his passage through the Indian lines.

The heart of the great youth swelled within him. As truly a son of the
wilderness as primitive man had been thousands of years ago, before
civilization had begun, when he depended upon the acuteness of his
senses to protect him from monstrous wild beasts, he was as much at home
now as the ordinary man felt in city streets, and he faced his great
task not only without apprehension, but with a certain delight. He had
the Indian's cunning and the white man's intellect as well, and he was
eager to match wits and cunning against those of the warriors.

He would have been glad had the night turned a little darker, but the
full burnished moon and showers of stars gave no promise of it, and he
must rely upon his own judgment to seek the shadows, and to pass where
they lay thickest. The forest, spread about him, was magnificent with
oak and beech and elm of great size, but the moonlight and the starshine
shone between the trunks, and moving objects would have been almost as
conspicuous there as in the day. Hence he sought the brushwood, and
advancing swiftly in its shelter, he approached the place that had been
such a comfortable home for the five, but which they had thought it wise
to abandon. A whimsical fancy, a desire to repay them for the evil they
were doing, seized him. He would not only draw the warriors on, but he
would annoy and tantalize them. He would make them think the evil
spirits were having sport with them.

A half mile, and he sank to the earth, lying so still that anyone a yard
away could not have heard him breathe. Two warriors stood under the
boughs of an oak and they were looking in the direction of the hollow.
He had no doubt they were watchers, posted there to prevent the flight
of the besieged in that direction, and he was shaken with silent
laughter at this spectacle of men who stood guard that none might pass,
when there was none to pass. He was already having his revenge upon them
for the trouble they were causing and he felt that the task of repayment
was beginning well.

The two Shawnees walked back and forth a little, searching everything
with their questing eyes, but they did not speak. Presently they turned
somewhat to one side, and Henry, still using the shelter of the
brushwood, flitted silently past them. Three or four hundred yards
farther and he lay down, laughing again to himself. It had been
ridiculously easy. All his wild instincts were alive and leaping, and
his senses became preternaturally acute. He heard some tiny animals of
the cat tribe, alarmed by his presence, stealing away among the bushes,
and the sound of an owl moving ever so slightly in the thick leaves on a
bough came to his ears. But he was so still that the owl became still
too, and did not know when he arose and moved on.

Henry believed that the two warriors were merely guards on the outer rim
and that soon he would encounter more, a belief verified within ten
minutes. Then he heard talking and saw Braxton Wyatt himself and three
Shawnees, one a very large man who seemed to be second in command. Lying
at his ease and in a good covert he watched them, laughing again and
again to himself. For such as he this was, in truth, fine sport, and he
enjoyed it to the utmost. Wyatt was looking toward the point where the
cliffs that contained the rocky hollow showed dimly in the silver haze.
His face expressed neither triumph nor confidence, and Henry, seeing
that he was troubled, enjoyed it.

"I wish we knew how well they are provided with food and ammunition," he
heard him say.

"They will have plenty," the big warrior said. "The mighty young chief,
Ware, will see to it."

Henry felt a thrill at the words. The Shawnee was paying a tribute to
him, and he could not keep from hearing it.

"They beat us off before," said Wyatt gloomily. "We had them trapped in
the hollow, but we could not carry it."

"But this time," said the warrior, "we will sit down before it, and wait
until they come out, trembling with weakness and begging us to give them
food that they may keep the life in their bodies."

"It will be a sight to make my eyes and heart rejoice," said Braxton
Wyatt.

The hammer and trigger of Henry's rifle were a powerful magnet for his
hand. The young renegade's voice expressed so much revenge and malice,
so much accumulated poison that the world would be a much better place
without him. Then why not rid it of his presence? He stood there
outlined sharp and clear in the silver dusk, and a marksman, such as
Henry, could not miss. But his will restrained the eager fingers. It was
not wise now, nor could he shoot even a renegade from ambush. Using the
extremest caution, lest the moving of a leaf or a blade of grass betray
his presence, he passed on, and now he was sure that he was well within
the Indian ring.

Advancing more rapidly he ascended the slope, and came to the hollow,
which he reached while yet under cover. He waited a long time to see
whether Wyatt had posted any sentinels within eyeshot or earshot, as he
had no desire to be trapped inside, and then, feeling sure that they
were not near, he entered.

Their home was undisturbed. The dead ashes of their last fire lay
untouched. Various articles that they could not take with them were
undisturbed on the rocky shelves. But he gave the interior only a few
rapid and questing looks, and then he went outside again, his mind set
on a dense clump of bushes that grew near the entrance.

He buried himself in the heavy shade, but he did not seek it alone
because of shelter. He saw that a good line of retreat led from it over
the shoulder of the hill, and then down a slope that admitted good
speed. Having made sure of his ground, he filled his lungs and sent
forth the cry of the wolf, long and sinister and full of a power that
carried far over the forest. He knew that the listening four would hear
it, and he knew, too, that it would reach the ears of Braxton Wyatt and
all the Shawnees. And hearing it, they would be absolutely sure that the
five were now in the hollow where they might be held until they dropped
dead of hunger or yielded themselves to the mercy of those who knew no
mercy.

Fierce, triumphant yells came from all the points of the circle about
him, and once more and with deep content Henry laughed. He would fool
them, he would play with them, and meanwhile his comrades, to keep the
sport going, might sting them on the flank. After the yells, the night
resumed its usual silence, and Henry, lying in his covert, watched on
all sides, while he laid his plans to vex and torment Braxton Wyatt and
his band. He knew it was an easy matter for his comrades and himself to
escape this particular expedition sent against them, but it was likely
that they would encounter other and larger forces farther south, and he
wished the battlefield, if it shifted at all, to shift northward. Hence
he intended to hold Wyatt there as long as possible.

After a while, he was sure that he saw the tops of some bushes moving in
a direction not with the wind, and he was equally sure that Shawnees
were coming forward. Nearly half an hour passed and then a bead of fire
appeared as a rifle was discharged, and the shot had an uncommonly loud
sound in the clear, noiseless night. He heard, too, the click of the
bullet as it struck against the stone near the mouth of the hollow, and
once more he laughed. It was an amusing night for him. The warriors, now
that they had crept within range, would be sure to sprinkle the stone
around the cleft with bullets, and lead was too precious in the
wilderness to be wasted.

He flattened himself upon the earth, merely keeping his rifle thrust
forward for an emergency, and he blended so perfectly with grass and
foliage that not even the keen eyes of Shawnees ten feet away could have
detected him. A second shot was fired, and he heard the bullet clipping
leaves not far away; a third followed and then a volley, all of the
bullets striking at some point near the entrance. The volley was
followed by a long and fierce war whoop and far down the valley Henry
caught sight of a dusky form. Quick as lightning he raised his rifle,
pulled the trigger and the figure disappeared. Then another war whoop,
now expressing grief and rage, came, and he knew that the band would
think the bullet had been sent from the mouth of the rock fortress. He
crept a little farther away, lest a stalker should stumble upon him, and
reloaded his rifle.

He lay quite still a long time, and the first sound he heard was of slow
and cautious footsteps. He listened to them attentively and he wondered.
A warrior surely would not come walking in a manner that soon became
shambling. Putting his ear to the earth he heard a soft and uncertain
crush, crush, and then, raising his head a little, he traced a dark,
ambiguous figure. But he knew it, nevertheless, by the two red eyes
blinking in doubt and dismay. It was a black bear, doubtless the same
one they had already disturbed.

Here he was, like Henry himself, within the Shawnee ring, but, unlike
him, not there of his own free will. The shots and the war whoops had
terrified him to the utmost, and they had always driven him back toward
the center of the circle. Henry, moved by a spirit that was as much
friendliness as sport, uttered a low woof. The bear paused, raised his
head a little higher, and inhaled the wind. At any other time he would
have fled in dismay from the human odor, but he was a harried and
frightened black bear and that woof was the first friendly sound he had
heard in a day. So he remained where he was, his figure crouched, his
red eyes quivering with curiosity. Henry smiled to himself. His feeling
for the animal was one of pure friendship, allied with sympathy. He knew
that if the bear tried to plunge through the Indian ring in his panic
they would certainly kill him. Moreover, they would cook him and eat him
the next day. The Indians liked fat young bear better than venison.

It was a whimsical impulse of his generous nature to try to save the
bear, and he edged around until the puzzled animal was between him and
the mouth of the cave. The bear once started to run to the west, but a
rifle shot fired suddenly in that segment of the circle stopped him. He
remained again undecided, his tongue lolling out and his red eyes full
of dismay. Henry crept slowly toward him, uttering the low woof, woof,
several times, and bruin, disturbed in his mind and unable to judge
between friends and enemies, edged away as slowly, until his back was
almost at the mouth of the hollow. Then, with all the possibilities
against such a combination of chances, it occurred nevertheless. A
louder woof than usual from him was followed almost instantly by a
Shawnee rifle shot, and the frightened bear, giving back, almost fell
into the crevice. Then whirling, and seeing a refuge before him, he
darted inside.

Henry, retreating into the dense bushes, flattened himself in the grass,
and laughed once more. He had laughed many times that night, but now his
mirth had a fresh savor. The bear and not the Indians had become the new
occupant of their old home, and, despite the fact that it had been so
recently a human habitation, he felt quite sure the animal, owing to his
terror and the confusion of his ideas, would remain there until morning
at least. The Shawnees would exert all their patience and skill in the
siege of one bear that lived chiefly on roots, the greatest crime of
which was to rob bees of their stored honey.

He raised himself until he could see the mouth of the cave, but all was
still and dark there. Evidently the bear was at home and was using all
available comforts. He would not come out to face the terror of the
shots and of human faces. Henry could imagine him with his head almost
hidden in one of their beds of leaves, and gradually acquiring
confidence because danger was no longer before his eyes.

His whimsical little impulse having met with complete success he lay in
his shroud of bushes and intense enjoyment thrilled through every vein.
He had not known a happier night. All his primitive instincts were
gratified. The hunted was having sport with the hunters, and it was rare
sport too.

The mournful howl of a wolf came faintly from the northern rim of the
forest. It made Henry start and wonder a little. He thought at first the
cry had been sent forth by Silent Tom or Shif'less Sol, but as it was
inside the Indian circle he concluded it must have been made by one of
the warriors. But he changed his mind again, when the long, whining cry
was repeated. His hearing was not less acute than his sight, able to
differentiate between the finest shades of sound, and he felt sure now
that the howl of a wolf was made by a wolf itself, the real genuine
article in howls, true to the wilderness. When several more of the
uneasy whines came doubt was left no longer. The Indian ring that had
enclosed the rocky hollow and the black bear had also enclosed an entire
pack of wolves. It complicated the situation, but for Wyatt and his
band, not for Henry, and once more the spontaneous laugh bubbled up from
his throat.

He inferred now that he had not seen all of the Indian force. There were
probably other detachments to the west and north that had been drawn in
to complete the ring, but he did not care how many they might be. The
more they were the greater their troubles. A soft pad, pad in the
thicket roused him to the keenest attention. Some larger animal was
approaching him, unaware of his presence, the wind blowing in the wrong
direction. But the wind came right for Henry and soon he discovered a
strong feline odor. He knew that it was a panther, and presently he saw
it in the moonlight, yellowish and monstrous, the hugest beast of its
kind that he had ever beheld.

But the panther, despite its size and strength, would run away from man,
and Henry understood. The Indian ring had closed about it too, and,
frightened, it was seeking refuge. Powerful, clawed and toothed for
battle, it would not fight unless it was driven into a corner, and then
it would fight with ferocity. Henry reflected philosophically that the
net might miss the particular fish for which it was cast and yet catch
others. If the Indians closed in they had the panther and the black bear
and perhaps the pack of wolves too. What would they do with them? His
irrepressible mirth bubbled up. It was their problem, not his.

Resolved not to intervene again in these delicate affairs, he crouched
as closely as he could to the earth, wishing the panther neither to see
nor to hear him, but curious himself to know what it would do. The beast
stalked out into the open, and it was magnified greatly by the luminous
quality of the moonlight. It looked like one of its primitive ancestors
in the far dawn of time, when man fought for his life with the stone
axe. But the panther was afraid. The howls of the wolf, both the real
and the false, frightened him. His instinct too told him that he was
walled around by beings that could slay at a distance, and, within a
certain area, he was a prisoner. He was sorely troubled and his great
body trembled with nervous quivers. The wolf pack howled again, and he
must have found something more alarming than ever in it, as he sheered
off to one side, and his tawny eyes caught a glimpse of a black opening
that almost certainly led to a magnificent den and refuge.

But the panther was cautious. He lived a life in which the foresight
that comes from experience was compelled to play a great part. He did
not dive directly for the cleft, and he might not have gone in at all,
had not a sudden shift in the wind brought to him the human odor that
came from the body lying so near in the bushes. Driven by his impulse he
turned away and then sprang straight into the hollow.

Henry had not expected this sudden movement on the part of the panther,
and he rose to his knees to see what would happen. A terrible growling
and snarling and the shuffling of heavy bodies came instantly from the
dusky interior. A moment or two later the panther bounded out, a huge
ball of yellowish fur, in which two frightened and angry red eyes
glared. Henry saw several streaks of blood on him and he stared at the
animal, amazed. He did not know that a black bear could make such a
fight against a powerful feline brute, but evidently, wild with terror,
he had used all his claws and teeth at once. The panther caught sight of
Henry looking at him, and, uttering a scream or two, bounded into the
bushes. In the cave, the bear remained silent and triumphant.

"What will happen next?" said Henry to himself.

The howl of the wolf pack came in reply.




CHAPTER III

A MERRY NIGHT


The long whine, a mingling of ferocity, fear and perhaps of hunger too,
came from a point nearer than before, and Henry was confirmed in his
opinion that Wyatt's main band had been joined by other and smaller
ones, thus enabling them to form a circle practically continuous,
through which the wolves had not dared to break. The pack, moreover, was
steadily being driven in toward the center of the circle which was
naturally the rocky hollow. He foresaw further complications.

Henry was very thoughtful. Affairs were not going as he had expected,
and yet he was not disappointed. He had believed that he would have to
show great activity himself, slipping here and there, and putting in a
timely shot or two, but other factors had entered into the situation,
and, with his normal flexibility of mind, he resolved at once to put
them to the best use.

The wind was blowing from the pack toward him, and, if it shifted, he
meant to shift with it, but meanwhile he made himself as inconspicuous
as possible, finding a small depression in which he stretched his body,
thus being hidden from any eye except the keenest. Although the night
was far advanced, it retained its quality of silky or luminous
brightness, the whole world still swimming in the silver haze which the
full moon and the countless stars cast.

He wondered what had become of the scratched and angry panther. Endowed
with strength, but only with a fitful courage, it too must be lying
somewhere near in the forest, torn by wrath and perplexity. He was quite
sure that like the wolves it was encircled by the Indian ring, and would
not dare the attempt to break it. He was compelled to laugh once more to
himself. It was, in truth, a merry night.

But as the laugh died in his throat his whole body gave a nervous
quiver. A cry came from a point not ten yards distant, a long,
melancholy, quavering sound, not without a hint of ferocity, in fact the
complaining voice of an owl. The imitation of the owl was a favorite
signal with the forest runners, both white and red, but Henry knew at
once that this cry was real. Looking long and thoroughly, he saw at last
the feathered and huddled shape on the bough of an oak. It was a huge
owl, and the rays of the moon struck it at such an angle that they made
it look ghostly and unsubstantial. Had Henry been superstitious, had he
been steeped too much in Indian lore, he would have called it a phantom
owl. Nay, it looked, in very truth, like such a phantom, taking the
shape of an owl, and, despite all his mind and courage, a little shudder
ran through him.

Again the great owl cried his loneliness and sorrows to the night. It
was a tremendous note, mournful, uncanny and ferocious, and it seemed to
Henry that it must go miles through the clear air, until it came back in
a dying echo, more sinister than its full strength had been. The Indian
cast was bringing into the net more than Wyatt or any of the warriors
had anticipated, but the owl at least was hooting its defiance.

The singular combination of the night and circumstance affected Henry's
own spirit. He was touched less by the present and reality than by his
sense of another time and the primordial elements became strong within
him. In effect he was transported far back into those dim ages, when man
fought with the stone axe, and his five senses were so preternaturally
acute to protect his life that he had a sixth and perhaps a seventh. A
whiff came on the wind. It was faint, because it had traveled far, but
he knew it to be the odor of the panther. The big cowardly beast was
crouched in a little valley to his right, and he was trembling,
trembling at the approaching warriors, trembling at the great youth who
lay in the depression, trembling at the unknown and monstrous creature
that had plunged its iron claws into him in the dark, and trembling at
the cry of the owl which it had heard so often before, but which struck
now with a new terror upon its small and frightened brain.

Henry's own feeling of the supernatural passed. It was merely the old,
old world in which he must fight for his life and turn aside the bands
from his comrades and himself. Although the warriors had not called
again to one another he divined that they were closing in, and he
thought rapidly and with all the intensity and clearness demanded by the
situation.

The owl hooted once more, the tremendous note swelling far over the
wilderness, and then returning in its melancholy whine. Instantly
setting his lips and swelling all the muscles of his mighty throat he
gave back the cry, long, full and a match in its loneliness and ferocity
for the owl's own call. Then he crouched so close that he seemed fairly
to press himself into the earth.

He saw the owl on the bough move a little and he knew that it was in a
state of stupid amazement. Like the panther its brain was adapted only
to its own affairs and environment, else it would have made some
progress in all the ages, and the cry of an owl coming from the ground
when owls usually cried from trees was more than it could understand.
Nevertheless it soon gave forth its long complaining note once more, and
Henry promptly matched it. He was thinking not so much of its effect
upon the owl as upon the Indians. Delicate as their senses were, they
were not as delicate as his, and they might think the two notes were
those of challenge indicating that the whole five, reinforced perhaps by
a half dozen stalwart hunters, were within the ring, ready and eager to
give battle, setting in very truth a trap of their own.

He heard presently the cry of a wolf from a point at least a half mile
away, and it was answered from another segment of the circle at an
equal distance. The sounds, as he easily discerned, were made by
warriors, and it was absolutely certain now that the voices of the owls
had caused them to pause and think. Having thus started this train he
felt that he could wait and see what would happen, but he was stirred by
curiosity, and he pulled himself forward until the thicket ended, and
the earth fell away into the deep ravine that ran before the stony
hollow.

He kept himself hidden in the edge of the dense bushes, but he could see
in various directions. The great owl on the bough was quivering a
little, as if it were still amazed and terrified by the answer to its
own calls, coming from the heart of the earth itself and surcharged with
mystery. The moonlight turned it to a feathery mass of silver in which
the cruel beak and claws showed like sharp pieces of steel. Yet the bird
did not fly away, and Henry knew that it was held by fear as well as
curiosity, the dangers near seeming less than those far.

He looked then down into the ravine, and he was startled by the sight of
the wolf pack at full attention. The wolves of the Mississippi Valley
were not as large as the great timber wolf of the mountains, but when
driven by hunger they showed like their brethren elsewhere extreme
ferocity, and were known to devour human beings. Now the wolves like the
owl were magnified in the luminous moonlight, and one at their head
seemed to be truly of gigantic size. He reminded Henry of the king wolf
that had pursued Shif'less Sol and himself, and he had a singular fancy
that he was the same great brute, reincarnated. He shivered at his own
thought, and then chided himself fiercely. The king wolf had been
killed, he was as dead as a stone, and he could not come back to earth
to plague him.

But the beast, like the bird, was truly monstrous. He stood upon a
slight mound at the bottom of the ravine, and his figure bathed in the
glow of the moon and the stars rose to twice its real height. Henry saw
the foam upon the red mouth, the white fangs and the savage eyes, in
which, his fancy still vivid, he read hunger, ferocity and terror too.
Around him but on the lower plane were gathered the full score of the
pack, gaunt and fierce. Suddenly, the leader raised his head and like a
dog bayed the moon. The score took up the cry and the long whine was
carried far on the light wind, to be followed by deep silence.

The voice of the wolf bore Henry even farther back than the voice of the
owl, and his preternaturally acute senses took on an edge which the
modern man never knows in his civilized state. He heard the fluff of the
owl's feathers as it moved and the panting of the wolves in the valley
below. Then he saw the leader walk from the low mound and take a slow
and deliberate course along the slope, with the others following in
single file like Indians. The king was leading them nearer to the rocky
hollow, and Henry suspected they were changing their position because
the ring of warriors was beginning to close in again. He heard a
flapping of wings, and a huge bald-headed eagle settled on a bough near
him, whence it looked with red eyes at the owl, while the owl, with eyes
equally red, looked back again.

The suspicious, not to say jealous, manner with which the two birds
regarded each other, when the forest was wide enough for both, and
countless millions more like them, amused Henry. Both were alarmed, and
it was easy enough for them to fly away, but they did not do so, drawn
in a kind of fascination toward the danger they feared. Meanwhile the
wolves were still coming up the slope, but the black bear in the snug
hollow never stirred.

The warriors signaled once more to one another and now they were much
nearer. Henry retreated a little farther into the thicket, and then his
plan came to him. The Indians were bound to approach him from the east
and he would meet them with a weapon they little expected. The forest
was still in dense green, but the wood was dry from summer heats, the
effect of the great rain having passed quickly, and the ground was
littered as usual with the dead boughs and trunks fallen through
arboreal ages.

He drew softly away toward the mouth of the hollow, and then passed
behind it, where, stooping in the thicket, he produced his flint and
steel, which he put upon the turf beside him. Then, he gathered together
a little pile of dry brushwood, and again took notice of the wind, which
was still blowing directly toward the east and down the ravine, the only
point from which the Indian attack could come. It had been repulsed
there once before, but then Henry's comrades were with him, and five
good rifles and the tremendous voice of Long Jim had prevailed. Now he
was alone, and he did not intend to rely upon bullets. The moonlight
held, clear and amazingly bright, and he distinctly saw the troubled
owl and the vexed eagle, apparently still staring at each other and
wondering what was the matter with the night and the place. The Indian
calls to one another sounded once more, their own natural voices now and
not the imitation of bird or animal, and their nearness indicated that
the circle was closing in fast.

Henry had built up his heap of tinder wood, somewhat behind the mouth of
the hollow, and, kneeling down, he used flint and steel with amazing
rapidity and power. The sparks leaped forth in a shower, the dry wood
ignited, and up came little flames which swiftly grew into bigger ones.
Then he fanned his bonfire with all his might, and the flames sprang
high in the air, roaring as they set a fresh blaze to every dry thing
they touched. In less than two minutes a forest fire was in full and
great progress, sweeping eastward and down the ravine directly into the
faces of Braxton Wyatt and his advancing warriors. A great sheet of fire
in varying reds, pinks and yellows, and sometimes with a blue tint, rose
above the tops of the trees, and, as it rushed forward, it sent forth
showers of ashes and sparks in myriads from its crimson throat.

Henry sprang up behind the fire and uttered terrific shouts, leaping and
dancing as that far dim ancestor of his must have leaped and danced
when he was glowing with a sudden and mighty triumph. The spirit of the
ages had descended upon him too and as he bounded back and forth in the
light of the flames he roared forth bitter taunts in a voice worthy of
Long Jim himself. He told the owl to be up and away, and, rising on
heavy wings and uttering a dismal hoot, it obeyed. Its big body was
outlined for a moment or two against the red, and then it flew away over
the forest. The eagle uttered a hoarse cry, drawn from its frightened
throat, and followed the owl.

Then came another shriek, singularly like that of a human being, and the
huge panther, driven from its covert by the intense heat, leaped madly
forth and raced down the ravine before the pillar of flame. That panther
was in a sorely troubled state even before the fire began, and now the
collapse of its small intellect was complete. It saw the advancing
Indian warriors, but, in its madness, was reckless of them. It advanced
with great bounds straight at the line, cannoned against Braxton Wyatt
himself, knocking him senseless into a thicket, and, magnified to twice
its usual size before the amazed eyes of the Indians, disappeared at
last in a yellowish streak down the ravine.

Terror tore at the hearts of the Indians themselves, brave warriors
though they were. The strange cries of the night, of such varying
character and coming from so many points, had depressed their spirits
and filled them with superstitious awe. There was more in this than the
human mind could account for and the sudden upspringing of the fire,
bringing on its front the monstrous panther, if, in truth, it was a
panther and not some huge and legendary beast, sent them to the verge of
panic.

Their white leader, who might have restored their courage, lay senseless
in the bush, and as the second in command, the big warrior, seized him
to drag him away from the fire, the wall of flame emitted something even
more terrifying than the magnificent figure of the mad panther. Out of
the red glare shot a huge gaunt figure with long white teeth and
slavering jaws, the king wolf, to the warriors the demon wolf. After him
came a full score or more of wolves, almost as large, and howling their
terror to the moon. Behind them was the gigantic figure of a phantom
black bear, rushing with all its might, and through the red wall itself
came the sound of threatening and awful cries.

The Shawnees could stand no more. Uttering yells of fright they fled,
and fortunate it was for Braxton Wyatt that the big warrior slung him
over his shoulder and carried him away in the crush.

Henry heard the cries of the warriors and he knew from their nature that
panic was in complete control of the band. All things had worked for
him. The bear in its fright, and as he had expected, had rushed from the
cave just in time to flee before the flames, and he knew very well that
his own shouts would be interpreted by the Indians as the menace of the
evil spirits.

He followed the flames about a mile down the ravine, and then returned
slowly toward the hollow. He knew that the fire would soon reach a
prairie somewhat farther on, where it would probably die out, but he
knew also that his triumph was achieved. Circumstances and the presence
of the animals and the birds had helped him greatly, but his own quick
wit and infinity of resource had put the capstone on success. He began
to feel now the effect of the immense exertions he had made with both
body and mind, and, before he reached the hollow, he turned aside into
the woods where the fire had not passed and sat down on a rock.

He saw two or three miles away the wall of flame still moving eastward,
but the distance even did not keep him from knowing that it had
diminished greatly in height and vigor. As he had surmised, it would die
presently at the prairie and the night would return to its wonted
silence, lighted now only by the moon and stars. He was weary, but he
had an immense feeling of satisfaction and he sat a while, looking at
the fire, which soon sank out of sight behind the horizon, although its
pathway, the broad swath that it had cut, still glowed with coals and
sparks.

He wondered just where his comrades were. He might have sent forth a
call for them, but he decided that it would be wiser not to do so at
present, since they could reunite easily in the morning, and he
remained, sitting in an easy position, still looking at the luminous
point under the horizon, where the last embers of the fire were fading.
A long time passed, and the stillness was so peaceful that he sank into
a doze, from which he was aroused by a flare of lightning in the west.
The beauty of the night had been too intense to last. The moon and stars
that he had admired so much were going away, and the silky blue robe,
shot with silver that was the sky, was dimmed by a long row of somber
clouds trailing up from the west. The wind that touched Henry's face was
damp and he knew rain would soon come.

He had no mind to have a wetting through and through after his great
strain and labors, and his thoughts turned at once to the rocky hollow.
The bear had rushed out of it madly and there must have been much heat
there for awhile, but it had probably cooled by this time, and would
afford him a good shelter.

He found to his great delight and relief that the interior was free from
smoke, and not damaged at all. Some articles they had left on the
shelves were not even charred, and the leaves that made their beds had
escaped ignition. He would not have asked for anything better, and,
after eating some venison from his knapsack and drinking from the cold
water of the rivulet, he lay down on the bed nearest the cleft, where he
could see the ravine and the forest beyond.

A storm was gathering, but secure in his shelter it soothed and lulled
his spirit. The lightning, now red and intense, flared from every
horizon, and the wilderness was filled with the deep roll of incessant
thunder. The wind ceased to blow, but he knew that soon it would spring
up again, and then the rain would come with it, although he would
remain dry and warm in the stony shelter that nature had provided. An
enormous sense of comfort, even luxury, pervaded him, both body and
mind. He was like his primordial ancestor who had escaped from the
dangers of the monstrous beasts and who now rested at ease in his cave.
The strain upon his nerves departed, and soon he felt fit and able to
meet any new danger, whenever it should come. But he was so sure that no
such danger would appear that he allowed himself to fall asleep, having
first covered his body with the blanket that he always carried at his
back, as the night, under the influence of the wind and rain, was
growing cold.

When he awoke the day had not yet come and it was very dark. The rain
was pouring heavily, but not a drop reached him where he lay on his easy
bed of leaves with the warm blanket drawn around his body. Without
rising he pulled himself forward a little and looked forth. The last
ember from the forest fire had been blotted out long since, and he heard
the wash of the water as it rushed down the slopes, and the sweep of the
torrent in the ravine. The contrast heightened the splendor of his own
situation, which was all that one who was wild for the time could ask.
He thought of his comrades and of what a home the hollow would be to
them too, but he was not troubled about them. Such forest runners as
Shif'less Sol and the others would be sure to find protection from the
storm.

He fell asleep again, and, when he awoke the second time, dawn had come
more than an hour, the rain had stopped and the heavens were burnished
silver. Foliage and grass were already drying fast under a warm western
wind, and Henry, making a breakfast off what was left of his venison,
prepared to go forth. But he was halted by a shambling, dark figure that
appeared on the slope leading down into the ravine. It was the black
bear, and apparently it had some idea of returning to the fine shelter
it had abandoned in such fright the night before. Henry was surprised
that it should have come back. It must have been beaten about much in
the storm, and, either its memory was short, or it had sunk its terrors
in the recollection of the finest den that ever a bear had entered in
the northern part of Kain-tuck-ee.

Henry had a friendly feeling for the bear, which he regarded as an
animal of a companionable disposition, and no enemy, unless driven in a
corner. Since he had to leave the hollow and his comrades would have to
go with him he preferred on the whole that the bear should have it, but
when he stood up in the entrance the animal caught sight of his tall
figure and scrambled away in the forest. His place was taken by the
figure of a huge cat which glared at Henry with yellowish-green eyes,
and then turned back among the trees, filled with rage that the
terrible, strange creature was yet there.

"It seems that I'm still an object of terror," thought Henry, with
amusement. "Now for the eagle and the owl."

A great bird came out of the blue, and sailed on slow wing over the
hollow and ravine. He knew instinctively that it was the bald eagle of
the night before, drawn back with a fascination it could not resist to
the place where it had been frightened so badly. But it did not alight.
Keeping at a good height, it circled about and about and then
disappeared again and for the last time to the eastward.

Henry's eyes searched the opposite slope of the ravine, and at last he
discovered a mournful figure perched on the high bough of an oak. Its
feathers were drooping, its head was bent down until it was almost
buried in the feathers below its neck, and its entire attitude showed
despondency. The owl, too, had come back, but only a part of the way,
and, blinded by the sun, it sat there on the bough, mourning and
mourning.

Henry laughed. He had laughed many times the night before and he could
not keep from laughing that morning. The owl was quite the saddest
spectacle the woods could afford, and he had no mind to disturb it.

"Stay there and grieve, my solemn friend," he said. "Truly, with the sun
on you, your eyes closed and your heart sunk you'll be silent, but
tonight you'll give forth your melancholy hoot, although I won't be here
to hear it."

He looked to his ammunition, and stepped forth into a new and refreshed
world, filled with cool drying airs and the appealing odor of leaf and
grass. He descended into the ravine, the water falling in beads from the
leaves as he brushed by, and followed for a little distance in the bare
trail left by the fire. A mile farther on and a pair of great red eyes
peering at him from a thicket saw in him a terrible beast that even the
master of the wolves should avoid.

The huge leader gave a yelp, and as Henry turned suddenly, he saw the
great wolf flitting away up the ravine, followed by the twenty gaunt
figures of his pack. He could have dropped the big wolf with a bullet,
but there was no need to do so, and he merely watched them until they
disappeared in the forest, concluding that his companions of the night
were as much afraid of him in the day as in the dark. All of them, save
one band, had come back in a frightened way, but he knew that the
Indians would not return. He was sure that they were still on their
terrified flight toward the Ohio, and he followed in the path of the
fire, until he came to the prairie where it had burned itself out.

It was only a little prairie, about two miles across, no other kind
having been found in Kentucky, and, on the far side, he picked up the
trail of the Indian band. He did not see any footsteps that turned out,
and he wondered at their absence. What had become of Braxton Wyatt? His
body had not been found in the path of the flames, and certainly he had
not perished. Henry, after some thought, came to the right conclusion,
namely, that he was being carried. But his hurt could not be any wound
received in battle, and probably he would recover soon, another correct
surmise, as a short distance farther on the trail of toes that turned
out appeared.

All the steps seemed to be long, and Henry judged hence that the band
was going fast, terror still stabbing at their hearts, long after the
night had passed. Braxton Wyatt would be the first to recover from it,
and Henry smiled at the thought of his rage when he should not be able
to persuade the Shawnees that evil spirits, sent by Manitou, had not
driven them from the valley. Their second defeat at the same place, and
this time by invisible forces, would persuade them they must never
return to the attack on the hollow.

Henry dropped the pursuit for the present, knowing that it was time to
reunite his own forces, and he sent forth the cry of the wolf that the
five, in common with the Indians, used so much. No reply and he repeated
it a second and yet a third time before the answer came. Then it was in
the south and it was very faint, but he had no doubt it was the voice of
Shif'less Sol. Call and reply went on for a little while, and then,
after a long wait, he saw the figures of the four appearing among the
trees, the shiftless one leading.

The greeting was not effusive, but joyful. Henry told them in rapid
words, tense and brief, all that had occurred the night before, and the
shoulders of the four shook with silent laughter.

"You certainly scared them good, Henry," said Paul.

"I was helped a lot by circumstances."

"But you used the chances when they came."

"Where did you four hide when the storm broke?"

"We took refuge under the matted trees and boughs of a huge old windrow.
It wasn't like the hollow, and some water came through, but on the
whole we did fairly well, and soon dried out thoroughly this morning. We
were mighty glad to hear your call, but we hardly hoped you would
achieve as much as you did."

"An' havin' routed the first band that came ag'inst us," said Long Jim,
"what do you 'low we ought to do next?"

"We've broken only a piece of the iron ring they're forging about us,
and they'll soon mend that piece. It's a good thing to hit first at
those you see are trying to hit at you, and so I think we ought to
follow up the success fortune has given us."

"An' it 'pears we kin do that best by keepin' right on the trail o'
Braxton Wyatt an' his band," said Shif'less Sol.

"That's the way I see it," said Henry. "How do you feel about it, Tom?"

"Right plan," replied Ross.

Shif'less Sol fixed upon him such a look of stern reproof that Silent
Tom reddened once more under his tan.

"Here you go gettin' volyble ag'in," said the shiftless one. "You used
two words then, Tom Ross, when, ef you'd thought an' hunted 'roun' a
leetle you might hev found one that would hev done ez well."

"And you Paul?" said Harry.

"I'm glad to follow where you lead."

"And you, Jim?"

"I'm uv Paul's mind."

"Then it's settled. Now, we'll have something to eat, and talk it
over."

They soon found a little valley in which a clear rivulet was flowing.
One was never more than a mile from running water in that country--and
Long Jim and Silent Tom produced food from their deerskin pouches.

"Here's some ven'son," said Jim. "It's cold an' it's tough, but I reckon
it'll do."

"I'm thinkin'," said Shif'less Sol, "that after a night like the one
Henry has had he'll be pow'ful hungry fur somethin' better than cold
ven'son."

"Mebbe so," rejoined Long Jim, "an' mebbe it's true uv all uv us, but
whar are we goin' to git it?"

"I'm an eddycated man, Jim Hart, eddycated in the ways o' the woods, an'
one o' the fust things you do when you're gittin' that sort o' an
eddication is to learn to use your eyes. I hev used mine, an' jest
before we set down here I noticed the fresh trail o' buffler runnin' off
to the right, 'bout a dozen, I'd say, an' jest ez shore ez I'm here
they're not more'n a mile away. I kin see 'em now, grazin' in a little
open, an' thar is a young cow among 'em, juicy an' tender. Now I don't
want to kill a young cow buffler, but we must hev supplies before we go
on this expedition."

"Sol is right," said Henry, "and since he is so it's his duty to go and
kill the buffalo. Tom, you'll go with him, won't you?"

"O' course," replied Silent Tom.

Shif'less Sol rose and looked to his rifle.

"I knowed I would hev to do all the work, besides supplyin' the
thinkin'," he said. "Here I tell what's to be done when the others
ain't able to think it out, an' then they tell me to go an' do it. It
ain't fair to a lazy man, one who furnishes the intelleck. The rest o'
you ought to work fur him."

"Go on you, Sol Hyde," said Long Jim Hart, rebukingly, "an' kill that
buffler. Don't you know that when you kill it I'll hev to cook it, an' I
ain't complainin'?"

"Quit braggin' on yourse'f, Jim Hart. You ain't complainin', 'cause you
ain't got sense 'nuff to complain. You're plum' sunk so deep in sloth
an' ig'rance that you're jest satisfied with anythin', no matter how bad
it is. It's men o' intelleck like me who complain and look fur better
things, who make the world go forward."

"Your idea uv goin' forward, Sol Hyde, is to do it ridin' on my
shoulders."

"O' course, Jim. Ain't that what you're made fur? You're a hind--ain't
that the beast, Paul, that carries burdens?--an' I'm the knight with the
shinin' lance that goes forth to slay dragons, an' I go ridin', too."

"You go ridin', too! I don't see no hoss! An' you ain't been astride no
hoss in years, Sol Hyde!"

"You deserve to be what you are, a hind, a toter o' burdens, Jim Hart,
'cause your mind is so slow an' dull. You ain't got no light, no
imagination, no bloom, a-tall, a-tall! Did I say I wuz ridin' a real
hoss? No, sir, not fur a second! But in the fancy, in the sperrit, so to
speak, I'm ridin' the finest hoss that ever pranced, an' I'm settin' in
a silver saddle, holdin' reins o' blue silk, an' that proud hoss o' mine
champs an' champs his jaws on a bit made o' solid gold. Come on, Tom, I
ain't 'preciated here. We'll kill that buffler, ef you don't talk me to
death on the way. Remember now to hold your volyble tongue. The last
time you spoke, ez I told you, you used two words when one would hev
done jest ez well. Don't let your gabblin' skeer the buffler plum' to
the other side o' the Ohio."

He stalked haughtily away, his rifle in the hollow of his arm, and
Silent Tom followed meekly. The admiring gaze of Jim Hart followed the
shiftless one as long as he was in sight.

"Ain't he the most beautiful talker you ever heard?" he asked. "Me an'
him hev our little spats, but it's a re'l pleasure to hear him fetch out
reasons an' prove that the thing that ain't is, an' the thing that is
ain't. That's what I call a mighty smart man. Ef the Injuns ever git him
he'll talk to 'em so hard that they'll either make him thar head chief,
or turn him loose to keep from bein' talked to death."

They heard the sound of a shot, and then a faint halloo from the
shiftless one, and when Henry went to the spot he found that he had
slain a young cow buffalo, just as he had predicted. Long Jim Hart
cooked the tender steaks in his finest style and they spent the rest of
the day preparing for the journey, which they believed would take them
across the Ohio, and which they knew would be full of dangers.

They put out their fire and rested until dusk came. Then they took up
again the trail of Wyatt's band and traveled until midnight, when they
slept until morning, all save the watch. Henry reckoned that they would
reach the river by the next night, and there was a chance that the
warriors might recover sufficiently from their fright to rally at the
stream. But he felt that in any event he and his comrades must strike.
Blackstaffe, Yellow Panther and Red Eagle with their forces would soon
be in pursuit, and to escape the net would test the skill and courage of
the five to the utmost. Yet all of them believed attack to be the best
plan, and, after their sleep, they resumed the trail with renewed
strength and vigor, pressing northward at great speed through the deep
green wilderness.




CHAPTER IV

THE CAPTURED CANOE


As the five advanced they read the trail with unfailing eye. Henry saw
more than once the traces of footsteps with the toes turned out, that is
those of Braxton Wyatt, and he noticed that they were wavering, not
leading in a straight line like those of the Indians.

"Braxton must have had a nice crack of some kind or other on the head,"
he said, "and he still feels the effects of it, as now and then he
reels."

"'Twould hev been a good thing," said Shif'less Sol, "ef the crack,
whatever it may hev been, hed been a lot harder, hard enough to finish
him. I ain't bloodthirsty, but it would help a lot if Braxton Wyatt wuz
laid away. Paul, you're eddicated, an' you hev done a heap o' thinkin',
enough, I guess, to last a feller like Long Jim fur a half dozen o'
lives, now what makes a man turn renegade an' fight with strangers an'
savages ag'inst his own people?"

"I think," replied Paul, "that it's disappointment, and fancied
grievances. Some people want to be first, and when they can't win the
place they're apt to say the world is against 'em, in a conspiracy, so
to speak, to defraud 'em of what they consider their rights. Then their
whole system gets poisoned through and through, and they're no longer
reasoning human beings. I look upon Braxton Wyatt as in a way a madman,
one poisoned permanently."

"I hev noticed them things, too," said Shif'less Sol. "Thar are diff'unt
kinds o' naturs, the good an' the bad, an' the bad can't bear for other
people to lead 'em. Then they jest natchelly hate an' hate. All through
the day they hate, an' ef they ain't got nothin' to do, even ef the
weather is fine 'nuff to make an old man laugh, they jest spend that
time hatin'. An' ef they happen to wake up at night, do they lay thar
an' think what a fine world it is an' what nice people thar are in it?
No, sir, they jest spend all the time between naps hatin', an' they fall
asleep ag'in, with a hate on thar lips an in' thar hearts."

"You're talkin' re'l po'try an' truth at the same time, Sol," said Long
Jim. "It's cur'ous how people hate them that kin do things better than
theirselves. Now, I've noticed when I'm cookin' buffler steaks an' deer
meat an' wild turkey an' nice, juicy fish, an' cookin' mebbe better than
anybody else in all Ameriky kin, how you, Shif'less Sol Hyde, turn plum'
green with envy an' begin makin' disrespeckful remarks 'bout me, Jim
Hart, who hez too lofty an' noble a natur ever to try to pull you down,
poor an' ornery scrub that you be."

Shif'less Sol drew himself up with haughty dignity.

"Jim Hart," he said, "I'm wrapped 'bout with the mantle o' my own merit
so well from head to foot that them invig'ous remarks o' yours bounce
right off me like hail off solid granite. To tell you the truth, Jim
Hart, I feel like a big stone mountain, three miles high, with you
throwin' harmless leetle pebbles at me."

"And yet," said Paul, "while you two are always pretending to quarrel,
each would be eager to risk death for the other if need be."

"It's only my sense o' duty, an' o' what you call proportion," said
Shif'less Sol. "Long Jim, ez you know, is six feet an' a half tall. Ef
the Injuns wuz to take him an' burn him at the stake he'd burn a heap
longer than the av'rage man. What a torch Jim would make! Knowin' that
an' always b'arin' it in mind, I'm jest boun' to save Jim from sech a
fate. It ain't Jim speshully that I'm thinkin' on, but I'd hate to know
that a man six an' a half feet long wuz burnin' 'long his whole len'th."

"Another band has joined Wyatt," said Henry. "See, here comes the
trail!"

The new force had arrived from the east, and it contained apparently
twenty warriors, raising Braxton Wyatt's little army to about sixty men.

"But they still run," said Shif'less Sol. "The new ones hev ketched all
the terror an' superstition that the old ones feel, an' the whole crowd
is off fur the Ohio. Look how the trail widens!"

"And Braxton Wyatt is beginning to feel better," said Henry. "His own
particular trail does not waver so much now. Ah, they've stopped here
for a council. Braxton probably stood on that old fallen log and
addressed them, because the traces of his footsteps lead directly to it.
Yes, the bark here is rubbed a little, where he stood. They gathered in
a half circle before him, as their footprints show very plainly, and
they listened to him respectfully. He, being white, was recovering from
the superstitious terror, but the Shawnees were still under its spell.
After hearing him they continued their flight. Here goes their trail,
all in a bunch, straight toward the north!"

"An' thar won't be no stop 'til they strike the Ohio," said Shif'less
Sol with conviction.

"I agree with you," said Henry.

"And so do all of us," said Paul.

"And of course we follow on," said Henry, "right to the water's edge!"

"We do," said the others all together.

"The Ohio isn't very far now," said Henry.

"Ten or fifteen miles, p'raps," said Shif'less Sol.

"And it's likely that we'll find a big force gathered there."

"Looks that way to me, Henry. Mebbe the band o' Blackstaffe will be
waitin' to join that o' Wyatt. Then, feelin' mighty strong, they'll come
back after us."

"'Less we fill 'em full o' fear whar they stan'. Mebbe they'll stop at
the river a day or two, an' then we kin git to work. Water which hides
will help us."

They passed on through the forest, noting that the trail was growing
wide and leisurely. At one point the Indians had stopped some time, and
had eaten heavily of game brought in by the hunters. The bones of
buffalo, deer and wild turkey were scattered all about.

"They're feeling better," said Henry. "I don't think now they'll cross
the Ohio, but we must do so and attack from the other side. They're not
looking for any enemy in the north, and we may be able to terrify 'em
again."

It was not long before they came to the great yellow stream of the Ohio,
and in an open space, not far from the shore, they saw the fires of the
Indian encampment.

"I think we'll have work to do here," said Henry, "and we'll keep well
into the deep woods until long after dark."

They did not light any fire, but lying close in the thicket, ate their
supper of cold food. Three or four hours after sunset Henry, telling the
others to await his return, crept near the Indian camp. As he had
surmised, two formidable forces had joined, and nearly two hundred
warriors sat around the fires. The new army, composed partly of Miamis
and partly of Shawnees, with a small sprinkling of Wyandots, was led by
Blackstaffe, who was now with Wyatt, the two talking together earnestly
and looking now and then toward the south.

Henry had no doubt that the five were the subject of their conversation.
Wyatt must have recovered by this time all his faculties and was
telling Blackstaffe that their enemies were only mortal and could be
taken, if the steel ring about them was recast promptly. Henry had no
doubt that an attempt to forge it anew would speedily be made by the
increased force, but his heart leaped at the thought that his comrades
and he would be able to break it again.

As he crept a little nearer he saw to his surprise a fire blazing on the
opposite shore, and he was able to discover the forms of warriors
between him and the blaze. With the Indians bestride the stream the task
of the five was complicated somewhat, but Henry was of the kind that
meet fresh obstacles with fresh energy.

He returned to his comrades and reported what he had seen, but all
agreed with him that they should cross the river, despite the encampment
on the far shore, and make the attack from the north.

"We'll do like that old Roman, Hannybul," said Long Jim, "hit the enemy
at his weakest part, an' jest when he ain't expectin' us."

"Hannibal was not a Roman, Jim," said Paul.

"Well, then, he was a Rooshian or a Prooshian."

"Nor was he either of those."

"Well, it don't make no diff'unce, nohow. He wuz a furriner, that's
shore, an' he's dead, both uv which things is ag'inst him. It looks
strange to me, Paul, that a furriner with the outlandish ways that
furriners always hev should hev been sech a good gen'ral."

"He was probably the best the world has produced, Jim. He was able with
small forces to defeat larger ones, and we must imitate his example."

"And to do that," said Henry, "we shall cross the Ohio tonight. I think
we'd better drop down a mile or two, beyond their fires and their
sentinels, and then make for the northern shore."

"The river must be 'bout a mile wide here," objected Shif'less Sol.
"That's a big swim with all our weepuns, an' ef some o' the warriors in
canoes should ketch us in the water then we'd be goners, shore."

"You're right, there, Sol," said Henry. "It would be foolish in us to
attempt to swim the river, when the warriors are looking for us, as they
probably are by now, since Blackstaffe and Wyatt have got them back to
realities."

"Then ef we don't swim how do you expect us to git across, Henry? Ez fur
me, I can't wade across a river a mile wide an' twenty feet deep."

"That's true, Sol. Even Long Jim isn't long enough for that. I'm
planning for us to cross in state, untouched by water and entirely
comfortable; in fact, in a large, strong canoe."

"Nice good plan, Henry, 'cept in one thing; we ain't got no canoe."

"I intend to borrow one from the Indians. You and I will slip along up
the bank and take it from under their noses. You're a marvel at such
deeds, Sol."

"It's 'cause he's stealin' somethin' from somebody," said Long Jim.

"Shut up, Jim," said Henry. "It's lawful to steal from an enemy to save
your own life, and these Indians mean to hunt us down if they have to
employ three thousand warriors and three months to do it. Suppose we go
now."

The five turned toward the south and west, making a deep curve away from
the camp, a precaution taken wisely, as they soon had evidence, hearing
shots here and there, which they were quite sure were those of red
hunters seeking game, wild turkeys on the bough, or deer drinking at the
small streams. They were compelled to go very slowly, in order to avoid
them, but the night, luckily, was dark enough to hide their trail from
all eyes, save those that might be looking especially for it.

They spoke only in whispers, but the young leader himself said scarcely
anything, his mind being occupied with deep and intense thought. He knew
that the venture in search of an Indian canoe would be accompanied by
most imminent risks, the vigilance and skill of Shif'less Sol and
himself would be tested to the last degree, but a canoe they must have,
and they would dare every peril to get it.

They had gone about a mile when Henry suddenly raised his hand, and the
five sank silently in the bush. A dozen warriors, treading without
noise, passed within twenty feet of them and their course led toward the
south. They flitted by so swiftly that it seemed almost as if shadows
had passed, but Henry, who saw their faces, knew that they were not mere
hunters. These men were on the warpath. Perhaps they had seen the trail
of the five somewhere, and were going south to close up the broken
segment of the circle there.

"They've probably had a hint from Blackstaffe," said Henry. "Next to
Simon Girty he's the shrewdest and most cunning of all the renegades. He
has reasoning power, and knowing that we'll take the bolder method, he's
probably concluded that we've followed Wyatt's band."

"An' so he hez sent that other band south to shut us in," said Shif'less
Sol.

"An' we might hev fled south ourselves from the fust," said Long Jim,
"but I cal'late we ain't that kind uv people."

"No," said Henry. "We can't lead 'em in this chase back on the
settlements. So long as they're trying to spread a net around us we'll
draw 'em in the other direction. Now, boys, fall in behind me, and the
first one that causes a blade of grass to rustle will have to make a
present of his rifle to the others."

Following the great curve which they were traveling it was a full five
miles to the point on the river they wished to reach. The forest, they
knew, was full of warriors, some hunting, perhaps, but many thrown out
on the great encircling movement intended to enclose the five. Now, the
trailers, with deadly peril all about them, gave a superb exhibition of
skill. There was no danger of any one losing his rifle, because no blade
of grass rustled, nor did any leaf give back the sound of a brushing
body. They were endowed peculiarly by birth and long habit to the life
they lived and the dangers they faced. Their hearts beat high, but not
with fear. Their muscles were steady, and eye and ear were attuned to
the utmost for any strange presence in the forest.

Henry led, Paul followed, Long Jim came next, then Silent Tom, and
Shif'less Sol defended the rear. This was usually their order, the
greatest trailer at the head of the line, and the next greatest at the
end of it. They invariably fell into place with the quickness and
precision of trained soldiers.

A panther, not as large and fierce as the one that Henry had driven in
fright down the ravine, saw them, looking upon human beings for the
first time. It was his first impulse to make off through the woods, but
they were soundless and in flight, and curiosity began to get the better
of fear. He followed swiftly, somewhat to one side, but where he could
see, and the silent line went so fast that the panther himself was
compelled to extend his muscles. He saw them come to a brook. The
foremost leaped it, the others in turn did the same, landing exactly in
his footsteps, and they went on without losing speed. Then the panther
turned back, satisfied that he could not solve the problem his curiosity
had raised.

Henry caught a yellow gleam through the leaves, and he knew that it was
the Ohio. In two or three minutes, they were at the low shore, although
the opposite bank was high. Both were wooded densely. The stream itself
was here a full mile in width, a vast mass of water flowing slowly in
silent majesty. They thought they saw far up the channel a faint
reflection of the Indian fires, but they were not sure. Where they stood
the river was as lone and desolate as it had been before man had come.
The moonlight was not good, and their view of the farther shore was dim,
leaving them only the certainty that it was lofty and thick with forest.

"Paul, you and Jim and Tom lie here, where this little spit of land runs
out into the water," said Henry. "There's good cover for you to wait in,
and Sol and I will come down the river in our new canoe, or we won't."

"At any rate come," said Paul.

"You can trust us," replied Henry, and he and the shiftless one started
at once along the edge of the river toward the northeast, where the
Indian camp lay. Henry reckoned that it was about three miles away, but
it would have to be approached with great care. As they advanced they
kept a watch on the farther shore also, and rounding a curve in the
river they caught their first sight of its reflection.

"It's fur up the stream," said Shif'less Sol, "an' I cal'late it's 'bout
opposite the big camp. Thar must be some warriors passin' back an' forth
from band to band, an' that, I reckon, will give us our chance fur a
canoe."

"Yes, if we can make off with it without being seen," said Henry. "A
pursuit would spoil everything. We'd have to abandon the canoe and
retreat back from the southern shore."

"'Spose we go a leetle further up," said Shif'less Sol. "The bank's low
here, but it's high enough to hide us, an' the bushes are mighty thick.
The nearer we come to the Indian camp the greater the danger is, but the
greater is our chance, too, to git a canoe."

"That's right, Sol. We'll try it."

They edged along yard by yard and soon could see through the intervening
trees and bushes the light of the great camp, from which came a
monotonous hum.

"A lot of 'em are dancin' the scalp dance," said the shiftless one.
"Will you 'scuse me, Henry, while I laugh a leetle to myself?"

"Of course, Sol, but why do you want to laugh?"

"'Cause they're dancin' the scalp dance when they ain't goin' to take no
scalps. It's ourn they're thinkin' of, but I kin tell you right now,
Henry, that a year from today they'll be growin' squa'rly on top o' our
heads, right whar they are this minute."

"I hope and believe you're right, Sol. Isn't that a canoe putting out
from the far shore?"

"Yes, a big one, with four warriors in it, an' they're comin' straight
across to the main camp, paddlin' like the strong men they are."

"Yes, I can see them clearly now, as they come nearer the middle of the
stream. That would be a good canoe for us, Sol. It looks big enough."

"But I'm afraid we ain't goin' to hev it, Henry. It's comin' straight on
to the main camp, an' it'll be tied to the bank right in the glow o'
thar fires. Hevin' wanted that canoe, ez we both do, we'd better quit
wantin' it an' want suthin' else."

[Illustration: "'A lot of 'em are dancin' the scalp dance'"]

Henry laughed softly.

"You're a true philosopher, Sol," he said.

"You hev to be in the woods, Henry. Here we learn to take what we can,
an' let alone what we can't. I guess the wilderness jerks all the
foolishness out o' a man, an' brings him plum' down to his level. Ain't
I right 'bout thar comin' straight to the main camp?"

"Yes, Sol, and they'll land in a few more minutes. Those are big
warriors, Miamis as their paint and dress show. Well, they're out of our
reckoning, so we'd better move a little farther up."

"We'll be shore to find canoes tied to the bank, an' thar will be our
chance. Ef our luck's good we'll git it, an' I find that luck is
gen'ally with the bold."

The situation into which they had entered was one of extreme danger, but
their surprising skill as trailers helped them greatly. The bank at this
point was about eight feet high, with rather a sharp slope, covered with
a dense growth of bushes, in which their figures were well hidden, but
they were so near now to the main camp that its luminous glow passed
over their heads, and lay in a broad band of light on the yellow surface
of the river. A canoe put out from the southern shore, and was paddled
by two warriors to the northern bank. Evidently there was constant
communication between the two forces.

From the bank above them came the steady drone of the scalp song, and
they heard the measured beat of the dance. Voices, too, came to them as
they advanced a little farther, and once Henry distinguished that of
Blackstaffe, although he was not able to understand the words. The light
from the great fire was steadily growing stronger on the river and it
would be a peril, disclosing their movements, if they took a canoe. From
the southern forest came the cries of wolves and owls which were the
signals of the Indians to one another, and Henry felt sure they were
talking of the five. He was thoroughly convinced now that their trail
had been discovered, and that the warriors, sure they were in the ring,
were seeking to draw in the steel girdle enclosing them. And unless the
canoe was secured quickly it was likely they would succeed. The two
paused, their minds in a state of painful indecision.

"What do you think, Henry?" whispered the shiftless one.

"Nothing that amounts to anything."

"When you don't know what to do the best thing to do is to do nothin'.
'Spose we jest wait a while. We're well kivered here, an' they'd never
think o' lookin' so close by fur us, anyway. Besides, hev you noticed,
Henry, that it's growin' a lot darker? 'Tain't goin' to rain, but the
moon an' all the stars are goin' away, fur a rest, I s'pose, so they kin
shine all the brighter tomorrow night."

"It's so, Sol, and a good heavy blanket of darkness will help us a
lot."

They lay perfectly still and waited with all the patience of those who
know they must be patient to live. A full hour passed, and the welcome
darkness increased, the heavens turning into a solid canopy, black and
vast. The light from the great campfire sank, and its luminous glow no
longer appeared on the river. The stream itself showed but faintly
yellow under the darkness. Henry's heart began to beat high. Nature, as
it so often did, was coming to their help. The droning song of the scalp
dance had ceased and with it the voices of the warriors talking. No
sound came from the river, save the soft swish of the flowing waters,
and now and then a gurgle and a splash, when some huge catfish raised
part of his body above the surface, and then let it fall back again.

Another canoe came presently from the northern shore. Henry and
Shif'less Sol, although they could not see it at first, knew it had
started, because their keen ears caught the plash of the paddles.

"It's a big one, Henry," whispered Shif'less Sol. "How many paddles do
you make out by the sound?"

"Six. Is that your count, too?"

"Yes. Now I kin see it. One, two, three, four, five, six. We wuz right
in the number an' it's a big fine canoe, jest the canoe we want, Henry,
an' it'll land 'bout twenty yards 'bove us. Somethin' tells me our
chance is comin'!"

"I hope the something telling you is telling you right. In any case
you're correct about their landing. It will be almost exactly twenty
yards away."

The great canoe emerged from the darkness, six powerful Miamis swinging
the paddles, and it came in a straight line for the bank, leaving a
trailing yellow wake. Henry admired their strength and dexterity. They
were splendid canoemen, and he never felt any hatred of the Indians. He
knew that they acted according to such guidance as they had, and it was
merely circumstances that placed him and his kind in opposition to them
and their kind.

The light but strong craft touched the bank gently, and the six canoemen
stepped out, a figure that appeared among the bushes confronting them.
Henry, with a thrill, recognized Blackstaffe, and the canoe must have
arrived on an errand of importance or the renegade would not have been
there to meet the six warriors.

"You will come into the camp and hear the reports of the scouts," said
Blackstaffe, speaking in Miami, which both Henry and the shiftless one
understood perfectly. "It will take some time to do this, because not
all of them have returned yet. Then two of you had better go back with
the canoe, while the others stay here to help us. I think we have these
five rovers trapped at last, and we'll make an end of 'em. They've
certainly caused us enough trouble, and I'm bound to say they're masters
of forest war."

One of the warriors tied the canoe to a bush with a willow withe, and
then all six following Blackstaffe disappeared among the trees, going
toward the campfire.

"At least Blackstaffe compliments us before sending us to the next
world," whispered Henry.

"Ez fur me," Shif'less Sol whispered back, "I ain't goin' to no next
world, jest to oblige a villyun renegade. Besides, I like this
wilderness o' ours too much to leave it fur anybody. They think they're
mighty smart an' that they're plannin' somethin' big right now, but all
the same they're givin' us our chance."

"What do you mean, Sol?"

"Didn't you hear the villyun say that two o' the warriors wuz to go back
with the boat?"

"Well, what of it?"

"Then two warriors is goin' to be me an' you, Henry."

"Of course. I ought to have thought of it, too."

"Thar must be sent'nels on the bank, but waitin' 'bout ten minutes we'll
git into the canoe an' paddle off. The sent'nels will know that two
warriors are to go back in it, an' they'll think we're them. This
darkness which has come up, heavy an' black, on purpose to help us, will
keep 'em from seein' that we ain't warriors. When we git into the middle
o' the river, whar thar eyes can't even make out the canoe, we'll go
down stream like a flash o' lightnin', pick up the boys and then be off
ag'in like another flash o' lightnin'."

"A good plan, Sol, and we'll try it. As you say, luck is always on the
side of the bold, and I don't see why we can't succeed."

But to wait the necessary fifteen minutes was one of the hardest tasks
they ever undertook. It would not do to take the canoe at once, as
suspicion would certainly be aroused. They must conform to Blackstaffe's
own plan. It seemed to them that they must actually hold themselves with
their own hands to keep from creeping forward to the canoe, yet they did
it, though the minutes doubled and redoubled in length, and then
tripled; but, after a time that both judged sufficient, they slid
forward, and Henry's knife cut the willow withe. Then they lifted
themselves gently into the canoe, took up two of the paddles and were
away.

Henry's back was to the southern bank, and despite all his experience
and courage shivers ran through his body at the thought that a bullet
from the forest might strike him any moment. Yet he did not wish to seem
in a hurry, and restrained his eagerness to paddle with all his might.

"Softly, Sol, softly," he said. "We must not be in too much haste."

"Don't I know it, Henry? Don't I know that we must 'pear to be the two
warriors whose business it is to take back the canoe? Ain't I jest
strainin' an' achin' to make the biggest sweep with my paddle I ever
swep', an' ain't my mind pullin' ag'inst my hands all the time, tryin'
to keep 'em at the proper gait? Are you shore you ain't felt no bullet
in your back yet, Henry?"

"No, Sol. What makes you ask such a question?"

"'Cause I reckon I wuz so much afeared o' one that I imagined the place
whar it's track would be in me, ef it had been really fired. My fancy
is pow'ful lively at sech a time."

"There has been no alarm, at least not yet, and we're near the middle of
the river. The canoe must be invisible, although I can see the fires on
either shore. Now, Sol, we'll turn down stream and paddle with all our
might, showing what canoemen we really are!"

It was with actual physical as well as mental joy that they turned the
prow of the canoe toward the southeast, that is, with the current, and
began to do their best with the paddles. They no longer had that
horrible fear of a bullet in the back, and muscles seemed to leap
together with the spirit into greater strength and elasticity.

"Come on you, Henry," said Shif'less Sol exultantly. "Keep up your side!
Prove that you're jest ez good a man with the paddle ez me! We ain't
makin' more'n a mile a minute, an' fur sech ez we are that's nothin' but
standin' still!"

The two bent their powerful backs a little and their great arms swept
the paddles through the water at an amazing rate. The soul of Shif'less
Sol surged up to the heights. He became dithyrambic and he spoke in a
tone not loud, but full of concentrated fire and feeling.

"Fine, you Henry, you!" he said. "But we kin do better! The canoe is
goin' fast, but one or two canoes in the hist'ry o' the world hez gone
ez fast! We must go faster by ten or fifteen miles an hour an' set the
record that will stan'! It's so dark in here I can't see either bank,
but I wish sometimes I could, warriors or no warriors! Then I could see
'em whizzin' by, jest streaks, with all the trees and bushes meltin'
into one another like a green ribbon! Now, that's the way to do it,
Henry! Our speed is jumpin'! I ain't shore whether the canoe is touchin'
the water or not! I think mebbe it's jest our paddles that dip in, an'
that the canoe is flyin' through the air! An' not a soun' from 'em yet!
They haven't discovered that the wrong warriors hev took thar boat, but
they will soon! Now we'll turn her in toward the southern bank, Henry,
'cause in the battin' o' an eye or two we'll be whar the rest o' the
boys are a-lyin' hid in the bushes! Now, slow an' slower! I kin see the
trees an' bushes separatin' tharselves, an' thar's the bank, an' now I
see the face o' Long Jim, 'bout seven feet above the groun'! He's an
onery, ugly cuss, never givin' me all the respeck that's due me, but
somehow I like him, an' he never looked better nor more welcome than he
does now, God bless the long-armed, long-legged, fightin', gen'rous,
kind-hearted cuss! An' thar's Paul, too, lookin' fur all the world like
a scholar, crammed full o' book l'arnin', 'stead o' the ring-tailed
forest runner, half hoss, half alligator, that he is, though he's got
the book l'arnin' an' is one o' the greatest scholars the world ever
seed! An' that's Tom Ross, with his mouth openin' ez ef he wuz 'bout to
speak a word, though he'll conclude, likely, that he oughtn't, an' all
three o' 'em are pow'ful glad to see us comin' in our triumphal Roman
gallus that we hev captured from the enemy."

"Galley, Sol, galley! Not gallus!"

"It's all the same, galley or gallus. We hev got it, an' we are in it,
an' it's a fine big canoe with six paddles, one for ev'ry one o' us an'
one to spare! Now here we are ag'in the bank, an' thar they are ready to
jump in!"

There was no time for hesitation, as a long and tremendous war whoop
from a point up the stream seemed to surcharge the whole night with rage
and ferocity. It was evident that the warriors had discovered that the
wrong men had taken the canoe, as they were bound to do soon, and the
chase would be on at once, conducted with all the power and tenacity of
those who devoted their lives to such deeds.

"They'll know, of course, that we've come down the stream, not daring to
go against the current," said Henry, "and they'll follow with every
canoe they have."

"An' more will run along either bank hopin' fur a shot," said the
shiftless one, "an' so while we turn our canoe into a shootin' star
ag'in we'll hev to remember to keep in the middle o' the stream. A lot
o' the dark that helped us to git the canoe is fadin' away, leavin' us
to make our race fur our lives mostly in the open."

The great war whoop came again, filling the forest with its fierce
echoes, and then followed silence, a silence which every one of the five
knew would be broken later by the plash of paddles. The valley Indians
had great canoes, sometimes carrying as many as twenty paddles, and when
twenty strong backs were bent into one of them it could come at greater
speed than any five in the world could command.

But this five, calm and ready to face any danger, put their rifles where
they could reach them in an instant, and then their canoe shot down the
stream.




CHAPTER V

THE PROTECTING RIVER


The Ohio was the great stream of the borderers. It was the artery that
led into the vast, rich new lands of the west, upon its waters many of
them came, and upon its current and along its banks were fought
thrilling battles between white men and red. Many a race for life was
made upon its bosom, but none was ever carried on with more courage and
energy than the one now occurring.

They kept well to the middle of the stream, which was still of great
width, a full mile across, where they would be safe from shots from
either shore, until the river narrowed, and although they sent the canoe
along very fast, they did not use their full strength, keeping a reserve
for the greater emergency which was sure to come.

Meanwhile they worked like a machine. The arms of five rose together and
five paddles made a single plash. In the returning moonlight the water
took on a silver color, and it fell away in masses of shimmering bubbles
from the paddle blades. Before them the river spread its vast width, at
once a channel of escape and of danger. The forest yet rose on either
bank, a solid mass of green, in which nothing stirred, and from which no
sound came.

The silence, save for the swish of the paddles, was brooding and full of
menace. Paul, so sensitive to circumstance, felt as if it were a sullen
sky, out of which would suddenly come a blazing flash of lightning. But
to Henry the greatest anxiety was the narrowing of the river which must
come before long. The Ohio was not a mile wide everywhere, and when that
straightening of the stream occurred they would be within rifle shot of
the warriors on one bank or the other. And while the Indians were not
good marksmen, it was true that where there were many bullets not all
missed.

A quarter of an hour passed, and they heard the war-whoop behind them,
and then a few moments later the faint, rhythmic swish of paddles. The
moonlight had been deepening fast, and Henry saw two of the great canoes
appear, although they were yet a full half mile away. But they came on
at a mighty pace, and it was evident that unless bullets stopped them
they would overtake the fugitives. Henry put aside his paddle, leaving
the work for the present to the others, and studied the long canoes. He
and his comrades might strain as they would, but in an hour the big
boats filled with muscular warriors would be alongside. They must devise
some other method to elude the pursuit. A shout from Paul caused him to
turn.

A peninsula from the south projected into the river, making its width at
this point much less than half a mile, and upon the spit, which was
bare, stood several Indian warriors, rifle in hand and waiting.

"Turn the canoe in toward the northern shore," said Henry. "We must
chance a shot from that quarter, dealing with the seen danger, and
letting the unseen go. Sol, you and Tom take your rifles, and I'll take
mine too. Paul, you and Jim do the paddling and we'll see whether those
warriors on the sand stop us, or are just taking a heavy risk
themselves."

The canoe sheered off violently toward the northern bank, but did not
cease to move swiftly, as Paul and Jim alone were able to send it along
at a great rate. Henry, with his rifle lying in the hollow of his arm,
watched a large warrior standing on the edge of the water.

"I'll take the big fellow with the waving scalp lock," he said.

"The short, broad one by the side o' him is mine," said Shif'less Sol.
"Which is yours, Tom?"

"One with red blanket looped over his shoulder," replied the taciturn
rover.

"Be sure of your aim," said Henry. "We're running a gauntlet, but it's
likely to be as much of a gauntlet for those warriors as it is for us."

Perhaps the Indians on the spit did not know that the canoe contained
the best marksmen in the West, as they crowded closer to the water's
edge, uttered a yell or two of triumph and raised their own weapons. The
three rifles in the canoe flashed together and the big warrior, the
short, broad one, and the one with the red blanket looped over his
shoulder, fell on the sand. One of them got up again and fled with his
unhurt comrades into the forest, but the others lay quite still, with
their feet in the water. As the marksmen reloaded rapidly, Henry cried
to the paddlers:

"Now, boys, back toward the middle of the river and put all your might
in it!"

Paul and Long Jim swung the canoe into the main current, which had
increased greatly in strength here, owing to the narrowing of the
stream, and their paddles flashed fast. Two of the Indians who had fled
into the woods reappeared and fired at them, but their bullets fell
wide, and Henry, who had now rammed in the second charge, wounded one of
them, whereupon they fled to cover as quickly as they did the first
time.

Shif'less Sol and Tom Ross had also reloaded, but put their rifles in
the bottom of the boat and resumed their paddles. The danger on the land
spit had been passed, but the great canoes behind them were hanging on
tenaciously and were gaining, not rapidly, but with certainty. Henry
swept them again with a measuring eye, and he saw no reason to change
his calculations.

"They'll come within rifle shot in just about an hour," he repeated.
"We'd pick off some of them with our bullets, but they'd keep on coming
anyhow, and that would be the end of us."

Such a solemn statement would have daunted any but those who had escaped
many great dangers. Imminent and deadly as was the peril, it did not
occur to any of the five that they would not evade it, the problem now
being one of method rather than result.

"What are we going to do, Henry?" asked Paul.

"I don't know yet," replied the leader, "but we'll keep going until
something develops."

"Thar's your development!" exclaimed the shiftless one, as a rifle was
fired from the northern shore, and a bullet plashed in the water just
ahead of them. Then came a second shot from the same source which struck
the inoffensive river behind them. They were now being attacked from
both banks while the great canoes followed tenaciously.

"We don't have to bother about one thing," said Paul grimly. "We know
which way to go, and it's the only way that's open to us."

But the threat offered by the northern shore did not seem to be so
menacing. The river began to widen again and rapidly, and the scattered
shots fired later on came from a great distance, falling short. Those
discharged from the southern bank also missed the mark as widely. Henry
no longer paid any attention to them, but was examining the forest and
the curves of the river with a minute scrutiny. His look, which had been
very grave, brightened suddenly, and a reassuring flash appeared in his
eye.

"What is it, Henry?" asked Shif'less Sol, who had noticed the change.

"We've been along here before," replied the great youth. "I know the
shores now, and it's mighty lucky for us that we are just where we are."

The shiftless one looked at the northern, then at the southern forest,
and shook his head.

"I don't 'pear to recall it," he said. "The woods, at this distance
away, look like any other woods at night, black an' mighty nigh solid."

"It's not so much the forest, because, like you, I couldn't tell it from
any other, as it is the curve of the river. I thought I saw something
familiar in it a little while ago, and now I know by the sound that I'm
right."

"Sound! What sound?"

"Turn your ears down the river and listen as hard as you can. After a
while you'll hear a faint humming."

"So I do, Henry, but I wouldn't hev noticed it ef you hadn't told me
about it, an' even ef I do hear it I don't know what it means."

"It's made by the rush of a great volume of water, Sol. It's the Falls
of the Ohio, that not many white men have yet seen, a gradual sort of
fall, one that boats can go over without trouble most of the time, but
which, owing to the state of the river, are just now at their highest."

"An' you mean fur them falls to come in between us an' the big canoes?
You're reckonin' on water to save us?"

"That's what I have in mind, Sol. The falls are dangerous at this stage
of the river, no doubt about it, but we're not canoemen for nothing, and
with our lives at stake we'll not think twice before shooting 'em. What
say you, boys?"

"The falls fur me!" replied the shiftless one, quickly.

"Nothin' could keep me from takin' the tumble. I jest love them falls,"
said Long Jim.

"It's that or nothing," said Paul.

"On!" said Silent Tom.

"Then ease a little with your paddles," said Henry. "The Indians know,
of course, that the falls are just ahead, and I notice they are not now
pushing us so hard. It follows, then, that the falls are at a dangerous
height they don't often reach, and they expect to trap us."

"In which they will be mighty well fooled."

"I think so. I'll sit in the prow of the boat and do my best with my
paddle to guide. I believe we can shoot the falls all right, but maybe
we'll be swamped in the rapids below. But we're all good swimmers, and,
if we do go over, every fellow must swim for the northern bank, where
the Indians are fewest. Some one of us must manage to save his rifle and
ammunition or we'd be lost, even if we happened to reach the land.
Still, it's possible that we can keep afloat. It's a good canoe."

"A good canoe!" exclaimed the shiftless one, in whom the spirit of
achievement and of triumph was rising again. "It's the finest canoe on
all this great river, and didn't I tell you boys that them that's bold
always win! Jest when our last chance 'peared to be gone, these falls
wuz put squar'ly in our track to save us! Will they wreck us? No, they
won't! We'll shoot 'em like a bird on the wing!"

He looked back at their pursuers, and gave utterance suddenly to a long,
piercing shout of defiance. The Indians in the canoes replied with war
whoops that Henry could read easily. They expressed faith in speedy
triumph, and joy over the destruction of the five. He saw, moreover,
that they were using only half strength now, preferring to take their
ease while the game struggled vainly in the net. But as well as many of
these warriors knew the five they did not know them to the full.

The shiftless one waited until their last war whoop died, and then,
sending forth once more his long, thrilling note of defiance, he burst
again into his triumphal chant.

"Steady now with the paddles, boys," he cried, "an' we'll ride the water
ez ef we'd done nothin' else all our lives! Oh, I love rivers, big
rivers, speshully when they hev a strong current like this that takes
your boat 'long an' you don't hev to do no work! Now it reaches up a
thousand hands that grab our canoe an' sail 'long with it! Don't paddle
any more, boys, but jest hold yourselves ready to do it, when needed!
The river's doin' all the work, an' it never gits tired! Look, now, how
the current's a-rushin', an' a-dancin', an' a-hummin'! Look at the white
water 'roun' us! Look at the water behind us, an' hear the roarin'
before us! Thar, she rocks, but never min' that! Wait till the water
comes spillin' in! Then it will be time to use the paddles!"

He burst once more into that irrepressible yell of defiance, and then he
cried exultantly:

"They slow up! They're gittin' afeard! We've made the race too fast fur
'em! Come on, you warriors! Ain't you ready to go whar we will? These
falls are fine an' we jest love to play with 'em! We are goin' to sail
down 'em, an' then we're goin' to sail back up 'em ag'in! Don't you hear
all that roarin'? It's the tumblin' o' the water, an' it's singin' a
song to you, tellin' you to come!"

The shiftless one's own tremendous song had a thrilling effect upon his
comrades. Their spirits leaped with it. The rushing canoe was now
dancing upon the surface of the river, but somehow they were not afraid.
They were at that reach of the river where a great city was destined to
grow upon the southern shore, and which was to be the scene, a year or
two later, of other activities of theirs, but now both banks were in
solid, black forest, and no human habitation had yet appeared.

The canoe was rocking dangerously and all five began to use the paddles
now and then, as the white water foamed around them. It required the
utmost quickness of eye and hand to keep afloat, and the flying spray
soon wet them through and through. Yet the soul of Shif'less Sol was
still undaunted. He sang his song of victory, and although most of the
words were lost amid the crash and roar of the waters, their triumphant
note rose above every other sound, and found an echo in the hearts of
the others.

Henry, looking back, saw that the long canoes had turned and were making
for the southern shore. Great as was the prize they sought, they would
not dare the falls, and half the battle was won.

"They don't follow!" he shouted at the top of his voice. "And now for
the miracle that will keep us afloat!"

The canoe raced down the watery slope and the spray continued to drench
them, though they had taken the precaution to cover up their rifles and
ammunition. But their surpassing skill had its reward. The descent soon
became more gradual, the torrents of white water sank, and then they
slid forward in the rapids, still going at a great rate, but no longer
in danger.

"An' we've left the enemy behind!" sang the shiftless one, looking back
at the white masses. "He thought he had us, but he hadn't! He turned
back at the steep slope, but we came on! Thar's nothin' like havin' a
fall between you an' a lot o' pursuin' Injun canoes, is thar, Paul?"

Paul laughed, half in amusement and half in nervous relief.

"No, Sol, there isn't, at least not now," he replied. "It looks as if
these falls had been put here especially to save us."

"I like to think so, too," said the shiftless one.

The river was still very wide and they kept the canoe in its center,
although they no longer dreaded Indian shots, feeling quite sure that no
warriors were on either shore below the falls. So they went on three or
four miles, until Paul asked what was the next plan.

"We must talk it over, all of us," said Henry. "The canoe is of no
particular use to us except as a way of escape from immediate danger."

"But it and the falls together saved us," said Shif'less Sol. "Oh, it's
a good boat, a fine boat, a friendly boat!"

"I hate to desert a friend."

"It must be done. We can't stay forever on the river in a canoe. That
would merely invite destruction. The Indians can take their canoes out
of the water, carry them around the falls and resume the pursuit."

"O' course I know you're right, Henry. I wuz jest droppin' a tear or two
over the partin' with our faithful canoe. We make fur the north bank, I
s'pose."

"That seems to me to be the right course, because the warriors will be
thicker on the south side. We'll keep our policy of defense against them
by resuming the offense. What say you, Paul?"

"I choose the north bank."

"And you, Jim?"

"North, uv course."

"And you, Tom?"

"North."

"And Sol and I have already spoken. We'll make for the low point across
there, sink the canoe and go into the forest. The Indians will be sure
in time to pick up our trail and follow us, but we'll escape 'em as
we've escaped twice already."

"Red Eagle and Yellow Panther will come for us now," said Paul. "It's
their turn next."

"Let 'em," said Long Jim in sanguine tones. "They can't beat us."

They were now out of the rapids and were paddling swiftly toward the
northern shore, with their eyes on a small cove, where the bushes grew
thick to the water's edge. When they reached it they pushed the canoe
into the dense thicket and sank it.

"After all," said Shif'less Sol, "we're not partin' wholly with our
friend. We know whar he is, an' he'll wait here until some time or other
when we want him ag'in."

Gathering up their arms, ammunition and supplies, they traveled
northward through the dense forest until they came to a small and well
sheltered valley, where they concluded to rest, it being full time, as
collapse was coming fast after their great exertions and intense strain.
Nevertheless, Silent Tom was able to keep the first watch, while the
others threw themselves on the ground and went to sleep almost
instantly.

Tom had promised to awaken Shif'less Sol in two hours, but he did not do
so. He knew how much his comrades needed rest, and being willing to
sacrifice himself, he watched until dawn, which came bright, cold at
first, and then full of grateful warmth, a great sun hanging in a vast
disc of reddish gold over the eastern forest.

Silent Tom Ross, in his most talkative moments, was a man of few words,
at other times of none, but he felt deeply. A life spent wholly in the
woods into which he fitted so supremely had given him much of the Indian
feeling. He, too, peopled earth, air and water with spirits, and to him
the wild became incarnate. The great burning sun, at which he took
occasional glances, was almost the same as the God of the white man and
the Manitou of the red man. He had keenly appreciated their danger, both
when Henry was at the hollow, and when they were in the canoe on the
river, hemmed in on three sides. And yet they had come safely from both
nets. The skill of the five had been great, but more than human skill
had helped them to escape from such watchful and powerful enemies.

Tom Ross, as he looked at the faces of his comrades, knitted to him by
so many hardships and perils shared, was deeply grateful. He took one or
two more glances at the great burning sun, and the sky that looked like
illimitable depths of velvet blue, and then he surveyed the whole circle
of the forest curving around them. It was silent there, no sign of a foe
appeared, all seemed to be as peaceful as a great park in the Old World.
Tom said no words, not even to himself, but his prayer of thanks ran:

"O Lord, I offer my gratitude to Thee for the friends whom Thou hast
given me. As they have been faithful to me in every danger, so shall I
try to be faithful to them. Perhaps my mind moves more slowly than
theirs, but I strive always to make it move in the right way. They are
younger than I am, and I feel it my duty and my pleasure, too, to watch
over them, despite their strength of body, mind and spirit. I have not
the gift of words, nor do I pray for it, but help me in other things
that I may do my part and more."

Then Tom Ross felt uplifted. The dangers passed were passed, and those
to come could not press upon him yet. He was singularly light of heart,
and the wind sang among the leaves for him, though not in words, as it
sang often for Henry.

He took another look at his comrades, and they still slept as if they
would never awake. The strain of the preceding nights and days had been
tremendous, and their spirits, having gone away with old King Sleep to
his untroubled realms, showed no signs of a wish to come back again to a
land of unlimited peril. He had promised faithfully to awaken one of
them long ago for the second turn at the watch, and he knew that all of
them expected to be up at sunrise, but he had broken his promise and he
was happy in the breaking of it.

Nor did he awaken them now. Instead he made a wide circle through the
forest, using his good eyes and good ears to their utmost. The stillness
had gone, because birds were singing from pure joy at the dawn, and the
thickets rustled with the movements of small animals setting about the
day's work and play. But Silent Tom knew all these sounds, and he paid
no attention to them. Instead he listened for man, man the vengeful, the
dangerous and the deadly, and hearing nothing from him and being sure
that he was not near, he went back to the place where the four sleepers
lay. Examining them critically he saw that they had not stirred a
particle. They had been so absolutely still that they had grown into the
landscape itself.

Tom Ross smiled a deep smile that brought his mouth well across his face
and made his eyes crinkle up, and then, disregarding their wishes with
the utmost lightness of heart, he sat himself down, calmly letting them
sleep on. He produced from an inside pocket a long stretch of fine,
thin, but very strong cord, and ran it through his fingers until he came
to the sharp hook on the end. It was all in good trim, and his questing
eye soon saw where a long, slender pole could be cut. Then he put thread
and hook back in his pocket, and sat as silent as the sleepers, but
bright-eyed and watchful. No one could come near without his knowledge.

Shif'less Sol awoke first, yawning mightily, but he did not yet open his
eyes.

"Who's watchin'?" he called.

"Me," replied Ross.

"Is it day yet?"

"Look up an' see."

The shiftless one did look up, and when he beheld the great sun shining
almost directly over his head he exclaimed in surprise:

"Why, Tom, is it today or tomorrer?"

"It's today, though I guess it's well on to noon."

"Seein' the sun whar it is, an' feelin' now ez ef I had slep' so long, I
thought mebbe it might be tomorrer. An' it bein' so late an' me
sleepin', too, it looks ez ef the warriors ought to hev us."

"But they hevn't, Sol. All safe."

"No, Tom, they hevn't got us, an' now, hevin' learned from your long an'
volyble conversation that it ain't tomorrer an' that we are free, 'stead
o' bein' taken captive an' bein' burned at the stake by the Injuns, I'm
feelin' mighty fine."

"Sol, you talk real foolish at times. How could we be took by the Injuns
an' be burned alive at the stake, an' not know nothin' 'bout it?"

"Don't ask me, Tom. Thar are lots o' strange things that I don't pretend
to understan', an' me a smart man, too. Here, you, Jim Hart! Wake up!
Shake them long legs an' arms o' yours an' cook our breakfast!"

Silent Tom began to laugh, not audibly, but his lips moved in such a
manner that they betrayed risibility. The shiftless one looked at him
suspiciously.

"Tom Ross," he said, "what you laughin' at?"

"You told Long Jim to cook breakfast, didn't you?"

"I shorely did, an' I meant it, too."

"He ain't."

"Why ain't he?"

"Because he ain't."

"Ef he ain't, then why ain't he?"

"Because thar ain't any."

"Thar ain't any breakfast, you mean?"

"Jest what I say. He ain't goin' to cook breakfast, 'cause thar ain't
any to cook, an' thar ain't no more to say."

Henry and Paul, awakening at the sound of the voices, sat up and caught
the last words.

"Do you mean to tell us, Tom," exclaimed Paul, "that we have nothing to
eat?"

"Shorely," said Silent Tom triumphantly. "Look! See!"

All of them examined their packs quickly, but they had eaten the last
scrap of food the day before. Silent Tom's mouth again stretched across
his face with triumph and his eyes crinkled up.

"Right, ain't it?" he asked exultantly.

"Look here you, Tom Ross," exclaimed Shif'less Sol, indignantly, "you'd
rather be right an' starve to death than be wrong an' live!"

"Right, ain't I?"

"Yes, right, ain't you, 'bout the food, an' wrong in everythin' else. Ef
you say 'ain't' to me ag'in, Tom Ross, inside o' a week, I'll club you
so hard over the head with your own gun that you won't be able to speak
another word fur a year! The idee o' you laughin' an' me plum' dead with
hunger! Why, I could eat a hull big buffler by myself, an' ef he wuzn't
cooked I could eat him alive, an' on the hoof too, so I could!"

Tom Ross continued to laugh silently with his eyes and lips.

"What are we to do?" asked Paul in dismay. "If we were to find game we
wouldn't dare fire at it with the Indians perhaps so near."

"True," said Tom Ross.

"And if we can't fire at it we certainly can't catch it with our hands."

"True," said Tom Ross.

"And then are we to starve to death?"

"No," said Tom Ross.

Paul did not ask anything more, but his questioning look was on the
silent man.

"Fish," said Tom Ross, showing his line and hook.

"Where?" asked Shif'less Sol.

"Fine, clear creek, only hundred yards away."

"Do you know that it hez any fish in it?"

"Saw 'em little while ago. Fine big fellers, bass."

"Then be quick an' ketch a lot, 'cause the pangs o' starvation are
already on me."

Tom Ross cut the slim pole that he had already picked out and measured
with his eye, took squirming bait from the soft earth under a stone,
just as millions of boys in the Mississippi valley have done, and
started for the creek, Paul being delegated to accompany him, while
Henry, Long Jim and the shiftless one proceeded to build a fire in the
most secluded spot they could find. There was danger in a fire, but they
could shield the smoke, or at least most of it, and the risk must be
taken anyhow. They could not eat raw the fish which they did not doubt
for a moment Tom Ross would soon bring.

Meanwhile Paul and Tom reached the banks of the creek, which was all the
silent one had claimed for it, fifteen feet wide, two feet deep, clear
water, flowing over a pebbly bottom. Tom tied his string to the pole,
and threw in the hook and bait.

"You watch, I fish," he said.

Paul, his rifle in the crook of his arm, strolled a little bit down the
stream, examining the forest and listening attentively for any hostile
sound. Since it was his business to protect the fisherman while he
fished, he meant to protect him well, and no enemy could have come near
without being observed by him. And yet he had enough detachment from the
dangers of their situation to drink deep in the beauty of the
wilderness, which was here a tangle of green forest, shot with wild
flowers and cut by clear running waters.

But he did not go so far that he failed to hear a thump where Tom Ross
was sitting, and he knew that a fine fish had been landed. Presently a
second thump came to his ear, and, glancing through the bushes, he saw
Tom taking the fish off the hook, a look of intense satisfaction on his
face. Then the silent fisherman threw in the line again and leaned back
luxuriously against the trunk of a tree, while he waited for his third
bite. Paul smiled. He knew that Silent Tom was happy, happy because he
had prepared for and was achieving a necessary task.

Paul went on in a circuit about the fisherman, crossing the creek lower
down, where it was narrower, on a fallen log, and discovered no sign of
a foe, though he did come to a bed of wild flowers, the delicate pale
blue of which pleased him so much that he broke off two blossoms and
thrust them into his deerskin tunic. Then he came back to Silent Tom, to
find that he had caught four fine large fish, and, having thrown away
his pole, was winding up his line.

"'Nuff," said the silent one.

"I think so, too," said Paul, "and now we'll hurry back with 'em."

"Look like a flower garden, you!"

"If I do I'm glad of it."

"Like it myself."

"I know you do, Tom. I know that however you may appear, and that
however fierce and warlike you may be at times, your character rests
upon a solid bedrock of poetry."

Tom stared and then smiled, and by this time the two had returned with
their spoils to a little valley in which a little fire was burning, with
the blaze smothered already, but a fine bed of coals left. The fish were
cleaned with amazing quickness, and then Long Jim broiled them in a
manner fit for kings. The five ate hungrily, but with due regard for
manners.

"You're a good fisherman, Tom Ross," said Shif'less Sol, "but it ought
to be my job."

"Why?"

"'Cause it's the job o' a lazy man. I reckon that all fishermen,
leastways them that fish in creeks an' rivers, are lazy, nothin' to do
but set still an' doze till a fish comes along an' hooks hisself on to
your bait. Then you jest hev to heave him in an' put the hook back in
the water ag'in."

"There's enough of the fish left for another meal," said Henry, "and I
think we'd better put it in our packs and be off."

"You still favor a retreat into the north?" said Paul.

"Yes, and toward the northeast, too. We'll go in the direction of Piqua
and Chillicothe, their big towns. As we've concluded over and over
again, the offensive is the best defensive, and we'll push it to the
utmost. What's your opinion, Sol? Who do you think will be the next
leader to come against us?"

"Red Eagle an' the Shawnees. I'm thinkin' they're curvin' out now to
trap us, an' that Red Eagle is a mighty crafty fellow."

They trod out the coals, threw some dead leaves over them, and took a
course toward the northeast. It seemed pretty safe to assume that the
ring of warriors was thickest in the south, and that they might slip
through in the north. Time and distance were of little importance to
them, and they felt able to find their rations as they went in the
forest.

They had been traveling about an hour at the easy walk of the border,
when they heard a long cry behind them.

"They've found the dead coals o' our fire," said Shif'less Sol.

"Which means that they're not so far away," said Paul.

"But we've been comin' over rocky ground, an' the trail ain't picked up
so easy. An' we might make it a lot harder by wadin' a while up this
branch."

The brook fortunately led in the direction in which they wished to go.
They walked in it a full half mile, and as it had a sandy bottom their
footprints vanished almost at once. When they emerged at last they heard
the long cry again, now from a point toward the east, and then a distant
answer from a point in the west. Shif'less Sol laughed with intense
enjoyment.

"Guessin'! Jest guessin'!" he said. "They've found the dead coals an'
they know that we wuz thar once, but that now we ain't, an' it's not
whar we wuz but whar we ain't that's botherin' 'em."

"Still," said Paul, "the more distance we put between them and us the
better I, for one, will like it."

"You're right, Paul," said Shif'less Sol. "I guess we'd better shake our
feet to a lively tune."

They increased their walk to a trot, and fled through the great forest.




CHAPTER VI

THE OASIS


The five continued their flight all that day, seeing no enemies and
hearing no further signal from them. But Henry knew intuitively that the
warriors were still in pursuit. They would spread out in every
direction, and some one among them would, in time, pick up the trail.
After a while, they permitted their own gait to sink to an easy walk,
but they did not veer from their northeastern course. Henry, all the
time, was a keen observer of the country, and he noticed with pleasure
the change that was occurring.

They were coming to a low sunken land, cut by many streams, nearly all
sluggish and muddy. The season had been rainy, and there was an odor of
dampness over all things. Great thickets of reeds and cane began to
appear, and now and then they trod into deep banks of moss.

"Perhaps we'd better turn to the north and avoid it," said Paul. "This
marsh region seems to be extensive."

Henry shook his head.

"We won't avoid it," he said. "On the contrary it's just what we want.
I'm thinking that we're being watched over. You know the forest fire
came in time to save us, then the falls appeared just when we needed
'em, and now this huge marsh, extending miles and miles in every
direction, cuts across our path, not as an enemy, but as a friend."

"That is, we are to hide in it?"

"Where could we find a better refuge?"

"Then you lead the way, Henry," said Shif'less Sol. "Ef you sink in it
we'll pull you out, purvidin' you don't go in it over your neck."

Henry went ahead, his wary eye examining the ground which had already
grown alarmingly soft save for those trained for such marchings. But he
was able to pick out the firm places, though the earth would quickly
close over their footsteps, as they passed, and, now and then, they
walked on the upthrust roots of trees, their moccasins giving them a
securer hold.

It was precarious and dangerous work, but they went deeper and deeper
into the heart of the great swamp, through thickets of bushes, cane and
reeds, the soil continually growing softer and the vegetation ranker and
more gloomy. Often the canes and reeds were so dense that they had
difficulty in seeing their leader, as he slipped on ahead. Sometimes
snakes trailed a slimy length from their path, and, hardened foresters
though they were, they shuddered. Occasionally an incautious foot sank
to the knee and it was pulled out again with a choking sigh as the mud
closed where it had been. Mosquitoes and many other buzzing and
stinging insects assailed them, but they pressed on without hesitation.

They came to a great black pond on which marsh fowl were swimming, but
Henry led around its miry edges, and they pressed on into the deeper
depths of the vast swamp. He judged that they had now penetrated it a
full two miles, but he had no intention of stopping. The four behind him
knew without his telling for what he was looking. The swamp, partly a
product of an extremely rainy season, must have bits of solid ground
somewhere within its area, and, when they came to such a place, they
would stop. Yet it would be all the better if they did not reach it for
a long time, as the farther they were from the edge of the swamp the
safer they could rest.

No island of firm earth appeared, and the traveling grew more difficult.
Often they helped themselves along with vines that drooped from scrubby
trees, swinging their bodies over places that would not bear their
weight, but always, whether slow or fast, they made progress,
penetrating farther and farther into the huge blind maze.

The sun was low when they stopped for a long rest, hoping they would
reach refuge very soon.

"I don't think the warriors kin ever find us in here," said Long Jim,
"but what's troublin' me is whether we'll ever be able to git out
ag'in."

"Mebbe you wouldn't be so anxious to show yourse'f, Jim Hart, on solid
ground ef you could only see yourse'f ez I see you," said Shif'less Sol.
"You're a sight, plastered over with black mud, an' scratched with
briers an' bushes. Lookin' at you, an' sizin' you up, I reckon that
jest now you're 'bout the ugliest man in this hull round world."

"Ef I ain't, you are," said Long Jim, grinning. "Fact is, thar ain't a
beauty among us. I don't mind mud so much, but I don't like it when it's
black an' slimy. How fur do you reckon this flooded country goes,
Henry?"

"Twenty miles, maybe, Jim, but the farther the better for us. Here's an
old fallen log which I think will hold our weight. Suppose we stop here
and rest a little."

They were glad enough to do so. When they sat down they heard the
mournful sigh of a light wind through the black and marshy jungle, and
the splash now and then of a muskrat in the water. Their refuge seemed
dim and inexpressibly remote, as if it belonged to the wet and ferny
world of dim antiquity. But every one of the five felt that they were
safe, at least for the present, from pursuit.

"We might plough a trail a yard deep," said Shif'less Sol, "but the mud
would close over it ag'in in five minutes, an' Red Eagle with five
hundred o' the best trailers in the hull Shawnee nation couldn't foller
us."

"It's strange and grim," said Paul, "but, when you look at it a long
time there's a certain kind of forbidding beauty about it, and you're
bound to admit that it's a friendly swamp, since it's hiding us from
ruthless pursuers."

"Perhaps that's why you find the beauty in it," said Henry. "Come on,
though. The Shawnees are not likely to reach us here, but we must find
some snug place in which we can camp."

"After all," said Paul, "we're like travelers in a great desert looking
for an oasis."

"We ain't as hungry ez all that," said Long Jim.

"You won't get angry if I laugh, Jim, will you?" asked Paul.

"Don't mind me. Go ahead an' laugh all you want."

"An oasis is not something to eat, Jim. It's a green and watered place
in an ocean of sand."

"Seems to me that we waste time lookin' fur a place that's more watered
than all these we're crossin'. What I want is a dry place, a piece out
uv that ocean uv sand you're talkin' 'bout."

"The conditions are merely reversed. My illustration holds good."

"What did you say, Paul? Them wuz mighty big words."

"Never mind. You'll find out in due time. Just you pray for an oasis in
this swamp, because that is what we want, and we want it bad."

"All right, Paul, I'm prayin'. I ain't shore what I'm prayin' fur, but I
take your word fur it."

Henry rose and led on again, anxious of heart. They were well hidden, it
was true, in the great swamp, but they must find some place to lay their
heads. It was impossible to rest in the black ooze that surrounded them,
and if they did not reach firmer ground soon he did not know what they
would do. The sun was already low, and, in the east, the shadows were
gathering. Around them all things were clothed in gloom. Even that touch
of forbidding beauty, of which Paul had spoken was gone and the whole
swamp became dark and sinister.

Henry was compelled to walk with the utmost care, lest he become
engulfed, and finally all of them cut lengths of cane with which they
felt about in the mire before they advanced.

"Pray hard, Long Jim," said Paul. "Pray hard for that oasis, because the
night will soon be here, and if we don't find our oasis we'll have to
stand in our tracks until day, and that's a mighty hard thing to do."

"I wuz never wishin' an prayin' harder in my life."

"I think your prayer is answered," interrupted Henry, who was thrusting
here and there with his cane. "To the right the ground seems to be
growing more solid. The mire is not more than a foot deep. I think I'll
venture in that direction. What do you say, boys?"

"Might ez well try it," said Shif'less Sol. "It may be a last chance,
but sometimes a last chance wins."

Henry, feeling carefully with the long, stout cane, plunged into the
slough. He was more anxious than he was willing to say, but at the same
time he was hopeful. As the swamp was due, at least in large part, to
the great rains, it must have firm ground somewhere, and he had noticed
also in the thickening twilight that the bushes ahead seemed much larger
than usual. A dozen steps and the mire was not more than six inches
deep. Then with a subdued cry of triumph he seized the bushes, pulled
himself among them, and stood not more than moccasin deep in the mud.

"It's the best place we've come to yet," he said. "I can't see over the
thicket, but I'm hoping that we'll find beyond it some kind of a hill
and dry ground."

"I know we will," said Long Jim, confidently. "It's 'cause I wished an'
prayed so hard. It's a lucky thing, Paul, that you had me to do the
wishin' an' prayin', 'stead o' Shif'less Sol, 'cause then we'd hev
walked into black mire a thousan' feet deep. Ef the prayers uv the
sinners are answered a-tall, a-tall, they're answered wrong."

Shif'less Sol shook his head scornfully.

"Let's go on, Henry," he said, "afore Long Jim talks us plum' to death,
a thing I'd hate to hev happen to me, jest when we're 'bout to reach the
promised land."

Henry pushed his way through dense bushes and trailing vines, and he
noticed with intense joy that all the time the earth was growing firmer.
The others followed silently in his tracks. In five minutes he emerged
from the thicket, and then he could not repress an exclamation of
pleasure. They had come upon a low hill, an acre perhaps in extent, as
firm as any soil and well grown with thick low oaks. Where the shade was
not too deep the grass was rich, and the five, the others repeating
Henry's cry of joy, threw themselves upon it and luxuriated.

"It's fine," said Shif'less Sol, "to lay here an' to feel that the earth
under you ain't quiverin' like a heap o' jelly. I turn from one side to
the other an' then back ag'in, an' I don't sink into no mud, a-tall,
a-tall."

"An' this, Paul, is the o-sis that you wuz talkin' 'bout, an' that I
wished an' prayed into the right place fur us?" said Long Jim.

"Oasis, Jim, not o-sis," said Paul.

"Oasis or o-sis, it's jest ez good to me by either name, an' I think
I'll stick to o-sis, 'cause it's easier to say. But, Paul, did you ever
see a finer piece uv land? Did you ever see finer, richer soil? Did you
ever see more splendiferous grass or grander oaks?"

"I feel about it just as you do," laughed Paul.

Henry lay still a full ten minutes, resting after their tremendous
efforts in the swamp, then he rose, walked through their oasis and
discovered that at the far edge a fine large brook was running,
apparently and in some mysterious way, escaping at that point the
contamination of the mud, although he could see that farther on it lost
itself in the swamp. But its cool, sparkling waters were a heavenly
sight, and, walking back, he announced his discovery to the others.

"All of you know what you can do," he said.

"We do," said Paul.

"First thought in my mind," said Shif'less Sol.

"An' we'll do it," said Long Jim.

"Now!" said Silent Tom.

They took off their clothing, scraped from it as much mud as they could,
and took a long and luxurious bath in the brook. Then they came out on
the bank and let themselves dry, the night which had now fully come,
fortunately being warm. As they lay in the grass they felt a great
content, and Long Jim gave it utterance.

"An o-sis is a fine thing," he said. "I'm glad you invented 'em, Paul,
'cause I don't know what we'd a-done without this un."

Henry rose and began to dress. The others did likewise.

"I think we'd better eat the rest of Tom's fish and then go to sleep,"
he said. "Tomorrow morning we'll have to hold a grand council, and
consider the question of food, as I think we're very likely to stay in
here quite a while."

"Are you really looking for a long stay?" asked Paul.

"Yes, because the Indians will be beating up the woods for us so
thoroughly that it will be best for us not to move from our hiding
place. It's a fine swamp! A glorious swamp! And because it's so big and
black and miry it's all the better for us. The only problem before us is
to get food."

"And we always get it somehow or other."

They wrapped themselves in their blankets to keep off any chill that
might come later in the night, lay down under the boughs of the dwarf
oaks, and slept soundly until the next day, keeping no watch, because
they were sure they needed none. Tom Ross himself never opened his eyes
once until the sun rose. Then the problem of food, imminent and
pressing, as the last of the fish was gone, presented itself.

"I think that branch is big enough to hold fish," said Tom Ross,
bringing forth his hook and line again, "an' ef any are thar they'll be
purty tame, seein' that the water wuz never fished afore. Anyway I'll
soon see."

The others watched him anxiously, as he threw in his bait, and their
delight was immense, when a half hour's effort was rewarded with a half
dozen perch, of fair size and obviously succulent.

"At any rate, we won't starve," said Henry, "though it would be hard to
live on fish alone, and besides it's not healthy."

"But we'll get something else," said Paul.

"What else?"

"I don't know, but I notice when we keep on looking we're always sure to
find."

"You're right, Paul. It's a good thing to have faith, and I'll have it,
too. But we can eat fish for several meals yet, and then see what will
happen."

They devoted the morning to a thorough washing and cleaning of their
clothing, which they dried in the sun, and they also made a further
examination of the oasis. The swamp came up to its very edge on all
three sides except that of the brook, and a little distance beyond the
brook it was swamp again. It would have been hard to imagine a more
secluded and secure retreat, and Henry dismissed from his mind the
thought of immediate pursuit there by the Indians. Their present
problems were those of food and shelter.

"I think," he said, "that we ought to build a bark hut. There's a
natural site between the four big trees which will be the corners of
our house, and the ground is just covered with the kind of bark we
want."

In the warm sunshine and with a clear sky above them they seemed to have
no need of a house, but all of them knew how quickly the weather could
change in the great valley. It would be hard to stand a fierce storm on
the oasis, and one of the secrets of the great and continued success of
the five was to prepare for every emergency of which they could think.

Long practice had given them high skill, and four of them set to work
with their tomahawks to build a hut of bark and poles, working swiftly,
dextrously and mostly in silence, while Silent Tom went back to the
fishing. They toiled that day and at least half the night with poles and
bark, and by noon the next day they had finished a little cabin, which
they were sure would hold, with the aid of the great trees, against
anything. It had a floor of poles smoothed with dead leaves, one small
window and a low door, over which they purposed to hang blankets if a
blowing rain came.

Throughout their hard labors they had an abundance of fish, but nothing
else, and they not only began to long for other food, but health
demanded it as well.

"Ef Long Jim Hart offers fish to me, ag'in," said the shiftless one,
"I'll take it an' cram it down his own throat."

"And then how'll you live?" asked Paul.

"I think I'll take Long Jim hisself an' eat him, beginnin' at his head,
which is the softest part o' him."

"Now that the cabin is done," said Henry, "maybe we can devote some
attention to hunting."

"Huntin' in black mud that'll suck you down to your waist in a second?"
said Shif'less Sol.

"I think I might find a pathway on the other side of the stream, and
this swamp ought to hold a lot of game. Bears love swamps, and I might
run across a deer."

"Would the Indians hear you if you fired?" asked Paul.

"No, we're too far in for the sound of a rifle to reach 'em. Still, I
won't start today. I suppose we can stand the fish until tomorrow."

"We have to stand 'em," said Shif'less Sol, "an' that bein' the case I
think I'll look ag'in at our beautiful house which hasn't a nail or a
spike in it, but is jest held together by withes an' vines, but held
together well jest the same."

"Ain't it fine?" said Long Jim with genuine admiration. "It's jest 'bout
the finest house that ever stood on this o-sis."

"That, at least, is true," said Paul.

They did not sleep in the cabin that night, as they intended to use it
only in bad weather, but made good beds on the leaves outside. Shif'less
Sol was the first to awake, and it was scarcely dawn when he arose.
Happening to look toward the brook delight overspread his face like a
sunrise, and laughing softly to himself he took his own rifle and Long
Jim's. Then he crept forward without noise, and making sure of his aim,
fired both rifles so closely together that one would have thought it
was a double barreled weapon.

The four leaped to their feet, and, clearing the sleep from their eyes,
ran in the direction of the shots. But the shiftless one was already
walking proudly back toward them.

"What is it, Sol?" cried Paul.

"Only these," replied Shif'less Sol, and he held up a fat wild duck in
either hand. "They wuz swimmin' in the branch, waitin' to be cooked an'
et by five good fellers like us, an' seein' they wuz in earnest 'bout it
I hev obliged 'em. So here they are, an' you, Long Jim, you, you set to
work at once an' cook 'em, 'cause I'm mighty hungry fur nice fat duck,
not hevin' et anythin' but fish fur the last year or two."

"Jest watch me do it," said Long Jim. "Ain't I been waitin' fur a chance
uv this kind? While I'm cookin' 'em you fellers will stan' 'roun', an'
them sav'ry smells will make you so hungry you can't bear to wait, but
you'll hev to, 'cause I won't let you touch a duck till it's br'iled
jest right. Are thar any more whar these come from, Sol?"

"Not jest at this minute, Jim, but thar wuz, an' thar will be. A dozen
jest ez good ez these fat fellers flew away when I fired, an' whar some
hez been more will come."

"Curious we didn't think of the wild fowl," said Henry. "We noticed that
the swamp had big permanent ponds besides running water, and it was a
certainty that wild ducks and wild geese would come in search of their
kind of food, which is so plentiful in here."

"Maybe we can set up traps and snares and catch game," said Paul. "It
will save our ammunition, and besides there would be no danger that a
wandering Indian in the swamp might hear our shots and carry the news of
our location."

"Wise words, Paul," said Henry. "We must put our minds on the question
of traps."

"But not this minute," said Long Jim. "Bigger things are to the front.
Here, you lazy Sol, he'p me clean these ducks, an' Paul, you an' Tom
build me a fire quicker'n lightnin'. The sooner you do what I tell you
the sooner you'll git juicy duck to eat."

They worked rapidly, with such an incentive to effort, and soon the
savory odors of which Long Jim had boasted incited their hunger to an
extreme pitch. He did not keep them waiting long, and when they were
through nothing was left of the ducks but bones.

"It would be better to have bread, too," said Paul, as he sighed with
satisfaction, "but since we can't have it we must manage to get along
without it."

"Mustn't ask fur too much," said Silent Tom.

"Sol," said Henry, "after we rest an hour or so suppose you and I set
the snares for the ducks and geese. Likely no human being has ever been
in here before, and they won't be on guard against us. The rest of you
might do more work on the house. We ought to provide food and shelter as
well as we can before stormy weather comes."

While Henry and the shiftless one were busy down the stream, the other
three put more strength into the hut, lashing the poles and bark fast
with additional tenacious withes and feeling all the interest that
people have when they erect a fine new house.

"It's surely a tight little cabin," said Paul, standing off and
examining it with a critical eye. "I don't think a drop of rain could
get in even in the heaviest storm. There, did you hear that?"

"Yes, a rifle shot," said Long Jim. "It wuz Henry or Sol, but it don't
mean no enemy. They hev got some kind uv game that they didn't expect."

The shot was followed in a few moments by a shout of triumph, and Henry
and Sol emerged from the swamp carrying between them a small but very
fat black bear.

"Thar's rations fur some time to come," said Long Jim. "I guess he wuz
huntin' berries in the swamp when Sol or Henry picked him off, an' I'm
shore thar'll be more uv the same kind. It begins to look like a mighty
fine swamp to me."

It was the shiftless one who had shot the bear, and he was proud of his
triumph, as he had a right to be, having secured such a supply of good
food, because there was nothing better that the forest furnished than
fat young bear. It did not take experts, such as they, long to clean the
bear, and cut its flesh into strips for drying.

"I think our snares will hold something in the morning," said Henry,
"and that will be a big help, too. What was it you said about the swamp,
Jim?"

"I said it wuz gittin' to be a mighty fine swamp. First time I saw it I
thought it wuz an ugly place, ugliest I ever seed, but now it's growin'
plum' beautiful. Reckon it's the safest place now in all the wilderness.
Knowin' that, helps it a lot, an' its yieldin' up good food helps it
more. The sun is gildin' the trees, an' the bushes an' the mud an' the
water a heap, an' all them things don't hurt my eyes when they linger on
'em."

"Jim is turnin' into a poet," said the shiftless one, "but I reckon he
hez cause. I'm gittin' to feel 'bout the swamp jest ez he does. It's a
splendid place, jest full o' beauty!"

They slept under the trees again, putting the strips of bear meat in the
house to secure them from marauders of the air, and awoke the next
morning to find the swamp still improving. Powerful factors in the
improvement were two ducks and a fat wild goose caught in the snares,
and, with more fish from Silent Tom, they had a variety for breakfast.

"I jest love wild goose," said Shif'less Sol, "speshully when it's fat
an' tender, an' I'm thinkin' this swamp is a good place for wild geese.
When we come in here we didn't think what a fine home we wuz findin'.
Since the tribes an' the renegades have sworn to wipe us out, an' we're
hid here so snug an' so tight, I don't keer how long I stay."

"Nor me either," said Long Jim. "This o-sis makes me think sure uv that
island in the lake on which we stayed once, but it's safer here. Nothin'
but the longest kind uv chance would make the warriors find us."

"That's true," said Henry thoughtfully. "We might have searched the
whole continent, and we couldn't have discovered a better refuge, for
our purpose. I know we can lie hid here a long time and let them hunt
us."

Shif'less Sol began to laugh, not loud, but with great intensity, and
his laugh was continued long.

"What you laffin' at, you Sol Hyde?" asked Long Jim suspiciously.

"Not at you, Jim," replied the shiftless one. "I wuz thinkin' 'bout them
renegades, Wyatt and Blackstaffe. I would shorely like to see 'em now,
an' look into thar faces, an' behold 'em wonderin' an' wonderin' what
hez become o' us that they expected to ketch between thar fingers, an'
squash to death. They look on the earth, an' they don't see no trail o'
ourn. They look in the sky an' they don't see us flyin' 'roun' anywhar
thar. The warriors circle an' circle an' circle an' they don't put their
hands on us. That ring is tight an' fast, an' we can't break out o' it.
We ain't on the outside o' it, an' they can't find us on the inside o'
it. So, whar are we? They don't know but we do. We hev melted away like
witches. Them renegades is shorely hoppin', t'arin' mad, but the madder
they are the better we like it. 'Scuse me, Jim, while I laff ag'in, an'
it wouldn't hurt you, Jim, if you wuz to laff with me."

"I think I will," said Long Jim, and action followed word. Later in the
day Henry and Paul penetrated a short distance deeper into the swamp,
but did not find another oasis like theirs. The entire area seemed to be
occupied by mire and ponds and thickets of reeds and cane, mingled with
briars. They stirred up another black bear, but they did not get a
chance for a shot at him, and they also saw the footprints of a panther.
They returned to the oasis satisfied with their exploration. The
swampier the swamp and the greater its extent the safer they were.

That night as they slept under the trees they were awakened by the
rushing of many wings. When they sat up they found the sky dark above
them, although the moon was shining and all the stars were out. It was a
flight of wild pigeons and they had settled in countless thousands on
the trees of the oasis. The five with sticks knocked off as many as they
thought they could use, and stored them for the night in the hut. They
devoted the next day to picking and dressing their spoils, the living
birds having gone on, and on the following day, Henry, who had entered
the swamp on another trip of exploration, returned with the most welcome
news of all. He had discovered a salt spring only a short distance away,
and with labor they were able to boil out the salt which was invaluable
to them in curing their food supply.

"Now, if we had bread, we'd be entirely happy," said Paul.

"Shucks, Paul," said Shif'less Sol with asperity, "you're entirely happy
ez it is. Never ask too much an' then you won't git too little. This
splendid, magnificent swamp o' ourn furnishes everythin' any reasonin'
human bein' could want."

Henry shot another black bear, very small but quite fat and tender, and
he was quickly added to their store. More wild ducks and wild geese were
caught in the snares, and they had now been on the oasis more than a
week without the slightest sign from their foes. Danger seemed so far
away that it could never come near, and they enjoyed the interval of
peace and quiet, devoted to the homely business of mere living.

Then came a day when great mists and vapors rose from the swamp, and the
air grew heavy. Everything turned to a sullen, leaden color. Henry
glanced at their hut.

"We have built in time," he said. "All this heaviness and cloudiness
foretells a storm and I think we'll sleep under a roof tonight. What say
you, Sol?"

"I shorely will, Henry. Them that wants to lay on the ground, an' take a
wettin' kin take it, but, ez fur me, a floor, a roof an' four walls is
jest what I want."

"Everybody will agree with you on that," said Paul.

No one spoke again for a long time. Meanwhile the vapors and mists
thickened and the skies became almost as black as night. The whole
swamp, save the little island on which they sat, was lost in the dusk,
and a wind, heavy with damp, came moaning out of the vast wilderness.
Thunder rumbled on the horizon, then cracked directly overhead, and
flashes of lightning cut the blackness.

The five retreated to their hut, and, with a mighty rushing of wind and
a great sweep of rain, the storm burst over the oasis.




CHAPTER VII

INTO THE NORTH


When the wilderness was under the beat of wind or rain or hail or snow
Henry and Paul, if sheltered well, never failed to feel an increase of
comfort, even of luxury. The contrast between the storm without and the
dryness within gave an elemental feeling of relaxation and content that
nothing else could supply. It had been so at the rocky hollow, and it
was so here.

Their first anxiety had been for the little house. Being built of poles
and bark it quivered and trembled, as the wind smote it hard, but it
held fast and did not lose a timber. That apprehension passed, they
looked to see whether it would turn the rain, and noted with joy in
their workmanship and pleasure in their security that not a drop made
its way between the poles and bark.

These early fugitive fears gone, they settled down to ease and
observation of the storm, being able to leave the door open about a
foot, as the wind was driving against the back of the house. It was
almost as dark as night, with gusts that whistled and screamed, and the
rain seemed to come in great waves of water. Despite the dusk, they saw
leaves torn from the trees and whirled away in showers. Every phase and
change of the storm was watched by them with the keenest attention and
interest. Weather was a tremendous factor in the life of the borderer,
and he was compelled to guide most of his actions by it.

"How long do you think it will last, Sol?" asked Henry.

"I don't see no break in the clouds," replied the shiftless one. "This
wind will die after a while, but the rain will keep right on. I look for
it to last all today, an' all the night that's comin'."

"I think you're right, Sol, an' it's a mighty big rain, too. The whole
swamp except our island will be swimming in water."

"But it won't be no flood, that is, like the big flood," said Long Jim.
"But ef one did come I wouldn't mind it much ef we had an ark same ez
Noah. Ef you could only furgit all them poor people that got theirselves
drowned it would be mighty fine, sailin' 'roun' in an ark a mile or so
long, guessin' at the places whar the towns hev stood, an' lettin' down
a line now an' then to sound fur the tops uv the highest mountains in
the world."

"You wouldn't hev no time fur lettin' down lines fur mountain tops, Jim
Hart," said Shif'less Sol.

"An' why wouldn't I hev time fur lettin' down lines fur anythin' I
wanted, you lazy Solomon Hyde?"

"'Cause it would be your job to feed the animals, an' to do it right
you'd hev to git up early in the mornin' an' work purty nigh to midnight
all the forty days the flood lasted. Me an' Henry an' Paul an' Tom would
spen' most o' our time settin' on the edge o' the ark with our
umbrellers h'isted, lookin' at the scenery, while you wuz down in the
bowels o' the ark, heavin' in more meat to the lions an' tigers, which
wuz allus roarin' fur more."

"I wouldn't feed no animals, not ef every one uv 'em starved to death.
Besides, what would be the use uv it? 'Cause when the flood dried up the
woods would soon be full uv 'em ag'in."

"Jim Hart, hevn't you no sense a-tall, a-tall? Ef all the animals wuz
drowned, ev'ry last one o' 'em, how could the woods be full o' 'em
ag'in?"

"Don't ask me, Sol Hyde. Thar are lots uv things that are too deep fur
you an' me both. Now, how did the animals git into the woods in the fust
place?"

"I can't answer, o' course."

"Nor can I, but I reckon they'd git into the woods in the second place,
which is after the flood, we're s'posin', jest the same way they did in
the fust place, which wuz afore the flood, an' that, I reckon, settles
it. I don't feed no wild animals, nohow."

"What will the big storm and the deluge of rain mean to us, anyway?"
asked Paul.

"It will help us," replied Henry promptly. "I've been worried about all
those mists and vapors rising from the decayed or sodden vegetation.
There was malaria in them. Our systems have resisted it, because the
life we lead has made us so tough and hard, but maybe the poison would
have soaked in some time or other. Now the flood of clean rain will
freshen up the whole swamp. It will lay the mists and vapors and wash
everything till it's pure."

"An' it will flood the swamp so tremenjeously," said the shiftless one,
"that fur days thar will be no gittin' in or gittin' out. Anybody that
tries it will sink over his head afore he goes a hundred yards."

"Which makes us all the more secure," said Paul. "It certainly appears
as if the elements fight for us. For a week at least we're as safe here
as if we were surrounded by a stone wall, a thousand feet thick and a
mile high. And in that time I intend to enjoy myself. It will be the
first rest in two or three years for us to have, absolutely free from
care. Here we are with good shelter, plenty of food, nothing to do, and,
such being the happy case, I intend to take a big sleep."

He rolled himself in a blanket, stretched his body on a bed of leaves,
and soon was in slumber. The others also luxuriated in a mighty sleep,
after their great labors and anxiety, and the little hut that they had
builded with their own hands not only held fast against the wind, but
kept out the least drop of water. The rain, true to Shif'less Sol's
prediction, lasted all night, but the morning came, beautiful and clear,
with a pleasant, cool touch.

The swamp was turned into a vast lake, and they shot two deer that had
taken refuge from the flood on their oasis. Henry, despite the rising
waters, was able to reach the salt spring, and they cured the flesh of
the deer, adding to it a day or two later several wild turkeys that
alighted in their trees. They continued to prepare themselves for a long
stay, and they were not at all averse to it. Rest and freedom from
danger were a rare luxury that every one of the five enjoyed.

Henry's assumption that the great rain would freshen the swamp proved
true. All the mists and vapors were gone. There was no odor of decaying
wood or of slime. It seemed as if the place had been cleaned and
scrubbed until it was like a fine lake. Silent Tom caught bigger fish
than ever, and they agreed that they were better to the taste, although
they agreed also that it might be an effect of fancy. The island itself
was dry and sunny, but from their home they looked upon a wilderness of
bushes, cane and reeds, growing in what was now clear water. The effect
of the whole was beautiful. The swamp had become transformed.

"It will all settle back after a while," said Henry quietly.

But a second rain, though not so hard and long as the first, filled up
the basin again, and they foresaw a delay of at least two weeks before
it returned to its old condition. They accepted the increased time with
thankfulness, and remained in their camp, doing nothing but little
tasks, and gathering strength for the future.

"I should fancy that the warriors would hunt us here some time or
other," said Paul. "Shrewd and cunning as they are, and missing us as
they have, they'd think to penetrate it!"

"It seems so to me," said Henry. "Red Eagle is a great chief, and, after
he searches everywhere else for us and fails to find us, he'll try for a
way into this swamp, unlikely though it looks as a home."

"But lookin' at the water an' the canes, an' the reeds an' the bushes
I've figgered it out that he can't come fur two weeks," said Shif'less
Sol, "an' so I've made up my mind to enjoy myse'f. Think o' it! A hull
two weeks fur a lazy man to do nothin' in! An' I reckon I kin do nothin'
harder an' better than any other man that ever lived. Ef it wuzn't fur
gittin' stiff I wouldn't move hand or foot fur the next two weeks. I'd
jest lay on my back on the softest bed I could make, an' Long Jim Hart
would come an' feed me three times ev'ry day."

"I think," said Henry, "we'd better build a raft. It'll help us with
both the fishing and the hunting, and with plenty of willow withes we
ought to hold enough timbers together."

The raft was made in about a day. It was a crude structure, but as it
was intended to have a cruising radius of only a few hundred yards,
pushing its way through strong vegetation, to which the bold navigators
could cling, it sufficed, proving to be very useful in visiting the
snares and decoys they set for the wild ducks and wild geese. The swamp,
in truth, now fairly swarmed with feathered game, and, had they cared to
expend their ammunition, they could have killed enough for twenty men,
but they preferred to save powder and lead, and rely upon the traps, and
fish which were abundant.

The skies were very clear now and they watched them for threads of
Indian smoke which could be seen far, many miles in such a thin
atmosphere, but the bright heavens were never defiled by any such sign.
It was the opinion of Henry that the main Indian band, under Red Eagle,
had gone northward in the search, but it would be folly to leave the
swamp now, since other detachments had certainly been left to the
southward. The ring might be looser and much larger, but it was sure to
be still there, and it was not hard for such as they, trained in
patience and enjoying a rare peace, to wait. Thus the days passed
without event, and the five felt their muscles growing bigger and
stronger for the great tasks bound to come. But a curious feeling that
war and danger were half a world away grew upon them. They were in love
for a time with peace and all its ways. They were reluctant even to
shoot any of the larger wild animals that wandered through the swamp,
and they felt actual pain when they slew the wild ducks and wild geese
caught in their snares.

"I'm bein' gentled fast," said Shif'less Sol. "Ef this keeps on fur a
month or so I won't hev the heart to shoot at any Injun who may come
ag'inst me. I'll jest say: 'Here, Mr. Warrior, hop up an' take my skelp.
It's a good skelp, a fine head o' hair an' I wuz proud o' it. I would
like to hev kep' it, but seein' that you want it bad, snatch it off,
hang it in your wigwam, tell the neighbors that thar is the skelp o'
Solomon Hyde, an' I'll git along the best I kin without it.'"

"You may feel that way now, Sol," said Long Jim, "but you jest wait till
the Injun comes at you fur your skelp. Then you'll change your mind
quicker'n lightnin', an' you'll reach fur your gun, an' blow his head
off."

"Reckon you're right, Jim," said the shiftless one.

Silent Tom stared at them in amazement.

"What's the matter, Tom?" asked Paul. "Why do you look at them in that
manner?"

"Agreed!" replied Silent Tom.

"What?"

"Agreed!"

"Agreed? Oh, I understand what you mean! Sol and Jim hold the same
opinion about something."

"Yes. Fust time!"

"Don't you be worried, Tom Ross," said Shif'less Sol, "I'll see that it
never happens ag'in."

"Me, too," said Long Jim Hart. "You see, Tom, that wuz the only time in
his life that Sol wuz ever right when he wuz disputin' with me, an' me
bein' a truthful man had to agree with him."

Another week passed and the atmosphere of peace and content that clothed
the great marsh grew deeper. The waters subsided somewhat, but it was
still impossible to pass from the oasis to the firm land without, except
in a canoe, and that they did not have. Nor was it likely that the
Indians would produce a canoe merely to navigate a flooded marsh. While
sure that none would come, all nevertheless kept a good watch for a
possible invader.

The weather began to turn cooler and the first fading tints appeared on
the foliage. It was the time when one season passed into another,
usually accompanied by rains and winds, but they were more numerous than
usual this year. The strong little hut again and again proved its
usefulness, not only as a storehouse, but as a shelter, although it was
so crowded now with stores that scarcely room was left for the five to
sleep there. The skins of the two bears had been dressed and Henry and
Paul slept upon them, while much of their cured food hung from pegs
which they contrived to fix into the walls.

As the waters sank still farther, they noticed that the swamp was full
of life. What had seemed to be a waste was inhabited in reality by many
of the people of the wilderness. The five had approached it from the
west, and now Henry, who was able to go farther east than they had been
before, found a small beaver colony at a point on the brook, where there
was enough firm ground to support a little grove of fine trees.

The beavers had dammed the stream and were already building their houses
for the distant winter. Henry, hidden among the bushes, watched them
quite a while, interested in their work, and observing their methods of
construction. He could easily have shot two or three, and beaver tail
was good to eat, but he had no thought of molesting them, and, after he
had seen enough, drew off cautiously, lest he disturb them in their
pursuits.

He saw many muskrats and rabbits and also the footprints of wildcats. A
magnificent stag, standing knee deep in the water, looked at him with
startled eyes. He would have been a grand trophy, but Henry did not
fire, and, a moment or two later, the stag floundered away, leaving the
young leader very thoughtful. What had the big deer been doing in such
difficult territory? It would scarcely come of its own accord into so
deep a marsh, and Henry concluded that it must have fled there for
refuge from hunters, and the only hunters in that region were Indians.
Then they must still be not far away from the marsh!

It was such a serious matter and he was so preoccupied with it that a
huge black bear, springing up almost at his feet, passed unnoticed. The
bear lumbered away, splashing mud and water, stopping once to look back
fearfully at the strange creature that had disturbed it, but Henry went
on, caring nothing for bears or any other wild animals just then.

When he returned, however, he was bound to take notice of the vast
quantity of wild fowl in the swamp. Every pond or lagoon swarmed with
wild ducks and wild geese, and hawks and eagles swooped from the air,
splashed the water, and then rose again with fish in their talons. Two
big owls, blinking in the light, sat on the bough of an oak. Another
flight of wild pigeons streamed southward. The life of the swamp was so
multitudinous that Henry and his comrades could have lived in it
indefinitely, even without bread.

When he was back on the oasis he said nothing of his meeting with the
deer and the significance that he had read in it, thinking it not worth
while to cause alarm until he had something more tangible. Another week,
and there was a perceptible increase in the autumnal tints. All the
green was gone from the leaves. Red and yellow dyes, not yet glowing,
but giving promise of what they would be, appeared. The early flights
southward of more wild fowl, taking time by the forelock, increased, and
in the minds of some of the five came thoughts of leaving the swamp.

"They must have given up the pursuit by this time," said Paul. "They
wouldn't hunt us forever."

"Looks that way to me, too," said Long Jim.

Henry shook his head.

"Some of the warriors have gone away," he said, "but not all of them.
Red Eagle, the Shawnee chief, is a man who thinks, and a man who holds
on. He knows that we couldn't sink through the earth or fly above the
clouds, and the time will come when he will look into this matter of the
swamp. It appears to be impenetrable, but he will conclude at last that
there is a way."

"I'm o' your mind," said Shif'less Sol. "When you're carryin' on a war
it ain't jest a matter o' guns an' ammunition, an' the lay o' the land.
You've got to think what kind o' a gen'ral is leadin' the warriors
ag'inst you. You must take his mind into account. Ain't that so, Paul?
Wuzn't it true o' that old Roman, Hannybul?"

"Hannibal was not a Roman, not by a great deal, Sol, as I told you
before."

"Well, he wuz a Rooshian, or mebbe an Eyetalian. What diff'unce does it
make? He wuz some kind o' a furriner, an' ef what you tell us 'bout him
is true, Paul, as I reckon it is, it wuz his mind that led his men on to
victory over the Rooshians an' the Prooshians an' the French an' the
Dutch."

"Over the Romans, Sol."

"Ez I told you once, Paul, it makes no diff'unce. They're all furriners,
an' all furriners are jest the same. Hannybul wuz the kind that wouldn't
give up. You've talked so much 'bout him, Paul, that I kin see him in my
fancy an' I know jest how he done. Often a big battle seemed to be goin'
ag'inst him. His men hev shot away all thar powder an' bullets. The
Shawnees an' the Miamis an' the Wyandots are comin' on hard, shoutin'
the war whoop, swingin' thar glitterin' tomahawks 'bout thar fierce
heads. The Romans already feel the hands o' the warriors on thar skelps,
an' they are tremblin', ready to run. But Hannybul swings his rifle,
clubs the leadin' Injun over the head with it, an' yells to his men:
'Come on, fellers! Draw your hatchets an' knives! Drive 'em into the
brush! We kin whip 'em yet!' An' the Romans, gittin' courage from thar
leader, go in an' thrash the hull band. Now, that's the kind o' a leader
Red Eagle is. I give him credit fur doin' a power o' thinking an'
holdin' on. Braxton Wyatt and Blackstaffe will say to him: 'Come, chief,
let's go away. They slipped through our lines in the night, an' they're
somewhar up on the shore o' one o' the big lakes, a-laffin' an'
a-laffin' at us. We'll go up thar, trail 'em down an' make 'em laff if
they kin, a-settin' among the live coals.' But that Red Eagle, wise old
chief that he is, will up an' say: 'They haven't got through. They
couldn't without bein' seen by our scouts an' watchers. An' since they
haven't passed, it follers that they're somewhar inside the ring. So,
we'll jest thresh out ev'ry inch o' ground in thar, ef it takes ten
years to do it.'"

Silent Tom looked at him with admiration.

"Mighty long speech," he said. "How do you find so many words?"

"Oh, they're all in the dictionary," replied the shiftless one, "an' a
heap more, too. I'm an eddicated man, ez all o' you kin see, though
bein' jealous some o' you won't admit it. Thar are nigh onto a million
good words in the dictionary, an' ev'ry one o' 'em is known to me. Ev'ry
one o' 'em would reckernize me ez a friend, an' would ask me to use it
ef I looked at it, but I'm mighty pertickler an' I take only the best
ones. Returnin' to the subject from which we hev traveled far, I think
we'd better be on the lookout fur old Red Eagle an' his Shawnees."

"Think so, too," said Silent Tom.

Henry announced the next morning that he would start at once on a scout,
and that he probably would go outside the swamp.

"I go with you, o' course," said Shif'less Sol.

"I think it best to travel alone."

"Why, you couldn't git along without me, Henry!"

"I'll have to try, Sol."

"I wouldn't talk you to death," said Silent Tom.

Long Jim and Paul also wanted to go, but the young leader rejected them
all, and they knew that it was a waste of time to argue with him. He
started in the early morning and they waved farewell to him from the
oasis.

Henry was not averse to action. The long period of idleness on the
island, much as he had enjoyed it, was coming to its natural end, and
his active mind and body looked forward to new events. The swamp had
returned to the state in which they had found it, and remembering the
path by which they had come he had no great difficulty in making his
journey.

Three hundred yards away and the oasis was hidden completely by the
marshy thickets. He could not even see the tops of the trees, and he
reflected that it was the merest chance that had led them there. It was
not likely that the chance would be repeated in the case of any of Red
Eagle's warriors, and perhaps it would be better for all of the five to
stay snug and tight on the oasis, even if they did not move until full
winter came. But second thought told him that Red Eagle would surely
thresh up the swamp. The reasoning of Shif'less Sol was correct, and it
was better to go on and see what was being prepared for them by their
enemies.

His progress was necessarily slow, as he was compelled to pick his way,
but he had plenty of strength and patience, and noon found him near the
outer rim, where he paused to watch the sky. Henry had an idea that he
might see smoke, betraying the presence of Indian bands, but not even
his keen eyes were able to make out any dark traces against the heavens,
which had all the thinness and clearness of early autumn. Reflection
convinced him, however, that if Red Eagle were meditating a movement
against the swamp he would avoid anything that might warn its occupants.
He abided by his second thought, and began anew his cautious progress
toward the edge of the bushes and reeds.

The ending of the swamp was abrupt, the marshy ground becoming firm in
the space of a few yards, and Henry, emerging upon what was in a sense
the mainland, crept into a dense clump of alders, where he lay hidden
for some time, examining from his covert the country about him. He did
not see or hear anything to betoken a hostile presence, but, as wary as
any wild animal that inhabited the forest, he ventured forth, still
using every kind of cover that he could find.

His course took him toward the east, and a quarter of a mile passed, his
eye was caught by the red gleam of a feather in the grass. He retrieved
it, and saw at once that it was painted. Hence, it had fallen from the
scalplock of an Indian. It was not bedraggled, so it had fallen
recently, as the winds had not beaten it about. It was sure, too, that a
warrior or warriors had gone that way within a few hours. He searched
for the trail, stooping among the bushes, lest he fall into an ambush,
and presently he came upon the faint imprint of moccasins, judging that
they had been made by about a half dozen warriors.

The trail led to the east, and Henry followed it promptly, finding as he
advanced that it was growing plainer. Other and smaller trails met it
and merged with it, and he became confident that he would soon locate a
large band. He was no longer dealing with supposition, he had
actualities, the tangible, before him, and his pulses began to leap in
expectation. The shiftless one and he had been right. Red Eagle had
never left the neighborhood of the swamp, and Henry believed that he
would soon know what the wily old Indian chief was intending. There was
a certain exhilaration in matching his wits against those of the great
Shawnee, and he knew that he would need to exercise every power of his
mind to the utmost. He followed the trail steadily about a half hour as
it led on among trees and bushes, and he reckoned that it was made now
by at least twenty warriors who had no wish to conceal their traces.
Presently he came to one of the little prairies, numerous in that
region, and as the trail led directly into it he paused, lest he be seen
and be trapped when he was in the open.

But as he examined the prairie from the shelter of the bushes, he became
convinced that the warriors must have increased their speed when they
crossed it, and were now some distance ahead. At the far edge, two
buffaloes, a bull and a cow, and two half-grown calves, were grazing in
peace. Two deer strolled from the forest, nosed the grass and then
strolled back again. The wild animals would not have been so peaceful
and unconcerned, if Indians were near, and, trusting to his logic, Henry
boldly crossed the open. The four buffaloes sniffed him and lurched away
to the shelter of the trees, thus proving to him that they were
vigilant, and that he was the only human being in their neighborhood.

He entered the forest again and followed on the broad trail, increasing
his own speed, but neglecting nothing of watchfulness. The country was a
striking contrast to the great swamp, firm soil, hilly and often rocky,
cut with many small, clear streams. He judged that the swamp was the
bowl into which all these rivulets emptied.

Reaching the crest of one of the low hills he caught a red gleam among
the bushes ahead of him and he sank down instantly. He knew that the
flash of scarlet was made by a fire, and he suspected that the warriors
whom he was following had gone into camp there. Then he began his
cautious approach after the border fashion, creeping forward inch by
inch among the bushes and fallen leaves. It was necessary to use his
utmost skill, too, as the dry leaves easily gave back a rustle. Yet he
persisted, despite the danger, because he needed to know what band it
was that sat there in the thicket.

A hundred yards further and he looked into a tiny valley, where was
burning a fire of small sticks, over which Indian warriors were broiling
strips of venison. But the majority of the band sat on the ground in a
half circle about the fire, and Henry drew a long breath when he saw
that Red Eagle, the Shawnee chief, was among them. Then he no longer had
the slightest doubt that the hunt was at its full height, that the
Shawnees were still using every device they knew to destroy the five who
had troubled them so much.

Red Eagle was a man of massive features and grave demeanor, one of the
great Indian chiefs who, their circumstances considered, were inferior
in intellectual power to nobody. Henry watched him as he sat now with
his legs crossed and arms folded, staring into the flames. He was a
picturesque figure, and he looked the warlike sage, as he sat there
brooding. The little feathers in his scalplock were dyed red, his
leggings and moccasins were of the same color, and a blanket of the
finest red cloth was draped about his shoulders like a Roman toga. He
was a man to arouse interest, respect and even admiration.

Red Eagle did not speak until the strips of meat were cooked and eaten
and all were sitting about the fire, when he arose and addressed them in
a slow, solemn and weighty manner. Henry would have given much to
understand the words, as he believed they referred to the five and might
tell the chief's plans, but he was too far away to hear anything except
a murmur that meant nothing.

He saw, however, that Red Eagle was intensely earnest, and that the
warriors listened with fixed attention, hanging on every word and
watching his face. Their only interruptions were exclamations of
approval now and then, and, when he finished and sat down, all together
uttered the same deep notes. Then eight of the warriors arose, and to
Henry's great surprise, came back on the trail.

He recognized at once that a sudden danger had presented itself. The
Shawnees would presently find his trail mingled with theirs, and they
were sure to give immediate pursuit. He thrust himself back into the
bushes, crawled a hundred yards or so, then rose and ran, curving about
the fire and passing to the eastward of it. Three hundred yards, and he
sank down again, listening. A single fierce shout came from the portion
of the band that had turned back. He understood. They had come upon his
trail, and in another minute Red Eagle would organize a pursuit by all
the warriors, a pursuit that would hang on through everything.

Henry, knowing well the formidable nature of the danger, felt,
nevertheless, no dismay. He had matched himself against the warriors
many times, and he was ready to do so once more. He swung into the long
frontier run that not even the Indians themselves could match in speed
and ease.

It was characteristic of him that he did not turn toward the swamp, in
which he could speedily have found refuge. Instead, wishing to draw the
enemy away from his comrades, he offered himself as bait, and fled on
the firm ground toward the east.




CHAPTER VIII

THE BUFFALO RING


Henry, feeling some alarm at first over the discovery of his trail, soon
felt elation instead. He was at the very height of his powers. The long
rest on the oasis had restored all his physical vigor. Every nerve and
muscle was flexible and strong, as if made of steel wire. His eye had
never before been so clear, nor his ear so acute, and above all, that
sixth sense, the power of divination almost, which came from a perfect
correlation of the five senses, developed to the utmost degree, was
alive in him. Nothing could stir in the brush without his knowing it,
and, welcoming the pursuit, the spirit of challenge was so strong in him
that he threw back his head and uttered a long, thrilling cry, the note
of defiance, just as the trumpet of the mediæval knight sang to his
enemy to come to the field of battle.

Then he continued his flight toward the northwest, not too fast, because
he wished his trail to remain warm for the warriors who followed, but
stooping low, lest some wanderers from the main band should see him as
he ran. No answer came to his cry, but he knew well enough that the
Indians had heard it, and he knew, too, that it filled them with rage
because any of the five had been bold enough to defy their full power.

Reaching the crest of one of the low hills in which the region abounded,
he looked toward the southwest and saw the vast maze of the swamp in
which his comrades lay hidden. He had not been able to think of any plan
to turn aside the forces of Red Eagle, but now it came to him suddenly.
He intended when the pursuit ended to be far away from the swamp, and
then he could rejoin the four at some other point.

He reached a brook, leaped it and passed on. He could have followed the
bed of the stream, hiding his trail for a space, but he knew the
pursuers would soon find it again, and after all he did not wish his
trail to be hidden. He laughed a little as he planted his moccasin
purposely in a soft spot in the earth, and noticed the deep imprint he
left. There was no warrior so blind who would not see the trace, and he
sped on, leaving other such marks here and there, and finally sending
forth another thrilling note of defiance that swelled far over the
forest, a cry that was at once an invitation, a challenge and a taunt.
It bade the warriors to use the utmost speed, because they would need
it. It asked them to pursue, because the one who fled wished to be
followed, and so wishing, he did not hide his trail from them. He would
be bitterly disappointed if they did not come. It told them, too, that
if they did come, no matter how great their speed, the hunters could
never catch the hunted.

He stopped two minutes perhaps, long enough for the fleetest of the
warriors to come within sight. Just as their brown bodies appeared among
the trees he uttered his piercing cry a third time and took to flight
again at a speed greater than any of theirs. Two shots were fired, but
the bullets cut only the uncomplaining leaves, falling far short. He
gained a full hundred yards, and then he turned abruptly toward the
north. His sixth sense, in which this time the supreme development of
hearing was predominant, warned him that other warriors were coming up
from the south. In truth they were approaching so fast that they uttered
a cry of triumph in reply to his own cry, but, increasing his speed, he
merely laughed to himself once more, knowing that he had evaded the
trap. His elation grew. His plan was succeeding better than he had
hoped. One after another he was drawing the Indian bands upon his trail,
and he hoped to have them all. He hoped that Red Eagle would lead the
pursuit and he hoped that Blackstaffe and Wyatt would be there.

His ear had given warning before, and now it was his eye that told him
of the menace. He caught a glimpse of a flitting figure in the north,
and then of two more. And so a third band was bearing down upon him, but
from a point of the compass opposite the second. Any one of ordinary
powers might well have been trapped now, but he yet had strength in
reserve, and now he put forth an amazing burst of speed that carried him
well ahead of all three bands.

Then he entered another low region covered with bushes and reeds, and,
lest they lose his trail, he took occasion, as he fled, to trample down
a clump of reeds here and a bush there. On the far side of this sunken
land he came to a creek, in which the water rose to his knees, but he
forded it without hesitation, and even took the time to make a plain
trail after he had crossed.

He knew that the warriors would pursue, in spite of every obstacle, and
he knew, too, that they would divine who it was whom they followed.
Using a new burst of speed, he widened the gap as he surmised to a full
quarter of a mile. And then he let his gait sink to not much more than a
long walk, wishing to recover his full physical powers. His spirit of
elation remained. In very truth, he was enjoying himself, and he felt
that he could lead them on forever. He was even able to note the
character of the country as he passed, the numerous brooks, the splendor
of the forest, the brown leaves as they fell before the light wind, and
then a great patch of early blackberries hanging ripe and rich. He
paused a moment or two, long enough to gather many of the berries and
eat them, noting that they were the juiciest and best he could recall to
have tasted.

Then he came into a country that the animal kingdom seemed to have made
its own. He could not remember having seen anywhere else such an
abundance of game. Buffaloes, puffing and snorting, ran to one side as
he crossed the little prairies. Deer, some big and some little, sped
away through the thickets. Bears, hidden in their coverts, gazed at him
with curious eyes. Rabbits leaped away in the grass, squirrels ran in
alarm out on the farthest boughs, and flocks of wild fowl rose with a
whirr and a rush.

Henry was so sure of himself, so sure he could not be overtaken, that he
noted the character of this country which seemed to be so much favored
by the creatures of earth and air. Some time, when all their present
dangers were over, he and his comrades would come back there and have a
pleasant and peaceful hunt. Doubtless it had been neglected a long time
by the Indians, who were in the habit of using a region for a season or
two and then of letting it lie fallow until the wild animals should
forget and come back again.

He ascended a hill larger and higher than the others, and bare, being
mostly a stony outcrop. Here he sat down in the shadow of a ledge and
took long breaths. He felt that the pursuit was then fully a mile
behind, and he could afford to stop for a little while. From the lofty
summit he saw a great distance. Toward the southwest was where the swamp
lay, but, despite the height, it was invisible now. Behind him was the
deep forest through which his pursuers were coming, to the north lay the
same forest, but to the east he caught a shimmer of blue through the
browning leaves. It was so faint that at first he was not certain of its
nature, but a second look told him it was one of the little lakes often
to be found in the country north of the Ohio.

His flight, as he was making it, would take him straight against that
body of blue water, impassable to him then, and as he drew a deep breath
of gratitude he felt that he was in truth being watched over by a
supreme power. If not, why were all the turns of chance in his favor?
Why had he stopped to rest a moment or two by the stony ledge, and why
in doing so had he caught a glimpse of the lake which soon would have
been an insuperable bar across his path, enabling the Indians to hem him
in on either flank?

He breathed his thanks, and then he lay back against the ledge for
another minute or two of rest. Near grew a dwarf oak, still thick in
green foliage, and as if by command the wind suddenly began to sing
among its leaves, and the leaves, as if touched by the hand of a master
artist, gave back a song. Henry had heard that song before. It came to
him in his greatest moments of spiritual exaltation. Always it was a
song of strength and encouragement, telling him that he would succeed,
and now its note was not changed.

He opened his eyes, sure that his pursuers were not yet within rifle
shot, and rising, refreshed, passed over the hill and into the forest
again, curving now toward the north. When he was sure he was well hidden
by the bushes, he ran at great speed, intending to pass between the
northern wing of his pursuers and the lake. They, of course, had known
of the water there and were expecting to catch him in the trap, and as
he ran he heard the two wings calling distantly to each other. His
silent laugh came once more. He had invisible guides who always led him
out of traps, and he had heard the voice that sang to him so often
saying this pursuit, like so many others, might be long, but in vain.

Fifteen minutes more, and he caught another view of the lake, which
appeared to be about two miles long and a quarter of a mile across, a
fine sheet of water, on which great numbers of wild fowl swam, or over
which they hovered. It was heavily wooded on all sides, and had he not
seen it earlier it would surely have proved an obstacle leading to his
capture or destruction. The pursuing bands, evidently believing that the
trap had been closed with the fugitive in it, began to exchange signals
again, and Henry discerned in their cries the note of triumph. It gave
the great youth satisfaction to feel that they would soon be undeceived.

Now he called up all the reserves of strength that he had been saving
for some such emergency as this, and sped toward the northeast at a pace
few could equal, cleaving the thickets, leaping gullies, and racing
across the open. The lake on his right came nearer and nearer, but he
was rapidly approaching the northern end, and he knew that he would pass
it before the band pursuing in that quarter could close in upon him.

Now the critical time came and he increased his speed to the utmost,
running through a thicket, passing the extreme northern curve of the
lake, and entering a wood where only firm ground lay before him. The
great obstacle was passed and he felt a mighty surge of triumph. He was
for the time being primitive and wild, like the warriors who pursued
him, thinking as they thought, and acting as they acted. Feeling now
that he was victorious anew, he raised his voice and sent forth once
more that tremendous thrilling cry, a compound of triumph, defiance and
mockery. Yells of disappointment came from the deep woods behind him,
and to hear them gave him all the satisfaction he had anticipated.

He kept a steady course toward the east, not running so fast as before,
but maintaining a steady pace, nevertheless. As he ran he began to think
now of hiding his trail, not in such a manner that it could be lost
permanently, that being impossible, but long enough for him to take
rest. However great one's natural powers might be and however severely
and often one might have been hardened in the fire, one could not run on
forever. He must lie down in the forest by and by, and the time would
come, too, when he must sleep.

He glanced up at the sun and saw that the day would not last more than
two hours longer. There were no clouds and the night was likely to be
bright, furnishing enough light for the warriors to find an ordinary
trail, and willing to delude them now he began to take pains to make his
own trail one that was not ordinary. He resorted to all the usual forest
devices, walking on hard ground, stones and fallen trees, and wading in
water whenever he came to it, methods that he knew would merely delay
the warriors, but that could not baffle them long.

He did not hear the bands signaling again and he surmised that the one
on the south would pass around the southern end of the lake, reuniting
with the other as soon afterward as possible. Nevertheless he curved off
in that direction, and, sinking now to a long walk, he went steadily
ahead, until the great sun went down in a sea of gold behind the forest
and night threw a dusky veil over the wilderness. Then he stopped
entirely, and standing against a huge tree trunk, with which his figure
blended in the night, he took deep breaths.

At first he felt weakness. No one, no matter how powerful and well
trained, could run so long without putting an immense strain upon the
nerves, and for a little space bushes and trees danced before him. Then
the world steadied itself, his heart ceased to beat so hard and the
suffusion of blood retreated from his head. He saw nothing nor heard
anything of his foes, but he knew that the pursuit would not cease. He
felt that this was his great flight, one that might go on for days and
nights, in which every faculty he had would be tested to the utmost, but
he was willing for it to be so. The longer the flight continued the
further he would draw away from the Indian power, and that was what he
wished most of all. He would make such a fugitive as the chiefs had
never known before.

Henry stood a full fifteen minutes beside the brown trunk of the tree,
of which in the dark he seemed to be a part, and so great was his
physical power and elasticity that the time was sufficient to restore
all his strength. When he thought he caught a glimpse of a bush moving
behind him, he resumed the long running walk that covered ground so
rapidly. An hour later he came to a brook, in the bed of which he walked
fully a mile. But he did not expect this to bother his pursuers very
long. They would send warriors up and down either bank until in the
moonlight they struck the trail anew, and then they would follow as
before. But it would give him time, and not doubting that he would find
some new circumstance to aid him, it came sooner than he had expected or
hoped.

Less than half a mile farther he encountered the wreckage left by a
hurricane of some former season, a path not more than three hundred
yards wide, a perfect tangle of fallen trees, amid which bushes were
already growing. The windrow led two or three miles to the northeast,
and he walked all the way on the trunks, slipping lightly from tree to
tree. It was now late, and as the night fortunately began to turn
considerably darker, he bethought himself of a place in which to sleep,
because in time sleep one must have, whether or not a fugitive.

As he considered, he heard ahead of him a faint puffing and blowing
which he knew to come from buffaloes, and their presence indicated one
of the little prairies in which the country north of the Ohio abounded.
He made his way through the bushes, came to the prairie and saw that it
was black with the herd.

The buffalo, although numerous east of the Mississippi, invariably
grazed in small bands, owing to the wooded nature of the country, and
the present herd, four or five hundred at least, was the largest that
Henry had ever seen away from the Great Plains. As the wind was blowing
from him toward them, and they showed, nevertheless, no sign of flight,
he surmised that the weaker members had been harassed much by wolves,
and that the herd was unwilling to move from its present place of rest.
They shuffled and puffed and panted, but there was no alarm.

He stood a few moments and gazed at them, his look full of friendliness.
The Indians hunted the buffalo and they also hunted him. For the time
being these, the most gigantic of North American animals, were his
brethren, and then came his idea.

A little ridge ran into the prairie, terminating in a hillock, and it
was clear of the buffaloes, as they naturally lay in the lower places.
Henry walked down among the buffaloes along the ridge until he came to
the hillock, where he took the blanket from his back, wrapped it about
him, and reclined with his head on his arm. The buffaloes puffed and
snorted and some of them moved uneasily, but they did not get up.
Perhaps Henry was wholly a wild creature himself then and they discerned
in him something akin to themselves, or perhaps they had been harassed
by wolves so much that they would not stir for anything now. But as the
human intruder lay soundless and motionless, they, too, settled into
quiet.

Henry's friendly feeling for the buffaloes increased, and it had full
warrant. He was surrounded by an army of sentinels. He knew that if the
Indians attempted to cross the prairie, coming in a band, they would
rise up at once in alarm, and if he fell asleep he would be awakened
immediately by such a multitudinous sound. Hence he would go to sleep,
and quickly.

If the buffaloes felt their kinship with Henry, he felt his kinship with
them as strongly. Since they had sunk into silence they were like so
many friends around him, ready to fend off danger or to warn him. From
the crest of the low mound upon which he lay he saw the big black forms
dotting the prairie, a ring about him. Then he calmly composed himself
for the slumber which he needed so much.

But sleep did not come as speedily as he had expected. Wolves howled in
the forest, and he knew they were real wolves, hanging on the flank of
the buffalo herd, cutting out the calves or the weak. The big bull
buffaloes moved and snorted again at the sound, but, when it was not
repeated, returned to their rest, all except one that lumbered forward a
step or two and then sank down directly on the little ridge by which
Henry had come to his hillock, as if he were a rear guard, closing the
way to the fugitive. He saw in it at once an omen. The superior power
that was watching over him had put the buffalo there to protect him,
and, free from any further apprehension, he closed his eyes, falling
asleep without delay.

Henry always felt afterward that he must have been wholly a creature of
the wild that night, else the buffaloes would have taken alarm at his
presence and probably would have stampeded. But the kinship they
recognized in him must have endured, or they had been harried so much by
the wolves that they did not feel like moving because of an intruder who
was so quiet and harmless that he was really no intruder at all. The
huge bull, crouched across the path by which he had come, puffed and
groaned at intervals, but he did not stir from his place. He was in very
truth, if not in intent, a guardian of the way.

And yet, while Henry slept amid the herd, the pursuit of him was
conducted with the energy, thoroughness and tenacity of which the
Indians were capable. The spirit of the great Shawnee chief, Red Eagle,
had been stung by his failure to overtake the fugitive, whom he knew to
be the youth Ware, their greatest foe, and he was resolved that Henry
should not escape. With him now were the renegades Blackstaffe and
Wyatt, and they, too, urged on the chase. They felt that if Henry could
be taken or destroyed, the four would fall easier victims, and then the
eyes of the woods that watched so well for the settlers would have gone
out forever.

All through the night the warriors ranged the forest, hunting for the
trail. The moon and the stars returned, bringing with them a light that
helped, and an hour or two after midnight a Shawnee found traces that
led toward the prairie. He called to his comrades and they followed it
to the prairie, where they lost it. The Indian warriors, looking
cautiously from the brush, saw in the open the clustered black forms,
looming gigantic in the moonlight, and they heard the heavings and
puffings and groanings of the big bulls. Directly in front of them,
across a low narrow ridge, lay the biggest bull of them all, a buffalo
that stirred now and then as if he were glad to rub his body against the
soil, which was rougher there than elsewhere. On the far side of the
prairie, wolves yapped and barked, longing to get at the calves inside
the ring of their elders.

The warriors crept away and began the entire circuit of the open,
looking for the lost trail. It had entered it on the western side, and
it would pass out somewhere, probably on the eastern. Red Eagle,
Blackstaffe and Wyatt themselves came up and directed the chase, but
they were mystified when their runners, completing the entire circling
movement, reported that there was no sign of the trail's reappearance.
Red Eagle, after taking thought, refused to believe it. The fugitive had
surpassing skill, as all of them knew, but a human being could not take
a flight through the air, like an eagle or a wild duck, and leave no
trail behind him. They must have overlooked the traces in the moonlight,
and he sent out the warriors anew, to right and to left.

Henry meanwhile slept the sleep of one who was weary and unafraid. He
had not only the feeling, but the conviction, as he lay down, that he
was within an inviolable ring of sentinels, and having dismissed all
care and apprehension from his mind, he fell into a slumber so deep
that for a long time nothing could disturb it. The yapping and barking
of the wolves fell upon an unhearing ear. The puffings and groanings of
the buffaloes were merely whispers to dull him into more powerful sleep.
When the Indian scouts, not fifty yards away, looked at the body of the
big bull that blocked the path, nothing whispered to him that danger was
near. Nor was the whisper needed, as the danger passed as quickly as it
had come.

He awoke at the first streak of dawn, stirred a little in his blanket,
but did not rise yet. He saw the buffaloes all around him and realized
that his faith in them had not been misplaced. The great bull, like a
black mountain, still barred the path to him.

It was warm and snug in his blanket and he yawned prodigiously. It would
have been pleasant to have remained there a few hours longer, but when
one was pursued by a whole Indian nation he could not remain long in one
place. He took the last strips of venison from his pack and ate them as
he lay. Meanwhile the buffaloes themselves began to move somewhat, as if
they were making ready for their day's work, and Henry wondered at their
disregard of him. Perhaps his presence for a night, and the fact that he
had been harmless, removed their fear of him.

He rose to his knees, and then suddenly sank back again. He had caught
the gleam of red feathers in the forest to the west, and he knew they
were in the scalplock of a Shawnee. Raising his head cautiously he saw
several more. It was a small band passing toward the north. But he had
too much experience to imagine that they were chance travelers. Beyond a
doubt they were a part of Red Eagle's army, and that army had come up in
the night and had surrounded him.

He lay back and listened. An Indian call arose in the west and another
in the east, and then they came from north and south and points between.
They were on all sides of him and he had been trapped as he slept. He
saw that the danger was the most formidable he had yet encountered, but
he did not despair. It was characteristic of him that when there seemed
to be no hope, he yet had hope, and plenty of it. His heart beat a
little faster, but he lay quiet in his blanket, taking thought with
himself.

He had been aided before by storms, but there was not the remotest
chance now of one. The sun was rising in the full splendor of an early
autumn morning, and the thin, clear air had the brightness of silver.
The blue skies held not a single cloud. Far over his head a flock of
wild fowl in arrow formation flew southward, and for the moment they
expressed to him, as he lay in the snare, the very quintessence of
freedom. But he spent no time in vain longings. His eyes came back to
the earth and that which surrounded him. Once more he caught the gleam
of feathers in the forest and he was sure that the line about the
prairie was now continuous.

He must find a way through that line, and he poured all his mind upon
one point. When one thinks for life, one thinks fast and hard.
Stratagem after stratagem flitted before him, to be cast aside one after
another. Meanwhile the buffaloes were stirring more and more, and some
of them began to nip at the dry grass of the prairie, but the big black
bull on the little ridge remained crouched and motionless. He was not
fifteen feet away and between him and Henry lay fragments of dead wood
which had been blown from the forest by some old wind. His eyes alighted
upon them idly, but remained there in interest, and then, in a sudden
burst of intuition, came his plan. Hesitating not a single instant, he
prepared for it.

Henry slid forward, recovered a long dead stick, and rapidly whittled
from it a lot of shavings. He never knew why the buffaloes did not take
alarm at his presence and actions, but he always supposed that the
mystic tie of kinship still endured. Then using his flint and steel with
all the energy and power that imminent danger could inspire, he lighted
first the shavings and then the end of the long stick.

The buffaloes at last began to puff and snort and show alarm, and Henry,
springing to his feet, whirled the torch in a circle of living fire
around his head. The whole herd broke in an instant into a frightful
panic, and with much snorting and bellowing rushed away in a black mass
toward the east. He threw down his torch, and grasping his rifle and
throwing his pack over his shoulder, followed close upon them, so close
that not even the keenest eye in the forest could have distinguished
him from the herd in the great cloud of dust that quickly rose.

It was for this cloud of dust that he had bargained. The soil of the
prairie became dry in the autumn, and the tramplings of four or five
hundred huge beasts churned it into a powder which the wind picked up
and blew into a blinding stream. Henry felt it in his eyes, his nose,
his ears and his mouth, but he was glad and he laughed aloud in his joy.
The rush and bellowings of the buffaloes made it a mighty roar, and the
soul within him was wild and triumphant, as became one who was the very
spirit and essence of the wilderness. He shouted aloud like Long Jim
Hart, knowing that his voice would be lost in the thunder of the herd
and could not reach the Indians.

"On, my gallant beasts!" he cried. "Charge 'em! Break their line! They
can't stand before you! Faster! Faster!"

He struck one of them across the body with the butt of his rifle, but
the herd was already running as fast as it could, while the cloud of
dust was continually rising in greater and thicker volume. In the midst
of this cloud, and hanging almost bodily to the herd itself, Henry was
invisible as he rushed on, shouting his battle song of triumph and
defiance, although no word of it reached the warriors who had lain in
the brushwood and who were now fleeing in fright before the rush of the
mad herd.

Mad it certainly was, said Red Eagle, for the chief himself, with Wyatt
and Blackstaffe, had been directly in its path, and they had been
compelled to run in undignified haste, while the great pillar of dust,
filled with the dim figures of buffaloes, crashed and thundered past,
trampling down bushes, crushing saplings, and driving off to the east,
the pillar of dust still visible long after the buffaloes were deep in
the forest. Red Eagle stared after it. He was a wise old chief, and he
had seen buffaloes before in a panic, but he did not understand the
cause of this sudden and terrific flight.

"It is strange," he said, "but we must let them run. We will go back now
and look for Ware."




CHAPTER IX

THE COVERT


It was one of the most thrilling moments in the life of Henry Ware. He
was in a kind of exaltation that made him equal to any task or danger,
and rather to court, instead of avoiding them. His feeling of kinship
with the herd that was saving him had grown stronger with the dawn. The
dust entering his eyes and mouth, nose and ears, had a singular quality
like burned gun powder that excited him and stimulated him to efforts
far beyond the normal. He was for the time being a physical superman out
of that old dim past, and he was scarcely conscious of anything he was
doing, save that he ran with the great beasts, and was their friend.

His exalted state increased. He continued to shout to the buffaloes to
run faster, and to hurl challenge and defiance at the warriors who could
not hear him. Once more he swung his clubbed rifle and hit a buffalo on
the side, not in anger, but as a salute from one hardy friend to
another, and the buffalo, uttering a bellow, rushed on with mighty
leaps.

Although he could not see them for the dust, Henry knew now by the
crashing and crackling of boughs that they were among the bushes, but
they did not trouble him, as the herd, like a huge wedge, first clearing
the way trampled everything under foot. How long the race lasted and how
long they ran he never knew, but after a lapse of time that was
surcharged with an enormous elation and an unexampled display of
physical power the herd began to recover in some degree from its panic.
Its speed decreased. The great cloud of dust that had wrapped Henry
around and that had saved him sank fast. Then he came suddenly to
himself, out of the exalted regions of the spirit in which he had been
dwelling. His throat was sore from excessive shouting and the sting of
the dust, and it was a few minutes before he was able to clear his eyes
and see with his usual keenness. Then he found that his body, too, ached
from his flight with the buffaloes and his excessive exertions.

But he had escaped. Nothing could alter the fact. When he had been
surrounded so completely by powerful foes that his destruction seemed
inevitable a miraculous way had been opened through their lines. Kindly
chance had drooped about him an impenetrable veil and he had passed his
enemies unseen. His first emotion was of deep thankfulness and gratitude
to the power that had saved him.

The pace of the herd sank to a walk. The light wind caught the last
streamers of dust and carried them away over the trees. Then some of the
buffaloes, puffing with exhaustion, stopped, and Henry, coming back
wholly to himself, turned aside into the deep forest. But he gave a
parting wave of his hand to the great animals that had enabled him to
make his invisible flight. Never again would he kill a buffalo without
reluctance.

An immense weariness came suddenly upon him. One could not run so far
with a herd without draining to their depths the reservoirs of human
endurance, but he would not let his body collapse. He knew he must put
the danger far behind him before it was a danger passed or even a danger
deferred. Calling upon his will anew, he turned toward the southeast and
walked many miles through a stony region. Here again he felt that he was
watched over by the greater powers, as leaping from stone to stone it
was easy to hide his trail, for the time at least. When the last ounce
of strength was exhausted he came to a blue pool, ten or fifteen yards
across, clear and deep.

He looked at the pool and was about to make another effort to go on, but
the blue waters crinkled up and laughed under a light wind, and looked
so inviting that he concluded to take the risk. He still felt the dust
in eye and ear, mouth and nose. He knew that it was caked upon his face
by perspiration, until it had become a mask, and now his whole body
tingled like fire with the tiny particles that had stopped up the pores.
And there was the pool, clear, blue and beautiful, inviting him to come.

Delaying not an instant longer he threw off his clothing and sprang into
the water. It was cold, but it was full of life. New strength shot into
every vein. He dived again and again, but without noise, and then,
swimming about a minute or two, emerged clean, shining and refreshed.
While he stretched himself, flexing and tensing his muscles and drying
his body in the sun, a stag, seeking water, came through the forest on
the other side of the pool. Perhaps that sense of kinship was felt by
the stag, too. It may be that Henry was in spirit an absolute creature
of the wild that morning, and by some unknown transmission of knowledge
the stag knew it.

However it was, the great deer took no fright, but, sniffing the air
once or twice, looked at the great youth, and the great youth looked
back at him. Henry would not have harmed any inhabitant of the forest
then, and the deer may have read it in his eye, as after his first
hesitation he came boldly to the pool and drank his fill. Henry on the
other side was dressing rapidly. When the stag had drunk enough he
raised his head and gazed out of great mild eyes at the human being who
was perhaps the first he had ever seen. Then he turned and stalked
majestically into the forest, his mighty antlers visible after his body
was hidden.

Henry, lying down in the brown grass, remained a half hour by the pool,
and he became a part of the wilderness, recognized as such by the others
that dwelled in it. Wild fowl descended upon the water, swam there a
while and then flew away, but not because of him. A black bear made
havoc in a patch of berries, and paid no attention to the youth.

When he started anew he still kept to the northeast, but he was
uncertain about his immediate action. He did not doubt that Red Eagle
and his host would pick up his trail some time or other, and would
follow with a patience that nothing could discourage. It would not be
wise to turn back to the oasis and his comrades, as that would merely
bring upon them the attack that he had drawn aside. Not knowing what to
do he kept on in his present course until certainty should come to him.

Hunger assailed him and, imitating the bear, he ate great quantities of
berries which were numerous everywhere in the forest. They were not
substantial food, but they must suffice for a time. After a while, when
he felt that he was far beyond the hearing of Red Eagle's men, he would
shoot game, though in his present mood he did not like to kill anything
that lived in the forest. But he knew that he must, in time, overcome
his reluctance, as such a frame as his, in the absence of bread, could
not live without meat.

He saw ahead of him a line of blue hills, much such a region as that in
which lay their warm, stony hollow, and he believed that he might find
kindred shelter there. At least it would be safer from pursuit, and,
keeping a straight course, he reached the ridges in about two hours. He
found an abundance of rocky outcrop, so much of it that he was able to
walk on it a full mile without putting a foot on earth, but there was no
deep hollow, although he did come to a tiny valley or cup among the
stones, well sheltered from the winds, and here he lay for a long time
on a bed that he made for himself on dead leaves. Toward night he went
out and was fortunate enough to find a wild turkey, which, overcoming
his reluctance, he shot. Then he cleaned it, and, daring all dangers,
lighted a fire in the cup and cooked it.

But before taking a bite of the turkey he made a wide and careful
circuit about the dip to discover whether any wandering warrior had seen
the glow of his little fire, and, satisfied that none had been within
sight, he returned and ate, putting what was left in his pack for future
use. Then he lay down again and felt very grateful. The stars were out,
and, in their courses, they had undoubtedly fought for him. He did not
ascribe his great successes in the face of obstacles that seemed
insurmountable to any especial virtue in himself, but the idea that, for
some unknown cause, he was favored by the greater powers was still
strong within him. He could but thank them and looking up at the sky he
did so without words.

Then, feeling sure that his trail could not be found for hours, he
wrapped his blanket about his body and pillowing his head on a heap of
leaves fell asleep. The sense of watching remained so strong that it was
alive while he slept, and about midnight it awakened him to see what a
noise meant. It was, however, only the hungry whining of two wolves,
drawn by the odor of the turkey, and, throwing a stick at them, he went
back to sleep.

He did not awaken again until morning, and then he felt so warm and snug
in his blanket and on the bed of leaves that he was loath to move. The
dawn was clear and cold, the first frost of the season touching his
blanket with white, and he yawned mightily. While his body was
refreshed, his spirit was not as high as it had been the night before,
and he would have been glad for the pursuit to stop, a day at least,
while he dawdled there among the hills. He reflected that his four
comrades were probably lying at their ease in the oasis, and the thought
brought a certain envy, though the envy contained no trace of malice. He
wished that he was back with them, but the wish vanished in an instant,
and he was his old self, ingenious, resourceful, resolute.

He rose from his bed, folded the blanket into the usual tight square,
which he fastened on his back, and took a look at his surroundings.
There was no human presence save his own, but innumerable tracks showed
him that the hills were full of game. Then sharp hunger assailed him,
and he ate another portion of the wild turkey, calculating that enough
would be left for several more meals. He considered himself extremely
lucky in securing the turkey, as it undoubtedly would be dangerous now
to fire his rifle, since the warriors must have come much nearer in the
course of the night.

Going to the crest of the highest hill, whence he could get a long view,
he saw smoke in the west, not more than three miles away, and he was
quite certain it was made by some portion of Red Eagle's band. They
would not allow so much smoke to rise, unless it was intended as a
signal, and his eyes followed the circle of the horizon in search of the
answer.

From his lofty perch he saw far over the tumbled mass of hills to the
eastern sky, and there he caught a faint trace across the sunlit blue.
It was miles away and only eyes of the keenest, like his, would have
noticed the vague smudge, but he did not doubt that it was a response to
the first signal. They could not see from the first to the third smoke,
but there must be a second in between, probably to the north, where the
hills shut out his view, and the messages were transmitted from the
extremes through it.

He gazed a long time at the eastern smoke, trying to read what it was
saying. The warriors of Red Eagle's band were not likely to have gone so
far in the night, and, at last, he came to the conclusion that Yellow
Panther and the Miamis had come up. The more he thought about it the
more thoroughly he was convinced that it was so, and that his situation
had become extremely dangerous again. The Shawnees were bound to pick up
his trail in time, they would find that it led into the hills, and then,
by means of signals of one kind or another, they would tell their
allies, the Miamis, to close in on him. They would also send warriors to
both north and south, and he would be surrounded completely.

Henry did not despair. It was characteristic of him that his spirits
should rise to the highest when the danger was greatest. The lassitude
of the soul that he had felt for a few moments disappeared and once more
he was alert, powerful, with all his marvelous senses attuned, and with
that sixth sense which came from the perfect coordination of the others
ready to help him.

He examined as well as he could from his summit the maze of hills in
which he stood, and it seemed to him to be a region three or four miles
square, a network of crests, ridges, cups, and narrow valleys like
ravines. He resolved that for the present, at least, he would make no
attempt to break from it and pass the Indian lines. He would be for a
day or two the needle in the haystack. One might move from cover to
cover and evade pursuit for a long time in a tumbled and tangled mass of
country fifteen or sixteen miles square, covered moreover with heavy
vegetation of all kinds.

He had been the panther before, now he would be the fox, and leaping
from stone to stone, and from fallen trunk to fallen trunk he plunged
into the very heart of the maze, finding it wilder and even more broken
than he had hoped. Small streams were flowing in several of the gullies
or ravines, and there were pools, around which reeds and bushes grew
thickly. At least he would not suffer for water while he lay in hiding.

Near the center of the little wilderness was a valley larger than the
others, but before he descended into it he climbed a hill, and took
another long look around the whole horizon. The smoke signals had
increased to nearly a dozen, making a complete circuit of the hills, and
it would have been obvious, even to an intelligence much less acute than
his, that they were sure he was in the hills, and had drawn their lines
about him.

Well, it would be a chase, he said to himself grimly. He did not
particularly like the rôle of fox, but once he had undertaken it he
would play it to the last detail. He went down into the valley which
was like a bowl filled with a vast mass of bushes and briars, many of
the briars covered with ripe berries, a fact of which he made a mental
note, as he might need those berries later on, and picked a way through
them until he came to the other slope, which was as rough and broken as
if it had been taken up by an earthquake, shaken for several days, and
then allowed to lie as the pieces fell. There were many blind openings,
like the box cañons of the west, running back into the hills, and they
were crossed by other gullies and ravines, and he decided that he would
find a temporary covert somewhere among them.

As he wandered about in the maze of bushes and stones, he did not
neglect the least possible precaution to hide all traces of footsteps,
and he knew that he had left a trail invisible like that of a bird
through the air. There were many able warriors among the Shawnees and
Miamis, but if they found him at all it must be by currying the maze as
if with a comb, and not by following directly in his path.

A ravine that he was following led a little distance up the slope, and
then another crossed it at right angles. A small stream, rising above,
flowed down the first ravine, and he resolved that he would not go far
from it, as he could not lie long in hiding without water. The smaller
cross ravine, which was pretty well choked with briars and bushes, ended
under an overhanging stony ledge, and here he stopped.

As the place had a floor of dead leaves and was sheltered well he
thought it likely that in some former time it had been a den of a large
wild beast, but it could not have been put to such a use recently, as
there was no odor. He was thankful that he had found the ledge. It would
protect him from any rain except one driven fiercely into the face of it
by the wind, and, if it came to the last resort and he had to make a
fight, it would prove a formidable little fortress.

Having located his refuge he went back to the stream and took a long,
deep drink of the water, which was cold and good. Then he returned to
the ledge and lay down in its shadow, his eyes on the briars and bushes,
through which alone one could approach.

He saw a few coarse hairs in the crevices of the rocks and he was
confirmed in his opinion that it had once been a lair. Perhaps the
original owner would return to it and claim it while he was there, and
Henry smiled at the thought of the meeting. It would not be easy to
displace him. The feeling that he too was wild, a creature of the
forest, was growing upon him. He was hunted like one and he began to
display their characteristics, lying perfectly still, facing the opening
and ready to strike, the moment a foe appeared. However dangerous may
have been the wild beast that once lived under the ledge it was far less
formidable than its successor.

Henry was at his ease, watching the briars and bushes and with his rifle
thrust forward a little, but a sort of cold rage grew upon him. It was
the rage that a fierce animal must feel, when hunted beyond endurance,
it turns at last. He rather hoped that one or two of their scouts would
appear and try to force the ravine. They would pay for it richly, and he
would take some revenge for being forced into such a hard and long
flight.

But no scalplock appeared in the bushes, nor did he hear any sound of
advancing men. But he was not deceived by the false appearance of peace.
The Shawnees and Miamis had drawn their lines about the hills and they
would search until they found. Now they had two great chiefs instead of
one, both Red Eagle and Yellow Panther, to drive them on. Meanwhile he
would wait patiently and take his ease until they did find him.

He was conscious of the passage of time, but he took little measure of
it until he noticed that the sun was low. Then he ate another portion of
the turkey, rolled himself into a new position on the leaves, and
resumed the patient waiting which was not so hard for one trained as he
had been in a school, the most important rule of which was patience.

The entire day passed. At times he dozed, but so lightly that the
slightest movement in the thickets would have awakened him. He was
neither lonely nor afraid, and his sense of comfort grew. He had been
carried back farther than he knew into the old primitive world, in which
shelter and ease were the first of all things. He was content now to
wait any length of time while the warriors searched for him, and he was
so still, he blended so thoroughly into his surroundings, that the other
people of the maze accepted him as one of themselves.

He saw a splash of flame over his head, and a scarlet tanager, alighting
on a bush not a yard from him, prinked and preened itself, until it felt
that its toilet was perfect, when it deliberately flew away again. It
had not shown the slightest fear of the motionless youth, and Henry was
pleased. He intended no harm to the creatures of the forest then, and he
was glad they understood it.

A small gray bird, far less brilliant in plumage than the tanager,
alighted even nearer, and poured forth a flood of song to which Henry
listened without moving. Then the gray bird also flew away, not in fear,
but because its variable mind moved it to do so. It too had come as a
friend and it departed without changing. A rabbit hopped through the
brush, stared at him a moment or two, and then hopped calmly out of
sight. Its visit had all the appearance of a friendly nature, and Henry
was pleased once more.

When the twilight came, he crept through the bushes to the little stream
in the ravine and drank deep again. His glance caught a pair of red eyes
gleaming through the dusk and he saw a wildcat treading lightly. But the
cat did not snarl or arch its back. Instead it moved away without any
sign of hostility and climbed a big oak, in the brown foliage of which
it was lost to Henry's sight. In his mind the thought grew stronger that
he was being accepted as a brother to the wild, and it gave him a
thrill, a compound of pleasure and of wonder. Had he really reverted so
far? It seemed to be so, for the time, at least.

He crawled back through the bushes to his lair, ate another portion of
the wild turkey and disposed his lodgings for the night, which he
foresaw was going to be cold, drawing the dead leaves into a heap with a
depression in the center, in which he could lie with the blanket over
him.

The full dark had now come, and, as he finished his bed, he heard a
light step which caused him to seize his rifle and sit silent, awaiting
a possible enemy. The light step was repeated once, twice, thrice, and
then stopped. But he knew it was not that of a human being. He had heard
the pad, pad of an animal too often to be mistaken, and his tension
relaxed, though he still waited.

He gradually made out an ungainly figure in the dusk, and then two small
red eyes. The figure moved about a little and the eyes seemed to
question. Henry smiled once more to himself. It was a large black bear,
and he knew instinctively that it had not come as an enemy. Its visit
was one of inquiry, perhaps of search for an old and comfortable home,
which it remembered dimly. As it stared at him, showing no sign of
fright and making no movement to run away, he knew then that he was in
truth in a former home of the bear.

He was sorry that he had dispossessed any one. He would not willingly
keep from his home a friendly and worthy black bear, but since it was
the only home of the kind he needed that he could find, he must keep his
place. The bear was not hunted as he was, and required less to give him
comfort and shelter. He could improvise elsewhere a home that would
suffice for him.

He waved his hand, but the bear did not withdraw, uttering instead a low
growl which had some of the quality of a purr, and which was not at all
hostile. Henry felt real grief at ousting such an amiable animal, and he
realized anew that he had become, in fact, a creature of the wild. It
was obvious that the bear looked upon him as a brother, else it would
have taken to hasty flight long since. Instead it continued to stare at
him, as if asking to come in that it might have a share of the leaves.
But Henry shook his head. There was room for only one, and while not
selfish he needed it worse than the bear, which, after a minute more of
gazing, uttered another growling purr and then shambled away among the
bushes. Henry felt real sorrow at its departure. Obviously it had been a
good and kind bear, and he was regretful at having crowded it out of
house and home.

But as bears were adaptable creatures and the dispossessed tenant would
find quarters elsewhere, he settled himself back to further rest and
contemplation. The lair under the ledge was really a better place than
he had at first thought it. The leaves were so abundant that he had a
soft bed, and they contributed not only to warmth in themselves, but he
was able to throw them up in little ridges beside him, where they would
cut off the cold air. He felt himself splendidly hidden, and both body
and mind were invaded by a dreamy sense of peace and ease.

Believing that the invasion of the valley would yet be delayed some
time, he dared to go to sleep, though he awoke at frequent intervals.
All these awakenings told him that the warriors had not yet come nor was
their vanguard even at hand. The bear was not the only wild animal to
inhabit the valley and now and then he saw their dim figures moving in
the leisurely manner that betokened no alarm brought by sight, scent or
sound. He silently made them his sentinels, his watchers, the bear, the
rabbit, the squirrel, the wildcat and even the tawny yellow panther.

Morning broke, the air heavy and clouds betokening rain. He strengthened
his banks of leaves with some dead wood, and, after eating half the
remaining portion of wild turkey, crouched again in the lair. In an hour
it began to rain, not to the accompaniment of wind, but came down
steadily, as if it meant to fall all day long.

Having a good shelter Henry was glad of the rain, as he knew that it
would cause the warriors further delay in the search. The wilderness,
cold and dripping with water, is a funereal sight, full of discomforts,
and savage man himself avoids it if he can. The warriors, feeling that
they had the fugitive within the inescapable circle, would wait. Henry
would willingly wait with them. He had but one problem that troubled him
greatly, and it was food. But perhaps the ravens would provide, as they
had provided for the holy man in the olden time.

As he had foreseen, the chilling rain fell all day long, and no sign
came from his pursuers. The valley grew sodden. He saw pools standing in
low places, and cold vapors arose. At night he ate the last of the
turkey, and, resolutely dismissing the question of more food from his
mind for the time, fell asleep again and slept well.

The second dawn came, clear and cool, and the foliage and the earth
dried rapidly under the bright sun. Henry's powerful frame craved
breakfast but there was none, and, from necessity, he made up his mind
to do without, as long as he could. But the cravings became so strong by
noon that he stole out to the blackberry briars and ate his fill of the
berries. He also found some ripening wild plums and ate those, too.
Fruit alone was not very staying and he also saw the risk of disclosing
his trail, but he felt that he must have it. One might talk lightly of
enduring hunger, but to endure it was much harder. If he only had two or
three more wild turkeys he felt that he might defy the siege.

That afternoon he heard the signals of Indians, showing that they were
in the maze, looking for him. They imitated the cries of birds and
animals, but they did not deceive him a single time. None was nearer
than a quarter of a mile, and he was sure that they had a long hunt
before them. Then he resolved upon a daring venture. If the coming night
was dark he would make the Indians themselves provide him with food. It
was tremendously risky, but the kind of life he lived was full of such
risks.

His plan in mind, he watched the setting of the sun. It had mists and
vapors around it, and he knew that he was about to have what he wished.
Then the night settled down, heavy and dark, and he slipped cautiously
from his lair. The last signal that he had heard came from the south and
he advanced in that direction.

He calculated that boldness, as usual, might win. The warriors, daring
themselves, nevertheless would not dream of an inroad upon them by the
fugitive himself, and were likely to be careless in their night camp. It
was possible that they would leave their own food where he could reach
it unseen.

His progress was slow, owing to the extremely rough and broken nature of
the ground, and his own great caution, a caution that made no sound, and
that left no trail, as he always walked on rock. In an hour he saw the
glimmer of a fire, and then he redoubled his caution, as he approached.




CHAPTER X

THE BEAR GUIDE


The fire was just beyond the thicket of reeds, and Henry addressed
himself to the task of penetrating them without noise, a difficult thing
to do, but which he accomplished in about five minutes, stopping just
short of the outer edge, where he was still hidden well.

He was then able to see a small opening in which about a dozen warriors
lay around a low fire, with two who were sentinels sitting up but
nodding. He saw by their paint that they were Miamis, and thus he was
confirmed in his belief that Yellow Panther had come with a large force
from his tribe.

He knew that the sentinels had been set largely as a matter of form,
since the Indians in the bowl itself would not anticipate any attack
from a lone fugitive. The true watch would be kept on the outermost rim.
So reasoning he waited, hoping that the two sentinels who were nodding
so suggestively would fall asleep. Even as he looked their nods began to
increase in violence. Their heads would fall over on their shoulders,
hang there for a few moments and then their owners would bring them
back with a jerk.

Indians, like white people, have to sleep, and Henry knew that the two
warriors must have been up long, else they would not have to fight so
hard to keep awake. That they would yield before long he did not now
doubt, and he began to watch with an amused interest to see which would
give in first. One was an old warrior, the other a youth of about
twenty. Henry believed the lad would lead the way, and he was justified
in his opinion, as the younger warrior, after bringing his head back
into position two or three times with violent jerks, finally let it
hang, while his chest rose with the long and deep breathing of one who
slumbers. The older man looked at him with heavy-laden eyes and then
followed him to the pleasant land of oblivion.

Henry now examined the camp with questioning eyes. In such a land of
plentiful game they would be sure to have abundant supplies, and he saw
there a haunch of deer well cooked, buffalo meat, two or three wild
turkeys and wild ducks. His eyes rested longest on the haunch of the
deer, and, making up his mind that it should be his, he began to creep
again through the undergrowth to the sheltered point that lay nearest
it, a task in which he exercised to the utmost his supreme gifts as a
stalker, since these were the most critical moments of all.

The haunch lay not more than eight feet from the reeds, and he believed
he could reach it without awakening any of the warriors. Once the older
sentinel opened his eyes and looked around sleepily, and Henry instantly
stopped dead, but it was merely a momentary return from slumberland, to
which the man went back in a second or two, and then the stalker resumed
his slow creeping.

At the point he sought, he slipped noiselessly into the open, seized the
haunch and slid back in the same way, stopping in the shelter of the
reeds to see if he had been noticed. But all the warriors still slept,
and, thankful once more to the greater powers who had favored him, he
made his way back to his shelter, provisioned now for several days. Then
he ate a hearty supper, gathering more of the berries as a sauce, and
drinking from the little stream.

He was well aware that the Indians, when they missed the haunch, would
know that he lay somewhere in the bowl; but, with starvation as the
alternative, he was compelled to take the risk. Before dawn, it rained
again, removing all apprehensions that he may have felt about his trail,
and he took a nap of two or three hours, relying upon his heightened
senses to give him an alarm, if they drew near, even while he slept.

The next dawn came, cold and raw, with the rain ceasing after a while,
but followed by a heavy fog that filled the whole bowl. Henry, sharp as
his eyes were, could not see twenty feet in front of him, and, just like
the bear that had once occupied it, he lay very close in his lair. The
confinement was growing irksome to one of his youth and strength, as he
felt his muscles stiffening, but it was necessary, because he heard the
signals of the Indians to one another through the fog, sometimes not
more than two or three hundred yards away. Their proximity, he knew, was
due to chance, as there was nothing to disclose to them where he lay.
They were merely following the plan of threshing out all the hay in the
haystack in order to find the needle, and he knew that they would
complete it even to the last wisp.

Another day and night passed in the lair, and the inactivity,
confinement and suspense became frightful. He began to feel that he must
move, even if he plunged directly into the Indian ranks, and the
warriors permitted no doubt that they were near, since the calls of
birds and animals were frequent. Two or three times he heard shots, and
he knew it was the warriors killing game. He resented it, as all the
animals in this little valley had proved themselves his friends, and he
felt an actual grief for those that had been slain.

It was the truth that in these days of hiding and waiting Henry was
reverting to some ancient type, not one necessarily ruder or more
ferocious, but a primitive golden age in its way, in which man and beast
were more nearly friends. There was proof in the fact that birds hopped
about within a foot or two of him and showed no alarm, and that a rabbit
boldly rested among the leaves not a yard away.

It would be, in truth, his happy valley were it not for the presence of
the Indians. But they were drawing nearer. Call now answered to call,
and they were only a few hundred yards away. He divined that they had
threshed up most of the maze, and that a close circle was being drawn
about him in the bowl. The next night, when he went out for water, he
caught a glimpse of warriors stalking in the brush, and he did not
believe that his lair would hide him more than a day or two longer. He
must find some way to creep through the ring, but, for the present, he
could think of none.

Another day passed, and he did not sleep at all in the night that
followed, as the warriors were so near now that his keen ear often heard
them moving, and once the sound of the men talking to one another came
to him distinctly. It was obvious that he must soon make his attempt to
break through the ring. Fortunately the night was foggy again, and while
he was deliberating anew, concentrating all the power of his mind upon
the attempt to find a plan, he heard a faint rustle in the thicket
directly in front of him, and he instantly threw his rifle forward, sure
that the warriors were upon him. Instead, a shambling figure poked its
head through the thicket and looked curiously at him out of little red
eyes.

It was the black bear that he had ousted, and Henry thought he saw
sympathy as well as curiosity in the red eyes. The bear, far from
upbraiding him for driving it from its home, had pity, and no fear at
all. He could not see any sign of either alarm or hostility in the red
eyes. The gaze expressed kinship, and his own was reciprocal.

"I hope the warriors won't get you, but you're running a mighty big
risk," was his thought. Then came a second thought quick upon the heels
of the first. How had the bear come through the ring of the warriors?
Had the Indians seen it they would certainly have shot at it, because
they loved bear meat. Not only had no shot been fired, but the bear was
deliberate and free from apprehension. Then like lightning came a third
thought. The bear had come in some providential way to save him. It had
been sent by the greater powers.

There was something almost human in the gaze of the bear and Henry could
never persuade himself afterward that its look did not have
understanding. It began to withdraw slowly through the thicket, and,
rising up, taking his rifle, blanket and supplies, he followed. A
strange feeling seized him. He was transported out of himself. He
believed that the miraculous was going to happen. And it happened.

The bear led ten or fifteen feet ahead, and then turned sharply to the
right, where apparently it would come up dead against the blank stone
wall of the hill. But it turned to look once at Henry and disappeared in
the wall. He stood in amazement, but followed nevertheless. Then he saw.
There was a narrow cleft in the stone, the entrance to which was
completely hidden by three or four bushes growing closely together. The
wariest eye would have passed over it a hundred times without seeing it,
but the bear had gone in without hesitation, and now Henry, parting the
bushes, went in, too.

He found a ravine not more than three feet wide that seemed to lead
completely through the hill. The foliage met above it, and it was dark
there, but he saw well enough to make his way. He could also trace the
dim figure of the bear shambling on ahead, and his heart made a violent
leap as he realized that in very truth and fact he was being led out of
the Indian ring. Chance or intent? What did it matter? Who was he to
question when favors were showered upon him? It was merely for him to
take the gifts the greater powers gave, and, with voiceless thanks, he
followed the lead of the animal which shambled steadily ahead.

The narrow ravine, or rather crack in the stone, might have ended
against a wall, or it might have led up to the crest of the hill where
Indian warriors lay watching, but he knew that it would do neither. He
felt with all the certainty of actual knowledge that it would go on
until it came out on the far side of the circling hills, and beyond the
Indian ring.

He walked a full mile, his dumb guide leading faithfully. Sometimes the
ravine widened a little, but always the foliage met overhead, and he was
never able to catch more than glimpses of the sky. At last the width
increased steadily, and then he came out into the forest with the hills
behind him. The form of the bear was disappearing among the trees, but
Henry sent after him his voiceless thanks. Again he felt that he could
not question whether it was chance or intent, but must accept with
gratitude the great favor that had been granted to him. Behind him, as
reminders, came from far across the hills the faint calls of wolf and
owl, the cries of the Indians to one another, as the chiefs directed the
closing in of the ring upon the fugitive who was no longer there, the
fugitive who had been guided in a miraculous manner to the only way of
escape.

He sat down upon a fallen tree trunk, laughing silently at the chagrin
his pursuers would feel when they came upon the lair, the empty lair.
Braxton Wyatt would rage, Blackstaffe would rage, and while Red Eagle
and Yellow Panther might not rage openly, they would burn with internal
fire. Then his laughter gave way to far more solemn feelings. Who was he
to laugh at two great Indian chiefs who certainly would have taken or
slain him had it not been for the intervening miracle?

Henry's heart was filled with admiration and gratitude. He had been a
friend for a day or two to the beasts of the forest and one of them had
come to his rescue. The feeling of reversion to a primitive golden age
was still strong within him, and doubtless the bear, too, had really
felt the sense of kinship. He looked in the direction in which the
shambling animal had gone, but there was no sign of him. Perhaps he had
disappeared forever, because his mission was done.

Again came the calls of animals to one another, the cries of the owl and
wolf, and then their own natural voices, in which Henry now, in fancy or
in fact, detected the note of chagrin. They had found the lair at last,
and they had found it empty! A long yell, fiercer than any of the
others, confirmed him in the belief, and despite the solemnity of his
own feelings at such a time, when he had been saved in such a manner, he
was compelled to laugh silently, but with intense enjoyment.

Then he addressed himself to his new problems. Because he had escaped
with his life, it did not mean that his troubles were ended. The
warriors would come quickly out of the maze and Red Eagle and Yellow
Panther, with the host at their command, would send innumerable scouts
and trailers in every direction to find his new traces. It would be with
them not only a question of removing their enemy, but a matter of pride
as well, and they were sure to make a supreme effort.

It was his knowledge of the minds of the chiefs that had kept him from
turning back to the oasis and his comrades. To return would be merely to
draw a fresh attack upon them, and he resolved to continue his flight to
the northeast. It was characteristic of him that he should not be
headlong, exhausting himself, but he sat down calmly, ate a slice of the
deer meat, and waited until he should hear the Indian signals again.
They came presently from the segment of the circling hills nearest to
him, and he knew that the pursuit had been organized anew and
thoroughly. Then he rose and fled in the direction he had chosen.

He did not stop until the next night, covering a distance of about
thirty miles, and although he heard nothing further then from the
warriors, he knew the pursuit was still on. But he was so far ahead that
he believed he could take rest with safety, and, creeping into a
thicket, he made his bed once more among the leaves of last year. He
slept soundly, but awakening at midnight, he scouted a bit about his
retreat. Finding no evidence that the enemy was near, he slept again
until dawn. Then he renewed the flight, turning a little more toward the
north.

He yet had enough of the deer meat to last, with economy, three or four
days, and he did not trouble himself for the present about the question
of a further food supply. Instead he began to rejoice in his own flight.
He was now fifty or sixty miles further north than the oasis, and as the
country was higher and some time had elapsed since his departure, autumn
was much more advanced. It was a season in which he was always uplifted.
It struck for him no note of decay and dissolution. The crispness and
freshness that came into the air always expanded his lungs and made his
muscles more elastic and powerful. He had the full delight of the eye in
the glorious colors that came over the mighty wilderness. He saw the
leaves a glossy brown, or glowing in reds or yellows. The sumac bushes
burned like fire. Everything was sharp, clear, intense and vital.

There was never another forest like that of the Mississippi Valley, a
million square miles of unbroken woods, cut by a myriad of streams,
varying in size from the tiniest of brooks to the great Father of Waters
himself. Henry loved it and gloried in it, and he knew it well, too. It
now contained various kinds of ripening berries that served as a sauce
for his deer meat, and occasionally he would crack some of the early
nuts that had ripened and fallen. The need for food would not be strong
enough for some days yet to make him fire upon any of his new comrades,
the wild animals.

But it is true that Henry still remained a creature of that primitive
golden age. Never were his senses more acute. The lost faculties of man
when he lived wholly in the woodland came back to him. He detected the
presence of the hidden deer in the thickets, and he knew that the
buffaloes were on the little prairies long before he came to them. He
might have shot any number of the big beasts with ease, but he passed
them by as he continued his steady flight into the north.

He had not seen any sign of his pursuers in two days, and now he stopped
for them to come up, meanwhile eating plentifully in a berry patch. The
berries were rich and large, and he took his time and ease, enjoying his
stay there all the more because of his new comrades. Two black bears
preyed upon the farther edge of the patch, and he laughed at them when
their noses were covered with crimson stains. They seemed to be
friendly, but he did not put the tie of friendship to too severe a test
by approaching closely. Instead, he watched them from a little distance,
when, after having eaten enormously, they played with each other like
two boys, pushing and pulling, their reddened noses giving them the look
of the comedians they were.

A stag watched the sportive bears from a little distance, standing body
deep among the bushes, and regarding them with gravity. It pleased Henry
to see a twinkle of amusement in the great eyes of the deer, which kept
his ground unafraid, despite the presence of his usual enemy, man.

The bears, which were young, and hence festive, continued their sport,
encouraged, perhaps, by a gathering and appreciative audience. A wildcat
ran out on a long bough, looked at them and yowled twice. As they paid
no attention to him, he concluded that it was best to be in a good humor
after all, as obviously nobody meant him any harm. So he lay on the
bough and watched the game. His eyes showed green and yellow in the
sunlight, but it pleased Henry to think that they also held a look of
laughter.

Three gray squirrels rattled the bark of an oak that overhung the berry
patch. Then came a fox squirrel, with his more glowing color and big
bushy tail, and all four looked at the bears. Sometimes they seemed
glued to the bark. Then they would scuttle a short distance, to become
glued again. Their beady eyes were twinkling. Henry could not see them,
but he knew it must be so.

A slender nose and a pointed head pushed through the bushes, and then a
long, strong figure followed. A great gray wolf! A beast of prey, but no
thought of the hunt seemed to be in his mind now. He was about twenty
feet from the rolling bears, and he regarded Henry with a look that said
very plainly: "I enjoy the sport, but I would not do it myself." Henry
gave back the look in kind, and the two, who would have been natural
enemies at any other time, stood at opposite sides of the berry patch,
looking with grave amusement at the sportive animals which still tumbled
about, crushing the ripe berries under them, until not only their noses
but almost their entire bodies were streaked with red stains.

A tiny spot appeared in the blue sky far overhead, grew with astonishing
swiftness, as a great bald eagle, descending with the utmost velocity,
and then abruptly checking its flight, alighted on the bough of a tree
over Henry's head, where it sat, its eyes upon the comedy passing in the
berry patch. At any other time the eagle would have regarded the youth
as his natural enemy, but now there was no hostility between them. They
were merely innocent spectators.

A rabbit, disturbed in its cosy nest under the briars, hopped out, sat
on a little mound and looked on with interest, unafraid of the bears,
the wolf, the eagle or the human being. A red bird flew in a circle over
the berry patch and then alighted among the leaves of a tree, where it
burned in a splash of flame against the glossy brown. Another bird, in a
more sober garb, poured forth a joyous song.

The wilderness was at peace. Moreover, it was witnessing a comedy,
presented by the true comedians of the forest, the young bears, and
Henry's sense of kinship grew stronger. It gave him a feeling of great
warmth, too, to see that they were not afraid of him. In a measure and
for the time at least he was received into the forest family.

A quarter of an hour passed, and the comedy was not yet finished, but
Henry heard a lone far cry in the south, and he knew it was the signal
of warrior to warrior. In a minute the answering signal was given, but
much nearer, and the two bears stopped in their play, standing up, their
stained noses in the air and their streaked bodies quivering with
apprehension. A third time came the call, and the figures of the bears
stiffened. Then they slid through the berry patch and disappeared in the
forest, going like shadows. The eagle unfolded his wings, shot upward
like a bolt and was lost in the vast blue vault. The wolf vanished so
silently that Henry found himself merely looking at the place where he
had been. The rabbit disappeared from the mound. The spot of flame on
the glossy brown that marked the presence of the tanager was gone, and
the sober brown bird ceased to sing. The forest idyll was over and Henry
was alone in the berry patch.

He felt bitter anger against the approaching warriors. Before he had
regarded them merely as enemies whose interests put them in opposition
to him. In their place, doubtless, he would do as they were doing, but
now, seeking his death, they had broken the wilderness peace. A desire
for revenge, a wish to show them that pursuers as well as pursued could
be in danger, grew upon him, and, as he fled again, he used little
speed, allowing them to gain until he saw one of the brown figures among
the tree trunks. Then he fired, and, when the figure fell, he uttered a
shout of triumph in the Indian fashion. A yell of rage answered him, and
now, reloading as he ran, he fled at a great rate. Twice he heard the
distant cries, and then no more, but he knew that Shawnees and Miamis
still followed on. The death of the warrior would be an additional
incentive to the pursuit. He would seem to them to be taunting them,
and, in truth, he was.

But he had been refreshed so much by his stay in the berry patch that
his speed now was amazing, wishing to leave them far behind as usual
when the time came for sleep. A river, narrow but deep, suddenly threw
itself across his path. It was an unwelcome obstruction, but, managing
to keep his arms and ammunition dry, he swam it. The water was cold, and
when he was on the other side he ran faster than ever in order to keep
the blood warm in his veins and dry his clothing.

There was but little sunshine now, and a raw, damp wind came out of the
northwest. He looked at the skies anxiously, and they gave back no
assurance. He knew the region had been steadily rising, and he had his
apprehensions. In an hour they were justified. The raw, damp wind
brought with it something that touched his face like the brush of a
feather. It was the year's first flake of snow, premature and tentative,
but it was followed soon by others, until they became a thin white veil,
driven by the wind. The brown leaves rustled and fell before them, and
the appearance of the forest, that had been glowing in color an hour or
two before, suddenly became wintry and chill. The advance of twilight
made the wilderness all the more somber, and Henry's anxiety increased.
He must find shelter for the night somewhere, and he did not yet know
where.

He came out upon the crest of a low ridge, and searched the forest with
his eyes, hopeful that he might find again a rocky hollow equipped with
dead leaves, or even a windrow matted with bushes and vines, but he saw
neither. He beheld instead, and to his great surprise, a smoke in the
north, a smoke that must be large or it would not be so plain in the
dusk. He studied it, and finally came to the conclusion that it marked
the presence of an Indian village. This region was not known to him, but
as obviously it was a splendid hunting ground it was not at all strange
that he should come upon such a town.

It was Indian smoke, but it beckoned to him, because there was warmth
beneath it. It was not likely to be a large village, but the skin lodges
and the log cabins perhaps would give ample protection against snow and
cold. In every age, whether stone, cave or golden, man had to have
something over his head on winter nights, and Henry, acting upon his
usual belief that boldness was the best policy, went straight toward the
village. He had some sort of an idea that he might pilfer the
hospitality of his enemies. That would be a great joke upon them, and
the more he thought of it the better he liked it.

He used the last precaution as he approached. He was quite sure that the
village stood in the woods, and he did not really fear anything except
the stray curs usually found around Indian homes. But none barked as he
drew near and he began to believe that his luck would find the place
without them. Presently he saw the lights of two or three fires
glimmering through the bushes, and then he came to a heap of bones,
those of buffalo, wild turkey, deer, bear and every other kind of game,
like one of the kitchen middens of ancient man in Europe. He drew at
once the conclusion that the village, though small, was as nearly
permanent as an Indian village could be.

He went closer. Nobody sat by the fire. Apparently there was no watch,
which was not strange, as here in the heart of their own country no
enemy was likely to come. He counted fourteen lodges, four small log
cabins and a larger one standing among the trees apart from the others.
Thin threads of smoke rose from the four cabins and several of the
tepees, but not from the larger cabin. It was certain now that there
were no dogs, as, scenting him, they would have given tongue earlier.
The fortune in which he trusted had not betrayed him.

His eyes passed again over the lodges and the smaller cabins and rested
on the larger one, which was built of poles and had a wooden figure,
carved rudely, standing at every one of the four corners. He noted these
figures with intense satisfaction, and, having followed bold tactics,
he became yet bolder, creeping through the forest toward the long cabin.

The snow was still falling in fine, feathery flakes, not enough to make
a real snow, but enough to cause great discomfort, and he exercised all
his skill and caution.

While the Indians slept, yet someone among them always slept lightly,
and he knew better than to bring such a swarm of hornets upon him. He
reached the long cabin and saw in it a door opening toward the eastern
forest and away from the village.

The door was closed with a heavy curtain of buffalo robe, but lifting it
without hesitation he entered. Then he stood a little while near the
entrance until his eyes grew accustomed to the dusk. The room, which had
a floor of bark, was empty save for skins of buffalo or other animals
hanging from poles, and two curtained recesses, in which stood totem
figures like those at the corners of the house.

Henry knew that it was a council house or house of worship. He had known
that as soon as he saw the figures outside. No one would enter it until
the chiefs came from a greater village to hold council or make worship.
Any possible trail that he might have left would soon be covered by the
falling snow, and, going within one of the curtained alcoves, he lifted
the wooden figure there a little to one side. Then he spread one of the
buffalo robes within the space and, folding his blanket about himself,
lay down upon it. Soon he was asleep, while nearly a hundred of his
enemies, men, women and children, also slept but fifty yards away.

Henry did not awaken while the night lasted. He had reached the limit of
endurance, and every nerve and muscle in him cried aloud for rest.
Moreover, his freedom from apprehension conduced to quick and sound
slumber, and it was long after daylight when his eyes opened and he
stretched himself. He remembered at once where he was, and he felt a
great sense of comfort. It was very warm and pleasant on the buffalo
robe, with his blanket wrapped about his body, and sitting up he looked
out through a narrow crevice between the poles.

He saw a cold morning, with a skim of snow on the ground, already
melting fast before the sun, and destined to be gone in a half hour,
fires that had been built anew until they burned brightly, and squaws
cooking before them, while warriors, with blankets drawn about their
shoulders, sat near and ate. Children ran about, also eating or doing
errands. It was a homely wilderness scene, and Henry knew at once that
these people had nothing to do with the great hunt for him that was
being conducted by Red Eagle and Yellow Panther, though they would seize
him quickly enough if they knew of his presence.

They were neither Miamis nor Shawnees, nor any other tribe he knew. They
might be a detached fragment of some northwestern tribe with which he
had never come in contact, or they might be a tiny tribe in themselves.
In the vast American wilderness old tribes were continually
perishing, and new tribes were continually being formed from the pieces
of the old. The people of this village seemed to Henry a fine Indian
race, much like the great warrior nation, the Wyandots. The men were
well built and powerful, and the women were taller than usual.

[Illustration: "Red Eagle rose to address his hosts"]

He saw that it was a village of plenty. It was usually a feast or a
famine with the Indians, but now it was unquestionably a period of
feast. The squaws were broiling buffalo, deer, wild turkey, smaller game
and fish over the coals. They were also cooking corn cakes, and Henry
looked at these hungrily. It had been many days since he had eaten
bread, and, craving it with a fierce craving, he resolved to pilfer some
of the cakes if a chance offered.

The odors, so pleasant in his nostrils and yet so tantalizing, reminded
him that he had with him the haunch of venison, of which a large portion
was yet left. He ate, but it was cold. There was no water to drink with
it, and he was not satisfied. His resolve to become an uninvited guest
at their table, as well as under their roof, grew stronger.

Yet he liked these Indians and he became convinced that they were in
truth a little tribe of their own or a fragment split off from a larger
tribe, buried here in the woods, to be the germ of bigger things. He was
seeing them at their best, leading, amid abundance, the life to which
they had been born and which they loved. All, men, women and children,
ate until they could eat no more. Then they idled about, the sun
driving away the last of the snow and warming earth and air again. In a
cleared space the half-grown boys began to play ball with the
earnestness and vigor the Indians always showed in the game. The men,
full and content, sat on their blankets and looked on. Thus the morning
passed.

In the hours before noon Henry did not chafe. He rather enjoyed the
rest; but in the latter half of the day he grew impatient. He longed to
be up and away again, but there would be no chance to leave until night,
and he forced himself to lie still. He yet had no fear that any one
would come into the council room. Such chambers were little used, unless
the occasion was one of state.

The afternoon was warm. The cold and light snow of the night before had
been premature, and the vanguard of autumn returned to its normal state.
While many leaves had fallen, more remained, and the colors were deeper
and more vivid than ever. The whole forest burned with red fire. Through
a narrow opening among the trees Henry saw a small field, full of
ripened maize, with yellow pumpkins between the stalks. The sight made
him hungrier than ever for bread.

About the middle of the afternoon, the warriors who were lying on their
blankets rose suddenly and stood in an attitude of attention. They
seemed to be listening, rather than looking, and Henry strained his ears
also. He heard what appeared to be an echo, and then one of the warriors
in the village replied with a long, thrilling whoop that penetrated far
through the forest.

He divined at once that the pursuit was at hand, not because the
warriors had been led there by his trail, which in truth was invisible
now, but because some portion of the net they had spread out must in
time reach the village.

The whole population gathered in the cleared space where the fires had
burned and looked toward the southern forest. Henry, from his crack
between the poles, saw ripples of interest running among them, the
warriors exchanging sober comment with one another, the women and
children not hesitating to talk and chatter as in a white village when
visitors of interest were approaching. It was on the whole a bright and
animated picture, and he did not feel any hostility to a soul in that
lost little town in the wilderness.

Another cry came in five minutes from the forest, and now it was clear
and piercing. A warrior in the village replied, and then they all
waited, a vivid, eager crowd, to see who came. The whole space was
within visible range of Henry's crevice, and he watched with equal
interest.

A tall figure emerged from the forest, the figure of an elderly man,
powerful despite his years, and with a face of authority. It was Red
Eagle, head chief of the Shawnees, and behind him came the renegades,
Wyatt and Blackstaffe, and twenty warriors. Despite their haughty
bearing they showed signs of weariness.

The chief of the village stepped forward and gravely saluted Red Eagle,
who replied with equal gravity. They exchanged a few words, and with a
wave of the arms the chief made them welcome. The fires were built anew,
and, the guests sitting about them, smoked with their hosts a pipe of
peace which was passed from one to another. Then food was brought and
Red Eagle, his warriors and the renegades ate.

Henry would have given much to hear what they said, but he knew they
would not speak of their errand for a while. Some time must be allowed
for courtesy and for talk that had nothing to do with their purpose.
Nevertheless he saw that Red Eagle and all his band were worn to the
bone, and he was glad. He had led them on such a chase as they had never
pursued before, and he would lead them yet farther. He could afford to
laugh.

The guests ate hungrily and the women continued to serve food to them
until they were satisfied. Then all except the adult male population of
the village withdrew, and Red Eagle rose to address his hosts.




CHAPTER XI

THE GREATER POWERS


When the Shawnee chief rose to talk he stood at one side of the open
space, scarcely twenty feet from the corner of the council house in
which Henry lay hidden, and as he said what he had to say in the usual
oratorical manner of the Indians upon such occasions, the youth easily
heard every word.

Red Eagle spoke in Shawnee, which Henry surmised was a kindred language
to that of the village, and which it was obvious they easily understood.
He told them a startling tale. He said that far in the south five white
scouts and foresters, two of whom were only boys in years, although one
of the boys was the largest and strongest of the five, had kept the
Indians from destroying the white settlements in Kain-tuck-ee. By trick
and device, by wile and stratagem, they had turned back many an attack.
It was not their numbers, but the cunning they used and the evil spirits
they summoned to their aid that made them so powerful and dangerous.
Until the five were removed the Indians could not roam their ancient
hunting grounds in content.

So the Shawnees, the Miamis, the Wyandots, the Delawares and the kindred
tribes had organized to pursue the five to the death. They had struck
the trail of one, the youth who was the largest, the strongest and the
most formidable of them all, and they had never ceased to follow it.
Twice they had drawn around him a ring through which it seemed possible
for nothing human to break, but on each occasion he had called to the
evil spirits, his friends, and they had answered him with such effect
that he had vanished like a bird at night.

Murmurs of wonder came from the listening crowd. Truly, the young white
warrior was of marvelous prowess, and it would not be well for one of
them alone to meet him, when he not only had his formidable weapons, but
could summon to his help spirits yet more dreadful. They cast
apprehensive glances at the deep woods into which he had fled.

Red Eagle was an impressive orator, and the forest setting was
admirable. The great Shawnee chief stood full six feet in height, his
brow was broad and his eyes clear and sparkling. He made but few
gestures, and he spoke in a full voice that carried far. Before him were
the people of the village, and behind him was the great forest, blazing
in autumn red. The renegades, Blackstaffe and Wyatt, stood near, each
leaning against a tree trunk, following closely all that Red Eagle said.
They, too, wished the destruction of the great youth, but their enmity
to him was baser than that of the Indians, since it was an innate
jealousy and hatred, and not a hostility based upon difference of race
and interest.

When Henry looked at the renegades the desire to laugh was strong again.
What rage they would feel if they ever came to know that when Red Eagle
was making his address with his veteran warriors around him, the
fugitive, for whose capture or death a red army had striven in vain for
days, lay at his ease within fifty or sixty feet of them, a buffalo robe
of the Indians' themselves, his bed, and one of their own houses his
shelter!

Red Eagle continued, in his round, full voice, telling them he had
tracked the fugitive northward, his warriors picking up the trail again,
and that he must have passed near their village. He wished to know if
they had seen any trace of him, and he asked their help in the hunt. A
middle-aged man, evidently the head of the village, replied with equal
dignity, but in a dialect that Henry could not understand. Still, he
assumed that it was a full assent, as, a few minutes after he had
finished, ten warriors of the village, taking their weapons, went into
the forest, and Henry knew that they were looking for him or his trail.
But Red Eagle, his warriors and the renegades remained by the fire,
still resting, because they were weary, very weary, no fugitive before
ever having led them such a troublesome chase.

Red Eagle, the Shawnee chief, was a statesman as well as a warrior.
While it was true that young Ware was helped by evil spirits, he felt
that the pursuit must be maintained nevertheless. Ware was the great
champion of the white people, who far to the south were cutting down
the forest and building houses. He had acquired a wonderful name. His
own deeds were marvelous, but superstition had added to the terror that
he carried among the Indians. He must be removed. The necessity for it
grew greater and more pressing every day. All the Indian power must be
turned upon him, and when the task was achieved they could deal with his
four comrades. He had talked over the problem with Yellow Panther, first
chief of the Miamis, a man full of years, wise in council and great on
the war path, and he had agreed with him fully that the pursuit must be
maintained, even if it went to the Great Lakes, or those other great
lakes in the far misty Canadian region beyond.

Now, Red Eagle, as he rested by the fire and received the hospitality of
the tiny tribe in the wilderness, was very thoughtful. Intellect as well
as prowess had made him a great chief; like the one whom he pursued, he
loved the forest, and when he looked upon it now, in all its glowing
colors of autumn, the glossy browns, the blazing reds and the soft
yellows, he was not willing for a single one of its trees to be cut
down. And while he meant to carry the pursuit to the very rim of the
world he knew, if need be, he did not withhold admiration and a certain
liking for the fugitive.

Red Eagle glanced at the renegades, who had sat down now before the fire
and who were in a half doze. Although they were useful to the Indians,
who valued them for many reasons, he felt a strong aversion toward them
at that moment. He knew that if Ware were taken they would clamor at
once for his life. None would be more eager for the torture than they,
but Red Eagle had another plan in his mind. The principle of adoption
was strong among the Indians. Captives were often received into the
tribes, and Ware, with death as the alternative, might become a splendid
young adopted son for him and, in time, the greatest chief of the
Shawnees. He would not come as a renegade, like Blackstaffe and Wyatt,
but as a valiant prisoner taken fairly in battle, to whom was left no
other choice.

It was to the credit of Red Eagle's heart and brain, as he sat deeply
pondering, that he evolved such a plan, but he made one mistake. High as
he estimated the mental and physical powers of the fugitive to be, he
did not estimate them high enough. Few would have had the strength of
will that Henry displayed then to lie quiet in the council house while
his enemies were all about him and the warriors were searching the
forest around for his trail. It was fortunate, in truth, that the snow
had come and passed, hiding any possible traces he might have left.

His conviction that he was safe, for the present at least, remained. He
knew there was no occasion for the chiefs to enter the sacred building
in which he lay, and the others would not dare to do so. Nothing
troubled him at present but thirst. His throat and mouth were dry and
craved water, as one in the desert, but he knew that he must endure.

Late in the day, the warriors of the village who had gone out to look
for his trail began to return, and when they had made their reports,
Henry knew by the disappointment evident on the faces of Red Eagle and
the renegades, that they had found nothing. He saw the Shawnee chief
give orders to his own men, half of whom plunged into the forest to the
northward and disappeared. They reckoned that he had gone on, and,
spreading out in the usual fan fashion, would continue the pursuit. But
it seemed that Red Eagle, with the remainder of his immediate force and
the renegades, intended to pass the night in the village.

A supper of great abundance and variety was served to the Shawnee chief
and his men, and, when he saw the pure fresh drinking water brought to
them, Henry raged inwardly. They had not taken him yet, but already he
was being put to the torture. It was bitter irony that he should suffer
so much for water when the forest contained countless streams and pools.
He shut his teeth tight together and waited for the coming of the night,
now not far away. The lack of water would drive him out of the council
house, and in the dark he must seize anything that looked like an
opportunity.

He hoped for the clouds again and another veil of snow, however thin,
but his hopes were not fulfilled. When the slow dusk came, he lifted the
buffalo curtain and emerged from his corner, feeling an intense relief,
despite the shooting pain, because he could stand up again. Then he
stretched and rubbed himself until all the soreness was gone from his
muscles, and, standing there, tried to think of a way to escape.

His eyes, used to the dark of the room, fell upon a great headdress of
twisted buffalo horns, profusely decorated with feathers. A long coat of
buffalo skin adorned with feathers and porcupine quills in strange
designs lay beside it upon the poles. He had seen many such equipments.
It was a sort of regalia worn by Indian dancers, and now and then by
great chiefs upon solemn occasions.

He looked at it, idly at first, and then with growing interest, as an
idea was born in his brain. The dress must be almost sacred in
character, or it would not be left here in the council house, and kind
fortune had certainly put it on the poles for his particular use. Once
more he was thoroughly convinced that he was watched over by the greater
powers, not because of any especial merit of his, but for reasons of
their own, and he clothed himself in the headdress and the strange,
variegated robe that fell to his ankles. Then even Shif'less Sol would
have had to take a third look to know him.

Henry's heart beat high and fast. He was thoroughly convinced that he
had found a way. He had now only to use that rarest and greatest of
qualities, patience, and, by a supreme exertion of the will, he managed
to wait until it was far into the night.

Red Eagle had gone into one of the log cabins, and was probably asleep.
Henry, from the crack, was not able to see what had become of the
renegades, but he surmised that they, too, were sleeping somewhere. Two
of the fires still burned in the open, but nobody watched beside them,
and he judged that the time was ripe for the trial.

He gave a final touch to the headdress and the buffalo robe. He would
have been glad to have seen himself in a glass, but he was sure,
nevertheless, that he looked his part of a great medicine man, a
reincarnation of some ancient chief who had come back to spend a while
within the sacred precincts of the council house. His rifle he managed
to hide beneath the great painted coat, at the same time holding it
convenient for his use, and, lifting the curtain of buffalo robe, he
stepped out.

It was neither a dark nor a fair night, but much fleecy vapor was
floating between earth and sky, imparting to the village and the forest
a misty, unreal effect which was suited admirably to Henry's purpose,
enlarging his figure and giving to it a fantastic and weird effect.
Knowing it, and having the utmost confidence in himself, he chose a path
directly through the center of the open, walking slowly, but taking
strides of great length and stepping from tiptoe to tiptoe.

Two Indian sentinels, a Shawnee and a native of the village, were dozing
by the wall of one of the log cabins, when they heard the step in the
open. They lifted heavy eyelids and beheld a gigantic figure, attired in
a garb that ordinary mortals do not wear, stalking toward the forest,
caring nothing for the sentinels, the village or anything else. They
were in the midway region between sleeping and waking, when images are
printed upon the brain in confused or exaggerated shapes, and the
mysterious visitor, who was even then taking his departure, seemed to
them at least fifteen feet high, while, from under the headdress of
twisted buffalo horns, two great eyes, hot and blazing like coals,
stared at them. This terrifying figure, as they gazed upon it, raised a
huge hand full of menace and shook it at them. They gave a yell of
terror and darted into the forest.

Red Eagle, sleeping the sleep of the just and tired, heard the shout of
alarm, and it impinged so heavily upon his unconscious brain that he was
shocked at once into an awakening. He leaped to his feet and ran out of
the cabin, just in time to meet the head chief of the village coming out
of another one. The two stared at each other, and then they saw the
great figure, in its mystic apparel, just where forest and open met.
Each uttered a gasp, and, before they could gasp a second time, the
apparition was gone among the trees, vanishing from their stupefied gaze
like a wisp of smoke before the wind. Then Red Eagle and his host, great
and wise chiefs though they were, looked at each other again and
trembled.

Henry meanwhile was racing through the forest and toward the north,
always toward the north, and as he ran he shook with laughter. He had
seen the look of dismay on the faces of the Indians and he rejoiced. He
was sorry that he had not seen Braxton Wyatt and Blackstaffe too. Their
minds were less subject to superstition than those of the red men, but
no doubt in the first minute or two they were frightened also if they
saw him.

Yet he believed that the renegades would arouse the Indians and perhaps
would suspect that the terrific stranger, who had come and departed so
mysteriously, was none other than the fugitive himself. He did not care
if they did; in truth, he rather hoped they would. He could imagine
their mortification and disappointment, and since they had gone to dwell
with strangers and fight their own people, it was only a fraction of
what they deserved.

The great headdress of twisted buffalo horns was heavy and the big
painted buffalo coat flapped around him, but he would not discard them
yet. Stray warriors might be in the forest near the village, and, if so,
he wished to reserve for them his awful and threatening appearance. But
he could not stand them more than a mile. Then he threw the headdress
into a creek, hoping that it would float away with the current, but,
thinking he would have further use for it, he kept the painted coat.
Then he crossed the creek and resumed his northward flight at great
speed.

He did not stop until dawn, when he felt that he was safe, for a day at
least, from pursuit. He had brought with him what was left of the deer
meat, and, sitting down by the bank of a small brook, he ate, drinking
afterward of the clear stream and giving thanks. He had been saved again
in a miraculous manner. When skill and strength themselves would have
been of no avail, fortune had put the council house and the ceremonial
robes in his way. He could not doubt that the greater powers were
working in his behalf, and he felt all the elation that comes from the
assurance of continued victory.

But it was a bleak dawn. A cold sun was rising in a cold, blue sky.
There was no snow now, but the dry grass was white with frost, and
whenever the wind stirred a little, the dead leaves fell with a dry
rustle. He retreated deeper into the thicket, and he was glad that he
had kept the great painted coat, as he wrapped himself in it from head
to foot and lay down between two fallen logs, with the dense bushes over
his head.

He must find another interval of rest and sleep, and feeling that his
best chance lay here, he drew the coat very close. It kept him
thoroughly warm, and, as soon as his nerves settled into their normal
condition, he slept.

He awoke before noon, and the morning was still frosty and cold. Yet the
wilderness was more beautiful than ever. The frost had merely deepened
its colors. While many dead leaves had fallen, myriads remained, and
they had taken on more intense and glowing tints. The air had all the
purity and tonic of an American autumn. The light winds were the breath
of life itself.

He ate the last of the deer, and then he found bunches of wild grapes,
small and bitter sweet, but refreshing. Later in the day he must secure
game, though he still felt averse to shooting anything, since the
creatures of the forest had saved him more than once. But in the end it
would come to it.

It was a rolling country, and, walking to the crest of the highest
ridge, he examined it in all directions. He saw only the great forest in
its reds and yellows and browns, and he was alone in it, its uncrowned
king, if he chose to call himself so.

Although the country was new to him, Henry believed that he was about
two hundred and fifty miles north of the Ohio and in the region
inhabited by the warlike northwestern tribes. Several of their great
villages must lie not very far to the east of him, and he smiled at the
thought that he was leading the pursuit back to the homes of the
pursuers. He wondered what his comrades were doing, but he believed that
they would remain in the swamp, or near it, until he came back.

Not knowing what else to do, he moved northward again, and presently
heard a low, monotonous sound, which after a little listening he decided
to be Indian squaws chanting. Further listening convinced him that there
were only two voices, and he approached cautiously among the trees.

Two Indian women, one quite young and the other quite old, were cooking
by the side of a small brook, in which they had evidently been washing
deerskin clothing earlier in the day, as it now lay drying on the bank.
Probably they were the wife and mother of some warrior preparing for his
return from the hunt. Henry took little interest in the deerskins they
had washed, but his attention was concentrated quickly upon their
cooking.

They were broiling a fat, juicy wild turkey. He had an especially tender
tooth for wild turkey, particularly when it was young and fat. It, more
than anything else, was his staff of life, and now he set covetous eyes
upon the one that was broiling over the coals. He did not like to rob
women, but it must be done, and he bethought himself of his painted
coat. Pulling it high over his head, concealing his rifle under it and
uttering a tremendous woof, he stalked into the open in which the fire
was burning.

The two Indian women, when they beheld the apparition, uttered
simultaneous screams and fled into the forest, while the hungry young
robber, lifting their turkey from the fire, where it was already well
broiled, disappeared among the trees in the opposite direction, happy to
have secured his rations through the aid of fright only and without
violence. He knew, however, that he could not afford to satisfy his
hunger just then. Warriors, and perhaps a village, could not be far
away, and the men, divining that the fright of the women was caused by a
human being, would soon come in pursuit. So he went at least two or
three miles before he sat down and ate a substantial dinner, reserving
the remainder for future use. Truly the wild turkey was his best friend.

That night he lay again in the forest, and he was devoutly glad that he
had saved the painted robe. The climate of the great valley is fickle,
and it rapidly turned colder again. Raw winds whistled through the
woods, and he had difficulty in finding a sheltered place where, even
with the aid of the robe, he could keep warm. He selected at last a tiny
glen, well grown with tall bushes on every side, heaped up parallel rows
of dead leaves, and then, lying down between them, wrapped in the robe,
fell asleep.

When he awoke his face felt cold, and opening his eyes, he found that it
had good reason to be so. It was covered with snow, and upon the robe
itself the snow lay deep. The whole forest was white, and, as he stood
up, he heard branches cracking beneath the weight that had gathered on
them in the night. It had come down in thick and great flakes, but so
softly that it had failed to awaken him.

Henry, despite his courage and strength, was alarmed. It is one thing
even for the best trained to live in the forest in summer, but quite
another in winter. Nor was the aspect of the sky encouraging. It was
somber with clouds, and, even as he looked at it, the snow began to fall
again. It was not an ordinary snow, but the clouds just ripped their
bottoms out and let their entire burden fall at once. A huge white
cataract seemed to fill the whole air, and Henry's alarm deepened into
dismay. The snow would soon be six inches deep, then a foot, and what
was he to do?

He was thankful once more for the painted robe, and also for the wild
turkey that he had pilfered, and knowing that he must keep warm, he
started on a dreary walk toward the north. The snow was pouring so hard
that he could scarcely see, but he heard a sound to his right, and
presently he was able to discern an immense stag floundering in some
undergrowth in which its hoofs seemed to be caught.

Henry could easily have shot the deer and it would have furnished an
unlimited supply of food, at a time when he might be snowed up for days.
He always believed afterward, too, that the deer expected to be killed,
as it ceased its struggles and looked at him with great, pathetic eyes.
It was a magnificent stag, the largest he had ever seen, but he had no
heart to shoot. His own eyes met the appealing gaze from those of the
king of the woods and he felt sorry. Nothing could have induced him to
shoot. He sincerely hoped that the stag would pull free, and as the
thought came to him the wish was fulfilled.

The left forefoot, which was entangled, suddenly came loose and unhurt.
Never did Henry see a transformation more rapid and complete. The stag,
before pathetic and depressed, a beaten beast, expanded in the twinkling
of an eye into a mighty monarch of the forest. He stood erect, threw
back his great head in a gesture of triumph, looked once more at the
human being whom nature had taught him instinctively to dread, but who
had not harmed him when he was at his mercy, then stalked away, until he
was lost behind the white veil of the snowy fall.

Henry felt gladness. He was glad that he had not shot, and he was glad
that the stag had released his foot, or otherwise he would have perished
under the teeth of wolves. Then he addressed himself to his own peril,
which was great and increasing. He hunted the deepest portions of the
woods, but the snow sought him there. He stood under the trees of the
thickest boughs, but the white fall gradually poured through, heaping
upon his head, his shoulders and the folds of his robe. He would brush
it off and move on to another place, merely to find it gathering again,
and, by and by, his great muscles began to feel weariness. He plodded
for hours in the deepening snow, seeking a refuge from this persistent
and deadly fall, but finding none. A sort of despair, almost unknown to
him, oppressed him for a little while. He had fought off innumerable
attacks of warlike and powerful savages, he had triumphed over hardships
and dangers the very name of which would make the ordinary man shudder,
and here he was about to be conquered by a mere shift of the wind that
brought snow.

He could have shouted aloud in anger, but instead he summoned all his
courage and strength anew and continued his hunt for a refuge.




CHAPTER XII

THE STAG'S COMING


The snow, famous in the annals of the tribes as one of the greatest that
ever fell so early in the autumn, continued to pour down. Where Henry
had sunk to his ankles, he now sank almost to his knees, and the
wilderness stretched away, without offering the shelter of any covert or
rocky hollow. His exertions made him very warm, but he was too wise to
take off the painted coat, lest he cool too fast. To fall ill in the
snowy forest, hunted by savages, was a thought to make the boldest
shudder, and he took no chances.

He fought the storm for hours. Rightly it could be called no storm, as
it was merely the placid fall of snow in huge quantities, but in the
long run it contained more elements of danger than a hurricane. Night
came and he was still struggling among the drifts, not walking now with
firm, straight steps, but staggering. Nearly all of his tremendous
strength was gone, exhausted, fighting against the impassive snowy
depths that always held him back. Once or twice he fell, but his will
brought him to his feet again, and he went on, his mind now directing
wholly the almost inert mass that was his body.

Twilight came, adding a new gloom to the somber heavens. All the animals
themselves seemed to have gone, and he strove alone for life amid the
vast desolation. Then he recalled his courage once more. On this great
expedition, when he was offering himself as a sacrifice for his people,
the miracles were always happening. At the last moment, when it did not
seem possible for him to be saved, he had always been saved, and surely
the miracle would occur once more!

He came to a huge tree, blown down by the wind, but yet projecting above
the snow, and sitting down on the trunk he leaned against an upthrust
root. He closed his eyes, for a moment or two, and the desire to keep
them shut, and sink into happy forgetfulness, was almost more than he
could resist. He made a gigantic effort and pulled himself back to full
consciousness, knowing that the easiest way, which in this case was the
way of yielding, would be the fatal way. Drawing up the last ounces of
his strength he staggered on, remembering to keep his rifle protected by
the painted coat, and clinging also to the turkey.

He looked up at the heavens, but they gave no promise. They were without
a break in the massed clouds, and the snow poured down in an unceasing
white fall. The range of vision was so short that he could not tell the
character of country into which he was coming, and, presently, he struck
marshy ground, into which his moccasined feet sank deep, coming forth
wet and cold. It was a new danger, and he stamped his feet hard and
walked faster in an endeavor to keep the circulation going and to keep
them from freezing. It was a peril that he had not foreseen, and it
would, in truth, be the very irony of fate if, after so many miracles
had intervened to save him from pressing dangers, he should perish in a
premature snow storm.

Usually, one could find shelter of a sort in the wilderness. The forest
of the great valley had become in the course of ages so dense with
thickets and matted tangles of fallen trees that one did not have to go
far before coming to a lair into which he could creep. But now
everything of the kind evaded Henry. His eyes, almost blinded by the
snow, saw only the straight trunks of trees, and open ground that
offered no protection at all. Moreover, the chill from his wet feet, in
spite of all his efforts, was extending and he shivered.

But he would not despair. He might have had such moments, but they were
moments only, and he fought on, as those, whose souls are made of
courage, fight. Yet the wilderness became gloomier, more desolate and
more menacing than ever. The fall of snow was less heavy, but a bitter
wind rose and it came with an alternate shriek and moan. The air grew
colder and the chill of the wind struck into Henry's bones. Nevertheless
he struggled on in the darkening night, going he knew not where, nor to
what.

Courage and will can triumph over most things, but not over all things.
There comes a time when hour, place and circumstances seem to combine
against the individual, and such an hour had come for Henry. He searched
everywhere for some place in which he could lie until the storm had
passed, but it was always nothing, nothing, just the open forest, and
the driving wind, and the creeping chill which was steadily going into
all his bones.

At last, scarcely able to raise a foot, he sank down on a fallen log and
stared into the gloomy woods which gave back not a single ray of hope.
Again he felt the dreamy desire to sink into rest and complete oblivion,
and again he fought it off, knowing that it was the way of death. Then
he looked up at the somber skies, and prayed for one more miracle.

Henry, despite his wild, rough life, had much reverence in his nature.
The wilderness, too, with its varied manifestations, encouraged the
belief in a supreme power, just as it had given birth among the Indians
to a natural religion closely akin to the revealed religion of the white
man. Now, he was hopeful that in the extreme moment help would be sent
to him, and that the last of the miracles had not yet been performed.
Closing his eyes he said his prayer over and over again to himself, and
then opening them he stared as before at the desolate forest, empty of
everything living save his own presence.

But was it empty? Straight ahead of him he seemed to see an outline
through the falling snow, like a dim and dusky figure behind a veil. He
rose, new strength flowing into his veins, and took a step or two
forward, fearful that he had been deceived by one of the fancies or
visions, supposed to float before the eyes of the dying. Then he saw.
The dim outlines on the other side of the snowy veil grew clearer and he
traced the figure of a stag, larger than any other stag that had ever
trod the earth, gigantic and majestic.

The stag, too, was staring at him, and he knew it to be the same that he
had seen earlier in the day, though it had grown wonderfully in size
since then. It showed not the slightest trace of fear, but, instead, the
great luminous eyes seemed to him to express pity.

A thrill of superstitious awe ran through him. But it was awe, not fear.
The stag, gigantic and almost a phantom, did not threaten. It pitied,
and as Henry gazed at it with the fascinated eyes of one in a dream or
in an illusion so deep that it was a twin brother to reality, the deer
turned and walked slowly among the trees. Twenty paces, and, stopping an
instant, it looked back. The human figure was following and the deer
walked on, its stride measured and magnificent.

Henry did not doubt that his prayers had been answered, and that another
miracle had been ordered for his salvation. He became transformed as if
by magic. His head, which had been so heavy that it sagged upon his
shoulders, grew singularly light. The blood, stagnant before, leaped in
his veins like quicksilver, and his steps were straight and firm. The
size of the deer did not decrease for him. It loomed immense and
powerful through the driving snow, and, as it led steadily on, never
looking back now, he followed with equal steadiness.

The stag turned once, going sharply to the right, and, in a few more
minutes, the ground grew quite rough. Then he saw through the veil of
the snow high hills rising on either side, but the stag led into a deep
and narrow valley between them. As they advanced, it narrowed yet
further, and the trees and bushes on the crests above them were so dense
that the snow was not deep there, and the bitter wind was cut off
entirely. Either hope and confidence or some measure of returning warmth
drove the chill from Henry's bones, as he forgot the wet and cold and
pressed forward eagerly when the stag increased his pace.

Henry's mental state became one of exaltation. He did not know to what
he was going, but he knew that life lay at the end of the stag's trail,
and he was willing to follow as long as need be. Nor did he ever know
how long he followed, but he did notice that the cleft was growing
deeper and narrower. After an unknown time he emerged into a tiny valley
that was more like a well, it was set so deep in the hills and its
slopes were so steep, the cliffs in truth overhanging on two sides.

He uttered a cry of joy. This was to be his refuge, and here he would be
saved. Stretches of ground under the hanging cliffs were bare of snow,
and heaped high with dead leaves. Dead wood lay all about. The bitter
wind, with its alternate shriek and whistle, swept overhead, but it did
not touch the floor of the well. The air was still and it did not bite.

The stag turned and looked back for the second and last time, and
Henry, either in reality or in an illusion so deep that it was as vivid
as reality, saw an expression of kinship in the great luminous eyes.
Once more, for him at least, the old golden age when men and animals
were friends had come back to endure an hour or two. Then, lifting its
head very high and seeming taller and more majestic than ever, it passed
out of the valley at a narrow opening on the other side.

Henry, shaking himself violently to bring back his wandering faculties,
concentrated them upon his present needs, which were still urgent.
Crouching in the best shelter that the hanging cliff furnished, he
rapidly whittled shavings from the dead wood, until he had formed a heap
close to the stony wall. Then, with the flint and steel that every
hunter carried and laboring desperately, he managed to extract from the
flint enough sparks to set fire to the shavings, hanging over the tiny
blaze and shielding it with his body lest it go out and leave him alone
in the cold and the dark.

The flame persisted and grew, reached out, and bit into more shavings,
and then into larger pieces of dead wood that Henry presented to its
teeth. Dead leaves helped it along, and he fed to it larger and larger
sticks, until he had a splendid leaping fire, the very finest fire that
was ever built in this world, a fire that sent up many high flames, red
in the center and yellow at the edges, a fire that made great, glowing
coals in beds, capable of keeping their heat all night.

Then Henry knew that in very truth and fact he was saved. Let the wind
whistle and shriek above his head! He cared nothing for it. He took off
his wet leggings and moccasins, and dried them and his feet and legs
before the fire. The spirit of a youth returned to him. He tried to see
how near he could hold his flesh to those wonderful coals and flames
without burning it, and with the fire, which is a twin brother to life,
he felt life itself flowing anew into his body.

His vitality was so great that his strength seemed to return all at
once, and he built another fire as fine as the first, but a little
distance from it. Then he lay between the two, and was warmed on both
sides. Exposed to the double heat also, his moccasins and leggings soon
dried and he put them on again. His feeling was now one of extraordinary
comfort, and warming the turkey on the coals, he ate an abundant supper,
while he listened to the wind overhead and saw snow drop in the valley,
but not on him, where he lay well within the lee of the stone wall.

After resting awhile between the fires he began to gather wood, the
whole valley being littered with it. He did not know how long the storm
would hold him there, and he intended to have sufficient heat. He also
heaped up the wood into a species of rude wall, until no drop of snow
could blow into his cleft under the cliff, and then contemplated his
work with satisfaction. He could stay here as long as the storm lasted,
even for days, nor did he forget to give thanks once more for the
wonderful manner in which the stag had saved him. It was first the
buffaloes, then the bear and now the deer. What would it be next?

Henry let the two fires sink to glowing heaps of coals, and then,
warming thoroughly before them the great painted buffalo coat, he
retreated to the alcove behind his wooden wall and made his bed on the
leaves. He felt for all the world like a bear gone into its snug den for
the long winter sleep, and, as he drew the big coat about his body, he
looked lazily at the fires, which were so placed that the heat from them
warmed his corner despite the wooden barrier.

Then the usual relaxation, after a tremendous mental and physical
struggle came over him, and he began to feel the extraordinary luxury of
lying dry, warm, well fed and in safety. It was all the primitive man
desired, the best he ever received, and Henry, who had been put in their
position, rejoiced as one of those far, faraway men might have rejoiced,
when he, too, attained all his wishes.

The feeling of luxurious ease kept him in a dreamy state a long time.
Although he felt strong and active again, able to cope with any crisis,
he had really been very near the end for the time being to the
extraordinary powers with which nature had endowed him. Now, as his
great vitality flowed back and he knew that he was safe, it was just a
pleasure to lie still, to feel the warmth, and to see dreamily the glow
of the fires, in truth, to feel as his ancestors had felt in like
comfort forty thousand years ago.

Meanwhile the air turned a little warmer, just enough to admit a return
of the heavy snowfall and the big flakes began to pour down again. Some
of them, blown by the wind, fell on the sheltered fires, and hissed as
they melted. But Henry was not troubled. He knew they could not reach
him.

At the same time, but many miles to the south, a great force of Indian
warriors, led by the two wise and valiant chiefs, Red Eagle, the
Shawnee, and Yellow Panther, the Miami, was going into camp. Yellow
Panther had come up with a force also and they had struck again the
trail of the fugitive, but the coming of the storm had hidden it, of
course, and as the snow deepened they were compelled to abandon, until
the next day at least, all thought of catching Henry Ware, taking
instead measures for their own preservation. Among them were men who
knew the country, and they soon found a deep valley, in which they built
their fires and ate their venison.

Red Eagle and Yellow Panther sat with the renegades, Blackstaffe and
Wyatt, by one of the fires, and talked earnestly of the pursuit. The
chiefs did not like the white men who had gone with strangers to fight
against their own, but they respected their knowledge and tenacity. The
chase had been long and arduous, it had drawn off much strength from the
tribes, but they were in unanimous agreement that it should be
continued, no matter how long, until their object was achieved. The
great snow itself, deep and premature though it was, should not turn
them back.

Henry could not see this council through the miles of hills and driving
snow, but had his thoughts been turned in that direction he would have
made to himself a picture just like it, nor would he ever have doubted
for an instant that the chiefs and the renegades would pursue him as
long as pursuit was possible.

It was well into the night, when his eyes closed and the sleep that took
hold of him was far deeper than usual, carrying him into an oblivion
that lasted until far after the sun had risen over a world, still white
and misty with the falling snow.

He was surprised to see that the storm had not yet stopped, but he was
not alarmed. The two fires were still smouldering, and the dead wood
that he had heaped up was sufficient to last many days. It was true that
he had only the wild turkey for food, but he was sure, in time, to
discover other resources. He had seen the proof over and over again,
that, for the time at least, he was a favorite of the greater powers. He
was too modest to think it due to any particular merit of his own, but
it seemed to him that he had been chosen as an instrument, and, for that
reason, he was being preserved through every hardship and danger.

Secure in his belief, which was more than a belief, a conviction rather,
he began to make a home for himself in his tiny valley, which was not
more than fifty feet across, and above which the hills, steep like the
side of a house, rose three or four hundred feet. His first precaution
was to build the fires anew, not with a high flame, but with a slow
steady burning that would make great beds of coals, glowing with heat.
Then he examined the pass by which he had come, to find it choked with
seven or eight feet of snow, and he looked next at the one by which the
deer had gone, to discover that it was much like the first, leading a
distance that was yet indefinite to him, as he did not care to follow it
through the deep snow to its end.

Shaking the snow from the painted robe he came back to the covert and
waited with as much patience as he could summon. Now he missed greatly
his four comrades, and their talk. With them the time would have passed
easily, but since they were not there he must do the best he could
without them. The problem of food which he had resolutely pushed away,
forced itself back again. A big, powerful body such as his was like an
active engine. It required much fuel. There would be no food but animal
food, and he was in no mood for killing an animal now. But he could not
hide from himself the fact that it must be done, sooner or later.

On the second day he went through the pass by which the deer had gone,
beating down the snow under his feet, until it was hard enough to
sustain him, and, after about two miles of such difficult traveling,
came upon fairly level ground. Here, hunting about, he surprised several
rabbits in their deep nests, and killed them with blows of his rifle
muzzle.

The hunt took nearly all day, and, when he returned to the cove with his
game, night was coming. He was surprised to find how welcome the place
was to him and how much it looked like a home. There was his sheltered
alcove, with the wall of dead wood in front of it, and there were two
heaps of coals sending their friendly glow to him through the cold dusk.

It _was_ a home, and it was more. It was a refuge and a fortress. He had
been guided to it by the greater powers, and he should value it for all
it had afforded him, warmth, shelter and protection from his foes. He
was not one to be lacking in gratitude or appreciation, and he sent
admiring glances about his well, for it was more like a well than a
valley. Lonely it might be, but bodily comforts it offered in abundance
to such as Henry.

He cleaned the rabbits and hung them up in the alcove, knowing that
their bodies would freeze hard in the night, and thus would be
preserved, giving him with the wild turkey a supply of food sufficient
for two or three days.

He was awakened the second night by cries, faint but very fierce, and he
knew they were made by wolves howling. The ferocity, however, was not
for him, as during that singular period his feeling of kinship for the
animals extended even to the wolf. He knew that they howled because of
hunger. The deep snow was hard on the wolves, making it difficult to
find or pursue their prey, and they sent forth the angry lament because
they were famished.

Henry merely drew the painted robe more closely about his body, looked
contentedly at the glow from the two fine beds of coals, closed his eyes
once more and went to sleep. He did not look for wolves in his well,
although he heard them howling again the next night, the note plaintive
and fierce alike with the call of intense hunger. The fourth day, he
went out through the pass and killed more rabbits, adding them to his
store. He saw a deer floundering in the deep snow, but he would not
shoot it. The time might come when he would slay a deer, but he could
not do it that week.

Now he began to study the skies. He knew that the premature snow, deep
as it was, could not last long, and, likely enough, it would be followed
by heavy rain. Then the snow would certainly pour in a deluge down the
hillsides, and the water might rage in a torrent in the ravine. His well
would be flooded and he would have to take to flight, but it would be no
harder on pursued than on pursuers.

Two more days passed and the warm weather did not come. The snow ceased
to fall, but it lay gleaming and deep on the ground, and the sound of
boughs, cracking beneath its weight, was almost incessant. Indifferent
to the deep trail he left, he climbed again to the heights and ranged
over a considerable area. A second time, a floundering deer presented
itself to his rifle, and a second time he refused to fire. The deer
seemed to expect no danger, as it gazed at him with fearless eyes, and,
waving to it a friendly farewell, he passed on among the trees, every
one of which stood up an individual cone of white.

Then he heard the howl of wolves and traveling on to a valley beyond he
saw a pack running far ahead. Twenty they were, at least, and whether or
not they chased a deer he could not tell, but the fierce note of hunger
was in their voices, and whatever it was they pursued they followed it
fast.

Then he turned back toward his home, weary with walking through snow so
deep, too deep yet for his further flight northward, and the fires in
the covert seemed fairly to shine with welcome for him. That night he
broiled and ate an entire rabbit for supper, but felt that he must have
a more varied diet soon, if he was to preserve his strength. He looked
again for the clouds which were to bring the great rain, destroyer of
great snows, but the skies were clear, frosty and starry, and his eager
eyes did not find a single blur.

It was evident that he must use all his patience and keep on waiting. So
he set himself to the task of putting his body in the best possible
trim, until such time as he would have to subject it to severe tests. He
exercised himself daily and he always saw that his bed under the ledge
was dry and warm. He never permitted the fires to go out, and gradually,
as the snow about them melted from the heat, the ground there became
hard and dry.

He was still able to procure food without firing a shot, finding plenty
of rabbits in the deep snow on the hills, but he grew intensely weary of
such a diet, and he felt that if he had to linger much longer he would
kill a deer, although he had been saved by one. Every hour he scanned
the heavens looking for the clouds which he knew would come in time,
since the cold could not endure at such an early period in the autumn.

He had been in his retreat a week when he felt a light and soft touch on
his face, the breath of the west wind. It had almost a summer warmth,
and, then he knew that one of the great changes in temperature, to which
the valley is subject, was coming. Throughout the afternoon the wind
blew, and water began to trickle in the ravine. The sound of soft snow
sliding down the hill was almost constant in his ears. Toward dusk, the
clouds that he had expected came floating up from the horizon's rim, but
he did not believe rain would fall before the next day.

Nevertheless, he took precautions, building a rough floor of dead wood
in the alcove, and arranging to protect himself from the downpour which
he considered inevitable. He also put his stores in the place that would
remain safest and dryest, and lying down, high upon the dead wood, he
fell asleep. He was awakened in the night by a rushing sound. The great
rain that was to destroy the great snow had come, several hours earlier
than he had expected it, and it was a deluge.

The trickle in the ravine became a torrent, and he heard it roaring. The
floor of his little valley was soon covered with six inches of water and
he was devoutly glad that he had built his platform of dead wood, upon
which he could remain untouched by the flood, at least for the present.
That it would suffice permanently he was not sure, as the rain was
coming down at a prodigious rate, and there was no sign that it would
decrease in violence.

He did not sleep any more that night, but sat up, watching and
listening. It was pitchy dark, but he heard the roar of distant and new
streams, and the sliding avalanches of sodden snow. He felt an awe of
the elements, but he was not lonely now, nor was he afraid. That which
he wished was coming, though with more violence and suddenness than he
liked, but one must take the gifts of the gods, as they gave them, and
not complain.

Dawn arrived, thick with vapors and mists, and dark with the pouring
rain. From his place under the cliff he could not see far, but he knew
that the snow was dissolving in floods. The six inches of water in his
valley grew to a foot, and he began to be apprehensive lest the whole
place be deluged to such an extent that he be driven out, a fear that
was soon confirmed, as he saw two or three hours after dawn that he must
go.

It would be impossible to keep the lower half of his body dry, but he
was thankful once more for the great painted coat, under which he was
able to secure his rifle and powder against rain. He also fastened in
his belt two of the rabbits that he had cooked, and then with the rest
of his baggage in a pack, he made his start.

He was forced to wade in chilly water almost to his knees, and it was
impossible to leave the valley by either end of the ravine, as it was
filled with a roaring flood many feet deep; but with the aid of bushes
and stony outcrop he climbed the lofty slope, a slow and painful task
attended by danger, as now and then a bush would pull out with his
weight. But, at last, his hands torn, and his face running with
perspiration, he attained the summit, where he turned his face once more
toward the north.

He decided that he would keep to the ridges as the snow would leave them
first, and he could also find some protection in the dense, scrubby
growth that covered them.

He never passed a more trying day. The actual danger of Indian presence
even would have been a relief. The rain beat in an unceasing deluge, and
he was hard put to it to keep his rifle and ammunition dry. The sliding
snow made his foothold so treacherous that he was compelled to keep
among the wet and flapping bushes, where he could grasp support on an
instant's notice.

At noon, though there was no sun to tell him that it had come, he
stopped in a dense thicket and ate one of the rabbits, reflecting rather
grimly that though he had been anxious for the rain to come it was
making him thoroughly uncomfortable. Yet even these clouds covering all
the heavens had at least one strip of silver lining. The harder and more
persistently the rain fell the quicker the snow would be gone, and once
more the wilderness would be fit for travel and habitation.

When he had eaten the rabbit, although he longed for some other kind of
food, he felt better. He had at least furnished fuel for the engine,
and, bending his head to the storm, he left the thicket and continued
his journey, a journey the end of which he could not foresee, as he
never doubted for an instant that the Indian host was still pursuing. He
left no trail, of course, in such a storm, but the rain could not last
forever, and, when it ceased, some warrior would be sure to pick it up
again.

When night came he was thoroughly soaked, save for his precious
ammunition, around which he had wrapped his blanket also. Most of the
snow was gone, but pools stood in every depression, and turbid streams
raced in every gully and ravine. Where he had trodden in snow before he
now trod in mud, and every bone in him ached with weariness. Many a man,
making no further effort, would have lain down and died, but it was not
the spirit of Henry. He continually sought shelter and far in the night
crowded himself into the hollow of a huge decayed tree. He was compelled
to stand in a leaning position, but with the aid of the buffalo coat he
managed to protect himself from further inroads of the rain, and by and
by he actually fell asleep.

The sun was high when he awoke, and he was very stiff and sore from the
awkward manner in which his body had been placed, but the rain had
stopped and for that he was devoutly thankful, although the earth was
sodden from the vast amount of water that had fallen.

It took him three hours to light a fire, so difficult was it to procure
dry shavings, but, in the end, the task was achieved and it was a
glorious triumph. Once more fire was king and he basked in it, drying
his body and his wet clothing thoroughly, and lingering beside it all
the afternoon. But at night he put it out reluctantly, since the
warriors were sure to be abroad now, and he could not risk the light or
the smoke.

He slept under the bushes, but in the morning he saw in the south smoke
answering to smoke, and he did not doubt that it was detachments of the
Indian host signaling to one another. Perhaps they had come upon his
trail, and it was sure, if they had not done so, that they would soon
find it. Watching the signals a little while, he turned and fled once
more into the north.




CHAPTER XIII

THE LEAPING WOLF


Henry came presently into lower ground, where he judged the snowfall had
not been so great, as the amount of standing water was much less and the
streams were not so swollen. The air, too, was decidedly warmer, and
while the forest had been stripped of all its leaves, it did not look so
gloomy. A brilliant sun came out, flooded trees and bushes with light,
and gave to the earth an appearance of youth and vitality that it has so
often and so peculiarly in autumn, although that is the period of decay.
He felt its tonic thrill, and when he came to a clear creek he decided
that he would put himself in tune with the purity and clearness of the
world about him.

He had lain so long in his clothes that he felt he must have the touch
of clean water upon him, and, daring everything, he put his arms aside,
removed his clothing and plunged into the creek. It made him shiver and
gasp at first, but he kicked and dived and swam so hard that presently
warmth returned to his veins, and with it a wonderful increase of
spirits.

When he came out he washed his clothing as well as deerskin could be
washed, and, wrapped in the blanket and painted coat, ran up and down
the bank, or otherwise exercised himself vigorously, while it dried in
the bright sun. It was a matter of hours, but it pleased him to feel
that he was purified again and that he could carry out the purification
in the very face of Indian pursuit itself. When he put on his clothing
again he felt remade and reinvigorated in both body and mind, and,
resuming his weapons, he set out once more upon his northward way.

The day continued warm and most brilliant, as if atonement were being
made to him for the storms of snow and rain. He came to a stretch of
country in which it was obvious that very little snow, if any, had
fallen, as the trees were still thick with leaves in the deep colors of
autumn, and it was satisfying to the eye to look upon the red glow
again.

Late in the afternoon he saw five smokes in a half curve to the south,
and he knew well enough that they were made by his pursuers. They were
much nearer than those he had seen earlier in the day, but it was due to
the long delay made necessary by his swim and the drying of his clothes.
The rapid gain did not make him feel any particular apprehension. The
joy of the struggle came over him. He was matched against the whole
power of the Shawnee, Miami and kindred nations, and if they thought
they could catch him, well, let them keep on trying. They should bear in
mind, too, that the hunted sometimes would turn and rend the hunter.

In order to gain once more upon the pursuit and give himself a chance to
rest later on, he increased his speed greatly and also took precautions
to hide his trail, which was not difficult where there were so many
little streams. When he stopped about midnight he believed that he was
at least ten or twelve miles ahead of the nearest warriors, who must
have lost a great deal of time looking for his traces; and, secure in
the belief, he crept into a thicket, drew about him the blanket and the
buffalo robe, which were now sufficient, and slept soundly until he was
awakened by the howling of wolves. He was quite able to tell the
difference between the voices of real wolves and the imitation of the
Indians, and he knew that these were real.

He raised up a little and listened. The long, whining yelp came again
and again, and he was somewhat surprised. He concluded at last that the
wolves, driven hard by hunger, were hunting assiduously in large packs.
When mad for food they would attack man, but Henry anticipated no
danger. He felt himself too good a friend of the animals just then to be
molested by any of them, and he went back to sleep.

When he awoke again just before dawn he heard the wolves still howling,
but much nearer, and he thought it possible that they had been driven
ahead by the Indian forces. If so, it betokened a pursuit rather swifter
than he had expected, and, girding himself afresh, he fled once more
before the sun was fairly up.

It was the usual rolling country that lies immediately south of the
Great Lakes, forested heavily then and cut by innumerable streams, great
and small. The creeks and brooks were not swollen as much as those
farther south, and Henry judged from the fact that here also the
snowstorm had not passed. Nevertheless, he crossed many muddy reaches
and he was compelled to ford two or three creeks the water of which
reached to his knees. But his moccasins and leggings dried again as he
ran on, and he was not troubled greatly by the cold.

It was a country that should abound in game, but no deer started up from
his path, no wild turkeys gobbled among the boughs, and the little
prairies that he crossed were bare of buffaloes. He assumed at once that
it had been hunted over so thoroughly by the Indians that the surviving
game had moved on. When the warriors found a new hunting ground it would
come back and increase. He believed now that this accounted for the
howling of the wolves deprived of their food supply and perhaps not yet
finding where it had gone.

He maintained a rapid pace, and his wet leggings and moccasins dried
gradually. The morning was frosty and cold, but wonderfully brilliant
with sunlight, and here, where the forest had been free from snow, it
glowed in autumnal colors.

He came to a deep river, but fortunately it flowed toward the northeast,
the direction in which he was willing to go, and he was glad to find it,
as he kept in the woods near its bank, thus protecting his left flank
from any encircling movement. But a strong wind was blowing toward him
and he not only heard the howling of the wolves, but the faint cry of
the savages far behind them. It made him very thoughtful. Something
unusual was going forward, since the wolves themselves were taking part
in the pursuit or were pursued also. He could not understand it, but he
resolved to dismiss it from his mind until it disclosed its own meaning.

He kept near the river, seeing it occasionally through the forest on his
left, a fine sheet of clear water, over which wild ducks and wild geese
flew, although the woods through which he ran seemed to be absolutely
bare of game.

Then the river took a sudden curve farther east and he was compelled to
turn with it. On his first impulse the thought of swimming the stream
came to him, but he dismissed it, lest some swift warrior might come up
and open fire while he was in the water, in which case, being
practically helpless, he might become an easy victim. So he turned with
the stream and, keeping its bank close on his left, he fled eastward.
But he was fully aware that the change in the course of the river
brought to him a new and great danger. The right wing of the pursuing
host, traveling not much more than half the distance, would gain upon
him very fast. Anxious not to be entrapped in such a manner he ran now
at great speed for several miles, but was compelled then to slow down,
owing to the nature of the country, which was growing very marshy.

Evidently heavy rains had fallen in this region recently, as he came to
extensive flooded areas. It annoyed him, too, that the soft ground
compelled him to leave so plain a trail, as often for considerable
stretches he sank over his moccasins at every step. He walked on fallen
timber whenever he could find it, making a break now and then in his
trail, but he knew it would not delay the Indians long.

In order to save his breath and strength he was compelled to go yet
slower, and finally he sat on a log for a rest of five minutes. Then the
wind brought him a single Indian shout, not more than a quarter of a
mile away, and he knew its meaning. The warriors on the right flank,
coming up on a tangent of the curve, had seen his footsteps. They had
not run more than half the distance he had and so must be comparatively
fresh. His danger had increased greatly, but his command over himself
was so complete that, instead of resting five minutes, he rested ten. He
knew now that he would need all his strength, all the power of his
lungs, because the chase had closed in and for a while it would be a
test of speed. So he rested that every muscle might have its original
strength, and he was willing for the Indians to come almost within rifle
shot before he took to flight once more.

So strong was the command of his mind over his body that he saw two
warriors appear among the trees about four hundred yards away before he
rose. They saw him, too, and uttered the war whoop of triumph, but
Henry was refreshed and he ran so fast that they sank out of sight
behind him. Then he exulted, taunting them, not in words, but with his
thoughts. They could never capture him, and once more he said to himself
that he would keep on, even if his flight took him to the Great Lakes
and beyond.

But the swampy ground intervened again, and his progress of necessity
became slow. Then he heard the Indian yell once more, and he knew that
the difficult country was enabling them to close up the gap anew. The
wolves howled also, but more toward the south, a far, faint, ferocious
sound that traveled on the wind like an echo. He did not understand it,
and he had a premonition that something extraordinary was going to
happen. It was curious, uncanny, and the hair on the back of his neck
lifted a little.

He came through the swampy belt and to a considerable stretch of dry
ground, but he heard the Indian yell for a third time, and again not
more than a quarter of a mile away. The fact that this portion of the
band had not run that day more than half as far as he was telling, and
he recognized it. Perhaps the swamps had not been to his disadvantage,
because on the dry ground they could use their reserves of strength and
speed to much greater advantage.

Now he knew that his danger had become imminent and deadly and that
every resource within him would be tested to the utmost. Out of the
south came the Indian cry also, and it was answered triumphantly from
the west. A shudder ran through Henry's blood. He was in the trap. The
Indians knew it and they were signaling the truth to one another.

Now he made a great burst of speed, resolving to be well beyond their
reach before the jaws of the vise closed in, and, as he ran, he longed
to hear the howl of the wolves once more, a sound that he had used to
hate always, but which would come now almost like the call of a friend.
While he was wishing for it, the long whine rose, toward the south also,
but a little ahead of the Indian cry. As before it was strange, uncanny,
and a second time the hair on the back of his neck lifted a little.
Evidently the wolves--instinct told him they were a great pack--were
running parallel with the Indians, but for what purpose he could not
surmise, unless it was the hope of food abandoned by the warriors.

His own feet grew heavy, and he heard the triumphant shouts of the
Indians only a few hundred yards away. He was powerful, more powerful
than any of them, but he could not run twice as long as these lean, wiry
and trained children of the forest. His muscles began to complain. He
had been putting them to the severest of tests, and the effect was now
cumulative. A brown figure appeared among the bushes behind him and he
heard the report of a shot. A bullet cut the dead leaves ten yards away,
but he knew that the warriors would soon come nearer and then their aim
would be better.

Now he called upon the last reserve of strength and tenacity, the
portion that is left to the brave when to ordinary minds all seems
exhausted, and made a final and splendid burst of speed, drawing away
from the brown figures and once more opening the gap between hunted and
hunters. But the shout came again from the south and on his right flank
where fresh warriors were closing in, and despite himself his heart sank
for a moment or two in despair. Was he to fall after so many escapes?
How Braxton Wyatt and Blackstaffe would rejoice!

Despair could not last long with him. There was still another ounce of
strength left, and now he used it, fairly springing through the thicket,
while his heart beat hard and painfully and clouds of black motes danced
before his eyes.

He saw a warrior appear among the bushes on the right, and, raising his
own rifle, he fired. The stream of flame that leaped from the muzzle of
his weapon was accompanied by the death cry of the savage, followed
quickly by a long, fierce yell of rage from the fallen man's comrades.

Then the pursuit hung back a little, but it came on again soon, as
terrible and as tenacious as ever. He reloaded his rifle as he ran, but
he knew that unless some strange chance intervened soon he must turn and
fight for his life. The ground dropped suddenly and he ran down a steep
slope into a wide valley, the trend of which was from north to south.
Here he gained a little, but he heard a shout on his right and saw three
warriors coming up the valley, not thirty yards away. At the same time,
the long, fierce whine of the wolves was registered somewhere on his
brain, but he did not take definite note of it until afterward.

The foremost of the Indians fired and missed, to receive in return the
bullet from Henry's reloaded rifle, but the other two came on, shouting.
He hurled his hatchet and struck down the second, but the third paused
twenty feet away and whirled his tomahawk about his head in glittering
circles. Henry instinctively raised his rifle to ward off the blade in
its flight, but he knew that the guard would not do. The tomahawk would
leave the warrior's hand like a thunderbolt, and it would go straight to
its destined mark. He saw the evil joy in the man's eyes, his
anticipation of quick and savage victory, and then the cloud of motes
before his own eyes increased to myriads. His heart, crying out against
so much exertion, beat so painfully that he thought he could not stand
it any longer, and a veil of thick mist was drawn down between him and
the triumphant warrior. Then he suddenly stood erect and the hair upon
his head lifted once more.

There was a horrible growl and a gigantic wolf, shooting out of the
mist, launched himself straight at the warrior's throat. Henry heard the
man's terrible cry and saw him go down, and then he saw the figures of
other wolves, enlarged by the vapors, following their leader. But that
was all he beheld then. Uttering a cry of his own, wrenched from him by
the appalling sight, he snatched up his hatchet, turned and ran up
the valley, with strength coming from new and unknown sources.

[Illustration: "A gigantic wolf ... launched himself straight at the
warrior's throat"]

The heavy mists that were floating over the low ground enclosed Henry,
but he did not look back. He knew instinctively that he was no longer
followed. Once he thought he heard the horrible growling again, and
shouts, but he was not sure. Too much had impinged upon his mind for him
to distinguish between fancy and reality yet awhile, but a powerful
feeling that another miracle had been wrought in his behalf seized upon
him and would not let go. The wolves, whether it was chance or not so
far as they were concerned, had come in time and their giant leader
himself had cut down the warrior who was about to cleave the fugitive's
head with his tomahawk.

The Indians would stop, appalled, and for a while would be overwhelmed
with superstition. But he knew that the paralyzing spell could not last
long. Blackstaffe and Wyatt at least would urge them on, and it was for
him to use the time that had been granted to him by miraculous chance.

When exhaustion came he had will enough to stop again and remain quite
still until the fierce pains in his chest ceased and there was air for
his lungs once more. He was sure of a quarter of an hour, and a forest
runner such as he could do wonders in that space. A quarter of an hour
meant for him the difference between life and death, and although his
feet strove of their own accord to go on, his mind held them back at
least twothirds of the time. Then he allowed his body to have its way,
and he went down the valley not at a run, but a prudent walk, in order
to give his lungs, heart and muscles a chance for further recovery.

The valley seemed to be about a quarter of a mile wide, heavily
forested, and with a small creek flowing down the center. The hills that
walled it in on either side were high and steep, and Henry thought it
would be wiser to take to them, but, for the present, he did not feel
like making the climb. He was not willing to put any check upon the new
store of strength that was flooding his veins.

Ten minutes more and he heard a fierce whoop behind him. The Indians
evidently had driven off the wolves, and, under the insistence of the
renegades, would renew the pursuit. Another momentary sinking of his
heart came. The numbers of the warriors, who could spread out in every
direction, many of whom were yet comparatively fresh, were an obstacle
that he could not overcome. The wolves had brought delay, but not
escape.

Then his courage came back, not slowly or gradually, but like a leaping
tide. He had seen only half of the new miracle. While he thought it
finished, the other half was coming, was upon hunted and hunters even
now. The veil of mist that had floated between him and the wolf and its
victim was spreading up and down the valley, rising from the wet ground,
dense and heavy, opaque like ink, despite its whiteness. Presently the
great whitish cloud would enclose him and the warriors, hiding them
from one another, and it would be strange if he could not escape them in
the white gloom, where only ears served.

Turning his eyes upward to the skies that he could not now see, he gave
thanks to the superior powers that were guarding him so well. Then he
turned at a sharp angle, crossed the creek, and began to climb the hills
on the east.

All the time the fog, thick and white, was pouring over the valley and
the slopes. Half way up the hill Henry paused and looked back, seeing
nothing but a vast white gulf. Then he heard the warriors in the gulf
calling to one another, and now the spirit to laugh at them came back to
him. They did not know that he was protected by a force greater than
theirs that snatched him again and again from the savage band before it
could close upon him.

He sat down among the bushes and continued to look at the valley, which
reminded him now of a vast white river, all of it flowing northward,
with the signals of the warriors still coming out of its depths, puzzled
evidently, as they had a good right to be. Although they were only a few
hundred yards away, Henry felt that there was little danger. The miracle
was continuing. The great white flood poured steadily down the valley
and rose higher and higher on the slopes. He went to the top of the
hill, where it followed him and spread over the forest.

When he found a comfortable place in a thicket he lay down and drew
around him the painted robe that had served him so often and so well.
He knew the warriors would ascend the slopes, but the chances were a
thousand to one against their finding him in so dense a mist, and the
longer he rested the better fitted he would be for flight. Meanwhile the
fog increased in thickness, rolling up continually in dense masses, and
he inferred that he could not be far from some large stream or a lake or
great flooded areas. Perhaps the creek that flowed down the valley
emptied not far away into a river.

If he had not been so worn by the tremendous tests to which he had been
put he would have gone on, despite everything, in the fog over the
hills, but instead he lay close like an animal in its lair, adjusted
anew about him the blanket and the painted coat and luxuriated. At
intervals he heard the warriors calling in the valley, and once the
sound of footsteps not more than twenty yards away reached him, but he
was not disturbed. The chance that they would stumble upon him was still
only one in a thousand.

He remained at least four hours in the bushes, and throughout that time
he scarcely moved, having acquired the forest art of keeping perfectly
still when there was nothing to be done. Then he saw the fog thinning
somewhat, but he was completely restored. Youth had its way. His nerves
and muscles were as strong as ever, and the great mental elation had
returned. Why not? It was obvious that he was protected by the supreme
powers. Miracle after miracle had occurred in his behalf. They had sent
the wolves just in time, and then they had drawn the fog from the earth,
hiding him from the warriors and giving him a covert in which he could
lie until his strength was restored.

He rose now and began his cautious passage through the white veil over
the hills. The fog was not lifting yet, but it was continuing to thin.
He could see in it ten or fifteen feet, and he was not sorry, as the
distance was enough for the choosing of a path, but not enough for the
warriors to come within sight of him before they were heard.

Twice, the sounds of the searching warriors came to him, but each time
he lay in the bush until they passed, when he would rise and continue
his judicious flight.

Near the close of the day, and going toward the northeast, he was far
from the valley, but obviously was coming to another, as the hills were
sinking fast and he saw the tops of trees below him. The fog had been
thinning until it was mere wisps and tatters, and now a smart wind
seizing all these remnants whirled them off to the east, leaving a
glorious clear sky, suffused in the west with the red and gold of the
setting sun, a deep brilliant light that touched the whole horizon with
fire.

Henry looked upon it and worshiped. He worshiped like a forest runner
and a man of the old, old time, when nothing of heaven or of religion
was revealed. He worshiped like an Indian to whom, as to many other
races, the sun was a symbol of warmth, of light and life, almost the
same as Manitou, that is to say, almost the same as God. Nor did he
forget to be grateful once more. It was not for any merit of his that
protection had been given to him so often, but because he was an
instrument in a good purpose. So thinking, he was full of humility and
meant to continue in the perilous path that he had chosen, the path of
service for others.

The spiritual quality was strong in Henry's nature; in truth, it was
rooted in the characters of all the five, although it differed in its
manifestations, and he gazed long at the western heavens, where the
splendid colors of the setting sun blazed in their deepest hues and then
faded, leaving only a warm glow behind. The night, as the forecast
already showed, would be clear and cold, and he descended into the new
valley, which was much wider than the one he had left. It was
comparatively free of undergrowth, and he saw through the trees the
gleam of water which proved to be a river on his right, and of fair
size.

He believed that the larger valley would receive the smaller one and its
draining creek not far ahead, and a new problem was presented. Unless he
swam the river and kept to the east the warriors would come on anew from
the west and pin him against the stream.

Should he plunge into the cold waters? It was not a prospect that he
liked; but, while he considered it, he became aware that the miracle
created in his behalf was not yet finished. He had thought that it was
done when the wolves intervened, and again that it was done when the
great fog came, but there was yet another link in the lengthening chain
of marvelous events.

A sound from the river and he stepped hastily to the shelter of a great
tree trunk. It was the plash of a paddle, and as he looked, peeping from
the side of the trunk, a warrior stepped from a canoe at the river's
brink and took a long look at the forest. Henry judged that he was an
outpost or sentinel of some kind, or perhaps a member of a provision
fleet. The man tied his canoe with a willow withe to a sapling and
strode away out of sight, doubtless intending to meet the band to which
he belonged. Henry's heart leaped. He was always quick to perceive and
to act, and he saw his opportunity.

Twenty swift steps and he was at the margin of the stream, one slash of
his knife and the willow withe was cut, one sweep of the paddle and the
stout canoe was far out in the stream, bearing with it the brave youth
and his fortunes.

Henry exulted. Truly chance--or was it chance?--served him well! He had
a singular feeling that the canoe had been put there especially for his
use. No more running through the forest. He could call a new set of
muscles into play, and there before him lay the stream, broad and deep
and straight, a clear path for the good canoe that he had made his own.

He did not allow his exultation to steal away his caution, but after the
first few sweeps of the paddle he sent the canoe close to the eastern
bank, under the shadow of vast masses of overhanging willows. Here it
blended with the dusk, and he handled the paddle so smoothly that he
made no splash to betray his presence.

Now he examined his canoe, and he saw that, in truth, it bore supplies
for a band, venison, buffalo meat, wild turkey, and, what he craved most
of all, bread of Indian corn. The supplies were sufficient to last him
two weeks at least, and he felt with all the power of conviction that
the miracle was still working.

He sped down the stream with long, silent strokes, keeping always in the
dusk of the overhanging foliage. The stars came out, and with them a
full, bright moon, which he also worshiped as a sign and an emblem of
the Supreme Will that had saved him. He fell into an intense mood of
exaltation. The powers of earth and air and water had worked together in
a singular manner. Never was his fancy more vivid. The flowing of the
stream sang to him, and the willows over his head sang to him also. The
light from the moon and stars grew. The dusk was shot with a silver
glow. Apprehension, weariness went from him, and he shot down the river,
mile after mile, apparently the only figure in the ancient wilderness.

He did not stop until two or three hours after midnight, when at a low
place in the bank he thrust the canoe into a dense mass of water weeds
and bushes, put the paddle beside him and ate freely of the captured
supplies. The venison and buffalo meat were excellent, and while the
water of the river was not as good as that of a spring, it was
nevertheless cold and refreshing. Fresh warmth and vigor flowed into
his body, and he declared to himself that he had never felt better and
stronger in his life. He looked with satisfaction at his stores, which
would last him so long, and he also saw in the canoe a folded green
blanket, which its owner evidently had left there for future use. He
would use it instead, since the cold was likely to increase and he meant
to be comfortable.

Henry considered the canoe a godsend. It left no trail, and he had been
careful to leave none when he came to the bank for its capture. Perhaps
the Indian would think he had tied it carelessly and the current had
pulled its fastenings loose. In any event, the fugitive was gone and his
pathway was invisible, like that of a bird in the air. He looked up once
more at the cold, blue sky, the brilliant full moon, and the hosts of
shining stars. Cold the sky might be to others, but it was not so to
him. It bent over him like a protecting blue veil, shot with the silver
glow of moon and stars.

The thicket into which he had pushed his canoe was of weeds, reeds and
willows, and very dense. The keenest eyes might search its very edge and
fail to see the fugitive within. There was no view except overhead, and
Henry resolved to remain there the whole of the next day. If the
warriors came pursuing on the river he would be once again the needle in
the haystack, and even if by some chance they should spy him out, he
could escape, refreshed and invigorated, to the land.

Assured of his present safety, he spread his bed in the canoe, a
somewhat difficult task, as everything had to be adjusted with nicety,
but the close wall of reeds and bushes helped him to keep the balance,
and at last he lay on the bottom with the Indian's blanket under him and
his own and the painted robe above him. Then he went to sleep and did
not awaken until the next day was hours old.

A bright sun was shining through the bushes over his head, but he was
glad that his body had been protected by an abundance of covers. The
painted robe was white with frost, which even the hours of day had not
yet melted, and near the edges there was a thin skin of ice on the
river. His breath made little clouds of vapor in the cold morning. He
was so warm and snug under the blankets that he felt the usual aversion
in such cases to rising, and turning gently on his side, lest he tilt
the canoe, he closed his eyes for that aftermath of sleep, a final and
pleasant doze.

When he opened his eyes again he contemplated the sun through the veil
of bushes and reeds. It was great and red, but it had a chilly effect,
and he knew the day was quite cold. The willows began to shake and
quiver and the wind that stirred them was nipping. He did not care. Cold
stimulated him, and, making ready for new endeavors, he dipped for his
breakfast into the captured stores.

Then he took note of the river, upon the surface of which much life was
already passing. He saw a flock of wild ducks swimming strong and true
against the current, and when they were gone a swarm of wild geese came
with many honks out of the air and swam in the same direction. He knew
that presently they would rise again and fly into the far south,
escaping the fierce winter of the north.

The great fishing birds also wheeled and circled over the stream, and
now and then one shot downward for its prey. On the opposite shore two
deer pushed their bodies through the bushes and drank at the river's
edge. On his own shore the puffing of a bear in the woods came to his
ears. Evidently he had come from a region bare of game into a land of
plenty.

The wild geese rose with a suddenness he had not anticipated and sped
southward in a long arrow, outlined sharply against the sky. The great
fishing birds silently disappeared, and Henry was alone on the river. He
knew that the quick flight of his feathered friends was not due to
chance. Undoubtedly man was coming, and he crouched low in his canoe,
with his rifle ready.




CHAPTER XIV

THE WATCHFUL SQUIRREL


Henry saw about what he expected to see, two long canoes, containing a
dozen or more warriors each, with the Shawnee chief, Red Eagle, and
Braxton Wyatt in the first and Yellow Panther, the Miami chief, and
Blackstaffe in the second. Chiefs and renegades and warriors alike swept
the shore with questing eyes, but they did not see the one for whom they
had looked so long lying so near, and yet hidden so well among the
reeds.

He watched them without apprehension. He had full confidence in the veil
about him, and he expected them to pass on in the relentless hunt. They,
too, looked worn, and he fancied that the eyes of chiefs and renegades
expressed disappointment and deep anger. Nobody in the long canoes
spoke, and, silent save for the plashing of the paddles they went on and
out of sight.

Henry might have taken to the woods now, but he was too wary. He wished
to remain on the element that left no trail, and he felt also that he
had walked and run long enough. He intended to travel now chiefly with
the strength of his arms, and the longer he stayed in the canoe the
better he liked it. Its store of provisions was fine, and it was easier
to carry them in it than on his back. So he waited with the patience
that every true forest runner has, and saw the morning merge into the
afternoon.

It was almost evening when the long canoes came back, passing his
covert. They had found the quest vain, and concluding, doubtless, that
they had gone too far, were returning to look elsewhere. But the
paddlers were weary, and the chiefs and renegades, too, drooped
somewhat. They did not show their usual alertness of eye as they came
back against the stream, and Henry judged that the pursuit would lapse
in energy, while they went ashore in search of warmth and food.

A half hour after they were out of sight he came from the weeds, and,
with great sweeps of the paddle, sent the canoe shooting down the river.
He was so fresh and strong now that he felt as if he could go on
forever, and all through the night his powerful arms drove him toward
his unknown goal. He noticed that the river was broadening and the banks
were low, sometimes sandy, and he fancied that he was approaching its
outlet in one of the Great Lakes. And the chase had led so far! Nor was
it yet finished! The chiefs and the renegades, not finding him farther
back, would reorganize the pursuit and follow again.

Day came bright and warm, much warmer than it had been farther south,
and Henry paddled until evening although he found the heat oppressive.
Paddling a full day and part of a night was a great task for anybody and
he grew weary again. When the night came, seeing no reeds and bushes in
which he could hide the canoe, he resolved to sleep on land. So he
lifted it from the river and carried it a short distance inland, where
he put it down in a thicket, choosing a resting place for himself not
far away.

He spread one of the blankets as usual on dead leaves, and put the other
and the painted coat over himself. Then, knowing that he would be warm
and snug for the night, he relaxed and looked idly at the dusky woods,
feeling perfectly safe as the warriors must be far to the south.

The only living being he saw was a gray squirrel on the trunk of a tree
about twenty feet away. But he was a friend of the squirrel, and he
regarded it with friendly eyes, noting the sharpness of its claws, the
bushiness of its tail, and the alertness of its keen little nose. It was
an uncommon squirrel, endowed with great curiosity, and perception, a
leader in its tribe, and it was intensely interested in the large, still
body lying on the leaves below.

The squirrel came farther down the tree, and stared intently at Henry,
uncertain whether he was a friend or a foe. Yet he had all the aspect of
a friend. There was no hostile movement, and the bold and inquiring
fellow ventured another foot closer. Then he scuttled in alarm ten feet
back up the trunk, as the figure raised a hand, and threw something
small that fell at the foot of the tree.

But as the human being did not move again, the courage and curiosity of
this uncommonly bold and inquiring squirrel returned, and, gradually
creeping down the tree, he inspected the small object that had fallen
there. It smelled good, and when he nibbled at it it tasted good. Then
he ate it all, went back up the bark a little distance and waited
gratefully for more of the same. Presently it came, and he ate that bit,
too, and after a while a third. Then the human figure threw him no more
such fine food, but went to sleep.

The squirrel knew he was asleep, because he left the tree, walked
cautiously over the ground, and stood with his ears cocked up, scarcely
a yard from the vast, still figure that breathed so deeply and with such
regularity. He had seen gigantic beings before. From the safety of his
boughs he had looked upon those mountains, the buffaloes, and he had
often seen the stag in the forest. Mere size did not terrify him, and
now he did not feel in the least afraid. On the contrary, this was his
friend who had fed him, and he regarded him with benevolence.

The squirrel went back up the tree, his claws pattering lightly on the
bark. He had a fine knot hole high up the trunk, and his family were
sound asleep in it, surrounded by a great store of nuts. There was a
warm place for him, the head of the family, but he could not stay in it.
After a while he was compelled to go out again, and look at the
unconscious human figure.

Emboldened by his first experience which had been so free from ill
result, he descended upon the ground a second time and went toward
Henry. But in an instant he turned back again. His keen little ears had
heard something moving in the forest and it was not any small animal
like himself, but a large body, several of them in fact. He ran up the
tree, and then far out on a bough where he could see.

Five Indian warriors walking in single file were approaching. They were
part of an outlying band, not perhaps looking for Henry, but, if they
continued on their course, they would be sure to see him. The squirrel
regarded them for a moment with little red eyes, and then ran back to
the trunk of the tree.

Henry, meanwhile, slept soundly. There was nothing to disturb him. The
wind did not blow and so the dry branches of the forest did not rustle.
The footsteps of the approaching Indians made no noise, yet in a few
more moments he ceased to sleep so well. A sound penetrated at last to
his ear and he sat up. It was the chattering of the gray squirrel, and
the rattling of his claws on the dry bark of the tree, his bushy tail
curving far over his back, and his whole body seeming to be shaken by
violent convulsions. Henry stared at him, thinking at first that he was
threatened by some carnivorous prowler of the air, but, as he looked
away, he caught a glimpse through the bushes of a moving brown figure
and then of another and more.

Henry Ware never struck camp with more smoothness and celerity. One hand
swept up his blankets and the painted robe, another grasped his rifle,
and, as silent as a night bird itself, he vanished into the deeper
thicket where the canoe lay. There, crouched beside it, he watched while
the warriors passed. They would certainly have seen his body had it been
lying where it had been, but they were not near enough to notice his
traces, and they had no cause to suspect his presence. So, the silent
file passed on, and disappeared in the deep woods.

Henry stood up, and once more he felt a great access of wonder and
gratitude. The superior powers were surely protecting him, and were even
watching over him while he slept. He walked back a little and looked at
the tree, on which the gray squirrel had chattered and rattled his
claws. He thought he caught a glimpse of a bushy tail among the boughs,
but he was not sure. In any event, he bore in mind that while great
animals had served him, the little ones, too, had given help as good.
Then he bore the canoe back to the river, put in it all his precious
possessions, and continued his flight by water.

There was a chance that warriors might see him from the banks, since he
had proof of their presence in the woods, but relying upon his skill and
the favors of fortune, he was willing to take the risk. He had an idea,
too, that he would soon come to the lake, and he meant to hide among the
dense thickets and forests, sure to line its low shores.

His surmise was right, as some time before noon the river widened
abruptly, and a half hour later he came out on the border of a vast
lake, stretching blue to the horizon and beyond. A strong wind blowing
over the great expanse of water came sharp and cold, but to Henry,
naturally so strong and warmed by his exertions, it furnished only
exhilaration. He felt that now the great flight and chase had come to an
end. He could not cross this mighty inland sea in his light canoe, and
doubtless the chiefs and the renegades, unable to follow his trail by
water, where he left no trail at all, would give up at last, and hope
for more success another time.

So believing, and confident in his belief, he looked around for a
temporary home, and marked a low island lying out about five miles from
the shore. The five had found good refuge on an island once before, and
he alone might do it again, and lie hidden there, until all danger from
the great hunt had passed.

He acted with his usual boldness and decision, and paddled with a strong
arm toward the island which seemed to be about a mile each way and was a
mass of dense forest. His canoe rocked on the waves, which were running
high before the wind, but he came without mishap to the island, and,
pushing his canoe through thickets of reeds and willows, landed.

Leaving the canoe well hidden, he examined the island and was well
pleased with it, as it seemed to be suited admirably to his purpose. The
forest was unbroken and very dense. Probably human beings never came
there, as the game seemed very tame. Two or three deer looked at him
with mild, inquiring eyes before they moved slowly away, and he saw
where wild turkey roosted in numbers at night.

In the center of the island was a small dip, where only bushes grew, and
he decided that he would make his camp there, as the great height of the
trees surrounding it would hide the smoke that might arise from his
subdued campfire. But he did no work that day, as he wished to be sure
that his passage to the island had not been observed by any wandering
warriors on the mainland. There was no sign of pursuit, and he knew now
that fortune had favored him again.

He slept the night through in the canoe, and the next morning he set to
work with his hatchet to make a bush shelter for himself, a task that
took two days and which he finished just in time, as a fierce wind with
hail swept over the island and the lake. He had removed all his supplies
from the canoe to the hut, and, wrapped in the painted robe, he watched
hail and wind beat upon the surface of the lake, until it drove in high
waves like the sea. There was no danger of warriors trying the passage
to the island in such weather, and his look was that of a spectator not
that of a sentinel. The great nervous strain of the long flight, and its
many and deadly perils, had passed, and he found a pleasure in watching
the turmoil of the elements.

The old feeling that he belonged for the time to a far, far distant past
returned. He was alone on his island, as many a remote ancestor of his
must have been alone in the forest in his day, and yet he felt not the
least trace of loneliness or fear. Everything was wild, primeval and
grand to the last degree. The huge lake, curving up from the horizon,
had turned from blue to lead, save where the swift waves were crested
with white. The hail beat on the trees and bushes like myriads of
bullets, and the wind came with a high, shrill scream. The mainland was
lost in the mist and clouds, and he was not only alone on his island,
but alone in his world, and separated from his foes by tumbling and
impassable waters.

Henry's mind was in tune with the storm. He looked upon it as a
celebration of his triumph, the end of the flight and the chase, a
flight that had been successful for him, a chase that had been
unsuccessful for the chiefs and the renegades, and the blood merely
flowed more swiftly in his veins, as the hail beat upon him. He did not
care how long wind and hail lasted; the longer the better for him, and,
flinging out his hands, he waved a salute to the storm god.

He remained for hours looking upon the great spectacle, that pleased him
so much, and then kept dry by the huge painted coat, he went back to the
brush hut. But night only and the necessity to sleep could have sent him
there. He did not yet light a fire, contenting himself with the cold
food from the canoe, nor did he do so the next day, as the storm was
still raging. When it ceased on the third day all the trees and bushes
were coated with ice, and he was a dweller in the midst of a silver
forest. Then, with much difficulty he lighted a small fire before the
hut, warmed over some venison and a little of the precious bread. He
would not have to kill any game for a week or ten days and he was glad
that it was so, since he was still averse to slaying any member of the
kingdom of the animals that had befriended him so much.

The peace of the elements lasted only a few hours. Then they were in a
more terrible turmoil than ever. The wind whistled and shrieked, and the
snow came down, driven here and there in whirling gusts, while the lake
roared and thundered beneath the drive of the hurricane. Although there
were lulls at times, yet as a whole the storm lasted a whole week, and
it was remembered long by the Indians living in those northern regions
as the week of the great storm, unexampled in its length and ferocity.

But Henry found nothing in it to frighten him. Rather, the greater
powers were still watching over him, and it was sent for his protection.
His own bold and wild spirit remained in tune with it at all times. The
brush hut was warm and snug and it held fast against wind, hail and
snow. Now and then he lighted the fire anew to warm over his food or
merely to see the bright blaze.

At the end of the week he shot a deer among a herd that had found
shelter in extremely deep woods at the north end of the island, and
never did he do a deed more reluctantly. But it gave an abundance of
fresh food, which he now needed badly, and he added to his stores two
wild turkeys.

When the storm ceased entirely a very deep snow fell, and he put off his
intention to leave. He expected to use the canoe, but he might be
forced to leave it, and, traveling in the woods with the snow above a
man's knees, would be too hard. So he waited patiently, and made his
little home as comfortable as he could.

In another week the snow began to melt fast, and he set forth on his
great return journey. The canoe was well supplied with provisions and
the lake was quiet. He paddled for the mouth of the river, and, when he
passed within the stream, the whole country looked so wintry that he
believed the Indians must have gone to their villages for warmth and
shelter. Firm in his opinion he paddled boldly against the current and
took his course southward, though he did not relax his caution, as the
Indians often sent out parties of hunters, despite cold or storm. They
were not a forehanded people, and the plenty of summer was no guard
against the scarcity of winter. They must find game or die, and Henry
had very little real fear of anything except these questing bands.

But he paddled on all the day without interruption. The dense forest on
either shore was white and silent, and, when night came, he drew the
canoe into the bushes, making his camp on land. The temperature had
taken a great fall in the afternoon, and with the dark intense cold had
come. The mercury went far below zero and the bitter wind that blew bit
through the painted coat and all his clothing clean into the bone. It
was so intense that he resolved to risk everything and build a fire.

He managed to set a heap of dead wood burning in the lee of a hill, and
he fed the fire for a long time, at last letting it die down into a
great mass of coals that threw out heat like a furnace. Over this he
hovered and felt the cold which had clutched him like a paralysis
leaving his body. Then he wrapped the two blankets around the painted
coat and slept in fair comfort till morning, sure that the intense cold
would prevent any movement of the Indians in the forest.

But the dawn disclosed a river frozen over to the depth of four inches,
and his canoe, which he had taken the precaution to put on land, would
be useless, at least for several days, as the ice could not melt sooner.
Most forest runners, in such a case, would have abandoned the canoe, and
would have gone on through the forest as best they could, but Henry had
learned illimitable patience from the Indians. If the cold put a
paralysis on his movements it did as much for those of the warriors. So
he looked to the preservation of the canoe, and boldly built his fire
anew, eating abundantly of the deer and wild turkey and a little of the
bread, which he husbanded with such care. At night he slept in the canoe
and occasionally he scouted in the country around, although the
traveling was very hard, as the deep snow was covered with a sheet of
ice, and he was compelled to break his way. He saw no Indian trails and
he concluded that the hunting parties even had taken to their tepees,
and would wait until the thaw came.

His task for the next seven or eight days was to keep warm, and to
preserve his canoe in such manner that it would be water tight when he
set it afloat once more on the river. He built another brush shelter,
very rude, but in a manner serviceable for himself, and with a fire
burning always before it he was able to fend off the fierce chill. The
mercury was fully thirty degrees below zero, but fortunately the wind
did not blow, or it would have been almost unbearable.

Henry chafed greatly at the long delay, but he endured it as best he
could, and, when the huge thaw came and all the earth ran water, he put
his canoe in the river once more and began to paddle against the flooded
current. It was a delicate task even for one as strong and skillful as
he, as great blocks of ice came floating down and he was compelled to
watch continually lest his light craft be crushed by them. His perpetual
vigilance and incessant struggle against the stream made him so weary
that at the end of the day he lifted the canoe out of the water, crept
into it and slept the sleep of exhaustion.

The next day was quite warm, and the floating ice in the river having
diminished greatly he resumed his journey without so much apprehension
of dangers from the stream, but with a keen watch for the hunting
parties of warriors which he was sure would be out. Now that the great
snow was gone, Miamis and Shawnees, Wyandots and Ottawas would be
roaming the forest to make up for the lack of food caused by their
customary improvidence. Moreover, it was barely possible that on his
return journey he might run into the host led by Yellow Panther and Red
Eagle.

He kept close to the bank in the unbroken shadow of the thickets and
forests, and as he paddled with deliberation, saving his strength, a
warm wind began to blow from the south. The last ice disappeared from
the river and late in the afternoon he saw distant smoke which he was
sure came from an Indian camp, most likely hunters.

It was to the east of the river, and hence he slept that night in the
dense forest to the west, the canoe reposing among the bushes by his
side. The following day was still warmer and seeing several smokes, some
to the east and some to the west, he became convinced that the forest
was now full of warriors. After being shut up a long time in their
villages by the great snow and great cold they would come forth not only
for game, but for the exercise and freedom that the wilderness afforded.
The air of the woods would be very pleasant to them after the close and
smoky lodges.

Now Henry, who had been living, in a measure an idyll of lake and
forest, became Henry the warrior again, keen, watchful, ready to slay
those who would slay him. He never paddled far before he would turn in
to the bank, and examine the woods and thickets carefully to see whether
an enemy lay there in ambush. If he came to a curve he rounded it slowly
and cautiously, and, at last, when he saw remains from some camp farther
up floating in the stream he seriously considered the question of
abandoning the canoe altogether and of taking to the forest. But his
present mode of traveling was so smooth and easy that he did not like
to go on a winter trail through the woods again.

The mouth of a smaller and tributary river about a mile farther on
solved the problem for him. The new stream seemed to lead in the general
direction in which he wished to go, and, as it was deep enough for a
canoe, he turned into it and paddled toward the southwest, going about
twenty miles in a narrow and rather deep channel. He stopped then for
the night, and, before dark came, saw several more smokes, but had the
satisfaction to note that they were all to the eastward, seeming to
indicate that he had flanked the bands.

As usual, he took his canoe out of the water and laid it among the
bushes, finding a similar covert for himself near by, where he ate his
food and rested his arms and shoulders, wearied by their long labors
with the paddle. It was the warmest night since the big freeze, but he
was not very sleepy and after finishing his supper he went somewhat
farther than usual into the woods, not looking for anything in
particular, but partly to exercise his legs which had become somewhat
cramped by his long day in the canoe. But he became very much alive when
he heard a crash which he knew to be that of a falling tree. He leaped
instantly to the shelter of a great trunk and his hand sprang to his
gunlock, but no other sound followed, and he wondered. At first, he had
thought it indicated the presence of warriors, but Indians did not cut
down trees and doubtless it was due to some other cause, perhaps an old,
decayed trunk that had been weighted down by snow, falling through
sheer weariness. In any event he was going to see, and, emerging from
his shelter, he moved forward silently.

He came to a thicket, and saw just beyond it a wide pool or backwater
formed by a tributary of the creek. In the water, stood a beaver colony,
the round domes of their houses showing like a happy village. It was
evident, however, that they were doing much delayed work for the winter,
as a half dozen stalwart fellows were busy with the tree, the falling
crash of which Henry had just heard, and which they had cut through with
their sharp teeth.

He crouched in the thicket and, all unsuspected by the industrious
members of the colony, watched them a little while. He did not know just
what building operation they intended, but it must be an after thought.
The beaver was always industrious and full of foresight, and, if they
were adding now to the construction of their town carried out earlier in
the year, it must be due to a prevision that it was going to be a very
cold, long and hard winter.

Henry watched them at work quite a while, and they furnished him both
amusement and interest. It was a sort of forest idyll. Their energy was
marvelous, and they worked always with method. One huge, gray old fellow
seemed to direct their movements, and Henry soon saw that he was an able
master who tolerated neither impudence nor trifling. In his town
everybody had not only to work, but to work when, where and how the
leader directed. It gave the hidden forest runner keen pleasure to
watch the village with its ordered life, industry and happiness.

He felt once more his sense of kinship with the animals. He was a
thoughtful youth, and it often occurred to him that the world might be
made for them as well as for man.

The beaver was an animal of uncommon intelligence and he could learn
from him. The big gray fellow was a general of ability, perhaps with a
touch of genius. All his soldiers were working according to his
directions with uncommon skill and dispatch. Henry concentrated his
attention upon him, and presently he had a feeling that the leader saw
him, had known all the time that he was lying there in the thicket, and
was not afraid of him, convinced that he would do no harm. It added to
his pleasure to think that it was so. The old fellow looked directly at
him at least a half dozen times, and presently Henry was compelled to
laugh to himself. As sure as he was living that big old beaver had
raised his head a little higher out of the water than usual, and
glancing his way had winked at him.

He forgot everything else in the play between himself and the beaver
king, and a king he surely was, as he had time to direct, and to direct
ably, all the activities of his village, and also to carry on a kind of
wireless talk with the forest runner. Henry watched him to see if he
would give him the wink again, and as sure as day was day he dived
presently, came up at the near edge of the pool, wiped the dripping
water from his head and face and winked gravely with his left eye, his
expression being for the moment uncommonly like that of a human being.

Henry was startled. It certainly seemed to be real. But then his fancy
was vivid and he knew it. The circumstances, too, were unusual and the
influences of certain remarkable instances was strong upon him.
Moreover, if the king of the beavers wanted to wink at him there was
nothing to keep him from winking back. So he winked and to his great
astonishment and delight the old king winked again. Then the beaver,
feeling as if he had condescended enough for the time, dived and came up
now on the far side of the pool, where he infused new energy into his
subject with a series of rapid commands, and hurried forward the work.

Henry's delight remained with him. The old king had been willing to put
the forest runner on an equality with himself by winking at him. They
two were superior to all the others and the king alone was aware of his
presence. Since the monarch had distinctly winked at him several times
it was likely that he would wink once or twice more, when enough was
done for dignity's sake. So he waited with great patience.

But for a little while the king seemed to have forgotten his existence
or to have repented of his condescension, as apparently he gave himself
up wholly to the tasks of kingship, telling how the work should be done,
and urging it on, as if apprehensive that another freeze might occur
before it could be finished. He was a fine old fellow, full of wisdom,
experience and decision, and Henry began to fear that he had been
forgotten in the crush of duties pertaining to the throne.

In about ten minutes, the gray king dived and came up a second time on
the near side of the pool. It was quite evident, too, that he was
winking once more, and Henry winked back with vigor. Then the beaver
began to swim slowly back and forth in a doubtful fashion, as if he had
something on his mind. The humorous look which Henry persuaded himself
he had seen in his eye faded. His glance expressed indecision,
apprehension even, and Henry, with the feeling of kinship strong upon
him, strove to divine what his cousin, the beaver, was thinking. That he
was not thinking now what he had been thinking ten minutes before was
quite evident, and the youth wondered what could be the cause of a
change so abrupt and radical.

He caught the beaver's eye and surely the old king was troubled. That
look said as plain as day to Henry that there was danger, and that he
must beware. Then the beaver suddenly raised up and struck the water
three powerful blows with his broad flat tail. The reports sounded like
rifle shots, and, before the echo of the last one died, the great and
wise king of his people sank like a stone beneath the water and did not
come into view again, disappearing into his royal palace, otherwise his
domed hut of stone-hard mud. All of his subjects shot from sight at the
same time and Henry saw only the domes of the beaver houses and the
silent pool.

He never doubted for an instant that the royal warning was intended for
him as well as the beaver people, and he instantly slid back deeper into
the thicket, just as a dozen Shawnee warriors, their footsteps making no
noise, came through the woods on the other side, and looked at the
beaver pool.




CHAPTER XV

THE LETTER


Henry was quite sure that the beaver king had given him a direct
warning, and he never liked afterward to disturb or impair the belief,
and, moreover, he was so alive with gratitude that it was bound to be
so. Lying perfectly still in the depths of the thicket he watched the
Indians, powerful warriors, who, nevertheless, showed signs of strain
and travel. Doubtless they had come from the edge of the lake itself,
and he believed suddenly, but with all the certainty of conviction, that
they were following him. They were on the back trail, which, in some
unexplained manner, they had struck merely to lose again. Chance had
brought them to opposite sides of the pond, but he alone had received
the warning.

They stood at the water's edge three or four minutes, looking at the
beaver houses and talking, although Henry was too far away to understand
what they said. He knew they would not remain long, but what they did
next was of vital moment to him. If they should chance to come his way
he would have to spring up and run for it, but if they went by another
he might lie still and think out his problem.

The leader gave a word of command, and, dropping into the usual single
file, they marched silently into the south. Henry lay on the north side
of the pool, and when the last of the warriors was out of sight, he rose
and walked back to his canoe, which he must now reluctantly abandon. He
could not think of continuing on the water when he had proof of the eye
that many warriors were in the woods about the creek.

The canoe had served him well. It had saved him often from weariness,
and sometimes from exhaustion, but dire need barred it now. He put on
the painted coat, made the blankets and provisions into a pack which he
fastened on his back, hid the light craft among weeds and bushes at the
creek's margin, and then struck off at a swift pace toward the west and
south.

While bands would surely follow him, he did not believe the Indian hosts
could be got together again for his pursuit and capture. After their
great failure in the flight and pursuit northward they would melt away
largely, and winter would thin the new chase yet more. His thought now
was less of the danger from them than of his four brave comrades from
whom he had been separated so long and whom he was anxious to rejoin. It
was more than likely that they had left the oasis and had come a long
distance to the north, but where they were now was another of the
serious problems that confronted him from day to day. In a wilderness so
vast four men were like the proverbial needle in the haystack.

But Henry trusted to luck, which in his mind was no luck at all, rather
the favor of the greater powers which had watched over him in his flight
and which had not withdrawn their protection on his return, as the king
of the beavers had shown. All the following day he fled southward,
despite the heavy pack he carried, and made great speed. Here, he
judged, the winter had not been severe, since the melting of the great
snow that he had encountered on his way toward the lake, and he slept
the next night in the lee of a hill, his blankets and the painted coat
still being sufficient for his comfort.

At noon of the next day, coming into low ground, mostly a wilderness of
bushes and reeds, he heard shots and soon discovered that they came from
the rifles and muskets of Indians hunting buffalo and deer, which could
not easily escape them in the marshes. For fear of leaving a trail, sure
to be seen in such soft ground, he lay very close in a dense thicket of
bushes until night, which was fortunately very dark, came. Then he made
off under cover of the darkness, and saw Indian fires both to the right
and to the left of him. He passed so close to the one on his right that
he heard the warriors singing the song of plenty, indicating that the
day had yielded them rich store of deer and buffalo. Most of the Indians
were not delicate feeders and they would probably eat until they could
eat no more, then, lying in a stupor by the fire, they would sleep until
morning.

He did not stop until after midnight, and slept again in the protection
of a steep hill, advancing the next day through a country that seemed to
swarm with warriors evidently taking advantage of the weather to refill
the wigwams, which must have become bare of food. Henry, knowing that
his danger had been tripled, advanced very slowly now, traveling usually
by night and lying in some close covert by day. His own supplies of food
fell very low, but at night, at the edge of a stream, he shot a deer
that came down to drink, and carried away the best portions of the body.
He took the risk because he believed that if the Indians heard the shot
they would think it was fired by one of their own number, or at least
would think so long enough for him to escape with his new and precious
supplies.

He was correct in his calculations, as he was not able to detect any
trace of immediate pursuit, and, building a low fire between two hills,
he cooked and ate a tender piece of the deer meat.

That night he saw a faint light on the horizon, and believing that it
came from an Indian camp, he decided to stalk it. Placing all his
supplies inside the blankets and the painted robe, he fastened the whole
pack to the high bough of a tree in such a manner that no roving wild
animal could get them, and then advanced toward the light, which grew
larger as he approached. It also became evident very soon that it was a
camp, as he had inferred, but a much larger one than his original
supposition. It had been pitched in a valley for the sake of shelter
from cold winds, and on the western side was a dense thicket, through
which Henry advanced.

The Indians were keeping no watch, as they had nothing to guard against,
and he was able to come so near that he could see into the whole bowl,
where fully two hundred warriors sat about a great fire, eating all
kinds of game and enjoying to the full the warmth and food of savage
life. Henry, although they were his natural foes, felt a certain
sympathy with them. He understood their feelings. They had gone long in
their villages, half starved, while the great snow and the great cold
lasted, but now they were in the midst of plenty that they had obtained
by their skill and tenacity in hunting. So they rejoiced as they
supplied the wants of the primeval man.

The scene was wild and savage to the last degree. Most of the warriors,
in the heat of the fires, had thrown off their blankets, and they were
bare to the waist, their brown bodies heavily painted and gleaming in
the firelight. Every man roasted or broiled for himself huge pieces of
buffalo, deer or wild turkey over the coals, and then sat down on the
ground, Turkish fashion, and ate.

At intervals a warrior would spring to his feet and, waving aloft a
great buffalo bone, would dance back and forth, chanting meanwhile some
fierce song of war or the chase. Others would join him, and a dozen,
perhaps twenty, would be leaping and contorting their bodies and singing
as if they had been seized by a madness. The remainder went on with the
feast, which seemed to have no ending.

The wind rose a little and blew, chill, through the forest. The dry
boughs rustled against one another, and the flames wavered, but roared
the louder as the drafts of air fanned them to greater strength. The
warriors, heated by the heaps of coals and the vast quantities of food
they were devouring, felt the cold not at all. Instead, the remaining
few who wore their blankets threw them off, and there was a solid array
of naked brown bodies, glistening with paint and heat. Innumerable
sparks rose from the fires and floated high overhead, to die there
against the clear, cold skies. When a group of singers and dancers
ceased, another took its place, and the fierce, weird chant never
stopped, the wintry forest continually giving back its echoes.

The wilderness spectacle had a remarkable fascination for Henry, who
understood it so well, and, knowing that there was little danger from
men who were spending their time in what to them was a festival, he
crept closer, but was still well hidden in the dense thicket. Then his
pulses gave a great leap, as four figures which had been on the other
side of the fire came distinctly into his view. They were Red Eagle,
head chief of the Shawnees; Yellow Panther, head chief of the Miamis;
and the renegades, Braxton Wyatt and Moses Blackstaffe, who had pursued
him so long and with such tenacity. They were talking earnestly, and he
crept to the very edge of the thicket, where scarcely three feet divided
him from the open.

He knew that only a chance would bring the four near enough for him to
understand their words, but after a half hour's waiting the chance came.
Blackstaffe, who took precedence over Wyatt because of his superior
years and experience, was doing most of the talking, and the subject,
chance or coincidence bringing it about, was Henry himself.

"The warriors discovered a white trail, the trail of one," said the
renegade, "but we don't know it was Ware's. He may have perished in the
great freeze, and if so we are well rid of a dangerous foe, an eye that
has always watched over our movements, and a bold spirit that always
takes the alarm to the settlements below. I give him full credit for all
his skill and courage, but I'd rather his bones were lying in the
forest, picked clean by the wolves."

Henry felt a little thrill of satisfaction. "Picked clean by the
wolves?" Why, the wolves themselves had saved him once!

"I don't think he's dead," said Braxton Wyatt. "I don't know why, but I
believe I understand him better than any of you do. I tell you he's even
stronger and more resourceful than you suppose! Look how often he has
escaped us, when we were sure we held him fast! He'd find a way to live
in the big freeze, or anywhere. I've an idea that he's back up there by
the lake somewhere, and that the trail the warriors found was that of
another of the five, perhaps the traces of the fellow Shif'less Sol."

Henry's pulse leaped again, now with joy. The shiftless one had not
been taken nor slain, and doubtless none of the others either, or they
would have referred to it. But he waited to hear more, and not a dead
leaf nor a twig stirred in the thicket, he was so still.

"It seems strange," said Blackstaffe, thoughtfully, "that we have not
been able to take him, when more than a thousand warriors were in the
hunt, carried on without stopping, except during the big snow and the
big freeze. And the warriors are the best in the west, men who can come
pretty near seeing a trail through the air, men without fear. It almost
seems to me that there's been something miraculous about it."

Then one of the chiefs spoke for the first time, and it was Yellow
Panther, the Miami.

"Blackstaffe has spoken the truth," he said. "Ware is helped by evil
spirits, spirits evil to us, else he could not have slipped from our
traps so often. He has powerful medicine that calls them to his aid when
danger surrounds him."

Yellow Panther spoke with all the gravity and earnestness that became a
great Miami chief, and, as he finished, he looked up at the skies from
which the fugitive had summoned spirits to his help. The great Shawnee
chief, Red Eagle, standing by his side, nodded in emphatic confirmation.
Henry felt a peculiar quiver run through his blood. Had he really
received miraculous help, as the two chiefs thought? Lying there in such
a place at such a time there was much to make him think as they did.

"We've spread a mighty net, and we've caught nothing," said Braxton
Wyatt, deep disappointment showing in his tone. "We've not only failed
to get the leader of the five, but we've failed to take a single one of
them."

Now Henry's heart gave a great leap. He had inferred that all of his
comrades were yet safe, but here was positive proof in the words of
Wyatt. Why had he ever feared? He might have known that when he drew off
the Indian power they would be able to take care of themselves.

"I think," said Blackstaffe, "that we'd better continue our march to the
south, and also keep a large force in the north. If we don't stumble
upon him in a week or two our chance will be gone, at least until next
spring. All the wild fowl flew south very early and the old men and
women of the tribes have foretold the longest and hardest winter in two
generations. Is it not so, Yellow Panther?"

"The cold will be so great that all the warriors will have to seek their
wigwams," replied the Miami chief, "and they will stay there many days
and nights, hanging over the fires. The war trail will be deserted and
the Ice King will rule over the forest."

"I've no doubt the old men and old women are right," said Braxton Wyatt,
"and you make me shiver now when you tell me what they say. Perhaps the
spirits will turn over to our side and give all the five into our
hands."

They moved on out of hearing, but Henry now knew enough. His comrades
were untaken and he understood their plan of campaign. If he and the
four could evade it a little longer, a mighty winter would shut in, and
that would be the end. He was glad he had come to spy upon the host. He
had been rewarded more richly than he had hoped. Now he crept silently
away, but for a long time, whenever he looked back, he still saw the
luminous glow of the great fires on the dusky horizon.

He was so sure that no warriors would come, or, if they did come, that
his trained faculties would give him warning in time, that he slept in a
thicket within two miles of the camp. He was up before dawn and on the
southern trail, knowing that the Indian host would soon be on the same
course, though going more slowly. His trail lay to the east of that
which had led him north, but the country was of the same general
character. Everywhere, save for the little prairies, it was wooded
densely, and the countless streams, whether creeks or brooks, were
swollen by the winter thaw.

The desire to rejoin his comrades was very strong upon Henry, and he
began to look for proofs that they had been in that region. He knew
their confidence in him, their absolute faith that he would elude the
pursuit and return in time. Therefore they would be waiting for him, and
wherever they had passed they would leave signs in the hope that he
might see them. So, as he fled, he watched not only for his enemies, but
for the trail of his friends.

He was compelled to swim a large river, and the cold was so great that
he risked everything and built a fire, before which he warmed and dried
himself, staying there nearly two hours. A half hour before he left, he
saw distant smoke on his right and then smoke equally distant on his
left. Each smoke was ascending in spiral rings, and he knew that they
were talking together. He knew also that their engrossing topic was his
own smoke rising directly between. A fantastic mood seized him, and he
decided to take a part in the conversation. Passing one of his blankets
back and forth over his own fire, he, too, sent up a series of rings,
sometimes at regular intervals, and again with long breaks between.

It was a weird and drunken chain of signals and he knew that it would
set the Indians on the right and the Indians on the left to wondering.
They would try their best to read his signals, which he could not read
himself; they would strive to put in them meaning, where there was no
meaning at all; and he worked with the blanket and the smoke with as
much zest and zeal as he had shown at any time in his flight for life.

No such complicated signals had ever before been sent up in the
wilderness, and he enjoyed the perplexity of the warriors to the utmost
as he saw them talking to one another and also trying frantically to
talk to him. The more they said, the more he said and the more
complicated was the way in which he said it, until the smoke on his
right and the smoke on his left began to sweep around in gusts of
indignation and disappointment.

His fantastic humor deepened. He sincerely hoped that Blackstaffe was
at the foot of one smoke and that Braxton Wyatt was at the foot of the
other, and the more they were puzzled and vexed the better it suited his
temper. He sent up the most extraordinary spirals of smoke. Sometimes
they rose straight up in the heavens, now they started off to the right,
and then they started off to the left. Although they meant nothing, one
could imagine that they meant anything or everything. They were a
frantic call for help or an insistent message that the trail of the
fugitive had been discovered, or merely a wild statement that the night
was not going to be cold, nor the next day either, or an exchange of
compliments, or whatever those who saw the things chose to imagine.

After hoping for a while so intensely that Braxton Wyatt and Blackstaffe
were on either side of him, Henry felt sure it was true, so ready is
eager hope to turn its belief into a fact, and he rejoiced anew at their
vexation, laughing silently and long. Then he abruptly kicked the coals
apart, smothered the smoke, and taking up his pack fled again, much
amused and much heartened, for further efforts. He could not remember
when he had spent a more enjoyable half hour.

He maintained his flight until far after midnight, when, coming into
stony ground, he found excellent shelter under a great ledge, one
projecting so widely that when he awoke in the morning and found it
raining, he was quite dry. It poured heavily until the afternoon, and he
did not stir from his covert, but, wrapped in the painted coat and
blankets, and taking occasional strips of the deer meat, he enjoyed the
period of rest.

It rained so hard that he could not see more than fifty yards away, and
in the ravine before his ledge the water ran in a cold stream. The
forest looked desolate and mournful, and he would have been desolate and
mournful himself if it had not been for the single fact that he was able
to keep dry. That made all the difference in the world, and the contrast
between his own warm and sheltered lair and the chill and dripping woods
and thickets merely heightened his sense of comfort.

When the rain stopped it was followed by an extremely cold night that
froze everything tight. Every tree, bush and the earth itself was
covered with glittering ice, a vast and intricate network, a wilderness
in white and silver. It was alike beautiful and majestic, and it made
its full appeal to Henry, but at the same time he knew that his
difficulties had been increased. He would have to walk over ice, and, as
he passed through the thickets, fragments of ice brushed from the twigs
would fall about him. For a while, at least, the Ice Age had returned.
It was sure, too, to make game very scarce, as all the animals would
stay in their coverts as long as they could at such a time, and he must
replenish his supplies of food soon. But that was a difficulty to which
he gave only a passing thought. Others pressed upon him with more
immediate force.

His moccasins had become worn from long use and they slipped on the ice
as if it were glass. He met this difficulty by cutting pieces from one
of the blankets and tying them tightly over his feet with thin strips
from his buckskin garments. He was then able to walk without slipping,
and he made good progress again through the forest, the exertion of
travel keeping him warm. Meanwhile he watched everywhere for a sign, a
sign from the four, keeping an especial eye for the trees, for it was
upon them that the forest runners wrote their letters to one another. In
his soul he craved such a letter and he did not really know how
intensely he craved it. The bonds of friendship that united the five
were the ties of countless hardships and dangers shared, and not one of
them would have hesitated an instant to risk his life for any one of the
others.

It was characteristic of Henry's patience and thoroughness that, though
he found nothing, he kept on looking. He wanted a letter, and he wanted
it so long and with so much concentration that he began to believe he
would find it. It was only a short letter that he wished, merely a word
from his friends saying they had passed that way. A straight, tall
figure, with eager, questing eyes, he went on through the silver forest.
When the light wind blew, fragments of the ice that sheathed every bough
and twig fell about him and rattled like silver coins as they struck the
ice below, but mostly the air was quiet, and the glow from a mighty
setting sun began to shoot such deep tints through the silver that it
was luminous with red gold. Thinking little now of its beauty and
majesty, the hunter pressed on, not the hunter of men nor even a hunter
of game, but a hunter for a word.

The mighty sun sank farther. Most of the gold in its rays was gone, and
it burned with an intense red fire, lighting up the icy forest with the
glow of an old, old world. Henry still looked. The dark would come soon,
when he must abandon the search for the word and seek shelter instead.
But his hope was still high that he would find it before night closed
down.

When the red glow was at its deepest he saw in the very core and heart
of it that for which he was looking. Eye-high on the stalwart trunk of
an oak were four parallel slashes from the keen blade of a tomahawk.
They could not have been put there by chance. A powerful hand had
wielded the weapon and the four cuts were precisely horizontal and close
together. He had found his word. It was as plain as day. The four had
passed there and they had left for him a letter telling him all about
it. This was only the first paragraph in the letter, and he would find
others farther on, but he devoted a little time to the examination of
the first.

He studied minutely the cuts and the cloven edges of the bark, and he
decided that they were at least two weeks old. So the letter had been
posted some time since, and doubtless its writers had gone on to another
region. But if they posted one letter they would post others, and he
felt now that communication had been established. True, the chain
connecting them was long, but it could be shortened inch by inch.

He made a series of widening circles about the tree, looking for the
second paragraph of the letter, and he found it about a hundred yards to
the eastward, exactly like the first, four parallel slashes of a
tomahawk, eye-high, deep into the trunk of a stalwart oak. He found a
third paragraph precisely like the first and the second, a hundred yards
farther on, and then no more. But three were enough. They indicated
clearly the course of the four which was into the northeast. In the
morning he would change his own direction to conform with theirs.

The letter gave him a great surge of the heart, but the night came down
quickly, dark and cold, the bitter wind blew again, and the ice fell
about him in a rain of chill crystals. He knew that the temperature was
falling fast, and that it would be his hardest night so far. He must
have a fire, risk or no risk, and it was a full three hours before he
was able to coax one from dead wood that he dragged from sheltered
recesses. Then it felt so good that he built a second, intending to
sleep between them. His supply of food was low, but knowing how needful
it was to preserve his strength and the full fresh flow of his blood, he
ate of it heartily, and, then when the ground, wet between the fires
from the melted ice, had been dried by the heat, he made his bed and
slept well, although he awoke once in the night and finding the cold
intense put fresh wood on the fires.

The next morning was one of the coldest he had felt, and he was
reluctant to leave the beds of coals, but his comrades had given him a
sign, and he would not dream of ignoring it. He threw ice upon the
fires, and with a sigh felt their heat disappear. Then he followed the
trail to the northeast, hunting at intervals for a renewal of the sign
lest he go wrong. Three times he found it, always the four cuts,
eye-high, always in the trunk of a stalwart oak, and always they led in
the direction in which he was going. The cuts were very deep, and he was
quite sure that they had been made by Shif'less Sol, who added to
remarkable strength wonderful cunning and mastery in the use of a
tomahawk.

About noon, he came to a vast, shallow, flooded area, a third of a mile
or more across, but extending farther to north and south than he could
see either way. Doubtless the four had crossed there before the heavy
rains made the flood, and as he was unwilling to take the long circuit
to north or south he decided to make the passage on the ice which was
thick and strong.

He had been so free from danger for some time that he took little
thought of it now, but when it was absent from his mind it came. When he
was well out upon the ice he heard the crack of a rifle behind him and a
bullet whizzed by his ear. He ran forward at great speed before he
looked back, and then he saw a dozen warriors standing at the edge of
the ice, but making no motion to pursue. As he was now out of range, he
stopped and examined them, wondering why they did not follow him. The
solution came quickly.

The band suddenly united in a tremendous war whoop and from the woods on
the other side of the ice came an answering whoop. He was trapped
between them, and they could afford to be deliberate. His heart sank,
but as usual his courage came back in an instant, stronger than ever.
Alert, resourceful, the best marksman in all the West, he did not mean
to be taken or slain, and he looked about for the means of defense. As
it was not a lake, upon the frozen surface of which he stood, merely a
great shallow flooded area, there were clumps of bushes and little
islands of earth here and there, and he ran to one not twenty feet away,
a tiny place, well covered with big bushes. The Indians, seeing him take
refuge, set up a yell from both shores, and Henry, settling down in his
covert, waited for them to make the first move.

He knew that the warriors would be deliberate. Considering their victim
secure in the trap, they would reckon time of no value, and would take
no unnecessary risk. He believed they were hunting bands, not those that
had trailed him directly, and that his encounter with them was chance, a
piece of bad fortune, nothing more than he should expect after such a
long run of good fortune.

Warriors of the different bands sent far signals to one another across
the ice, and then slowly and with care each party built a large fire,
around which the men sat basking in the heat, and now and then, with a
cry or two, taunting the fugitive whom they considered so tight in the
trap. The red gleam of the flames upon the ice, contrasting with his own
situation, struck a chill into Henry. The wind had a clear sweep over
the frozen lagoon, and the rustling of the icy bushes above him was
like a whisper from the cold. He wrapped himself thoroughly in the
painted coat and the two blankets, put the rifle in front of him, where
he could snatch it up instantly, and beat his hands together at times to
keep them warm, and at other times held them under the blankets.

He understood human nature, and he knew that they were rejoicing in
their own comfort, while he might be freezing. They felt that way
because it was their way, and he did not blame them. It was merely his
business to thwart their plans, so far as they concerned himself. He
recognized that it was a contest in which only superior skill could
defeat superior numbers, and he summoned to his aid every faculty he
possessed.

The Indians did not move for an hour, luxuriating by their fires, and
occasionally taunting him with cries. Then four warriors from either
shore went upon the ice at the same time, and began to advance slowly
toward his island, making use of the clumps of bushes that thrust here
and there through the frozen surface of the lagoon.

Henry slipped his hands from the blankets and watched both advancing
parties with swift glances, right and to left. They were using shelter
and advancing very slowly, but beyond a certain point both were bound to
come in range. He smiled a little. Much of his forest life recently had
been in the nature of an idyll, but now the wild man in him was
uppermost. They came to kill and they would find a killer.

He knelt among the bushes, which were thin enough to allow him a clear
view in every direction, and put his powder horn and bullet pouch on the
snow in front of him. He could reload with amazing rapidity. They did
not know that. Nor did they know that they were advancing upon the king
of riflemen. Naturally, they would suppose him to be a wandering hunter
lost in a dangerous region.

The party on the west presently began to pass from the shelter of one
tuft of bushes to another, twenty yards away, and in doing so the four
were wholly exposed. It was a long shot, much too long for any of the
Indians, but not too long for Henry. He fired at the leading warrior,
and, before he had time to see him crashing on the ice, he was reloading
his rifle with all the speed of dexterous fingers. He heard a yell of
rage from the Indians, and, glancing up, saw the three dragging away the
body of the fallen man. But the party on the other side, knowing that
his rifle had been emptied, but not knowing with what speed he could
reload, came running.

His weapon flashed a second time, and with the same deadly aim. The
leading warrior in the second party fell also, dead, when his body
touched the ice, and his comrades gave back in fear. They had not known
such terrible sharpshooting before, and the man whom they had thought so
securely in the trap must have two rifles at least. Both parties,
carrying their dead with them, retreated swiftly to shore, and gathered
about the fires again.

Henry reloaded a second time, patted affectionately the rifle that had
served him so well, put it once more in front of him, and sheltered his
hands as before under the blankets. The bands had received a dreadful
lesson. The loss of two good warriors was not to be passed over lightly,
and he knew they would delay some time before taking further action.
Meanwhile, the night was coming fast and the cold was increasing so
greatly that it alarmed him, despite the blankets and the painted robe.
The wind sweeping over the frozen surface of the lagoon had an edge that
cut like steel. The very blood in his veins seemed to grow chill, and he
felt alarm lest his hands grow too stiff with cold to handle the rifle.
The bushes, although they hid him from a distant enemy, did not afford
much protection. Instead, they were like so many icicles.

The two bands built their fires higher, until the flames threw a glow
far out on the ice, and Henry saw their hovering figures outlined in
black against the red. They filled him with anger, because they could
maintain the siege in comfort, while he had to fight not only a human
foe, but the paralyzing cold as well. He stood up now, stretched his
arms, stamped his feet and exercised himself in every manner of which he
could think, until a certain amount of warmth came to his body. But he
knew it would not last long. Presently the cold would settle back
fiercer and more intense than ever.

The night advanced, the dusk deepened and the siege of Henry by the
warriors and the cold grew more formidable. He was anxious for the
Indians to make another attack, but he knew now they would not do it.
They would wait patiently for the fugitive in the trap to fall inert
into their hands. After all he was in the trap! And it was a trap worse
than any other he had ever met. Then he said fiercely to himself that he
might be in the trap, but he would break out of it.

For the second time, he took violent physical exercise to drive away the
creeping and paralyzing cold, and then he resolved upon his plan to
burst the trap. The night was fairly dark with streamers of cloud
floating across the heavens, and it might grow darker. Far to north and
south stretched the glimmering white ice, with dark spots here and
there, where the clumps of bushes or trees thrust themselves above the
frozen surface.

Wrapping himself as thoroughly as he could, and yet in the best way to
leave freedom of action, he crept from the bushes and bending low on the
ice ran to a clump about thirty yards to the south, where he crouched a
while, watching the warriors at the two fires. He could still see very
clearly their figures outlined in a black tracery against the flames,
and they might have sentinels posted nearer, but evidently his own
change of base had not been suspected. Perhaps the fear of his deadly
rifle kept them from coming so near that they could see his movements,
and they relied upon the great cold to hold him within the original
clump of bushes. The blood in his veins that had grown chill seemed
suddenly to turn warm again. Even a passage of a few yards from one
little island to another was enough to create hope. There was no trap so
tight in which he could not find a crevice, or make one, and he prepared
for the second stage in his journey, a cluster of trees a full hundred
yards to the south.

He would have dropped to his hands and knees if it had not been for the
fear of freezing his fingers, a risk that he could not afford to take
for a moment, alone in the desolate wilderness and surrounded by deadly
perils. So he merely stooped low and ran for the trees, the wrappings of
blanket on his feet saving him from slipping.

But he gained them and there was yet no alarm. The black tracery of the
Indian figures still showed before the fires, where they were hovering
for the sake of the grateful heat, and, as well as he could judge, his
flight was unsuspected.

The third island was much better than the first two. Although it was
only eight or ten yards across, it supported a cluster of large trees,
and had a little dip in the center, in which he lay, while the cruel
wind was broken off by the trees or passed over his head. There was an
access of warmth, and he had a tremendous temptation to lie there, but
he fought it. It was hard to distinguish warmth from numbness, and, if
he remained without motion, he would surely freeze to death, despite the
trees and the dip.

Reluctantly he began the fourth stage in his flight, and his reluctance
was all the greater because the island for which he was making was at
least three hundred yards away, and the wind, cold as the Pole and cruel
as death, was rising to a hurricane. It made him waver as he ran, and
his fingers almost froze to his rifle. But he reached the fourth island,
where he sank down exhausted, the fierce wind having taken his breath
for the time. The fires now were far away and he could not distinguish
the Indians from the flames, but he did not believe any of them had come
upon the ice to attack him or to spy him out. While the tremendous cold
almost paralyzed him, it would also withhold their advance upon him for
a while.

He rose from his covert and started again, although he felt that he was
growing weaker. Such intense exertion, under such conditions, was bound
to tell even upon a frame like his, but he would not let himself falter,
passing from island to island, resting a little at every one, bearing
toward the southeast, and intending to enter the forest about a mile
from the fire on that side. Meanwhile, the chill of the deadly cold and
elation over his escape fought for the mastery of him. He reached the
last little island, scarcely ten yards from the shore, and as he stepped
upon it, two dusky figures threw themselves upon him.

Henry was thrown back upon the ice, but though the blow was like a
lightning flash, he realized, in an instant, what it meant. The warriors
had not been wholly paralyzed by the cold, and they had stationed guards
at other points along the lagoon to prevent his escape, but these two
were seeking so hard to protect themselves from the cruel wind that they
had not seen him until he was upon them. Knowing that the question of
his life or death would be decided within the next half minute, he put
forth every ounce of his mighty strength, and swept the two warriors
together in his arms.

His rifle clattered upon the ice, and with the two men clinging to him,
struggling vainly to reach tomahawk or knife, he rose to his feet, still
clutching the warriors. But the feet of all three slipped from under
them, and down they went again with a tremendous impact. The warriors
were on the underside, and Henry fell upon them. There was a rending
crash, as the ice, thinner at that point, owing to the protection of the
island, broke beneath the blow.

Henry felt the grappling fingers slip from him, and he sprang back just
in time to see the two warriors sink into a narrow but icy gulf, from
which they never rose again. Uttering a cry of horror, he picked up his
rifle and ran for the forest. He knew that chance, or perhaps the will
of the greater powers, had saved him again, but, as he ran, he shuddered
many times, not from the cold, but at the ghastly fate that had
overtaken the warriors. The impression faded by and by. When one is in a
bitter struggle for life he does not have time to think long of the fate
of others, and the savage wilderness through which he fled was too
bitter of aspect then to breed a long pity.

He was quite sure that he had shaken off the Indians, for the time,
anyhow, and again the vital question with him was warmth. The running
was bringing a measure of it, but he could not run forever, and he soon
sank to a walk in order to save himself. But he maintained this gait for
a long time, in truth, until dawn was only three or four hours away, and
then he decided that he would build a fire. It was a risk, but he chose
to take the smaller risk in order to drive off the greater.

It never before took him so long to kindle his blaze. He found a place
sheltered from the wind, whittled many shavings from dead wood, and used
his flint and steel until his hands ached, coaxing forth the elusive
sparks and trying to make them ignite the wood. They died by hundreds,
but, after infinite industry and patience, they took hold, and he
sheltered the tiny and timid blaze with his body, lest it change its
mind and go away after all. Though it sank several times, it concluded
finally to stay and grow, and, having decided, it showed vigor, burning
fast while Henry fed it.

As the fire threw out abundant heat he reveled in it. Now he knew better
than ever before that fire was life. He could feel the blood which had
seemed to be ice in his veins thawing and flowing in a full warm flood
again. The beat of his heart grew stronger and the stiff hands acquired
their old flexibility. His face stung at first, but he rubbed ice over
it, and presently it too responded to the grateful heat. An immense
comfort seized him and he felt drowsy. Comfort would become luxury if he
could lie down and sleep, but he knew too much to yield to the demands
of his body. After spending two hours by the fire and becoming
thoroughly soaked in heat, he put out the coals and went on again. As he
walked, he ate the last of his food, and now he must soon find more. The
problem of his escape from the Indians had been solved, but the problem
of finding his comrades was upon his mind, though it must be put off
while he solved that of food.

He considered it a miracle that his rifle had not gone into the water
with the two warriors. But was it a miracle? Was it not rather another
intercession of the greater powers in his favor? Alone in the wilderness
at such a time a rifle was at least half of life, even more, it was the
very staff of it. Without it he would surely perish. He patted the rifle
with the genuine affection one must feel for so true a weapon. It was a
fine rifle, beautiful in his eyes, with a long, slender barrel of blued
steel, and a polished and carved stock. It had never failed him, and he
knew that it would not fail him now.

He thought of the rabbits which had been such an abundant resource once.
Many of them must be in their nests under the ice and snow, and he
searched for hours but found none. Yet he could go two or three days
without food, and he did not despair, showing all his usual pertinacity,
never ceasing to look. The hunt led him into rocky ground, and, between
the ledges, he noticed an opening that caused him to take a second look.
Several coarse hairs were on the stone at the entrance, and when he saw
them he knew. It was his animal brother at home, and he did not forget
his gratitude, but he must live.

He seized a long stick and thrust it savagely inside. The bear, awakened
from the winter sleep which he had begun luxuriously not long ago,
growled fiercely and rushed out. Then Henry snatched up his rifle and
shot him. The bear had lost much of his fat, but he was a perfect
treasure house of supplies, nevertheless, and steaks from his body were
soon broiling over the coals. Henry, remembering how much food he needed
in such intense cold, and, while he was undergoing physical exertions so
great, ate heavily. As much more as he could conveniently carry he added
to his pack, knowing that he could freeze it at night, and that it would
keep indefinitely. He would have liked the bearskin too, but he did not
care to add so much to his burden, and so he left it reluctantly.

He was a new man now, made over completely. The wilderness, so far from
being desolate and hostile, took on its old comfortable aspects. It was
a provider of food and shelter to one who knew how to find them, and
certainly none knew better than he. The wants of the body being
satisfied, he began to plan anew for the junction with his comrades. The
great cold would not last much longer. A temperature twenty or thirty
degrees below zero never endured more than a few days. Like as not, it
would break up in a warm rain, to be followed by moderate weather, and
then he could hunt the trail of the four in comfort.

His pack was much heavier when he started and the icy coating of the
earth was still slippery, but he made excellent progress, and he was
able to fix in his mind the direction in which the marks on the trees
had pointed. He knew that he must turn back somewhat toward the north in
order to reach that line, and such a change in his course would increase
the danger from the Indians, but he did not hesitate. He made the angle
at once, and then he began to observe the trees with all the patience
and minuteness of which a forest runner in such a crisis was capable.

It was almost dusk when he found the sign, four slashes of a tomahawk,
eye-high on the stalwart trunk of an oak, and a hundred yards farther on
a similar sign. He traced them fully a mile, and then as the night shut
down, dark and impenetrable, he was compelled to stop. He dared another
fire, the cold was so intense, and began his journey again the next
morning over the ice.

The rise in the temperature that he had expected did not occur, nor were
there any signs of a change. Evidently the great cold had come to stay
much longer than usual, and, while it hindered his own journey, it also
hindered possible pursuit by the Indians, of whom he saw no traces
anywhere until the third day after he had killed the bear. Then he
observed a great smoke in the south, and he approached near enough to
discover that it was an Indian village, probably Shawnees. It seemed to
be snowed up for the winter, holed up like a bear, and, anticipating no
danger from it, he continued his leisurely hunt eastward.

He lost the traces for a whole day, but recovered them the next morning,
and now they were much fresher. Sap, not yet dead in some of the trees,
had oozed but lately into the cuts, and his heart beat very hard. His
comrades could not be far away. He might reach them the next day or the
day after, and now he was actuated by a curious motive, and yet it was
not curious, when his character is considered.

He built a fire by the side of one of the pools, with which the forest
was filled. Breaking the ice and daring the fierce chill of the water,
he took a quick bath. Then, while he was wrapped in the blankets and the
painted coat, he washed all his clothing thoroughly, as he had done once
before, and dried it by the fire. When he was able to put it on again,
he washed the blankets in their turn and dried them. He would have
served the painted coat in a similar manner, but, as that was
impossible, he rubbed and pounded it thoroughly.

His forest toilet complete, Henry felt himself a new man once more,
inwardly and outwardly, freshened up, made presentable to the eye. He
knew that he was haggard and worn. Hercules himself would have been,
after such a flight and pursuit, but at least he was dressed as a forest
runner, neat by nature and careful in his attire, should be.

Now he followed the traces with renewed strength and speed, and he found
that they came more closely together, a fact indicating the absence of
Indians from the immediate region, as the four would not leave so broad
a trail, unless they knew it would not bring a strong force of Indians
upon them. Straight now it led, and he crossed numerous frozen streams
and pools or lagoons, and then the night that he felt sure was to be the
last one came, as bitterly cold as ever.

The next morning he did not put out his fire as usual, instead he built
it up higher, and, passing one of the blankets rapidly back and forth
over it, sent up ring after ring of smoke. They did not thin away and
vanish until they were high in the clear, intensely cold blue sky.

When his eyes had followed the rings a little while he turned them
toward the eastern horizon and watched there closely. Despite all the
efforts of his will his heart throbbed hard. Would the answer come? He
waited a full half hour, and then his pulses gave a great leap. Rings of
smoke began to rise there under the sky's rim a full mile away,
ascending like his own into the cold air, where, high up, they thinned
away and vanished. Then his pulses gave another great leap as a second
series of rings rose close beside the first, to be followed quickly by a
third and a fourth. Four fires and four groups of smoke rings rising
into the air! The last doubt disappeared. Paul, the shiftless one, the
silent one, and Long Jim were there. Doubtless they had signaled before,
and now at last he had called to them.

In his wild exultation he kicked the coals of his own fire apart and
started swiftly toward the four groups of smoke rings. On his way he
sent forth a long thrilling cry that pierced and echoed far through the
wintry forest, and like the distant song of a bugle a similar cry came
back. As he broke into a run, four human figures appeared upon the crest
of a low hill and burst into a simultaneous shout. Then they exclaimed,
also together:

"Henry!"

After that, although their emotion was deep, they made no great show of
it. The border was always terse.

"I knowed you'd shake 'em off, Henry," said the shiftless one.

"But it must have been a long chase," said Paul.

"Wish I'd been with you," said Long Jim.

"Big work," said Tom Ross.

"I didn't do it all my myself," said Henry. "I was helped by the people
of the forest. They came to my aid again and again."

Paul looked at him wondering, and Henry told them how he had been warned
by the animals one after another, and he could not believe it was mere
chance.

"The woods are full o' strange things," said Shif'less Sol,
thoughtfully. "An' I never try to explain 'em all to myse'f. I let 'em
go fur what they are."

"How has it been with all of you?" asked Henry.

"We stayed a long time on the oasis in the swamp," replied Paul, "and
then we started toward the north, hanging on to the rear of the pursuit,
and trying for a chance to help you, though we never found it. At last
the great cold made us seek shelter, but we were sure it would compel
the warriors to abandon the chase and drive them into their villages."

"After all, it was King Winter that intervened finally in my behalf."

"That's true. And while we were hovering about, hoping to help you, we
left the long trail which I suppose you saw."

"Yes, I came upon it, and it led me to you."

"An' now," said Shif'less Sol, "sence all the warriors hev been drove
into winter quarters, an' none o' us hez been killed or took, s'pose we
go into them kind a' quarters ourselves, an' keep warm."

"Whar?" asked Silent Tom.

"Why, our old hollow in the cliff!" exclaimed Paul. "The warriors would
not think of marching against it again before next spring, if at all,
and it's the warmest, safest and finest place in all the wilderness."

"A good choice," said Henry.

"Right thar we'll go," said Shif'less Sol.

"Ez soon ez we kin make tracks fur it," said Long Jim.

"Shore," said Tom Ross.

They started at once, and all things turned in their favor. The
wilderness remained frozen and bitter cold, but there was no pursuit. By
all rules, game should have been scarce at such a time, but they found
plenty of it. Day after day they traveled through the woods, crossing
the Ohio on the ice, and at last they drew near the rocky home they had
defended so valiantly, and which once more extended to them a silent
welcome.

Now they built their fires anew, killed game and obtained abundant
supplies of food and furs, though for two weeks Henry was not allowed to
join the others in the chase, resting like Hercules after his mighty
labors. Then, while the great cold lasted, they, the eyes of the woods,
built up their strength and spirit for new labors and dangers in the
spring.