Ned Preston made no remark, but alternately peered ahead to discern where they were going, and back, that he might admire the grace and skill with which the Indian propelled the light structure.
All at once, with a sweep of the paddle, the boat was whirled around with such suddenness that Blossom Brown thought they were going to upset and be precipitated into the water. By the time he recovered himself the delicate prow touched the shore as lightly as if drawn by a lady's hand.
Ned instantly stepped out, the others doing the same. When everything was removed, Deerfoot stooped over, and, without any apparent effort, raised the canoe from the water.
"I s'pose he am gwine to take dat along to hold ober our heads when it rains."
But Blossom was altogether wide of the mark in his theory. The Shawanoe carried it only a few paces, when he placed it under a clump of bushes, pulled some leaves over it, laying the paddle beneath, and then once more turned to resume their journey.
CHAPTER V.
"SHUT OUT."
Deerfoot informed his friends that they were now within seven miles of the block-house. Although the night was far advanced, he expected to reach their destination long before morning. At that season the days were short, and as the Shawanoe was familiar with the woods, and could travel with as much certainty in the darkness as the light, there was no delay counted upon, unless they should approach the vicinity of some of the Wyandots.
The order of march was taken up precisely as before, Deerfoot warning the others to walk with the least noise possible, he setting the example by advancing absolutely without any sound that could betray his footsteps.
Ned Preston felt the touch of a few wandering snowflakes against his cheek, but there were not enough to show themselves on the leaves. The exercise of walking and their thick garments kept them sufficiently warm, though it would have been different had they been in camp. In the latter case, as they had no encumbering blankets, it would have gone ill without a roaring camp-fire.
The journey now became monotonous, even to young Preston, who found it tiresome to walk so continuously without the least noise or occurrence to awaken alarm. They must have gone at least four miles in this manner, Blossom plodding along with a certain dogged resolution which kept him close on the heels of his young master.
The latter often felt like protesting, but nothing could have persuaded him to do so. It would have offended Deerfoot, who was the guide of the party, and who was directing affairs in accordance with his own theory of strategy. He knew that that scout is sure to meet disaster, sooner or later, who allows his impatience to influence his judgment, and who fails to use the most extreme caution whenever and wherever there is the shadow of danger.
When Preston began to believe they were in the vicinity of the Licking, Deerfoot came to an abrupt and noiseless halt. This time he spoke the single word—
The two did as requested, but were unable to detect anything beside the hollow moaning of the wind through the trees, and the faint, almost inaudible murmur of the distant Licking. Several minutes passed, and then the guide asked—
"Do my brothers hear anything?"
They answered that they could distinguish nothing more than was always to be heard at such times.
"We are close to the camp of the Wyandots," was the alarming information.
"How do you know that?" inquired his friend.
"Deerfoot heard them," was the explanation, in such a guarded undertone that his companions barely caught his words.
No one thought of doubting the assertion of the Indian, incredible as it sounded, and the truth of his declaration was soon manifest. Certain as he was that they were close to a party of his own race, the advance was made with greater care than before.
He picked his way with such patience and slowness that Blossom found plenty of time in which to lift his feet as high as he knew how, setting them down as though afraid of waking a slumbering baby near at hand.
Within two rods of the spot where they halted they suddenly caught the starlike twinkle of a point of fire directly ahead. Instantly all stopped, and no one spoke; they knew that it was the camp-fire of the party whose presence the Shawanoe learned a few minutes before.
Nothing more than the glimmer of the light could be seen, because there were so many trees and so much vegetation intervening.
"Let my brothers wait till I return," said Deerfoot, turning his head so as not to speak too loud.
"It shall be done," replied Ned Preston, who was on the point of asking a question, when he became aware that he and Blossom were alone: Deerfoot had vanished with the silence of a shadow.
"If we've to wait yar a long time," said Blossom in a husky whisper, "we might as well sot down."
Preston made no objection to this on the part of his servant, but he remained standing himself, leaning against a tree, while Blossom supported his head in the same way.
"I don't care if Deerfoot doesn't come back for a week," remarked the negro lad, with a sigh of contentment that at last he was permitted to rest his limbs.
"He will not stay long," said Ned; "and the best thing we can do while he is away is to do nothing."
"Dat's just what I'm doin' as hard as I can."
"I wouldn't even speak, Blossom, for some of the Indians may be near us."
"Dat suits me jes' as well," assented the other, who thereafter held his peace.
Meanwhile, Deerfoot the Shawanoe approached the camp-fire of the Indians with all the care and skill he could command. Possibly he would have incurred no great risk by stalking boldly forward, for he was already known among the tribe, which was an ally of the Shawanoes.
But the incident of the afternoon had taught him a lesson, and he knew such a course would deepen the suspicion which some of the Wyandots already held against him.
They had given him to understand they were on their way to reconnoiter Wild Oaks and some of the settlements along the Ohio. If they should find he was dogging them, what other proof could they ask that he was playing the part of spy and enemy?
For this reason the Shawanoe determined to avoid observation, and to make his reconnoissance precisely as though he were an avowed foe of those of his own race.
He had not gone far when he gained a full view of the camp. That which immediately caught his attention and increased his misgiving was the fact that this was a new party altogether. Waughtauk did not lead these warriors, none of whom was with the company whom the young scout encountered during the afternoon.
But several other important facts were significant: these were also Wyandots; they numbered thirteen, and they were in their war-paint. They had probably left their towns north of the Ohio at the same time with Waughtauk, and they had separated, the better to carry out some project the chief had in view.
Shrewd and sagacious beyond his years as was the Shawanoe, he was in a situation in which he was compelled to do no little guessing. He was satisfied that the chief and his warriors intended to compass the destruction of the block-house, sometimes known as Fort Bridgman, and to massacre every one within it.
The Wyandots, like the Shawanoes, were brave fighters, and why they had not assailed the post was hard to tell, when it would seem they numbered enough to overwhelm the garrison. It looked as if Colonel Preston had discovered his danger, though it was not an uncommon thing for a war party to delay their attack on a station a long time after it seemed doomed beyond all hope.
The Wyandots had disposed themselves in a fashion that looked as though they meant to stay where they were through the night. They had evidently finished a meal on something, and were now smoking their pipes, lolling on their blankets, sharpening their knives with peculiar whetstones, cleaning their guns, now and then exchanging a few guttural words, the meaning of which not even the sharp-eared Shawanoe could catch.
"They mean to attack the block-house," was the conclusion of Deerfoot, who tarried only a few minutes, when he began a cautious return to his two friends, who were found as he had left them, except that Blossom Brown was on the verge of slumber.
Deerfoot quickly explained what he had learned, and added that the difficulty of entering the block-house was increased; but he believed, by acting promptly, it could be done with safety. Ned Preston was inclined to ask wherein the use lay of all three going thither, when one would do as well, and the obstacles were much greater than in the case of a single person.
But the course of the guide convinced Preston that he had some plan which he had not yet revealed, and which necessitated the entrance of the young pioneer at least into the block-house.
"Have you any knowledge when the Wyandots will attack Colonel Preston?"
"The break of day is a favorite hour with Deerfoot's people, but they often take other seasons."
"Why are they not closer to the station?"
"They are already close; we are within three hundred yards of the fort; Deerfoot will lead the way, and if the warriors' eyes are not like those of the owl, we may pass through the gate before the first sign of light in the east."
There was no necessity of telling Ned and Blossom that their caution must not be relaxed a single moment: no one could know better than they that the briefest forgetfulness was likely to prove fatal, for the Wyandots were all around them. The detection of either lad would seal his fate.
The purpose of Deerfoot was to steal nigh enough to the block-house to apprise the inmates that they were on the outside, and awaiting an opportunity to enter. Could they succeed in letting Colonel Preston know the truth, all three could be admitted in the darkness, with little danger to themselves or to the garrison.
What the Shawanoe feared was that the Wyandots had established a cordon, as it might be termed, around the block-house. It was more than probable that Colonel Preston had discovered the approach of the hostiles in time to make quite thorough preparations.
While this might not avert the attack of the red men, it was certain to delay it. The next most natural proceeding for the commandant would be to dispatch a messenger to Wild Oaks, to inform the settlers of his peril, and to bring back help. The assailing Indians would anticipate such a movement by surrounding the block-house so closely that the most skillful ranger would find it impossible to make his way through the lines.
If such were the case, it followed as a corollary that no friend of the garrison would be able to steal through the cordon and secure entrance into the building: the gauntlet, in the latter case, would be more difficult than in the former, inasmuch as it would be necessary first to open communication with Colonel Preston, and to establish a perfect understanding before the task could be attempted.
Deerfoot turned to the right, so as to pass around the camp-fire, but his advance was with a caution which can hardly be pictured. Ned Preston could not hear the slightest sound, and where the darkness was so deep it was hard work to keep informed of his movements.
When the Shawanoe stopped, he merely reached his hand back and touched Ned, who did the same to Blossom; when the start was made again, a slight sibilant sound, which a listening Indian twenty feet distant would not have noticed, told the fact. No one ventured to speak, even in the most guarded whisper.
Had Deerfoot been alone, he would have advanced much faster; but he gave his companions time to raise their feet and put them down again with such slowness and care that not a leaf was overturned.
Blossom Brown did much better than Preston anticipated. The lad understood the need of this elaborate caution, and as he had the two in front of him, there was no excuse for his making a false step. Once he began a sentence in a husky whisper, but before it was half finished his young master gripped him by the shoulder, as if with an iron vise, and the attempt was not repeated.
After a time, which seemed almost interminable, the camp-fire was flanked, though still in sight. The situation of the three, as a consequence, became more delicate and perilous than before; for, to effect a safe withdrawal from the neighborhood, they would have to pass through the lines again, while there could be no doubt "the woods were full" of other warriors.
Suddenly the serpent-like hiss of the Shawanoe sounded, and all three came to a stand-still. This was scarcely done when Deerfoot, for the first time since the reconnoissance proper began, broke silence by exclaiming, in a voice just audible,
His order was obeyed (for his companions knew the danger was imminent) without a word or a second's hesitation.
Their senses were on the alert, but for a minute or two they neither heard nor saw anything to explain the cause of the alarm of their guide. At the end of the brief spell, a faint rustling was noticed near them, and the listeners held their very breath.
This disturbance of the leaves must have been caused by the feet of Wyandot warriors, who were altogether closer than was comfortable for the lads crouching on the ground. In the gloom, deepened by the shadow of the wood, it was impossible to see a half dozen feet; but while Ned Preston was peering through the darkness in the direction whence came the noise, a figure suddenly passed across the field of vision between him and the camp-fire.
Looking in the latter direction, he could see something moving before the light. That which arrested the attention of Ned was the head and shoulders of an Indian warrior, who was gliding with a silence which led the spectator to suspect at first he was deceived. But the contour of the scalp-lock, shoulders and chest was unmistakable.
The first had scarcely vanished, when a second and a third followed in precisely the same fashion; but though the eye strained itself to catch sight of more, none appeared. The three were all who came so near detecting the boys.
Ned Preston and Blossom Brown felt that the perfect caution displayed by the Shawanoe was more than repaid; for had it been less, the hostiles would have learned their presence before they themselves were detected.
All at once young Preston became aware that Deerfoot was gone; he had quietly departed, as was his custom, and would return when he saw fit. Ned crept far enough backward to allow him to whisper the fact to Blossom, without any risk of being heard by other ears no matter how near them.
A full half hour passed, when the Shawanoe returned as silently as he had departed.
As Preston suspected, he had been off on a reconnoissance, where he wanted no companions. He announced the result in the alarming words—
"Wyandots are everywhere; we cannot enter the fort."
CHAPTER VI.
THE BLOCK-HOUSE.
The block-house, known near a century ago as Fort Bridgman, stood on the right bank of the Licking river in Kentucky, and was some thirty odd miles southwest of the present city of Maysville.
The block-house proper was a substantial structure of heavy logs, and consisted of only two rooms—one above and below. The lower story was a dozen yards square, and the upper was two feet greater in each direction, for the builders followed the frontier fashion of projecting the second story over the first. This projection being pierced with portholes, gave opportunity to the garrison to fire down on the heads of their assailants, who might attempt to batter down the door, or make a rush for the interior.
The roof was so steeply shelving that the most agile Indian could not sustain himself on it. On each side was a trap-door, intended for use in emergency. The roof itself was composed of thick slabs of oak, and, like the logs, doors, and every portion of the building, was bullet-proof.
The structure stood at the angle of a square of one hundred feet, which was inclosed by a strong stockade. This consisted of logs split through the middle, one end sharpened and driven deep into the earth, leaving the upper portions, which were of irregular height, nine or ten feet above the ground.
Standing at the angle of this square, it will be seen that the block-house formed a part of two sides. On that which faced the Licking was a door and one window; on the opposite side, which opened into the stockade or inclosure, were also a door and window. On the other two sides were two windows, but no door; the former were so narrow that no Indian warrior could force his way through them, while the doors of puncheon slabs would have resisted for a long time the pounding of a battering-ram. The windows were all on the ground floor.
The fort having been built expressly for defensive purposes, where the peril was known to be great, it lacked nothing which the rude frontier warfare could suggest. It was so abundantly pierced with loop-holes that the garrison commanded every approach.
If the red men attempted to scale the stockade at any point, they had to expose themselves to the bullets of the unerring Kentuckians behind the logs; while, if they secured a closer approach on in the darkness of night, the defenders could shoot them through the loopholes in the projecting floor above.
There was a gate on each side of the stockade, except on that furthest removed from the block-house. Only one of these was used, and that was on the southern side. The wooden chimney was at the corner, entirely within the stockade, and the numerous attacks which the structure had repelled proved, more than anything else, the strength and power of resistance of the defence.
The interior of the fort, as some called it, was of the most primitive character. Below was a rough slab floor, with a fireplace, the smoke from which found its vent up the wooden chimney. There were a bench, a table, and several rude chairs, while a barrel of corn-meal was generally kept pretty well filled against the emergency which all felt was liable to arise without an hour's notice.
The second story, although larger, as we have already stated, was furnished with the same simplicity. It was supposed that, in case of danger, this floor would be used more than the other by the defenders. It had the two trap-doors in the steep roof, and was liberally ventilated by means of the numerous loopholes which let in bars of light from every direction, and permitted the outlook to take in as extensive a vision as though the spectator was not surrounded by any walls at all.
Fort Bridgman faced the Licking river on the west, the stockade extending eastward. It was originally intended to embrace the six cabins which were put up by the settlers, but these were finally left outside, and the inclosed square looked like a small parade-ground, to be used for the benefit of the garrison. It contained near the centre a well, to be appealed to in emergency, though it was not placed within the building itself, so as to shut off the possibility of its being seized by an attacking force. Colonel Preston more than once had expressed a purpose to have such a well dug, but it was deferred from time to time until, as is generally the case, the necessity was forgotten altogether.
In the roomy upper story of the block-house was always kept a barrel of water, blankets, a few chairs, a number of axes, shovels, spades, picks, and utensils useful in a new settlement. Fort Bridgman at one time promised to become an important town in Kentucky; but a fierce raid by a band of red men, one tempestuous night in mid-winter, destroyed every cabin except the block-house, in which only a few settlers found safe refuge from the vengeful warriors.
In the autumn of which we are speaking there were only two cabins beside the defence. These stood outside the stockade, and one was occupied by Colonel Hugh Preston, his wife Maria, and his two daughters—Mary, aged ten, and Susie, eight years old.
Jo Stinger, an old Indian fighter of the early days in Kentucky, made his home with the family, while Jim Turner and Sam Megill occupied the other. The last two were brothers-in-law, and it was the intention of the latter to bring his wife and three children from Wild Oaks in the spring to live in the dwelling which he had taken so much pains to erect and fit for their coming.
Such was the garrison of the block-house in the autumn when Colonel Preston, while hunting in the woods, learned of the presence of a war party of Wyandots. It was by a pure accident, or rather providence, that he discovered the alarming fact, and he lost not a moment in improving the important knowledge.
He hastened home, and the settlers gathered in the block-house, with such extra provisions, blankets, fuel, and other necessaries as they could get together. The doors of the building and the gates of the stockade were fastened, and the men stationed themselves in the most available points to detect the approach of their enemies.
The little garrison were none too soon in these preparations, for within the succeeding half hour the Wyandots were seen on the edge of the woods, and creeping along the bank of the Licking one hundred yards away. They were quick to note that, with all their secrecy of movement, their approach had been discovered; if they had any doubts on the point, they were removed by a couple of rifle-shots that were sent hurtling among the bushes which partly concealed their bodies.
"It's a great disappointment to them," said Jo Stinger, as he peered through a loophole, "for they had every reason to believe we would be surprised."
"I hope it will be so much of a disappointment that they will postpone the siege," remarked the Colonel.
The old hunter shook his head, and added—
"That depends very much on how many redskins are out there. If the party is not very large, they will be apt to give it up; but if there are as many as I fear, the varmints will hang on, in the hope of cleanin' us out."
"They will have no easy task to do that," remarked the Colonel, with a flash of the eye; "this isn't the first time it has been tried, and it won't be the first time it has failed."
"Suppose it is a success?" said his wife gently.
The Colonel turned when he heard the familiar voice at his elbow, and, as he noticed Mary and Susie playing on the floor, something like a pang went to his heart. The sight caused him to feel more vividly than ever before the dreadful meaning of the word "failure," which had just passed the lips of his beloved wife.
"Failure!" he repeated, as he placed his arm affectionately on her shoulder; "do you regard it possible, when I have you and the little ones depending on us?"
"I know every man, and myself as well, will fight to the end, but even that does not always avail: the bravest must succumb when the assailants overwhelm them."
Tears glistened in her eyes, as she tried hard to look courageous, but a mother lives in her affections, and no one could have felt more deeply than did she, that all she valued in the world was at that moment within the wooden walls of the block-house, while a merciless foe was on the outside, as eager as so many jungle tigers to reach them.
"We have an abundance of ammunition," added the husband, seeking to hide a vague fear which was creeping over him; "and we can stand a longer siege than the Indians will care to maintain against us."
"I trust so, but I cannot feel the hope which sustains you: I wish you would send word to your brother at Wild Oaks, that he may give us help before it is too late."
This plan, although not named until now, was in the minds of more than one member of the garrison. Colonel Preston had asked himself whether it was not the prudent thing to do, and he looked at Jo Stinger to learn what he thought of it.
The old scout nodded his head in a way to signify he was favorable, and said—
"It's the right thing, Colonel, and I'm the man to do it."
"But how can you get out? The Indians will be on the watch, and we are too few in number to spare a man."
"Didn't I carry the news to Wild Oaks two years ago, when it looked as though all of us was going under sure?"
"You did—that's a fact; but was the risk as great as now?"
"I think this is no greater, and it may not be as great: that's to be found out. That time, I took three hours to get through the red skin lines; but when I had shook 'em clear, I done some of the tallest traveling of my life."
"If you think it best, you may try it after dark."
"I'll do it," said the settler, with a compression of the lips which showed his earnestness. He had perilled his life many a time during the years spent on the frontier, and he was not the man to hesitate, when duty called him.
It was now the middle of the afternoon of the blustery autumn day which saw the approach of Ned Preston, Blossom Brown and the Shawanoe, Deerfoot, to the vicinity of the block-house. The garrison were sure to use the utmost vigilance until the all-important question was settled, and it was not probable the besieging Wyandots would make any serious attack before the night was well advanced.
When Megill, a tall, sinewy, iron-limbed pioneer, learned the intention of Stinger to make the attempt to reach Wild Oaks with a view of bringing help, he commended the plan and said he would gladly take his place. But Stinger would not consent, and it was understood that the dangerous task was to be undertaken by him who proposed it.
As the chilly night settled over river, forest and clearing, every one in the block-house was impressed with the solemnity of the situation. Even little Mary and Susie talked in hushed voices of the wicked Indians on the outside, and wondered why they wished to harm those who had never harmed them. When they knelt at their mother's knee, their prayers were touching in their earnestness and simple faith, and brought tears to the eyes of their parents.
"God will take care of us," said Mary to the elder, with the trusting belief of childhood; "so don't feel bad, papa and mamma."
The mother had made them a bed in the corner, beyond the reach of any stray bullets that might find their way through the loopholes; and, as she tucked the blankets around them and kissed them good-night, she added her own petition to heaven that it would guard and shield them from all harm.
Stinger, Megill and Turner were at the loopholes; and, while the twilight was deepening within the gloomy block-house, Colonel Preston lingered a few minutes beside his wife, who was seated on a rude stool waiting for the little ones to close their eyes in slumber.
"Why should we feel alarmed, Maria," he asked, "when, as I told you a short time ago, we have plenty of ammunition and the means to defend ourselves? There are five rifles, one for each of us, including yourself; these walls are too strong to be battered down, and we can make our aim too sure for the Wyandots to expose themselves long to it."
"That is all true, Hugh, and I hope that nothing I have said will cause misgiving on your part; but, at the best, there are only a very, very few of us, and you know accidents may happen: suppose," she added in a tremulous voice, "one or two of you should fall——"
"Colonel, begging pardon," interrupted Jo Stinger, at this moment advancing toward them, "you obsarve it's so dark inside that we couldn't see each other's faces if it wasn't for that taller candle burning on the stand, and I don't know of a better time to start for Wild Oaks."
"Is it fully dark on the outside?" asked the Colonel, glad of excuse to end the gloomy conversation.
"As dark as a wolf's mouth—so dark that I'm hopeful of getting through the lines, without any bother; you know that every hour counts, and I shall have to put in some big licks to reach Wild Oaks and bring the boys here by to-morrow night."
There could be no disputing this fact, and Colonel Preston peeped through the loopholes, first on one side of the block-house and then on the other, until he had looked toward each point of the compass.
It may be said that nothing but blank darkness met his eye. He could hear the sound of the flowing river, the solemn sighing of the night-wind among the trees, but nowhere could he catch the glimmer of the Indian camp-fire, nor hear the red man's war-whoop which had fallen on his ear more than once since he made his home on the Dark and Bloody Ground.
This impressive stillness told as eloquently of the presence of the red man as the sounds of conflict could have done.
"There is no need of waiting longer," remarked the Colonel.
As he spoke, he began descending the ladder, which answered for the stairs, Stinger following him. On the lower floor there was not the slightest ray of light, but both were so familiar with the room that they needed no lamp.
Reaching the door, Colonel Preston placed his hand on the heavy bars which held it in place, and the two listened for several minutes. Nothing was heard, and the fastenings were drawn with much care and in almost complete silence.
"If you have to come back," whispered the commandant, "give the signal and I will let you in."
"I'll do so;—good bye," and, without any more words, the scout vanished in the gloom.
To the consternation of Colonel Preston, he heard the familiar whistle of Stinger a couple of hours later, at which time he hoped he was well on his way to Wild Oaks.
The messenger was safely admitted within the block-house shortly after, and his first words were—
"It's no use, Colonel; a rabbit couldn't creep through the lines, they're watching so close."
CHAPTER VII.
THE MESSAGE.
The declaration of Deerfoot the Shawanoe and of Stinger the scout that the Wyandots were holding such strict watch of the approaches to the block-house that no one could leave or approach it, was proof of the thoroughness of their precautions. It showed still further that the red men had determined to slay every one within the building.
The first requisite to the success of such a scheme was to prevent any one going to their help. The assailants knew just how many people composed the garrison; and, though the provisions might last for days and possibly weeks, yet the end must come sooner or later, when they would lose the power of resistance from very exhaustion.
Deerfoot, with all the skill he could command, conducted his two companions to a point along the river bank nearly in front of the block-house. This attained, he gave them to understand that they were in a very dangerous position, and it was necessary to keep carefully hidden from the Wyandots.
Having gone thus far, it would seem that the subtle Shawanoe ought to have gone further and secured entrance into the block-house itself. Had Colonel Preston known the exact situation, this could have been done, as in the case of the scout Stinger; but it was necessary first that a perfect understanding should be established. There were Wyandots everywhere: the watchful Shawanoe heard them moving stealthily hither and thither, and any one less skilful than he would have brought on a collision long before.
Any act, signal or communication which would apprise Colonel Preston of the truth, would attract the notice of the watchful red men themselves; so it would seem that Deerfoot had all his pains for nothing. But we shall show that the remarkable Shawanoe youth had not reached the end of his rope by any means.
A question has doubtless presented itself to the reader as to the necessity of the lads entering the block-house at all. Inasmuch as Stinger wished to get out, and they wished to get in, they might as well have exchanged positions. Deerfoot could turn about and hasten to Wild Oaks with news of the danger of the little garrison, leaving all the men to defend it until assistance arrived.
But, as afterwards became known, Deerfoot was following a special plan of his own. He was quick to discover that Colonel Preston knew his peril and would therefore do his utmost to defend the post; but the wily Shawanoe, from what he had learned, believed that the force of assailants was so numerous and strong, that they were able to carry the post before help could reach it from Wild Oaks. In his estimation, the all-important thing was to get re-inforcements into the block-house without an hour's unnecessary delay: that done, the time would then come for application to their friends on the Ohio.
If Ned Preston and Blossom Brown could be safely passed through the door, there would be two guns added to the five within, and such an addition was likely to prove the "balance of power," that would save the garrison from destruction.
This was the belief of the Shawanoe, and, though he did not explain his purpose at first, he was none the less determined that Colonel Preston should receive the benefit of these two guns, before application was made to his brother.
Between the block-house and Licking river was a cleared space of one hundred yards, the cultivated ground on every hand being so extensive that the stockade could not be approached by any foe unseen, except at night. The banks of the Licking were from four to six feet above the surface, while along the eastern shore, in front of the block-house, was a fringe of bushes and undergrowth, which offered a tempting hiding-place to a foe.
It was natural to expect the Wyandots to make use of this place, and they had done so, but they already commanded the situation.
Deerfoot had one important advantage in the fact that the Wyandots held no suspicion of the presence of any friends of the whites in the vicinity of the block-house, and consequently they were not searching for such allies.
But it was easy to lose this ground, and he convinced his companions that if it should be found impossible to join Colonel Preston, it would be equally fatal to attempt to leave the neighborhood before night: detection was inevitable.
Such was the state of affairs when the sun rose on the morning succeeding Jo Stinger's failure to pass through the lines (which effort was made a number of hours before Deerfoot and his friends reached the spot). The sky had cleared, and there was scarcely a cloud to obscure its light.
Peeping carefully out from among the bushes and undergrowth, the boys saw the massive block-house standing at the corner of the stockade, grim, silent, and as forbidding as though no living person was within. The heavy oaken door, the huge logs, the narrow windows, the steeply shelving roof, with one trap-door visible, the wooden chimney, the numerous loopholes, the sides of the stockade stretching away to the left from the building itself: all these added to the gloom and tomb-like appearance of the structure.
Not a person could be seen, as a matter of course, nor was any sound heard from the interior; but while the three were stealthily studying the building, they observed a faint, steely blue smoke creeping upward from the wooden chimney. Mrs. Preston had doubtless kindled a fire on the hearth in the lower story, for the comfort of her little ones on this crisp autumn morning, or she was preparing a meal for the garrison.
"If we were sure that door would be opened on the instant," said young Preston, alluding to the entrance of the block-house which confronted them, "we could make a dash across the clearing and get inside, before the Wyandots would suspect what was going on."
Deerfoot nodded his head to signify that his friend was right, but the problem remained as to how Colonel Preston should be apprised of the fact that his friends were waiting so near at hand for a chance to join him.
These boys were huddled as closely together as possible under the bank, where they were not likely to be seen, because there was no special reason for the Wyandots seeking the same hiding-place.
Having reached the spot through much tribulation, as may be said, the friends were careful not to throw away the advantage gained. They stealthily peeped over the edge of the bank, and their words were spoken in guarded undertones that could not have been heard by any one within twenty feet.
"I's got the idee," said Blossom Brown, thrusting forward his dusky countenance all aglow with pleasure: "I know jes' how we can tell de Colonel we're out yar, without de Injines knowing a thing about it."
"How would my brother with the face of the night do?" asked the Shawanoe, turning toward him.
"I'll jes' gib a lot ob hoots like a big owl dat am scared, and de Colonel will know it's me, 'cause de last time I war at de block-house I done it to please de little gals, Mary and Susie."
"That will never do," Ned Preston hastened to say; "for the Wyandots would suspect the truth the instant they heard your hooting, and it wouldn't be long before they called on us."
"Den," added the African, who seemed to think the responsibility of settling the question rested with him, "let's jes' set up a yellin' dat de Colonel will hear, and make a rush for de house: he'll know we're comin' and will slip down and open de door, or, if he don't, we can climb ober de fence and run round de back way."
The Shawanoe did not consider the proposals of Blossom worthy of notice, though they were made in all seriousness. Looking at Ned, he asked—
"Will my brother let Deerfoot see one of his letters?"
Wondering at the meaning of this request, Preston drew a missive from the inner pocket of his coat and handed it to the Indian. It was written on a large sheet of blue paper, the last page of which was unruled, so as to permit the superscription, for the ordinary envelope was unknown in those days. The sheet was carefully folded and doubled within itself, being sealed with a large red wafer, and the name of Colonel Hugh Preston, and the somewhat voluminous address, were written in a large plain hand in ink of glossy blackness.
It was the penmanship which excited the wonder of the Shawanoe more than did anything on which he had looked for many a day. He held the letter in his hand, and, for several minutes, scrutinized the writing with an interest that can hardly be described. Through the paper his keen eyes detected the faint tracery of some of the letters inside. Balancing the missive edgewise, between his thumb and forefinger, he gently pressed it until it partly spread open, despite the seal. Then, raising it before his face, he closed one eye as though he were aiming his arrow at something, and peeped within.
The glimpse of the writing was as pleasing to him as the sight of the circus is to the urchin who creeps under the canvas; and, though he could not decipher the meaning of a character, he stared for several minutes, almost holding his breath, as though he would force the secrets from the "Rosetta stone."
He had heard of such things before, but it was hard for his untutored mind to understand that what a man had said to his friend was in that little package, and when opened, it would speak the same message to him. His feelings must have been similar to those of his white brother, could he have seen the telephone of to-day perform its wonderful work.
"We write our words on the paper," said Ned, hoping to help the mind of the youth grasp the subject: "and when our friend gets the paper, there are the words looking him in the face."
Deerfoot inclined his head, as though he understood the explanation, but Ned saw that it was like the assent of the school-boy who doesn't wish his classmates to consider him stupid.
"If I should make a figure on the paper that looked like a deer, and some one should take it to you, and you looked at it, you would know that it was meant for a deer, wouldn't you?"
The Indian nodded emphatically this time: he clearly understood that.
"Suppose I should make some lines and characters which you and I agreed beforehand should mean, 'I am your friend and brother'; when those lines and characters were brought to you on paper, wouldn't you remember what they meant?"
The black eyes of Deerfoot sparkled. He had caught, for the first time in his life, an inkling of the mystery. He saw, as through a glass, darkly, the achievements of the white man who could forward his words hundreds of miles, hidden in a small piece of paper.
"Will my brother teach Deerfoot how to send his thoughts to the Great Spirit?"
There was a wistful expression in the dark eyes of the Shawanoe, which touched Ned Preston. The voice of the lad trembled, as he answered impressively—
"You need no such means to reach the Great Spirit, as you must have heard from your own people: our Great Spirit is always looking down in kindness on his children, and his ears are ever open to hear what they have asked him."
"Will my white brother tell Deerfoot of the Great Spirit of the pale faces, that the missionary talks about?"
"I will be glad to do so, for it is what all of your people should know; when we can gain the time, I will teach you how to read books and write letters just as well as any white man can do, for I am sure that one who is so bright as you, will learn it with much ease."
"Deerfoot will never forget his pale-faced brother," said the Shawanoe gratefully.
"And if masser Ned don't got de time, den I'll jes' take you hummin' frough all de knowledge dat you want," said Blossom with an exaggerated idea of his importance.
"It would be well for you to learn how to read and write yourself, before trying to teach others," said Preston.
"I reckon dar aint many dat can beat me 'round de settlements; I can spell 'dog' and 'cat'."
"D-o-a-g, dog; r-a-t, cat—no, dat spells something else,—I forget what, but I'm dar all de time, jes' de same."
Deerfoot was still holding the letter in his hand and looking earnestly at Ned, without noticing the words of Blossom.
"Can my white brother write on the back of this the words which Colonel Preston can read?"
It flashed upon young Preston that the keen-witted youth was unraveling the plan he had held in mind from the first.
"Certainly I can."
"Write some message on this paper for him."
"But, Deerfoot, I have no pen, nor ink, nor pencil, or I would only be too glad to do so."
The Shawanoe was prepared for this.
"Deerfoot will bring you something that will do."
He moved away from his young friends, with that silence and stealth which seemed a part of his nature, while the delighted and expectant friend turned to Blossom Brown—
"Do you understand what his plan is to reach—"
Ned did not finish the question, for he saw that his servant, despite the gravity of the situation and the crispness of the air, was lying on his side sunk in a sound slumber. Fortunately his posture was such an easy one that he did not breathe loud enough to create any danger of being heard.
The Shawanoe was gone only a few minutes, when he reappeared holding in his hand a piece of reddish brown stone, almost as soft as the mineral known as "red chalk," and which he had evidently broken from some crumbling rock.
Ned Preston carefully sharpened it to a point, as though it were a lead-pencil. It could not be said to work very well, when applied to paper, but he found that patience and care would enable him to write considerable that would be legible to any one who understood writing.
Accordingly with much pains and labor he traced the following lines, first consulting Deerfoot as to what should be placed in the communication—
"Dear Uncle Hugh:
"Deerfoot, the friendly Shawanoe, Blossom Brown, our servant, and I are along the bank of the river, exactly opposite the front of the block-house. We want to join you, so as to help you fight off the Wyandots, but they are so plenty all around us that we daresn't try it, unless you are prepared to let us in the door, the instant we reach it. When you are ready, wave your hand through the front window, and we'll make the start.
"Your affectionate nephew,
"Ned."
CHAPTER VIII.
OPENING COMMUNICATION.
Ned Preston read the note to Deerfoot, the Shawanoe, speaking slowly and distinctly each word, while the young Indian listened with an expression of intense interest and pleasure.
"If the Colonel sees that, then will he read those words you have spoken to me?"
"They will be the same."
"Then he shall see them."
As the young warrior spoke, he extended his hand for the missive, which was given him. He deftly drew an arrow from his quiver and began tying the letter to the missile, doing it with much care, for the task he was about to essay seemed an almost impossible one.
"We are a hundred yards from the block-house," said Ned Preston; "it is a long shot for the bow and arrow."
"Would my brother like to use his gun?" asked Deerfoot with his shadowy smile, his question being intended to remind his friend of the superiority of the primitive weapon over the rifle, at least in such an emergency as the present.
"The gun is of no use just now," said Preston, "and I mistrust that your bow will not serve you as well as you think."
"You shall see," was the comment of the owner, who gave his full attention to the task before him. He used a shred of deer-sinew and fastened the letter directly behind the iron barb. That done, the faithful bow was carefully strung, and then the youth bent himself to the work.
His intention was to send the arrow, if possible, through the narrow window to the left of the front door of the block-house. This had no glass, nor screen, but as it was no more than eight inches wide, although three times as high, and as the shaft was weighted with a foreign substance, likely to affect its accuracy of flight, some idea of the difficulty of the feat may be gained.
Furthermore, it was necessary that the shot should be fired secretly. Deerfoot had no opportunity of standing out on the open ground, where his limbs would be unimpeded, but he must aim from behind the bank, so that no vigilant Wyandot would detect him.
He set to work, standing below the bank and pointing between an intervening bush or two, making sure, however, that an unobstructed path was open for his arrow. The missile was pointed at an elevation of fully forty-five degrees; and, with one eye closed, he slowly drew back the string until the head touched the right hand, which grasped the middle of the bow.
It was held thus ten seconds, during which the athlete was as rigid and motionless as if moulded in iron, while his eye rested on the narrow slit-like window cut in the solid logs, all of a hundred yards away.
Ned Preston kept his gaze fixed on the Indian, who at that moment formed a picture worthy of the finest artist that ever touched brush to canvas.
Suddenly there was a faint twang, the bow straightened out like lightning, and the arrowy messenger started on its path weighted with the all-important message.
Preston instantly glanced at the block-house, centering his eye on the straight opening, but with scarcely a hope that Deerfoot could succeed in what would certainly be a marvelous exploit.
As the arrow was speeding directly away from the lads, it was impossible to distinguish its course through the air, though it could have been seen easily, had they been stationed at right angles to its line of flight.
The Shawanoe, having discharged the weapon, immediately lowered it, and then peered forward to learn the result of his shot.
But Preston had scarcely time to fix his gaze on the distant window, when he saw something like the flutter of a shadow—so to speak—directly in the opening itself. It came and went with the quickness of a flash, and he could not define it.
But where was the arrow?
It vanished from sight the instant it left the bowstring, and Ned had not seen it since. It should have struck somewhere in a very few seconds, but had the head buried itself in the ground between the river and the block-house, the eagle-feather would have been visible. Had it fallen on the roof, its sharp point would have held the shaft motionless.
"You must have sent it over the block-house," said Ned, turning to Deerfoot; "and in that case——"
He stopped, for the same shadowy smile on the handsome face of the young Shawanoe told the truth: the arrow had gone directly through the window, and the curious fluttering shadow which caught the eye of Preston was the missile with its message.
"That is the most wonderful shot I ever saw!" exclaimed Ned in a burst of admiration; "if I could use the bow as you do, I never would touch a gun. But, Deerfoot, is there not danger that some of the Wyandots saw the arrow in its flight?"
"If they were looking across the clearing, they saw it perhaps; but Deerfoot hopes they did not."
"Suppose you had missed the window,—that the arrow had struck the roof, or the ground, or the logs at the side of the opening, it would have buried its head and stayed in plain sight, would it not?"
"Yes, and the Wyandots would be certain to see it."
"And would soon know where it came from?"
"Nothing could have prevented."
"My gracious!" exclaimed Ned; "you ran a great risk."
"We did; there was no way to prevent it."
Ned was almost speechless, when he realized how much had depended on the success of the shot of the Shawanoe: in fact, had he known all, he never would have consented that the task should have been attempted.
Had the arrow gone a few inches to the right or left, or had it fallen short, or flown too high, the Wyandots would have swooped down on the archer and his friends, before they could have left the spot.
Ned Preston regarded the shot as amazing as the mythical one made by William Tell; and, but for the urgency of the danger, would have given further expression to his admiration. Deerfoot himself was somewhat uneasy, and, for several minutes, glanced right and left, and through the undergrowth for signs of danger; but nothing appeared, and it looked as though a piece of extremely good fortune had attended the remarkable exploit.
Such being the case, Preston now devoted his attention to the window, from which he expected to see the hand of his uncle, Colonel Preston, waving in friendly signal for them to make the desperate run across the clearing.
While he was thus employed, the keener vision of the Shawanoe was roaming over the open space, each side of the stockade, the woods beyond, and especially did he scrutinize the two deserted cabins that stood to the right.
The visual search had not continued long, when it was rewarded by the unwelcome discovery that in the building nearest him were several Wyandots, who had probably spent the night there. He saw their heads and shoulders, as they passed the windows where they were beyond sight of the garrison, but were in plain view of the Shawanoe.
This cabin was much nearer the block-house than were the boys, from which the daring nature of the project will be understood. Deerfoot was hopeful before this that the houses were clear of Wyandots, in which event his friends would have had a much better prospect of success.
As it was, it all depended on how complete the surprise could be made for the red men. If they failed to note the running youths until the block-house was nearly reached, they would be too late to head them off, except by a shot from their guns, and this risk could not be avoided under any circumstances.
"There it is!"
It was Ned Preston who uttered the exclamation in such excitement that his voice was dangerously high.
"Sh! not so loud!" whispered Deerfoot, scrutinizing the window through which he sent his arrow a few minutes before.
Ned Preston was right: the hand of a person was thrust through the opening and waved several times. It swayed back and forth, and up and down, with much deliberation, as though the owner was fearful it would not be observed by his friends along the river bank.
More than that, Deerfoot was sure he saw the face of the one who signalled them, though the distance was such that nothing like a recognition took place.
After withdrawing his hand, it was put forth again, and the motion was repeated. Colonel Preston evidently meant that, if any mistake was made, it should not be his fault.
Ned Preston now carefully awakened Blossom Brown and explained what had been done and what was contemplated.
"You have got to run as you never ran before," said his master, "and when you have once started, there is no turning back."
"What would I want to turn back for?" was the wondering question of the African.
"You might think it better to stay where we are, and it may be that it is; but after the Wyandots learn we are here, it is run or die with us."
"My brother speaks the truth," said Deerfoot, who was looking across the clearing at the nearest cabin: "there are red men there, and they will try and hinder you from reaching your friends."
There was no reason to hope the prospect would improve by waiting, and it was decided to start at once. Deerfoot, it was understood, was to remain where he was and to make no attempt for the present to enter the block-house. It was expected that, after Blossom and Ned were safely within the building, the guide would hasten to Wild Oaks and bring assistance to the beleaguered garrison.
When the boys were ready, the Shawanoe impressed one fact upon them: they were not to cease running for an instant, unless stopped beyond all power to overcome, but, fixing their eyes on the door of the block-house, strain every nerve to reach the goal.
Each lad was to carry his loaded gun in his right hand, but not to use it, unless forced to do so: if Colonel Preston should delay admitting them, they would be lost; but there was no cause to fear such a miscarriage.
The boys stealthily moved forward and up the bank, and, pausing near the margin, awaited the word from the Shawanoe. The perilous point, in the eye of the latter, was the cabin where he knew the Wyandots to be, and he watched it closely for several minutes. Nothing was to be seen of them just then, and he said in a low voice—
"Go!"
On the instant, Ned Preston and Blossom Brown bounded across the clearing in the direction of the block-house: it was a straight run of a hundred yards over a level piece of land, on which only a few stumps remained to show that it was once covered by the forest.
The African, it need not be said, strained every nerve and fibre of his being to reach the goal. His heavy, lumbering build made him less fleet than Preston, who could have drawn away from the beginning; but he could not desert his companion in such extremity and he timed his speed, so as to keep just ahead of Blossom, and thus urge him to his utmost.
Crouching under the shelter of the river bank, Deerfoot watched the run for life with the intensest interest. He grasped his strong bow with his right hand, while one of his arrows was held in the left, ready to use on the instant it might become necessary for the safety of either of the fugitives.
Those who knew Deerfoot best, said he was reluctant to employ his marvelous skill on any person, and would not do so as long as it was safe to refrain; but it would have required only a single glance at his glittering eye and compressed lips, to understand that he considered the emergency was now at hand.
It so happened that the fugitives had gone no more than ten yards on their swift run, when the Wyandots in the cabin discovered them and made known the fact in the most alarming manner.
First several whoops broke the stillness within the building, and then two sharp reports followed. The Wyandots had fired, but their aim was so hurried that, as it seemed to Deerfoot, neither of the fugitives was harmed. At least they continued their flight with unabated speed.
But the efforts of the Wyandots to check the boys was not to end with the simple discharge of their rifles. The two that had used their pieces, sprang from the front windows of the cabin and dashed quartering across the clearing, with the intent to head off the youths, before they could reach the block-house.
This brought both in range of the terrible bow of Deerfoot who placed the arrow in position; but it was his intention to hold the weapon until it should become imperatively necessary to use it, for it will be seen that, if he took part in the singular contest, it would be such a complete unveiling of his true character that his usefulness to the whites would be almost destroyed.
Besides, each boy carried a loaded rifle which he knew how to use, and it was not to be supposed that either would allow himself to be tomahawked or taken prisoner without resistance.
The Wyandots who ran forth in the effort to throw themselves across the path of the fugitives, were as daring warriors as ever mingled in the fierce fight with settlers or those of their own race. They had emptied their guns in the futile effort to bring down the boys, and, throwing the weapons aside, they now sprang forward with the resolution to make them prisoners, despite the risk to themselves, for they must have known that the garrison would endeavor to protect their friends, and they could not help suspecting that there was one or more along the river bank, who were likely to take part in the singular struggle.
Be that as it may, the red men ran straight from the deserted cabin across the path of the boys, who found themselves confronted by the brawny redskins, before they had gone half the distance to the building.
"Let's sneak 'round ahind de block-house and climb ober de fence and hide," said Blossom, when he saw the gauntlet he had to run.
"Straight for the door!" commanded Preston: "that is our only chance!"
But the youth had scarcely spoken the words, when he saw that a collision with the Wyandots was inevitable: they were between them and the fort, and there was no possible way of flanking them.
The superior fleetness of Ned held him slightly in advance of his companion. The former ran until close to the Wyandots, when he turned to the left. The warriors immediately leaped forward so that they were still directly in front of the fugitives.
"It must be done!" exclaimed Ned, coming to an instant halt, raising his rifle and aiming at the nearest Indian, who was in the very act of poising himself to throw his tomahawk.
Everything passed so swiftly that the spectators could scarcely follow the movements. At the moment Ned drew his gun to position, he caught the flash of the implement as it circled with lightning quickness over the bronzed skull of his enemy.
Young Preston knew what was coming. Pausing only long enough to catch the gleam of the warrior's eyes, over the sights of his rifle, he pressed the trigger.
The Indian aimed at the head of the youth and drove the tomahawk with prodigious force and unerring accuracy; but the blade of the implement glanced against the barrel of the rifle, sending out a streak of flame, and, with a tremendous rebound or ricochet, shot by the shoulder of the lad, touching the ground fifty feet away, and rolling over and over several times, before it lay still. When it left the hand of the warrior, it was with a force that would have cloven the skull of the lad, as though it were cardboard.
The throw and miss were remarkable, but, by a striking coincidence, the rifle of Ned Preston was discharged at the second the two weapons collided. The violent shock to the gun turned it aside, and the ball buried itself harmlessly in the ground, far to the right of the crouching Wyandot.
The latter saw by what a hair's-breadth he had escaped, and snatching his hunting-knife from the belt at his waist, he bounded toward the youth, who, nothing daunted, recoiled a single step, and, grasping his weapon by its barrel, awaited the attack.
All this took place in a few seconds, during which the other Wyandot, feeling that the dark-faced fugitive was his own, watched the extraordinary conflict, with an interest as intense as that of the other spectators further away.
Had the encounter between young Preston and the sinewy Wyandot been permitted to go on, there could have been but one result; but Deerfoot, who was holding his breath, with his eyes riveted on the combatants, now drew his arrow to its head and aimed at the assailing warrior.
Although the distance between him and his target was no more than half way across the clearing, yet the feat was immeasurably more difficult than that of sending the letter through the narrow window; for, unfortunately, Ned Preston and the Wyandot were standing so nearly in a line that the young Shawanoe could only see the head and shoulders of the powerful savage a few feet beyond.
Beside this, the two were likely to change their respective positions any instant: they might do so indeed after the launching of the arrow, which would not only miss the red man at whom it was pointed, but was liable to strike the boy himself.
Even Deerfoot doubted his own success and he therefore aimed with the greater care and caution, slowly drawing back the shaft, and with nerves like iron, looked steadily along the reed and at the tableau far beyond.
But before the fingers let go the string, the necessity for doing so vanished. The incidents which we have undertaken to describe, passed with such swiftness that it would have been hard for a spectator to follow each phase, few as they were; but it need not be said that every man within the block-house was watching the extraordinary scene on the clearing with an interest as intense, as absorbing and breathless, as that of Deerfoot himself.
Colonel Preston was standing by the door, with one hand on the cumbersome latch, ready to draw it inward the instant the boys reached the proper point; while Jo Stinger, Jim Turner and Sam Megill held their rifles ready to use, the very second it should become necessary.
There was such bewildering rapidity in the events narrated, that the spectators within the block-house did not comprehend the extreme peril of young Preston, until they saw the Wyandot advancing on him with his drawn knife.
"Boys," said Jo Stinger, "it's the opinion of the undersigned that this is a good time of day to fire off a gun."
"Quick!" called out Colonel Preston from below, as he peeped through the door; "shoot that Indian!"
"That's just what is contemplated," replied Stinger, whose rifle was already thrust through a loophole, while he was looking along the gleaming barrel.
But, to the consternation of the veteran, the moment he drew bead on the warrior, he discovered he stood in such exact line with young Preston that it was impossible to shoot the red man without the absolute certainty of striking the lad directly beyond.
"I've got to wait," called out Jo, by way of explaining his inaction, "until they shift their positions."
Had the vengeful Wyandot comprehended the vast advantage he gained by holding the youth directly in front, he would have continued to do so; but it was almost impossible that he should have been subtle enough to make such a discovery.