CHAPTER SEVEN: JABEZ ZITNER
At this moment Ben Ripley was about a hundred feet in advance of the party and ascending a ridge in the woods, which were so open that he was in plain sight of the others.
Mrs. Ripley, on hearing the alarming words of the little Delaware girl, came to a stop. It seemed strange that Linna should have caught the sounds noticed by no one else, and that, too, while she was whispering to her companion, Alice; but even at that tender age the inherited sharpness of hearing had been trained to a wonderfully fine degree.
Mrs. Ripley was too prudent to argue with her. It was not wise to take any chances. Above all, it was important that Ben should know the truth, for he was still walking away from them with no knowledge of their discovery.
"S—h!" The sibilant noise made by the mother's lips crossed the space and the listening lad halted and looked round. She did not speak, but beckoned him to come back. He obeyed at once.
"Linna says she heard voices a minute ago, over yonder," whispered Mrs. Ripley, as her son joined them.
"So me did," added Linna, in answer to the inquiring look of the lad.
"You have sharp ears, little one; but are you sure?"
"Me am," was the confident reply.
"Where were they?"
She again pointed out the direction.
"That must be looked into: wait till I come back, and—"
"S—h!" interrupted the mother.
All caught an indistinct murmur, which proved Linna was right.
"Me tell you—eh?" she said in a proud undertone, her black eyes sparkling with triumph.
"You are right: wait till I learn whether they are friends or enemies. I will not be gone long."
Leaving the anxious group clustered together, Ben faced in the direction of the sounds, which had stopped, and were so faint when heard that he could not tell whether they belonged to friends or foes.
As nearly as he could find out, the parties were just beyond the crest of the ridge, and, but for the warning of Linna, he would have run into the danger before knowing it.
With the utmost care he went up the slope. He leaned forward and stepped more slowly, avoiding, so far as he could, making any noise on the leaves or against the bushes and limbs which he had to push aside to allow him to advance.
At the instant of reaching the highest point he heard the voices again, so close that he knew they were made by white people, who were in a clump of dense undergrowth. A faint wreath of smoke filtering through the branches overhead showed they had started a small fire, beside which they were probably sitting or reclining on the ground.
Now that he was certain they belonged to his own race, he had less fear. Still, they might prove unpleasant neighbors when they came to know one of the party was a daughter of Omas. Turning toward his friends, who were watching him, Ben made a sign for them to stay where they were while he went forward.
He moved with the same care as before, but an unexpected accident spoiled everything. His foot caught in a wire-like vine, and he almost fell on his hands and knees. Aware that he had betrayed himself, he threw aside further caution, hurried down the slope, and called out in a guarded undertone—
"Helloa there, friends!"
"Who are you?" was the demand that instantly followed, and from the undergrowth, beside a small fire, two men suddenly rose upright, each with rifle in hand.
Ben recognized them. One was Jabez Zitner and the other Horace Burwink—both middle aged, sturdy, and strong. They were neighbors, and had taken part in the engagement the day before, but, escaping without harm, were now on their way to the settlements of the Upper Delaware.
A meeting of this kind would have been pleasing in the highest degree, for it added great strength to the party; but a misgiving came to the lad when he recognized Zitner. He was the man who, when partially intoxicated the previous afternoon, had tried to take Linna from him and was vigorously shoved aside by her friend.
"Helloa, Ben! where did you come from?" asked Zitner, who was now entirely himself.
"Glad to see you," added Burwink, and the two extended their hands. "You gave us a great scare, for the woods are full of redskins."
"You startled me, too," replied Ben. "I am travelling with my mother and sister to Stroudsburg. I suppose you are aiming for the same place?"
"Yes—if we ever get there. What become of that little sarpent you had with you yesterday?"
It was Zitner who asked the question. Ben's face flushed, for he did not like to hear Linna spoken of in that way.
"She is with us," he quietly replied.
"What are you going to do with her?"
"She is in our care, and goes wherever we go."
"You seem mighty fond of the people who played the mischief with us yesterday."
"Jabez Zitner, I fought just as hard as you, and did all I could to drive back the Iroquois and Tories, but I don't fight little children six years old."
"Who's talking about fighting 'em?" demanded Zitner angrily. "Their people didn't spare our women and children."
"They are savages, but you and I claim to be civilized."
"That's all well enough, but my motto is—fight fire with fire." Burwink was listening to this sharp interchange of words, the meaning of which he caught. Wishing to make a friend of him, for Ben foresaw trouble, he asked—"Am I not right, Mr. Burwink?"
"I should say—on general principles you are; but, after yesterday, I don't feel much love for any of the varmints. Who is this Injin gal that you are talking about?"
Ben was too wise to give the name of Linna's father, knowing he would be instantly recognized as one of the fiercest warriors that had taken part in the invasion and battle. He therefore replied—
"She is a girl named Linna; she is of the same age as our Alice, and was visiting her when we crossed the river to Forty Fort yesterday morning. We could do nothing but take her with us, and I will defend her with my life."
"You are talking big," remarked Zitner, with a scornful look at the sturdy lad. "Who is the gal's father?"
"That makes no difference; but I will say he belongs to the Delaware tribe, most of whom are friends to our people."
"There were plenty of them with the Senecas and Oneidas yesterday, and they fought like wild cats, too. But why don't you bring your folks forward?" added Zitner, looking inquiringly around.
"I will do so. Wait a few minutes."
He strode back and over the top of the ridge, until he caught sight of the frightened group.
"Come on!" he called, beckoning to them. "Mr. Zitner and Burwink are here, and want to see you."
With an expression of thankfulness, Mrs. Ripley, clasping a hand of each of the children, walked up the slope, and passed over to where the couple awaited their approach by the camp fire. She shook hands with each, and expressed her pleasure at meeting them. They did the same toward her, and then all, with the exception of the children, seated themselves on the fallen tree beside which the small fire was burning.
Mrs. Ripley had observed the little incident the preceding afternoon, when Zitner tried to stop Linna. She was ill at ease, for she noticed how sharply he looked at the child. She hoped, however, that now he was fully himself, he would be ashamed of his action, or at least make no reference to it.
No fear of her doing so. She showed her tact by leading the conversation in another direction.
"When did you leave Wyoming?"
"Burwink and I didn't get a chance to swim over until nearly midnight, and then we had a rough time of it. There were plenty of others that tried to do the same and never got to this side."
"When did you leave?" asked Burwink of the lady.
"We crossed before it was dark."
"How did you manage it? Swim?"
"No; we came over in a canoe. A Delaware Indian, the father of Linna, swam behind the boat and pushed it across. But for him, we never could have gotten away."
Mrs. Ripley, like her son, meant to keep the name of their friend from these men. There was no danger of either her or Ben telling it; but neither thought of another means they had of learning it.
At this point, Alice went to her mother and leaned against her knees, with her gaze on the faces of the men. She had been standing beside Linna, whose eyes were never once removed from the displeasing countenance of Zitner.
She must have noticed the incident referred to, for the expression on her round face was of dislike and distrust. She stood further off from the men than anyone else—silent, watchful, and suspicious.
Zitner now looked at her.
"Come here," he said coaxingly, extending his hand.
"No; me won't. Me don't like you," she replied, with an angry flirt and backward step.
"Jingo!" exclaimed the surprised Zitner; "I didn't think she could talk our lingo. Say, Miss Spitfire, what is your father's name?"
Before either Mrs. Ripley or her son could interpose, Linna answered defiantly—"He Omas—great warrior—kill good many white people—kill you!"
The reply caused consternation on the part of Mrs. Ripley and Ben, but the boy shut his lips tight. He could not but admire the bravery of the child, and he was determined to stand by her to the end.
The mother was in despair, but she relied mainly on persuasion and prayer.
With no idea of what all this meant, Alice looked in the face of each person in turn while speaking.
"She's a chip off the old block," said Burwink, with a laugh. "She doesn't seem to have much fear of you, Jabez."
"I am hopeful she will feel different when she grows older," soothingly remarked Mrs. Ripley.
"I'd like to know what you build your hope on," replied Zitner, still curiously watching the child.
"I expect to have her a good deal under my care, and I shall do all I can to instruct her aright. This morning she knelt with us in prayer. You must remember she is very young, and has heard little, if anything, of Christianity."
Zitner shook his head.
"It's born in 'em, and you can't get it out."
"But, Mr. Zitner, you will not deny that we have a good many Christian Indians. There are plenty of them at Gnadenhutten, and the Moravian missionaries have been the means of turning hundreds from darkness to light. If they can do that with full grown warriors and women, may we not hope for the best from those of tender years?"
"I don't know about that," was the dogged reply. "I never believed in this conversion business."
"What can you mean by such a remark?" asked the shocked lady.
"I mean, religion is good enough for white people, but don't work with Injins. They will pretend they're good, but are only waiting for a chance to do mischief."
"The converted Delawares have never taken part in the wars against us. You know that as well as I."
"How about Omas?"
"He makes no pretence of Christianity."
"And therefore has no claim on our indulgence."
"No one has said he has," observed Ben, coming to his mother's help; "he will never ask quarter from you or any white man."
"Where is he now? He brought you over the river, but seems to have deserted you."
"He left because he didn't think we had further need of his aid; we can get along without him."
"Now, see here," added Zitner, straightening up on the log and slapping his knee; "I'll tell you what I've made up my mind to do. I am willing to give in to Mrs. Ripley that far, that I won't harm that youngster—that is, I will leave it to her father whether I shall or shan't."
Neither mother nor son could understand the meaning of this strange remark. They waited for the man to explain.
"I'm going to take her with us as a hostage. We're not clear of the varmints yet. I believe Omas himself ain't far off, and the rest will be on our heels all the way to Stroudsburg. If they get us in a tight place, I'll let 'em know we've got the gal of Omas with us, and if they harm a hair of our heads it'll be all up with her. We'll take her clean to Stroudsburg, and then turn her loose, for we won't have any further need of her; but she must go with us."
"Jabez Zitner," said Ben Ripley—"the moment you lay your hand on that child I will shoot you!"
CHAPTER EIGHT: LINNA'S WOODCRAFT
No one could have looked into the face of Ben Ripley without seeing he meant just what he said.
Jabez Zitner supposed, when he made known that he intended to take the little Delaware girl with him as a hostage, that though it might be displeasing to the Ripleys, they would not dare object; but he was mistaken.
The lad was sitting furthest away on the fallen tree, with his rifle resting across his knees, when he warned the man that if he laid a hand on Linna he would shoot him.
Ben spoke low, but mingling with his words were two faint clicking sounds. They were made by the hammer of his rifle, as with his thumb he drew it back ready for use. His face was slightly pale, but his eyes glittered, and he rose to his feet and looked at the startled man.
Mrs. Ripley gave a gasp of fright and clasped her hands, while the children mutely stared.
Even Zitner was silent. He knew Ben's pluck, but did not believe it would take him thus far, for it looked as if there were two adults against a single boy.
Burwink however, was more of a man than his companion. He looked smilingly at Ben and said—"Jabez, I reckon this has gone far enough."
"What do you mean?'" angrily asked the other.
"You must leave the little gal alone."
"Oh, thank you! thank you!" exclaimed Mrs. Ripley. "I might have known you would see that right is done."
Zitner had a few sharp words with his friend, but the latter was immovable. He would not listen to his proposition, and that ended the matter.
"Well," finally said Zitner, rising to his feet, "I intended to see you folks safe to the Delaware; but I won't have anything to do with you now. Come, Horace."
He strode off without another word or looking to the right or left. Burwink waited a minute, and then, with a quizzical look at Mrs. Ripley and her son asked—
"Do you think you can stand it?"
"We shall have to," replied Ben.
"Well, goodbye, and good luck to you;" and he followed his friend among the trees.
"That was a luckier ending than I expected," remarked Ben, letting down the hammer of his rifle.
"If Mr. Burwink had sided with him, there would have been no help for it," said his mother.
"Such people are always cowards. I wasn't afraid of him."
Now that they had departed, Linna came over to her champion—though she could not have fully understood all that had passed—and placed her hand confidingly on his shoulder.
"Linna, I have two sisters," he said tenderly; "yonder is one, and her name is Alice: can you tell me the name of the other?"
"Yes—she name be Linna."
"You are right. Now, if you will kiss me, I won't tickle you any more for making my nose itch this morning."
The lips were put up to his, and with deep affection on the part of both, the salute was exchanged.
"If any more white people show themselves, and they ask you your father's name, let mother and me answer for you."
"Me do what you say," was the obedient response.
It need not be said that our friends were greatly relieved by the departure of Zitner. While as I have already said, they ought to have been glad of the company of him and Burwink, they would have been ill at ease so long as the surly fellow was with them. He surely held no good will toward the little girl, and would have found some chance to show it.
"But are we really rid of him?" asked Ben of his mother. The two sat close to each other on the tree, and the children were playing a few steps away.
"I am quite sure we are."
"He may steal back tonight, if we camp near."
"Why should he? He does not want to harm Linna, but to use her as a means of safety against her own people."
"That was what he said, but I don't believe him. It seems to me we ought to change our course, to be certain of not meeting him again."
"As you think best."
"We have had a good rest. Come, girls, we must be off." Taking the lead as before, Ben strode down the incline, bearing more to the left than he had been doing.
All smiled at Linna, for she noticed the change on the instant.
"You go wrong," she said; "dat not right way."
"Which is the right way, Miss Smartness?"
She pointed it out.
"You are right, but that is the course of that bad man, who doesn't like you. We will go around, so as not to see him again."
She was satisfied, and gave her attention to Alice, who thought it odd that she and Ben should have so many disputes.
Over the varying surface, turning aside now and then to pass some obstacle in the shape of rocks or ravines—now up hill and down, among the dense trees, where the briars and bushes scratched their hands and faces, across small rippling streams and natural clearings—they pushed on until the sun was far beyond meridian and the halt and rest were grateful.
"I don't think we need give any more thought to Zitner," said Ben; "and I am sure we are all glad. He could not find us now, if he tried."
"If they kept to their course, we must be several miles apart."
"I have been working my way back, so that, after all, I do not think we have lost much ground. I hope Miss Linna is satisfied."
"She would make complaint if she was not."
They had stopped near another of the small running streams, for it was harder to do without water than food.
"I'm hungry, mother."
"So we all are," she added, producing half a loaf, which was the last of their food.
"To leave any portion of this will only aggravate all your appetites, so we will finish it."
The bread was divided among the four, and when eating ceased not a crumb was left.
"It isn't a good time of the year for hunting, mother, but if I can get sight of any game, I'll bring it down, whether it is a deer, bear, wild turkey, quail, or anything that will serve for a meal."
"It isn't a time to be particular—in watching for danger look also for game."
"That's what I have been doing for the last few hours."
With the passage of time and the increase of the distance between them and Wyoming the hopes of the little party naturally rose. They were now a good many miles from their old home, and as yet had not seen a single red man. That numbers were abroad there could be no doubt, although it is a fact that a great many people did not start eastward until several days after the battle.
But it was a long, long way to the Delaware, with the travelling such as they had to face. I have spoken of the forest as being trackless and a wrong impression may have been given. An old trail led from the Susquehanna to the Delaware, and was followed by many of the fugitives; but great risk was run by those who did so, for most of the pursuers used the same path. As a consequence, some were overtaken and slain.
Those who avoided the beaten route of necessity suffered greater hardships; but none was equal to that of meeting their enemies. Omas took care to steer wide of this trail when leading the party into the wild section to the east of the river, and he showed them that he wished them to do the same. Ben was too wise to forget his wishes.
The location of the sun in the sky, the appearance of the bark and moss, and the tops of certain trees, enabled the young woodman to keep a pretty true course. He remarked, with a laugh, that if there was any likelihood of going wrong, Linna would correct him.
The afternoon was well past before they came upon any more water, and, with the warm weather and their long tramp, all suffered from thirst. They were not traversing a desert country, however, and soon found what they wanted in abundance.
"But," said Ben, "I am worried about food, mother. It is nearly night, and we haven't a mouthful. I suppose if there was plenty, I wouldn't feel half as bad, but it seems to me I was never so hungry in all my life."
"That is natural; but, if necessary, we can go all night without food."
"If necessary, of course we can, but I dread it. Alice and Linna will suffer, though I'm not so sure about Linna. I would give almost anything for a wild turkey."
The dusky child looked up from where she was sitting on the ground, playing with Alice.
"Want turkey—eh?" she asked.
"Yes; have you any to sell?"
"Me get you one."
Mother and son stared in amazement. They could not believe she was in earnest. She saw it and, with a grin, added—"Omas showed Linna how get turkey."
"What can she be driving at?" asked the puzzled Ben. "She surely would not say what she does without reason. Linna, teach Ben how to get a wild turkey; we want one for supper, for if we don't have it, we shall all have to go without food."
"Me hungry," she ventured; "so be Alice—so be you."
"You are right. Come, sister, show me how to catch a turkey."
She gravely rose from the ground. Her face appeared serious, but those who looked at her closely detected a sparkle of the black eyes, for all the world as if she meditated some prank upon her confiding friends. Ben was suspicious. She added—
"Go wid me—me show you." Then he was sure she was up to something.
He rose from where he was sitting, and, rifle in hand, walked a little way in the wood. She looked round once or twice, and continued advancing a few minutes after they were out of sight of Alice and her mother.
She held the hand of the youth, who acted as if he was a bad boy being led to punishment. He started to ask a question, but she checked him by raising her forefinger and a "S—h!" and he did not presume again.
Finally she stopped among a number of trees where several trunks were two or three feet in diameter. Stepping behind one, she motioned him to do the same with another a few yards off. Surveying him a moment, as if to make sure he was doing right, she suddenly emitted a sound from between her lips, which caused Ben Ripley to utter the exclamation under his breath—"Well, by gracious! If that doesn't beat everything!"
"Why don't shoot?" she abruptly asked.
The call made by Linna was the exact imitation of a wild turkey when lost in the woods. Perhaps you may know that the body of every one of those birds contains a bone which a hunter can so use as to make the same signal; but it is hard to produce the sound without such help, though it has been done.
Linna had succeeded to perfection.
"Who would have thought it possible for one so young as she to learn the trick?" Ben asked himself. "I have tried it many a time without the bone, but never could do it."
He looked at her admiringly, and was certain she was the smartest girl he had ever seen.
"If there are any turkeys within hearing, that is bound to fetch them, but I have seen no signs of them."
Linna continued the signalling at intervals for fifteen minutes or more, peeping meanwhile from behind the tree and around her in every direction. Ben did the same, and saw nothing.
"Why don't shoot?" she abruptly asked.
He noted the direction of her gaze, and there, not fifty feet away, was a big hen turkey, walking slowly over the leaves, with head aloft and glancing here and there for the lost one.
The target was a good one, and taking careful aim, Ben toppled it fluttering to the ground at the first fire.
"Dat all want?" queried Linna.
"Yes; that will do for tonight, Linna."
"Den go back—play wid Alice."
And off she ran to rejoin her companion, while the delighted lad picked up his prize and brought it to camp.
Turning that and his knife over to his mother, he made a fire ready to pass the night, full of thankfulness that all had gone so well. Ben agreed to stand watch until near midnight, and then allow his mother to help him at the necessary duty.
While the simple preparations were going on, Linna knelt on the bare ground with her ear pressed to the earth. Almost instantly she raised her head and whispered:
"Somebody comin' dis way—guess be Injins!"
CHAPTER NINE: IN A CIRCLE
This was alarming news. Ben Ripley imitated the action of Linna. Kneeling down, he pressed his ear to the earth.
Yes; he heard faint footfalls. Persons were moving about not far away.
"She is right," he said in a low tone; "likely they are Indians, though we cannot be certain."
"It won't do to wait till they come to us," remarked his mother.
"Shall I put out the fire?" asked Ben, disconcerted by the suddenness of the danger.
"No; we can't spare the time. Let us leave. Come, children."
She took the hand of each girl and walked quickly off, while Ben caught up the blankets and followed. They had no particular point in view, but wished to reach a safe place without delay.
The gloom of the gathering night helped them, and when they paused they were confident they had not been seen by anyone.
Without any thought on their part, they made their way to a mass of rocks and boulders, more extensive than any seen through the day. It was a hundred yards from their starting point.
They sat down for a whispered consultation.
"They must have heard the report of my rifle," said Ben.
"That was a considerable while ago, and they may have been a good way off at the time."
"Then, being so much nearer, it was the report which brought them. What would become of us but for Linna?" added Ben placing his arm affectionately around her. "It was she that got us our supper, and now she warns us of danger."
"They may be Zitner and Burwink."
"Not likely, but if they come to our fire we shall soon find out. Look!"
To their astonishment, the little fire which they had left only a few minutes before burned up brightly, showing that a lot of fuel had been thrown on it.
Too many trees and too much undergrowth obtruded for them to detect anything more than the great increase in brightness.
"The darkness will prevent their following our footprints," whispered the mother.
"I will go a little nearer and find out what it means: it may be, after all, that they are friends."
"Be careful, my son."
"I will."
It was not a hard task Ben Ripley gave himself. He had not far to go, and he proceeded with so much caution that no risk was involved. Only half the distance was passed when he gained a full view of the camp fire and its surroundings.
The sight was disquieting. Three Indian warriors were there. One had been gathering dry sticks which he flung on the blaze; another was helping himself to what was left of the cooked turkey; while the third, bent low, moved slowly around the lit up portion of the ground with his eyes fixed on it.
It was plain he was scrutinizing the footprints made by the party that had left just in time to escape them. It was a fortunate discovery made by Linna!
With the aid of the bright glare, it could not take him long to identify the little party as fugitives fleeing eastward, though it may be questioned whether they learned that it consisted of one large boy, an adult woman, and two small children.
They were in the battle yesterday. They have left others to look after those in Wyoming, while they are hunting the poor creatures that have taken to the woods.
The Iroquois who had been studying the ground straightened himself up and said something to the others. One of them then flung more fuel on the flames, and he who was ravenously eating suspended his operations, but quickly resumed again, as if he liked his occupation better than anything else to which he could turn his attention.
Then the first stooped down and caught up a burning brand. Several quick circles over his head fanned it into a vigorous blaze. Holding it aloft, with his shoulders bent forward, he moved slowly towards Ben Ripley.
He was tracing the footprints by the aid of the torch!
"Gracious! he will be among us in a minute," was the terrifying thought of the lad, who turned and ran back to his friends, in such haste that he was in danger of betraying his movements.
"Leave—quick!" he said; "they are after us!"
"No, they are not," replied his mother, who nevertheless stood ready to do as he said.
Ben looked back. The warrior with a torch, after walking a rod or so from the fire, had stopped, and was now in plain sight, with the flaming brand held above his head, while he peered out in the gloom in the direction of the fugitives, as if expecting to discern them.
Could he have known how near they were, he and his companions would have rushed down upon them; but they must have thought they had fled much further. It was impossible to trail them by torchlight as fast as they could travel, and the Indians did not waste time in the effort. The one with the torch went back to his companions.
The incident warned our friends of a new form of danger, which until then had not been counted among the probabilities.
The Indians, as you know, can trace a person through the woods with wonderful skill, seeing signs where the untrained eye observes nothing. If these three chose to wait where they were until daylight, there was nothing to prevent their taking up the trail and tracing the fugitives wherever they went.
"It won't do to stay here," said Ben, "for they will be right upon us at daylight."
"Providing they wait where they are."
"Why should they not do so? They are looking for us."
Mrs. Ripley dared not answer the question as her heart prompted. At the same time, she could think of no means of throwing them off their track.
"It might have been better had we stayed with Zitner and Burwink—no, it would not have been," she corrected herself, "for they were unfriendly to Linna. But we must go."
The only hope that presented itself was that they might travel so far during the darkness that the Indians would not keep up the pursuit when the trail was revealed to them.
The moon did not rise until very late, and there being no path, while all were in total ignorance of the neighborhood, it will be understood that they had set to work to do a very hard, if not impossible thing.
Ben as usual took the lead, and, before he had gone twenty steps, was caught under the chin by a protruding limb that almost lifted him off his feet. Then he went headlong into a hollow and bruised himself against some stones. Still, he did not give up, and by and by the ground became more level and his mishaps less frequent.
Alice and Linna, like little heroines, never murmured. All persevered until it was agreed that they were at least two miles from the camp fire.
In making this hard journey, every one of the party met with several narrow escapes, and it was agreed that it was best to go no further until daylight.
"As soon as we can see, we'll be off again, and ought to be able to travel as fast as they will do. Where they must watch all the time for our footprints, they cannot go off a walk."
"We may as well wait."
Throughout their haste, the blankets had been preserved. Indeed, the one over Ben's arm had served to break his fall more than once. These were placed on the ground, and the children lay down beside each other, quickly sinking to sleep; but the others, though pretty well worn, were too anxious to rest yet awhile.
"I have no idea where we are," said the son; "but one place is as good as another at such a time, and the weather is so warm that blankets are not needed. Now, mother, I wish you would lie down beside the children and rest. You need it badly, I know."
"And so do you, my son."
"Not for some time yet."
"But, if you intend to watch until daylight, you will be worn out by morning. Besides, you cannot stay awake unless you move about. I will agree to lie down if you will promise to call me when you think it is midnight, and let me take a turn."
"I will agree to call you when I feel the need of you, and I will pace the ground like a sentinel on duty."
The mother was forced to accept this proposition and, after some more cautious conversation, she did as her boy wished, and he was left alone.
Ben did not forget his slip of the night before. It was necessary that one of the company should maintain watch while the others slept, and only these two could do it. He meant to guard the others through the short summer night, trusting to a chance of getting what slumber he needed on the morrow when the others were awake.
"I would like to catch myself waking her," he mused, after he had groped around until he found a space a couple of rods in length over which he could pace back and forth.
Then, with his rifle resting on his shoulder, he began his patient beat, surrounded by impenetrable gloom, and with the lives of three loved ones in his keeping.
By and by a lighting of the sky showed the moon had risen. This, however, was of little or no help, since the abundance of leaves prevented its rays piercing between and lighting up the ground beneath.
It would be hard to imagine a more gloomy occupation than that of Ben Ripley while engaged with this duty. The solemn murmur of the vast woods around him, the world of darkness in which he slowly paced to and fro, the memory of the sad scenes he had seen in the lovely Wyoming Valley, the certainty that a good many miles must yet be traversed before they could sit down in safety, the consciousness that several of the cruel red men were near them, and the belief that they would start in pursuit as soon as it was light—all this oppressed him with crushing weight, and made him feel at times as if there was no escape for him and his loved ones.
"There is only one way of hiding our trail," he mused. "If we could come upon some river or large stream of water, where there was a boat, or we could make a raft, we should be safe. A big rainstorm would do as well, for it would wash out all signs of our footprints."
He paused in his walk and peeped up at a speck of sky shown through a rift among the limbs.
"There is hardly a cloud; it looks as if it wouldn't rain for a week, and I don't know of any river between here and the Delaware."
His senses were never more alert. He avoided the fatal mistake of sitting down for a few minutes, or so much as leaning against a tree to rest. He stopped, however, now and then and listened intently.
"I wonder whether I am mistaken, or whether I did hear something moving over the leaves out there?"
The fact that the almost inaudible rustling was noticed only when he himself was in motion inclined him to suspect it was a delusion, accounted for by his tense nerves. But after a time he became certain of a fact hardly less startling in its nature.
When walking back and forth with his face away from the spot where his friends lay something gleamed a short distance off among the trees. Its location showed it was on the ground, and, as nearly as he could judge, less than a hundred feet off.
His first supposition was that it was a fungus growth known in the country as "foxfire," which gives out a phosphorescent glow in the darkness; but after watching and studying it for a long time, he was convinced it was something else.
"I'm going to find out," he decided; "it won't take me long, and I ought to know all about it, for it may concern us."
Stealing forward, he was not a little astonished to find it a real fire, sunken to a glowing ember, left by someone.
"It must be as Zitner said—the woods are full of Indians, and some of them have camped there."
Not wishing to stumble over any of their bodies, he manoeuvred until assured that whoever kindled the fire had left, when he kicked aside the ashes.
The act caused a twist of flame to spring up and throw out a tiny glare, which illumined several feet of surrounding space.
And then the astonished youth made the discovery that this was the very spot where they had cooked their turkey hours before, and from which they had fled in hot haste before the approach of the three Iroquois.
He and his friends had travelled in a circle, and come back to their starting point.