With Boone on the frontier

For the moment after making the discovery that the two captives in the hands of the Indians, were his father and Pep Frost, the old pioneer, Joe Winship could scarcely believe the evidence of his senses.

“Father!” he repeated hoarsely. “Father and Pep Frost!”

The sound of his voice reached one of the Indians, and the red man gazed around sharply. But Joe was wise enough to drop out of sight behind some brushes, and the Indian continued to move on, doubtless thinking that it was merely the wind that had reached his ears.

The two captives were marched down to the river front, and here another canoe was brought to light, similar to that used by the three Indians who had gone off with the three bundles.

“Whar are ye a-going to take us?” Joe heard old Pep Frost ask.

For answer one of the Indians raised his palm and struck the pioneer across the mouth.

“No talk now,” he said laconically.

The two captives were forced into the canoe, one being placed at the bow and one at the stern. Then two of the Indians took up the paddles and started up the stream, in the direction pursued by the first canoe.

Joe watched the proceedings with interest, but when the canoe began to disappear from sight his heart sank within him.

“If I could only follow!” he thought.

But to run along the river bank and thus keep the craft in sight was out of the question. The Indians were experts at using the paddle, and the shore of the stream was, as we already know, rough and uncertain.

Suddenly the youth was seized with a new idea. If there had been two canoes secreted in the bushes why not perhaps a third?

“I’ll hunt around and see,” he muttered, and began the search at once.

In a tiny cove he found just what he wanted, a small canoe boasting of a single paddle. Without hesitation he leaped into it, took up the paddle, and pushed the craft out into the river.

Joe had spent many of his boyhood days on the rivers near his home and could row and paddle just as well as he could shoot and ride on horseback. If it had but a single paddle, the craft was correspondingly light, and by working with vigor he managed to keep the larger canoe within easy distance, although being careful to keep out of reach of the enemies he was following.

As he worked at the paddle his thoughts were busy. What did the capture of his father and Pep Frost mean? Was it possible that the fight at the camp had ended in a general massacre of the others? Such a dire happening was not an impossibility. He remembered that only the summer before the Indians had fallen upon one Jack Flockley and his companions, six in number, and murdered all but one young girl, who had been carried off into captivity.

“I must save them if I possibly can,” he reasoned. “I’ve got my hunting knife and my gun, as well as this gun of Harry’s. They will all come in handy if I can but cut their bonds.”

Fortunately for Joe the Indians kept their torch burning, as a signal for those who had gone on ahead. Two turns of the stream were passed when they came in sight of another torch, waving to and fro on the left bank of the river. At once the canoe turned in that direction, and presently a landing was made at a point where those in the first canoe had gone ashore.

By the light of the two torches Joe saw all of the Indians assembled, with their captives and their bundles between them. He allowed his own little canoe to drift past the landing and then came ashore in the midst of some brushwood overhanging the stream.

By making a détour the young pioneer presently came to the rear of the enemy. He found that they were going into something of a camp and that they had already tied the two captives to separate trees some eight or ten feet apart. Between the two trees squatted a young warrior, placed on guard over the whites.

Scarcely daring to breathe, Joe crept closer and closer until he was less than five yards away from where his father stood, hands and feet fastened to the tree by means of a stout grass rope. For the present he did not dare go closer, but, lying full length in the grass, watched the Indians as a hawk watches a brood of chickens.

The red men were much interested in the contents of the bundles brought hither in the first canoe. Torches were stuck up in convenient places and the bundles were unrolled, revealing to Joe many of the smaller articles which the pioneers had been bringing westward on their pack horses. There was a dress belonging to his mother, a pair of slippers belonging to his sister Harmony, and a razor that he knew belonged to his father. The sight of the razor tickled the fancy of one of the Indians, and flourishing it in the air he approached Pep Frost and made a motion as if to cut the throat of the old pioneer.

“Oh, I reckon ye air ekel to it,” snorted Pep Frost. “You are a cowardly, miserable lot at the best!”

There was a small mirror in one of the bundles, and this pleased the red men more than did any other object. Running up to a torch, one after another would gaze into the mirror with expressions of wonder and admiration. Even the young warrior on guard wanted to look into the glass.

For the moment the prisoners were forgotten and, struck with a sudden determination, Joe crawled close up behind his father and cut the grass rope that bound the parent. Then he placed one of the guns into Mr. Winship’s hand.

“It is I, Joe,” whispered the boy. “Wait till I free Pep Frost.”

“Be quick, and be careful,” returned the astonished man in an equally low tone. And he added: “Are you alone?”

“Yes.”

No more was said, and crawling backward Joe made his way to the tree to which Pep Frost was fastened. Two slashes of the knife and the old pioneer was also liberated, and Joe provided him with the second musket.

“Cut tudder man loose,” whispered Frost, as he fingered the gun nervously.

“He is free,” answered Joe.

So far the captives had not moved from their positions against the trees, and as the young warrior looked at them he imagined each as secure as ever. The Indians in general continued to look over the contents of the bundles until a light on the river caused a fresh interruption.

A third canoe was approaching filled with Indians and with at least two captives. The latter were evidently females, and one, a girl of twelve or fifteen, was crying piteously.

“Let me go! Please let me go!” she begged. “Oh, where are you taking me?”

“Better be quiet, Harmony,” said the woman in the canoe. “It will do thee no good to weep.”

“Harmony!” groaned Joe. “Harmony and Mrs. Parsons! Where can sister Cora be, and Harry’s sister Clara?”

All of the Indians had turned to the river front, and now Pep Frost made a motion to Ezra Winship. The pioneer understood, and, like a flash, both turned and fled into the forest, calling softly to Joe to follow.

Before the Indians discovered their loss the former captives were a good hundred yards away. They kept close together and Joe was by his father’s side. Presently a mad yell rent the air.

“They’ve found out the trick,” came from Pep Frost. “But I reckon as how we’ve got the best o’ ’em, Joey—and thanks to your slickness.”

“Did you see those in the canoe?” queried the youth. “Mrs. Parsons and Harmony!”

“Harmony!” ejaculated Mr. Winship, and stopped short. “Are you sure?”

“Yes, father; Mrs. Parsons called her by name.”

“Then I had best go back——”

“No, no!” put in Pep Frost. “It would be worse nor suicide, friend Winship.”

“But my daughter—the redskins will——”

“I know, I know! But we must bide our time,” interrupted Pep Frost again. “Remember, there were seven redskins on shore and at least four more on the river. We can’t fight no sech band as thet.”

They had reached a small brook, and along this Pep Frost forced the father and son, more than half against their will. Yet both realized that the old pioneer was right—that to fight eleven of the foe under present circumstances would be out of the question.

The Indians were already on the trail and the whites could hear them rushing along the tracks left in the forest. At the brook they came to a halt and then the force divided, some going up the stream and some down.

“I—I can’t walk much further,” came presently from Ezra Winship.

“By gum! I forgot about that wound in your leg,” exclaimed Pep Frost; “but we air a-comin’ to some rocks now an’ more’n likely they’ll afford us some kind o’ a hidin’-place.”

The old pioneer was right, and leaving the brook they crawled up a series of rough rocks and then into a hollow thick with brushwood. Here they felt comparatively safe, and Ezra Winship sank down exhausted, unable to take another step.

While Pep Frost remained on guard to give the alarm should any of the Indians appear in the vicinity, Mr. Winship gave Joe some of the particulars of the attack on the camp of the pioneers.

“We were caught at something of a disadvantage,” said he. “The horses were giving us a good deal of trouble because one of them stepped into a nest of hornets. While the men were trying to calm the beasts the Indians rushed at us without warning.”

“Was anybody killed?”

“Yes; at the first volley Jim Vedder was laid low and Jerry Dillsworth received a wound from which he cannot possibly recover. The Freemans’ baby was also struck in the shoulder while her mother was holding her in her arms. Those who weren’t struck ran for their guns, and we fought the redskins for fully quarter of an hour. But at last the tide of battle went against us, and I was laid low with an arrow wound in the thigh. I went down and a horse came down on top of me, and that was all I knew for about half an hour, when I found myself a prisoner and tied to a tree in the dark.”

“And mother and the girls——”

“I didn’t see anything more of them,” answered Ezra Winship sadly. “I know your mother was hit in the arm by a tomahawk, but I don’t believe the wound was very bad. The last I saw of Pep Frost he was fighting to save Clara Parsons from being carried away. But a blow from a club one of the redskins carried stretched him flat, and when I saw him again he was a prisoner like myself.”

“And what of all of the others, father?”

“I can’t say anything about them for certain, but I imagine about half of them escaped under cover of the darkness, and Pep Frost thinks that at least two men and two women got away on horseback. Besides that, Frank Ludgate was off on a hunt when the attack began, so that it is very likely he escaped too,” concluded Ezra Winship.