"Float her now and see whether she is top heavy," said Steve. "That was a good idea of Mac's to put a few rocks at the bottom."
Very carefully they pushed the strange craft into the water till she floated close beside their own canoe. Then they tested her stability by pressing the load over to either side.
"As steady as you could wish," said Steve. "Her gunwale is a couple of inches above the water, so she will ship very little. Now for the second."
Within an hour they were ready, the two craft laden with reeds being lashed firmly together and floated to the far side of their own canoe. There was still a little to do. At Tom's suggestion Mac cut a couple of stout boughs, and these were attached to the stem and stern of the nearest craft, and the other ends to the stem and stern of the canoe in which they would take their places.
"If a bullet does happen to come through, it will drop in the water," he said. "Again, we might find it convenient to set fire to the reeds in the outer one, and make use of the smoke as a covering. The wind is blowing right across to the far side of the river, and the reeds happen to be well soaked after last night's rain. There would be little danger of the covering being burned too soon."
"A grand idea," cried Steve. "What do you say, Jim?"
"That Tom and Steve air mighty 'cute, and don't want no teachin'. Judge, I guessed as yer had somethin' in that big head of yours. That 'ere idea air almost better'n Steve's. Set fire to the reeds we will, and a fine smoke them Injuns'll see. Reckon they'll be choked."
He went off chuckling to bring in Silver Fox, the latter having meanwhile kept an eagle eye on the far bank.
"They have moved a little," he said slowly. "The enemy have spread up and down the bank, and watch us like hawks. Do my brothers think to paddle away? Surely there will be few of us to whom a bullet will not come."
"And supposing we wait till it is dark?" asked Steve.
"Then our scalps will hang at their belts. A little sooner will make no difference. Silver Fox is ready."
"And supposing again that we move off now and have some cover, for instance, this, and set fire to the reeds in the outer canoe?"
Steve pointed to the strange craft which they had prepared, and waited eagerly for the answer, for Silver Fox was a cunning Mohawk, and if a thing could pass his eyes and meet with approval, then it was good. He strode towards the growing reeds, tore one up by the roots and bit it, just as Jim had done. Then he turned gravely to the party.
"The pale faces are great and brave foes," he said. "They press on and on into the forests, which were the hunting grounds of the Indian, and they forget the defeat they have suffered, the dead they have left. Nothing can or will stop them. They die like buffalo, fighting for their lives. Their cunning is at first as nothing to the cunning of the Shawnees and other foes, and so their scalps hang in many and many a wigwam. But death and loss have taught them. They have become men of the river and forests themselves, and their cunning is great. Surely the Great Father must have aided them, for how else could they have thought of such a device. Silver Fox has spoken and is ready."
He walked to the tree at the foot of which Steve and Tom had reverently laid the body of poor Talking Bear, and looked closely into his face. Then he stooped, took the belt, the tomahawk, and the bullet pouch of the fallen redskin, and strode down the bank.
"Farewell, my brother," he said. "You have been a faithful friend, a kind companion, and a mighty fighter. The wigwam will know you no more, and the men of the war parties will miss your strong arm. These I take so that all may keep your memory."
It was a very simple little ceremony, but affecting for all that, and caused Steve to gulp down something which seemed to fill his throat. For the lad, though a skilful hunter, was not hardened to the ways of the Indians and the pioneers of the forest. A life was a life, a friend a friend to be mourned after his death and thought of often.
And so they turned away from the silent figure, leaving the still form of the painted warrior lying there in his blanket, shaded by the foliage of a mighty tree, which has long since been felled to make way for the iron road which now bears the rapid conveyance of this bustling century. Who of those thousands who pass along the line and look out of the windows at the fascinating scenery of the Mohawk think of the days of which we write, or ever paint in their own minds the birch canoes which then were paddled over the silent waters, and the painted faces which stole through the forests, hunting the pale faces, the sturdy fathers of a sturdy race which now fills the land of promise?
"Ready?" asked Steve, taking the lead. "Then, father, show us the way, please, and take the paddle right astern. I will take that in the bows, while Mac can use the one in the centre. Jim, we'll pile the muskets just in front of father, and you will get in a shot if there is an opportunity. One moment. Break up those spare paddles, Mac."
All stepped quietly into their places, while Steve waded into the water and steadied the canoe, pushing the one which held their stores well behind him. When all was in readiness, he waded still farther in and sprinkled a little powder on the reeds which filled the strange craft farthest away. A few strokes of his steel against the flint set the powder fizzling, and in a minute one of the reeds, which happened to be drier than the others, was well alight. Using this as a match, he went all along the load, firing it at close intervals. Then he came back to the stern and made ready to push the canoes out. And meanwhile the flames had done their work. Licking round the portions of the outside layer of reeds, which happened to be dry, they soon set them ablaze, and then began to ignite the damper portions. A cloud of dense black smoke rose above the reeds, and, caught by the wind, went billowing out across the river. Almost at once fierce whoops came from the far shore, and there was a commotion amidst the forest cover.
"Shout and dance, me beauties," laughed Jim grimly. "Set to at one of yer war dances, if that'll do yer good. Reckon them 'ere varmint has a notion we're burnin' their canoes. That's what all the rustle's about."
"They will slay us with the torture should it chance that we fall into their hands," said Silver Fox gravely. "This is a sore blow to our enemies."
"Then they have worse to follow," chimed in Steve. "I fancy that when they see us floating away up the river they'll be more than a trifle angry. Paddles out. Ready? Then, here we go."
He pushed slowly till there was way on the canoes, and then with one vigorous push sent the whole lot surging against the barrier of reeds which hid the party from the enemy. And as he pushed for the last time, he leaned his full weight on the sides of the canoe, and with a dexterous movement clambered aboard.
"Get hold of the paddle and make ready to swing round," sang out Tom.
"We come out bows on, remember that, and shall have to face their fire. There goes the first musket."
They were out. The canoes had burst through the reeds into the open river, and for a minute perhaps Steve looked at the opposite bank. He saw a figure suddenly stand erect and emerge from behind a tree, and watched as the barrel of a musket was levelled at him. There was a loud report, a bullet whisked over his head, and smoke gushed from the forest. Then there was a deafening explosion just behind him, and for a few seconds he experienced the deafness and pain which are felt when a weapon is discharged close to one's ear. But his eyes held to the far bank, and once more he had need to praise Jim's shooting.
"That 'ere redskin ain't too careful," growled the trapper. "Ef he'd put his iron jest a bit lower, he'd have plugged Huntin' Jim as sure as I'm standin'. Reckon he ain't fit to try again."
It was true. The unerring eye of the trapper had fastened upon the Indian as he levelled his musket, and Jim seldom made a mistake. He was one of the hardy pioneers versed in Indian warfare who had learned that it is better to hold one's fire and keep one's finger from the trigger rather than send a bullet wide of the mark.
"Yer can't afford to miss, Steve," he had often remarked, when the young trapper was out on some excursion with him. "Some of these days yer may run into a crowd of them redskins, and then you'll know that the man as can shoot has a chance of keepin' his scalp. Reckon the chap as don't know how ain't fit to wear haar."
"Round with her. Paddle!" shouted Steve. "That's better. Now they can fire till they are tired of the game. Whew! Doesn't it sound queer to hear the bullets striking."
Indeed it did. As the paddlers forced the strange craft up the river, their course was followed by frantic whoops and by a perfect hail of bullets. As fast as twenty men could fire and load again the muskets sent their contents at the floating target, and time and again the leaden messengers crashed into the reeds, many passing through the outer pile and lodging in the centre of the second one, proving that Steve's suggestion was a good one. Occasionally a bullet would hit the mark somewhere near the top, and a shower of shredded reed would be scattered over the party. Then, too, numbers of missiles flew astern and ahead, for the smoke upset the aim of the enemy.
And so for an hour Steve and his friends paddled up the river, confident now of their security from bullets. As they progressed the howling band ran abreast of them on the bank, and one or two of the redskins actually entered the water in their frantic eagerness to come up with the pale faces. But Jim put a stop to that. The smoke hid him entirely from the sight of the enemy, while he himself had a good view of the bank, and was well protected by the reeds. He stood in the canoe, a pile of muskets at his feet, and just the top of his head showing above the barrier. Then, every now and again, he straightened himself a little more, his weapon went to his shoulder, and a shriek told that the eye of the trapper had not erred. Indeed his good shooting, the pace at which they paddled, and perhaps a failure in ammunition soon resulted in a lull in the contest. Only an occasional bullet now plunged into the reeds.
"We can say good-bye to them very soon," said Steve suddenly, craning his head round the barrier. "A couple of miles up, Swan creek runs into the stream, and that should stop them. They will have to swim or climb, and in either case we can draw away from them. When I give the word, cut away the canoes and upset them. A few blows with a tomahawk will make them useless, and send them to the bottom. Is that right, father?"
He appealed to Tom, for as yet this position of leader was strange to him, and he felt somewhat abashed and modest, considering the age and experience of his comrades. However, he had nothing to fear, for Tom nodded energetically, while the garrulous Jim burst forth with a reply.
"Jest you recollect as you're the cap'n," he laughed. "When yer give an order, why, let it be an order. No hankey pankey, lad. If Mac don't set to and follow your words, why, pass him along to me. I'll make short work of the feller."
"Bedad!" growled the Irishman. "Huntin' Jim, there'll be trouble for ye sooner than ye expect. Will ye be quiet and listen to what the cap'n's sayin'?"
They were a merry party now. Merry and light-hearted, as in truth they had a right to be, for every minute lightened their danger. Indeed, hardly an hour had passed when they came abreast of the creek of which Steve had spoken. It was wide and shallow, and cut into a big, sweeping hollow formed in the side of a long rocky ridge.
"There ain't a redskin as would attempt to swim it," said Jim with decision, "and ef they make round behind the cliff, why, Steve, you and me and Tom and Mac'll be at home long before they come out on the far side. Reckon they'll give it up and get back to their huntin' grounds. Boys, when we're back at the settlement we'll send the news round, and there won't be another party making this side of the fall for Albany. Murderin' cut-throats like them ought to be hounded down, and ef they was our way——"
"We should root them out," said Tom, quietly, "No body of self-respecting settlers would put up with such a state of things. Against such a band we of the settlement are secure. But it will not be always so."
He shook his head dubiously, while Jim and Mac nodded in agreement.
"Reckon the thirteen States has got to put aside their baby squabbles and put their backs to this work ef we air to stay at the settlement," exclaimed Jim. "Trappers ain't powerful enough to stop the journeys of the French and Injuns."
How true his words were likely to prove the reader will be able to learn. For the time had come long since for concerted action. France had set a covetous eye on the valley of the Ohio, on the smiling forest country lying to the west of the Alleghany Mountains, and resistlessly, unchecked as yet, she had poured into the land. There had been no concerted movement to check her. The thirteen States which then constituted our American colonies made no combined movement against the enemy. For the most part they were absolutely apathetic. And while they sat at their ease, surrounded by comfort and security, hundreds and hundreds of the log huts and settlements of their brothers were being ravaged by the French and their relentless Indians. The guns and the courage of thousands of trappers and hardy backwoodsmen were insufficient now to stem the torrent.
"The times are bad. There is trouble ahead," said Tom, thoughtfully. "Let us hope it will pass by and leave our settlement undisturbed. But I fear that that is too much to hope for. There is Jules Lapon."
Yes. There was Jules Lapon, leader of the most reckless and cruel bands of Indians, and a near neighbour now of Tom and his friends.
"Well, we won't think of him and the troubles now," sang out Steve cheerily. "We're well out of shot, and can cut the canoes adrift. Let us get free of them and push on towards home."
They hacked through the creepers which bound the ends of the boughs to their own canoe, and then cut holes in the two craft which they had so deftly prepared, ripping the sides and throwing the reeds out into the river. A few minutes later the canoes which had proved so useful were sweeping along, hopelessly injured, and long before Steve and his friends had turned round the bend of the cliff they had disappeared under the water.
They dug their paddles into the stream now with a vengeance, and sent their craft surging up the Mohawk, the echo of discordant yells and whoops still coming to their ears. But they were secure from pursuit, and never even troubled to look behind them. Turn and turn about they struggled at the paddles, and in the course of seven days found themselves at the end of their river journey. They had reached the lake which emptied into the river, and their coming was greeted by a tribe of Mohawk Indians. Then for two days they trudged through the forest, the Mohawks helping to carry their stores. Above their heads the branches grew in one long, continuous arch, hiding the sun. Steve led the way, his record with this tribe of hardy warriors now vastly increased after his recent exploits. His eye followed the numerous blazes on the trees, slashes cut with Jim's tomahawk, and the trappers' sure method of marking a path.
"The last stage, I think," said Tom, on the evening of the second day, when they came in sight of water.
That evening there was a serious palaver round the camp fire, and Silver Fox and his friends were rewarded with a portion of the stores. On the following day when Steve and his friends stepped into a canoe which had been hidden in the forest and pushed out on to this new strip of water, the Mohawks waved a farewell to them from the bank.
"Health and strength go with you, our brothers," cried Silver Fox, his features wearing their usual impassiveness. "Call should there be danger, and Silver Fox and his friends will surely come."
Steve watched them as they dived into the forest, and then stared down the river. They were on the Alleghany now, and a strong stream was bearing them down to their own beloved settlement. Indeed, the following day was hardly three hours old when all gave a shout of recognition.
"Thar's the place. And thar's Jimmy!"
It was Jim who waved his cap and shouted, while a faint huzza came back from the shore. They put the nose of the canoe towards a break in the forest, and very soon Jim and Mac were greeting their wives, while Tom and Steve looked on in silence. They unpacked the canoes, pulled them up, and separated, Steve and his father making for their own humble but comfortable log cabin.
"Marse Steve, Marse Steve, I'se that glad to see you. I'se prayed and prayed offen, and sometimes I think you never come home agin. Och, honey, I'se glad you'se back agin."
The black boy who acted as Tom's housekeeper wept with joy as the two sturdy trappers stepped into the hut. He was busy superintending the roasting of a wild turkey which hung to a string dangling over the cabin fire, and the return of his masters was entirely unexpected.
"I'se that glad, Marse Mainwaring and Marse Steve. Sammy wonder and wonder when yo gwine to come to de log cab'n agin. Sholy yo stay here now fo' ever."
The faithful fellow looked up at them through his tears while he still gripped both by the hand.
"There, there, Sammy," said Tom at length, touched by the warm welcome which the honest fellow had given them. "Let us have something to eat, and afterwards we'll lie down and take the best rest we have had for many a long day. We've been hunted, lad. Hunted by redskins."
Sammy's mouth opened wide at that, and he stared still harder at his master. Then he let his hand fall, and began to bustle about the table, chattering as he prepared a meal for them.
"Yo's sit down and eat and rest, Marse Mainwaring and Marse Steve," he said, giggling between the words. "Den yo'se lie down, and Sammy watch to seen no Red Injun come near to hurt yo. Marse Steve?"
"Well, Sammy."
"To'morrer p'raps yo sit outside'r the door and speak to Sammy? P'raps yo tell us all what's happ'nd?"
"Perhaps," answered Steve. "Now, hurry up with that turkey. Father and I have not had a peaceful meal for many a day. As for sleep, I fancy we have seldom had both eyes closed."
It was wonderful the way in which they settled down at the log hut which Tom had made his home. As if he had not been away from the place for even an hour, Tom strode across to the fireplace, and, taking his musket in his hand, spilled the powder from the pan, and blew the last of the grains away. Then he laid the weapon across the buck horns nailed to the logs, stringing the powder horn to one of the antlers, and the bag of bullets opposite. His coon-skin cap went still higher, while his damp moccasins were placed a few inches from the embers. Steve followed suit, and very soon the two were discussing the wild turkey.
Some three weeks later, as Steve and Sammy were engaged in manufacturing maple sugar, Tom came and sat on a log close by and watched them carefully. They had three large iron cauldrons dangling over log fires, while a fourth, a smaller one, hung over a separate fire placed some yards from the others. And here they were making a store of sugar to last them throughout the winter. Very early that day Sammy and Steve had been out in the forest, and having blazed certain of the maples, had set their jars beneath the slashes to catch the sap. And now they were boiling the latter down, throwing fresh sap into the larger cauldrons as the bubbling mass threatened to overflow the sides. It was a long process, and for some hours now they had been engaged in the task. They had boiled and boiled the mass till their store of sap was reduced to a third of its former volume, and now that third was placed in the smaller cauldron. Tom watched as they lifted the latter from its iron support and poured its contents into stone vessels to crystallise and cool.
"Steve," he called out. "Steve, I'm going away. I'll be back in a couple of months if nothing turns up to stop me."
Steve was not surprised. His father had gone away from the settlement on some business on several occasions before, while he had remained to keep house.
"Very well, father," he said. "I'll stay here and look out for your return. It will be winter almost by the time you come back."
"Almost, lad. About the Indian summer, I fancy, Steve."
He looked closely at his son as he called him again.
"Steve, my lad, these are uncertain times, and—and I might not have a chance of coming back. If I should not, there is a lot that you should learn in the next few years. Things you have never dreamed of. If I am not back in a year, if anything happens to me, just go to this address and hand in this letter. There it is. Now, I'm going."
It was not the backwoods fashion to take long in preparing for a journey, and so it happened that Tom Mainwaring set out for the Alleghany within half an hour of his conversation with Steve. They parted some ten miles from the log hut, Tom turning his face for the coast, while our hero stepped back to the settlement. And there for a little more than a month he went on quietly with the usual routine. He fished and shot and laid in a store of corn and dried bear's meat for the coming winter, the grinning Sammy looking after the log hut when he was away. Now and again, too, Mac and Jim would come over and spend an evening with him, while Steve would return the visit. For within ten miles of the hut there were some fifteen families, and it was the custom for all to visit one another.
And so the days passed uneventfully till one bright morning in late September, when there was a crispness in the air which denoted the coming winter. A shout from Sammy brought Steve to the door of the log hut.
"Marse Steve," he cried. "There's people sure on the water. They's comin' dis way."
Two canoes were being paddled down the river, and as Steve looked they turned towards the bank, with the evident intention of putting in at the rough landing stage where his own canoes lay.
"They are strangers," said Steve at once, shading his eyes from the slanting rays of the sun. "There are three white men in the first canoe, and three Indians in the second. I think that they have come from the French settlements."
He went to the buck horns over which his gun was suspended, and slung the weapon across his shoulders. Then he took his bullet pouch, his powder horn and tomahawk, and issued from the hut. By this time the strangers had landed, and as Steve walked down towards them the three white men moved towards a giant tree which grew within a few paces of the bank, a tree which stood alone amidst a host of blackened stumps; for when Tom had first come to the place virgin forest covered the land, and he had expended much labour in clearing it.
"What can they be doing?" wondered Steve, seeing the three halt at the foot of the tree and lift an object against the trunk. "They seem to be nailing something to the tree."
A few minutes later he arrived within a couple of yards of the group, and at once unslung his rifle, for with a start he recognised one of the strangers. It was Jules Lapon, dressed now in the hunting costume worn by French and English backwoodsmen alike.
"Bon jour, monsieur," said Jules, swinging round and greeting Steve with a cool and satirical smile. "I wish you a fine day and prosperity. You will be pleased to look at this notice, and afterwards you will take steps to move."
He pointed to the tree and stood aside, watching Steve with an expression which boded little good, and which seemed to combine malice and triumph. Our hero stepped closer and stared at the strip of tin which the Frenchman had pointed out. It was nailed to the bark of the tree, and bore in high relief the arms of France, while beneath, stamped on to the metal, were the following words, in the English language:
"In the name of Louis XV., King of France and of the Continent beyond the sea, we, Louis Joseph, Marquis de Montcalm-Gozon de Saint-Véran, Captain-General of the Forces in North America, and others of the King's servants, renew our possession of this land. We warn all who are not good and faithful subjects of France to depart peacefully and without delay."
There was a date and a rough signature underneath, while at the foot of the tree lay a leaden disc, with a somewhat similar inscription, destined to be buried there so that there might not be wanting evidence in the future to prove the aims and aspirations of France and her king. Nor was this the first time that Steve had looked at such a disc. Some while before he had come upon another, nearer the great lakes, and he had heard that the French had placed many more in different parts.
"You will observe his Majesty's wishes," said Jules Lapon, with an irritating smile of triumph which brought a flush of anger to Steve's cheek. "The orders are that you depart peacefully and without delay. You will go this evening. To-morrow I and my Indians will come to your hut and the place will be France. Comprenez vous? Bien!"
Steve could have struck the rascally Frenchman, so great was his anger. Moreover, when he recollected that it was this same ruffianly foreigner who but a few weeks before had hunted himself and his friends with his band of cut-throats, he felt that he would be almost justified in shooting him where he stood. Then, too, there was this preposterous demand. For three miles on either hand the land belonged to Tom Mainwaring. He had paid dues for it to a land company, and he had settled the place. His labour had cleared the forest till there was sufficient open space to grow corn. The hut was his, the bank of the river, and a stretch on the far side lying opposite the hut. Steve's gorge rose at the thought that a Frenchman should order him to give up his own belongings, and it was with difficulty that he restrained himself. He bit his lip, stared at the tin placard, and then swung round on the Frenchman, a cool smile on his lips.
"You are joking," he said in French, causing Jules to start backwards in surprise. "Surely you are playing with me, just as you and your band of Indians played with our hunting party in the neighbourhood of Albany. That was a sad joke, monsieur. I fear that we were too much in earnest."
It was Steve's turn to laugh, for there was no doubt that the Frenchman was utterly taken aback. He staggered, flushed to the roots of his hair, and gripped at his tomahawk.
"You lie," he gasped. "I lead a band of redskins near Albany! You lie, I say!"
"You say so, monsieur," replied Steve calmly, with a smile which maddened Jules. "Yes, it is you who say that, and I hear. But my eyes are good. I know that you led that band. It was I who saw you in the camp which you had hidden in the forest."
"You saw the camp, and I was in it? And you say that it was near Albany? Monsieur is mad, or he does not know how to tell the truth."
Jules mastered his rage and mortification and made a bold attempt to deceive the young colonist. After all, he thought, it was more than possible that this Steve might have seen him there. But then Frenchmen were much alike, and the glimpse he had obtained could have been but a glimpse after all: and besides, Jules reflected, at that time he was dressed as an Indian.
"Does monsieur think that I am a bird?" he demanded brazenly. "I have lands to look to across the river, and how can I be there and at Albany?"
"I hardly think you could be in two places so far apart, at one and the same time," answered Steve, his temper well in hand now. "After all, it is sufficient for me to know that you were in that camp in the woods at Albany, where Hunting Jim and I saw you distinctly. That was a long chase, Monsieur Jules, and I fancy it must have been somewhat of a surprise to you and your men to come across so small a band prepared to make a fight of it. Your men must have been discontented. I believe we killed ten at least."
This time he left no doubt in the Frenchman's mind that his rascality was discovered, and as Steve looked down at him he saw a gleam of malice light up the eyes of the ruffian, a gleam which seemed to say, "I will kill you at the first opportunity, Steve Mainwaring." Then Jules Lapon suddenly changed his intentions, a smile of triumph wreathed his face, and he pointed to the placard on the tree.
"After all, monsieur, it is not a question of men who have been killed, or of my presence at Albany," he said easily. "It is a question of this notice. You have read it?"
"I have."
"Then you will obey?"
"If I do not? Supposing I stay?"
"Monsieur, you see this whistle?" Jules took a whistle, made of horn, from his belt, and held it before Steve's eyes. "You observe that little toy, monsieur? Ah. Now I will tell you. Supposing you are so rash as to stay, I shall blow that whistle, and within an hour the far shore of the river will be darkened by the boats of my friends."
"Cut-throat Indians, monsieur," said Steve.
"You will be careful to describe my friends properly," cried Jules, making an obvious effort to control his anger. "I was saying that the Indians would come. They would hound you and your friends out of this settlement, and, after that, who can keep a check upon them?"
He shrugged his shoulders and looked significantly at his two comrades.
"Only the men with the guns," answered Steve. "I know your Indians, monsieur, and I know also that they have ravaged our settlements cruelly. But for all your threats, I will not give up my father's property. He was here long before the French had advanced south of Lake Erie. He paid for this land, and he has expended labour upon it. It is his. No king of France or his servants shall demand it of him or of me."
Steve looked the three Frenchmen calmly in the eyes, and then stepped up to the tree. Plunging his hunting knife under the sheet of tin, he levered it from the bark, and, tearing it free of the nail, threw it into the river.
"That is what I think of your demand and of your placard, Jules Lapon," he said, "and I promise that if you come with your Indians and drive me away, I and my father will hound you off the place. For a time we English may be beaten back. But, mark my words, we shall regain our own again, and you will be defeated."
There was a shout as he went to the tree and tossed the inscription into the water. Then no sooner had he spoken than Jules sprang at him with an oath.
"You defy us. You defy me!" he shouted. "Then listen to this, you Englishman. Go now. I will give you a minute. If you are not then out of sight I will shoot you. Yes, I will shoot you as I had hoped to do up on the Mohawk. And after that I shall live in your cabin."
He threw all secrecy to the winds, and lifting his musket presented it at Steve's head. Indeed, for an instant or two it looked as if he would have shot him down on the spot.
"You see that I am ready," he shouted, as he looked along the sights. "Run for your life."
Steve was cornered. To turn and obey the command given him was the most natural thing under the circumstances, and it may be wondered that he did not do so. But he knew the methods of the backwoods, and was well acquainted with the reputation of this Frenchman.
"He will shoot me as I walk," he thought. "I will stay and face him. After all, one can dodge a bullet sometimes if one keeps one's eye on the weapon. Monsieur, I will stay here. Get into your canoe and retire," he said sternly. "I also will shoot you if you do not lower that musket."
There was a shout of surprise and anger from the two who accompanied Jules, and they at once sprang forward and lifted their muskets, levelling the barrels at Steve's head. And there for a moment they stood, Steve holding his ground stubbornly, while the Frenchmen looked along their sights as if they were about to shoot at the defenceless figure standing before them. Then the scene was unexpectedly interrupted.
"That air enough. Put them shootin' irons down. Do yer hear?" A gruff voice suddenly burst from the edge of the forest, some twenty paces away, and the tall gaunt figure of Hunting Jim appeared amidst the leaves, the autumn tints matching strangely with the colour of his hunting shirt and his leggings. "Drop yer guns, and git!"
No wonder that the Frenchmen started, that Steve swung round with a cry of delight. For not a sound had warned the disputants of the approach of the trapper. He stood there, outlined grimly amidst the leaves, for all the world as if he had sprung out of the ground. His musket was gripped in his hands, while the long shining barrels of two other weapons protruded from the trees on either hand.
"Yer see, we ain't quite alone," he said hoarsely, "and ef them guns ain't down in a jiffy—ah! that air well for yer. Now Jules Lapon, murderer and robber, I reckon you can git, you and the hul crowd. Ef we had shot yer down as yer stood, we'd have done what was right, and p'raps we'd have saved a hangman a bad job one of these days. Git, that's the order!"
The tables were suddenly turned with a vengeance. Steve, standing there bravely with three barrels presented at him, suddenly found himself looking into three very startled faces. The Frenchmen stepped backward involuntarily, and lowered their weapons as Jim began to speak. Then, unable to face the guns which were directed at them, they glanced at one another swiftly, turned, and made off at a run to their canoe.
"Stop! Jest drop them muskets. That air the ticket. Now put yer knives and tomahawks down, and Jules Lapon, you as wanted to get our scalps over by Albany, jest hook that ere whistle out'er yer belt. Now yer can go, and jest remember this. When we meet again there won't be no warnin'. It'll be shoot at sight. Don't ax fer nor expect no favors."
Jim watched with a grim smile of triumph as the three disconsolate Frenchmen put down their weapons and embarked. Then he and his comrades emerged and took up their stations beside Steve, staring out at the canoe as it stole away from the bank. More than a minute passed before Steve turned to look at those who had come so opportunely to his help. Beside the lanky form of Jim was Mac, his beard flaming in the sun, his broad hand gripping the stock of his musket, and a look of bitterness on his usually jolly features. On the other side, impassive as was his custom and the habit of his race, his head thrown forward and the feathers of his head-dress trailing down over his shoulders, was Silver Fox, alert and vigilant, his eye following every movement of the Frenchmen.
"Bad cess to the blackguards," cried Mac, a note of unusual bitterness in his tones. "They kin hunt me and you, Jim, and young Steve here too if they like, but faith whin they come to huntin' the women and childer it makes me blood boil. For why can't they lave us alone? What have we done to the bastes to set thim agin the whole of us?"
"You've got land," answered Jim shortly. "That's what you've got. You've gone and put yer broad carcass in the way of this here King of France. Steve, reckon this placard air worth keepin'."
He stepped to the bank of the river, waded in a little way and recovered the plaque, the sun glancing from the bright tin having made its position clear to those standing on the shore.
"Best keep it, lad," he went on. "It'll mind yer of a time when yer was precious near to death, and of the pluck as a youngster kin show. Reckon you stood up to them 'ere skunks as well as any man could ha done."
There was a murmur of approval from the others, while Steve shook his head.
"I wasn't going to be frightened by a canoe full of Frenchmen," he said doggedly. "This place is ours, and if this king wants it let him come and take it. The best man will hold it in the end. But I suspect it is not his Majesty of France. Louis XV. can have no great use for our little holding. But Jules Lapon has. He owns the ground on the far side next to father's, and with ours thrown in he'd have the whole of the river banks for three miles either way."
"You've hit it, Steve. It air that skunk as brought this bit of tin along, and it air him as wants the place," cried Jim, staring out across the river at the fast-retreating canoes. "What is more, lad, he's goin' to have it for a time. Me and Mac and Silver Fox guessed as there was somethin' up, and ever since daylight we've had our eyes on the varmint. There was a lot too much movement amongst the Injuns, and we reckoned it didn't mean good to us. Them critters has nailed their bits of tin at three other places along this bank, and they air going to take the land whether we want it or not."
"Do you actually mean that they will drive us out of the place?" asked Steve.
"That air so. There's news comin' slowly through that the French and their Injuns is movin' on and drivin' the British before 'em. There's tales of settlements attacked and taken, men and women scalped, and children carried off by them redskin devils. We've heard the same before, and I don't know how it is that we along here at this settlement have escaped so long. But reckon these fellers is out on the war-path agin, and, lad, we've got to git."
Go! They must leave the place where Steve had lived ever since he was a tiny little fellow. The log cabin which was his home must be given up to these Frenchmen and their allies! The thought was a cruel one, and it is not to be wondered at that an exclamation of bitterness escaped him.
"Faith, Steve, me lad, it's hard to think on, so it is," said Mac, coming to him and placing a sympathetic hand on his shoulder. "Hasn't Mac and the loikes of him settled peaceful here? hasn't the wives and the childer made homes for all of us, so they have? But ye've to choose what's the best. To see these thavin' damons here in our very own places, or to see ivery mother's son of us, and the women and childer too—God bless the darlints!—scalped and kilt by these fellers. Sure, Steve, better to see the settlements burn, to put fires to ivery roof and watch 'em flare, than have them fellers settin' in our doorways, or scalpin' all of us. Och, but it's a sore time for us, a sore time, and we'll have to foight before we get back what's our own. Bedad! Ye'll know soon, Steve, darlint. 'Tis you and me, and Jim and Silver Fox, and ivery one of us, as'll take our muskets and go out to foight the blackguards."
"Mac's jest talkin' sense. Reckon it air as he says, Steve," cried Jim. "Yer was near bein' wiped clean out jest now, and if yer wait it'll be a case with yer. Best get back to the hut and take what yer want. You've a bit of a pony, and I fancy you'll be able to take most of yer things. Then set fire to the place. We'll cross to the Alleghanies, and then we'll take service with the regiments which are bein' formed."
Steve stood looking at his rough but honest-hearted friends for some few minutes, and then his eyes roamed across the peaceful stretch of the river to the far bank, under the shade of which Jules Lapon and his comrades were paddling. Then the whistle which the French leader had dropped caught his attention, and he stared at that, too, for a little while.
"Father would do the same," he said aloud, but addressing no one in particular. "Yes, he would go, after firing the hut. There is no other course open. We have often talked over the possible coming of the French, and decided that we should have to retire unless supported by troops. But they are nowhere here. We have only ourselves to rely on. We must go."
He led the way to the log cabin, and at once set about packing the most valuable of his and Tom's possessions. Sammy led out the old pony which was usually employed in dragging timber, and roped the articles to his back, big tears welling up in his eyes as he did so. When all was ready Steve took a brand from the fire, looked once more upon his old home, the cabin in which he had lived sixteen happy years, and then fired the shingles. There was an air of resolution on his face as he did so, and he stood to windward watching the flames as they caught hold and licked round the logs with the same expression. Then, as the roof fell in and huge tongues of flame flared up into the air, he turned away with a smile.
"I will help to build a mansion where that happy home was," he said. "Come Jim and Mac, and you too, Silver Fox, old friends, we will go where we can be of use to our country, and one of these days we will settle again in these parts, when the French have been driven into Canada."
"When they have been sent neck and crop out of North America," growled Jim. "Pick up yer traps, Steve. The other folks air waitin' for us way up there back of the rise."
Sammy took the rope bridle of the laden animal, and the trappers and their Indian friend fell in behind. And thus did Steve leave his home, not to return again till many an adventure had befallen him, and not till many and many a man had fallen in the contest which was about to break out with a ferocity which was almost unexampled.
Sad and heavy of heart were the settlers whom Steve and his friends met at the top of the divide which ran between the valley in which they had lived and the forest region beyond, stretching right away to the Alleghany mountains; for each one of the forty or more persons of whom the party consisted had just lost home and belongings. Men, women, and children had been forced to turn out of their log cabins and take to the woods.
"It air a shame and no mistake," said Jim as the men of the party gathered about Steve's pony and discussed the matter. "But there's jest one thing that makes it easy so to speak."
"Easy! Yer don't call it an easy thing to have to fire the hut that took so long to build, do yer, Huntin' Jim?" cried one of the trappers, Pete Jarvis by name, his brows contracting as his bitterness increased. "Yer don't say as it's an easy thing fer a man what's fifty and more to turn his back on what he's given years of his life to make, to steal like a skunk out'er these woods, where he's trapped and shot, and with his wife and children take the trail back to the west. Yer don't think that, Huntin' Jim. It's hard enough to break a man's heart."
"It air all that and more, chum," was Jim's consoling answer. "Neither me nor you, nor Mac, nor Steve, the young Hawk as he's known hereabouts, likes havin' to git at the word of them 'ere Frenchies. But fer all that I'm right. Ef it war winter where should we be?"
"'Tis then the poor childer would suffer, so they would," burst in Mac. "Sure, 'twould be the death of many a one, the poor darlints. Jim's right, so he is, Pete. We're lucky afther all."
Pete scratched his head at that, for the matter had never crossed his mind before. He had looked at this sudden exodus from a different point of view, and he was filled with bitterness and wrath. Still, now that he came to review the case, he saw that Jim was right.
"That air true," he admitted. "We've got a heap to be thankful for, and now that you've put it before me, why I'm downright glad that the time has come now, and not later. Still, boys, it air hard."
"It is, more than hard," agreed Steve. "But we still have something to be thankful for. We've been hearing tales of other settlements, and they have not even been able to leave. The Indians gave no warning. The French did not trouble to come along with their ridiculous bits of tin, but raided the places, burnt the huts, and massacred the poor settlers."
"And why ain't they done it here?" demanded Jim eagerly, clenching a big brown fist. "I'll tell yer, Steve, and you too Pete. It's 'cos that feller Jules Lapon air in these parts. Reckon he wanted them huts and crops. He don't want to walk in and find the hul place burnt by his Injuns. So he sends along and gives us the warnin' to quit, knowin' that once we've took the trail he can send the hul crowd of his Injun varmint after us. Waal. He ain't a goin' to get the huts, 'cos we've put fire to 'em, and the crops got served the same way. Ef we look after ourselves reckon he and them ugly red critters won't have such an easy time of it. We'd best get the business settled up."
There was, indeed, little doubt that the danger which had suddenly burst about the heads of the settlers was a real one, and that now that the Indians had risen in those parts, the party might be followed and attacked. For the past four or five months tales of massacres of English colonists had come to the ears of Steve and his friends. All along the border-line huts and settlements had been raided, too often suddenly and without any warning, and hundreds of unfortunate men, women, and children had been killed and scalped. An Indian war of the most ferocious description had been raging here and there on the eastern slopes of the Alleghany mountains, and in many places the enemy had burst over that range and had annihilated settlements on the far side. Marching with the Indians, egging them on, and sometimes vying with them in their cruel practices, were scores of French voyageurs and settlers, and even many young officers from the regular forces; whilst behind these leaders, stimulating them with promises of land, and aiding them with money, guns, and powder, were the authorities living in Quebec. It was really a matter for wonder that Steve and his friends had not been disturbed before, for they had carved out from the virgin forests a most valuable settlement, and one which may be said to have stood in the direct line of the French advance. It may have been that they owed their security from interference so far to the fact that the land nearest to them was owned by Jules Lapon, and he happened to be away in other parts murdering and slaying, and taking stores from any party of trappers who happened to stumble across his path. Or this ruffian may have purposely kept his Indian allies away, having determined to obtain possession of such a valuable clearing. Whatever the cause, it happened that this particular settlement had escaped till now, and had been left so long without interference that many who lived there were beginning to hope that the impending storm might after all pass over their heads. And now, with scarcely any warning, the cloud had burst. They had been ordered to quit, and to leave all that they possessed. It was more than hard. It was cruel to think that these hardy trappers, the pioneers of the land, had no one to look to for help, and must needs pack up hastily and fly for their lives at the bidding of a French monarch whose name had barely come to their ears.
"It does not help us to look upon the hardship of our case, boys," said Steve, as the men stood about him, dressed in their hunting shirts, their coon-skin caps, their fringed leggings and moccasins. "We ought to feel glad that we and the women and children are alive, and our business now is to make arrangements for our journey. Which way do we make?"
"Due west," answered Jim, with an emphatic wag of his head. "Up there somewheres on the Alleghanies we'll hit upon colonial troops. There ain't many of 'em, but they'll be enough to keep these redskin skunks away, and any of us as has a mind to can take on service with 'em. Ef we was to make north and west, up towards Albany——"
"Reckon that air out of the question," interrupted Pete. "I'm farthest over in that direction, and Silver Fox here can tell you that an army could not get through. West air our only way."
This was, in fact, the only direction in which the little party could make, for Silver Fox had brought information that roving bands of Indians were on the war-path between the settlement and Albany.
"Then we will turn west," said Steve. "We have got to protect ourselves, and I should say that the best way would be to send the women and children and half the men ahead, while we others wait and cover the retreat. I suppose we shall make for the old trail?"
"That air what we'll do," replied Jim. "Now, as we're all here, supposin' we pick out those who air to stay. Married men goes in advance ef possible. Mac, guess you'll lead. You're a good trapper and woodsman, and yer know that it'll want a 'cute man to see that the way's clear. Me and Steve and a few others'll take the rear."
With such matter-of-fact individuals, accustomed to acting swiftly and in sudden emergencies, it took only a few minutes to arrange the details of their flight, and very soon the party chosen to go in advance had moved off through the forest, Mac leading and searching closely for the blazings on the trees which would tell him that he had come across the trail which led to the mountains. After him went the married men, with their wives and children. The ponies, upon the backs of which the children and some of the women were mounted, were placed in line, and, being thoroughly well trained to work in the forest, stepped one after another along the track. Their rear was brought up by Sammy, leading the lanky pony upon which all Tom's and Steve's possessions were packed.
"Guess we'll give 'em a good hour's start," said Steve. "Jim, I'll make back and keep an eye on the river with Silver Fox. If all is right I'll strike once on the trunk of a tree. If they are following you will hear two blows."
He and the Indian slipped away from the little band of backwoodsmen, and within an hour were looking down upon the river which they had so recently left. It was black with canoes which were passing to and fro, while a number were drawn up in front of the bank where Steve had had his encounter with Jules Lapon. Above the tops of the trees hung a dense pall of smoke, a dozen other columns shewing where the settlers had fired their huts.
"They will follow to-morrow, Hawk," said Silver Fox, when he had looked at the scene for some little while. "They think that they will easily come up with us. In two days they will surround our party and we shall have to fight. It would be well to ambush them."
That set Steve thinking, and for an hour he lay there in the bracken staring down at the river. Then he got to his feet, picked up a fallen branch and struck the trunk of a massive tree a heavy blow, repeating the blow again some two minutes later.
"They will hear that," he said. "Now we will return, Silver Fox. Have you ever been on this trail?"
"Once, Hawk," was the answer.
"Do you remember the hills lying a day's march from this? There is a gap."
The Indian suddenly came to a stop, for they were returning by now, and stared into Steve's face. "The Hawk is sharp," he said, with a flash of his keen eyes. "Silver Fox remembers that gap. There we will lay an ambush."
They trudged on through the forest and presently came up with Jim and his comrades. Then, with two men scouting in the woods on either side, and the same number in rear and in front, the tiny little party of stern men strode on after the fugitives in advance. And when the morning of the second day broke they struggled up to the rising ground which Steve had mentioned to Silver Fox. It was a rugged and precipitous ridge, with trees growing thickly up to its foot, and thick, long scrub running to its summit. As Steve clambered to the top he saw that it stretched for some miles on either hand, and he knew that to cross it at any other spot would be a difficult task, for he and his father had often hunted in the district.
"It is just the place for us," he said to Jim, as the trapper and some of his comrades gathered about him. "From the forest down below the Indians who are pursuing will be able to get a glimpse of our party after it has climbed over this ridge, for the land rises again, and you can see for yourself that it towers above this place. Now what do you say to this? We send on the best of the horses, with all the women and children, and instruct them to get ahead to that piece of open country to which I am pointing. Meanwhile, we will lie here and prepare a nice little ambush."
"While the women and children draw the varmint into it," cried Jim, with every sign of satisfaction. "Steve, you air 'cute. I 'lowed that many a day ago, but here yer air agin. Boys, that air a plan that's worth workin'."
The spot was, in fact, an ideal one for an ambush, and Steve had had it in his mind's eye the whole of the previous two days, for he was well acquainted with the district. As he had said, this steep rocky ridge cut across the course of the fugitives, running for many miles on either hand. In many places it was almost unclimbable, and at this point it happened to be less severe, so much so that many a colonist making east into the promised land, the valley of the Ohio, had followed the blaze marks of those who had gone before him, and had clambered over the rise where others had found a road. It was the most natural thing, therefore, for this party of fugitives to take the same track, and indeed it was the only course that they could take. The Indians would know this, so Steve argued, and there was little doubt that by now they were within a few miles of the ridge. What would happen when they came up to it?
"They will climb over and wipe the whole lot of us out," our hero had said to himself. "We must stop them here if at all."
Then, as he tramped through the forest on the previous day, he had recollected that in approaching the ridge from the Ohio valley one caught a glimpse every now and again of the track far in advance, for the country to the west rose again, less sharply to be sure, but to a greater elevation. A party making their way over that second rise in the land would be instantly detected by the Indian pursuers, who would imagine that all their pale face enemies were there.
"It is our only chance," said Steve, as the men gathered about him. "Our scouts in rear have not yet signalled, so we know that the enemy are not yet up with us, though they were on our trail last night. Then we have plenty of time. In an hour the ponies, with the women and children, will be on the high ground beyond, and when the Indians see them——"
"They'll come streamin' up this ridge like hounds," growled Jim. "This air the place to stop 'em. You place the boys, my lad."
Very rapidly and coolly Steve told the trappers off to their posts, cautioning them that there was not to be a sound till he fired his musket. Then he himself took cover close to the edge of the track and waited. Presently two slim figures appeared down below, flitting between the trees, and the trappers left behind as scouts began to climb the ridge.
"A hundred of the varmint full on the trail," whispered one as he lay down beside Steve. "We watched 'em till half an hour ago, and then me and Stubbs come along at a dog trot. They'll be in sight in less than no time. Reckon they'll spot the rest of our party. They air right up there on the high ground beyond, and yer can sight 'em ploddin' along beside the ponies."