Jo had heard enough, and his wish now was to get back to his friends with the least possible delay, that they might make preparation against the assault that could not be postponed much longer.
Knowing the superstition of the American Indian, the scout now resorted to an artifice as daring as it was startling. Although a man trained in border-warfare, accustomed to the frightful cruelties of the aborigines, and knowing the fierce purposes of the Wyandots surrounding Fort Bridgman, he could not bring himself to the point of deliberately shooting down one or more of the conspirators, who, in point of fact, were at his mercy.
Many a brave hunter or pioneer, placed in his situation, would have seized the opportunity to shoot the chieftain himself while sitting in the cabin, unsuspicious of his danger; but Jo Stinger was not of such a disposition.
Raising his long rifle to his shoulder, he pointed it straight at Waughtauk, and then advanced until the muzzle was thrust through the window, while he himself stood no more than a foot outside.
At that instant one of the warriors reached down and stirred the blazing sticks of wood burning on the hearth. The flames leaped higher, filling the room with a warm ruddy glow. A slight noise caused the three Wyandots to turn their heads toward the open window, when they saw a sight which held them spell-bound.
A tall spare man, in the garb of a hunter, stood with his deadly rifle pointed straight at them, and the muzzle was not twelve feet distant from the head of Waughtauk the chief.
Looking along the barrel, pointing like the finger of fate at the Wyandot leader, the bony fingers of the left hand were seen grasping the dark iron, while the right hand, crooked at the elbow, encompassed the trigger-guard, and the forefinger was gently pressing the trigger. The hammer clutching the yellow flint was drawn far back, like the jaw of a rattlesnake when about to bury its fangs in its victim, and just behind that the single open eye of the hunter himself seemed to be agleam with a fire that was likely to ignite the powder in the pan, without the flash of the quartz.
The coonskin cap, the grizzly whiskers, the rough garments were frosted with tiny snowflakes which glistened and glinted in the fire-light like points of burnished silver. The figure was as motionless as were the three Wyandots, who could only stare at what must have seemed an apparition from the other world. As they gazed, the figure spoke in a slow sepulchral voice—
"Let the Wyandot chieftain and his warriors go back to their squaws and pappooses, for the pale-face is hurrying through the forest to burn his lodges and to make captive his children! The Great Spirit commands that the Wyandots shall go."
Having uttered these extraordinary words, Jo Stinger took several steps backward, without moving a muscle of the upper portion of his body, so silently and imperceptibly that he seemed to dissolve in the surrounding darkness.
The moment after, Waughtauk uttered a cry of such distress that the Wyandots in the immediate neighborhood heard it and hurried to him. Stinger was quick to perceive his chance, and hurrying to the door of the block-house, he rapped so sharply on it that the listening Colonel Preston hurried down the ladder and approached the entrance.
"Who's there?" asked the commandant, in a guarded voice.
"Me—Jo; it's all right; quick, let me in afore the varmints get back!"
There was no mistaking the voice, and Colonel Preston removed the fastenings with a nervous haste, which did not leave him until his friend was inside, and the bars were replaced in their sockets.
He then grasped the hand of Jo and shook it warmly, for the relief of all over the return of the invaluable scout was beyond expression. They hurriedly went up the ladder, where all, including Mrs. Preston, who declared she could sleep no more that night, listened to the stirring story which Jo had to tell. His auditors fairly held their breath when he drew the picture of himself standing at the window of the cabin, with his rifle pointed at the Wyandot chief, and commanding him in the name of the Great Spirit to hasten to protect his own lodges from the invading white man.
"You gave him such a fright that he may strike his tents and leave," suggested Colonel Preston.
"No," said Jo; "such things have been done, and Simon Kenton once played the trick so well that he kept a party of Delawares from massacreing a white family going down the Ohio, but Kenton had a much better show than me."
"It seems to me, Jo, you had everything in your favor," said Megill, who, like all the others, was deeply interested in the narrative of the hunter.
"There's just the trouble; the chief and his men were scared out of their moccasins for a minute or so, and if it had happened that I hadn't showed myself afore, and the Wyandots didn't know I was outside, the scare might have amounted to something; but when the other warriors come around the chief, and he learns what has took place—if he didn't know it all before—he'll see that the whole thing was a trick, and he will be madder than ever. I think he'll open the music agin very soon."
"If he fires the cabin," said Colonel Preston, "it will be apt to make it pretty warm in here, for the wind does come from that direction, and I wish the thing didn't stand quite so near us as it does. But the sides of the block-house are not so dry as the roof, and I hope we can stand more heat from that source than the Wyandots think."
"We have considerable water left," said Jo, "and we must take mighty good care that none of it is wasted."
"Did you find the tomahawk in the door?" asked Ned.
"I felt for it, but it was gone."
The prospects were discussed in low, earnest tones, while every one was in a fever of expectancy. There was constant peeping through the loopholes, and the occasional whistling and whooping were accepted as signals to open the last decisive attack.
Jo Stinger was moving about in this manner, doing what he could to cheer his friends, when some one caught his elbow.
"Who is it?" he asked, stopping short.
"It is I, Ned Preston," replied the boy; "I want to ask you a question."
"Well, younker, what is it?" said the hunter in a kindly manner, and lowering his voice, so that the others could not overhear them.
"I wanted to ask you whether you learned anything about Deerfoot, when you were out."
"Nothing partic'lar; I heard his name mentioned by that varmint that run against me, after I didn't fall into the well."
"How was it?"
Jo related the incident in which he was compared to the young Shawanoe.
"What do you think about it, Jo?"
"Well, of course none of us knows anything for sartin,—but it's my opinion—since you ax it—that Deerfoot has slid under for good."
"I am afraid so," said Ned Preston faintly. "Poor Deerfoot!"
Deerfoot, the young Shawanoe, despite his extraordinary exertions and his own wonderful woodcraft, had fallen into the hands of the hostile Wyandots, and with a grim satire upon the skill which had given the youth his great fame, Waughtauk, chief of his enemies, had decreed that his life should be staked upon the result of a race with the fleetest runners of the tribe.
The captive would have welcomed such a contest, could it have been conducted on anything like equal terms, but he seemed in a pitiable condition, unable to bear the weight of his body for more than a second on one foot. Had it been otherwise, Waughtauk never would have made the conditions what they were.
The promised enjoyment was so eagerly looked for by the warriors that the chief decided to gratify them and himself, without delay.
It was now near noon, and the sun shining overhead gave no indications of the clouds and snow-fall that came with the close of day. The "Long Clearing," of which the chief spoke, was an open space, beginning fifty rods north of the block-house and extending for a third of a mile, parallel with the Licking river. It had a width varying from a hundred feet to five times that extent. It was a natural clearing or opening, which, it would seem, offered a much better site for a block-house than the one selected by Colonel Preston, when he erected the building now placed in such danger.
It presented an open space for the distance named, and, before the founding of the settlement, was often used by Indians for their games and athletic contests: no more suitable place could have been found for the extraordinary contest decreed by Waughtauk, chief of the Wyandots.
As this exhibition was ordered during the time when the siege was to be maintained, it was impossible that more than a fractional part of the warriors could take part in or witness it. Waughtauk selected six of his men who were to be the actors in the tragedy, he himself purposing to be the leader and director.
As the wolf, before destroying the lamb, sought a pretext for his cruelty, so the chief assumed a certain air of justice in arranging for what might be termed a race for life.
The warrior who had struck Deerfoot was given his bow, the youth being allowed to retain his knife, tomahawk, and quiver. None of the Wyandots were permitted to carry their guns, the only weapon of that kind being in the hands of the chief, who was also magnanimous enough to give the fugitive a start of some fifty yards.
Deerfoot was too proud to open his lips, when the conditions were explained to him. He stood grim and silent, watching the preparations and noting the exultation which often reached boisterousness.
"Great is Deerfoot, the swiftest runner of the Shawanoes!" said one mockingly; "he is the eagle, and he will leave the Wyandots far out of sight, as the great bird leaves the smaller ones in his flight through the heavens!"
"Deerfoot is the friend of the Yenghese and the Long Knives, who have come to take away the hunting-grounds of the red man."
"The pale-faces will come to the help of Deerfoot, for who has been a better friend to them than he?"
These and similar taunts fell upon ears which appeared to hear them not. Those who uttered the cruel words came close to the youth and peered into his face, with hideous grimaces, but he stood calm and silent. He was a shade paler, and there was a strange gleam in his black eyes, but he looked beyond his tormentors at Waughtauk, who deliberately paced off the distance, giving liberal measure, as it is only justice to record.
When the fifty steps had been taken, Waughtauk stopped, stamped the heel of his moccasin in the earth, and, turning about, beckoned to Deerfoot to approach. The young Shawanoe, as he hobbled painfully forward, presented a spectacle which ought to have excited the pity of the hardest heart; but the Wyandots laughed and were impatient for the contest, if such it may be called, to open.
Deerfoot limped the greater part of the distance and then stopped to rest a moment, seemingly unable to advance another step. Several taunting exclamations followed this display of weakness, and, summoning his energies, the youth resumed his labored advance, finally reached the side of Waughtauk, who concealed, as well as he could, his impatience.
"Deerfoot will stand here," said he, pointing to the indentation the heel of his moccasin had made in the ground; "when he hears Waughtauk give forth the war-whoop of the Wyandots, he will teach my warriors how to run."
The young Shawanoe opened his lips to make answer, but they closed more tightly than before, and not a word was uttered. His self-restraint was perfect.
Waughtauk walked back to the edge of the Long Clearing, where the six warriors eagerly awaited the signal for the sport to begin. Despite the usual stoicism and indifference of their race, the braves were as frolicsome as so many school-boys. They elbowed and crowded each other for their places, and one or two vigorous wrestling bouts occurred, before the chieftain placed them in line.
At last the six Wyandots were drawn up in position, one foot thrown forward, while they swayed restlessly back and forth, inching along the advanced foot, like so many runners eager for the slightest advantage. Each carried his knife and tomahawk at his girdle, but the arms were free. He who claimed the bow of Deerfoot had thrown it aside, now that he was about to run.
Waughtauk looked at his men and then he placed himself in alignment at their right. He still held his loaded gun, probably as an emblem of his authority, and as a notification that he would use it in the event of any warrior disregarding orders.
The seven now looked out upon the Long Clearing at the fugitive who was to go through this mockery of a race with the sinewy-limbed Wyandots, eager and thirsting for his life.
The pose of Deerfoot was much the same as that of his enemies. His left foot was in advance of the other, while his weight gently oscillated back and forth, like the swinging of a long pendulum. Unnoticed by any of the Wyandots, he had edged fully ten feet beyond the proper starting-point. His face was turned as if looking at the autumnal woods on his right, but as his handsome profile was thrown against the sky beyond, his eyes were scrutinizing every action of his foes, as they arranged themselves and awaited the signal.
At this juncture it must have occurred to more than one that the Shawanoe was balancing himself with remarkable ease for one whose sufferings from a sprained ankle were so acute. If such a thought came to the Wyandots, they did not lose sight of the fact that the time for an investigation was past.
For a single minute complete quiet prevailed. The river on the left flowing calmly northward, the solemn autumn woods on the right, the stretch of the Long Clearing, with its irregular contour,—the single solitary youth poised as if he were a Grecian athlete,—the seven swarthy Indians, like so many fierce hounds, impatient for the moment when they might spring at the lamb and bury their fangs in its throat:—these made a picture striking beyond imagination in its details.
"Whoop! whoop! whoop!"
In quick succession the war-cry of the Wyandots rang out on the still air, and like an electric shock it thrilled through every being who heard the startling signal.
The ringing shout had scarcely left the lips of Waughtauk, when Deerfoot made a tremendous leap of nearly a dozen feet, and the instant he lightly struck the ground he bounded away with a burst of speed which astounded the spectators. There was no lameness now—there had never been the slightest. The young Shawanoe when he saw his capture was inevitable, resorted to this strategy with the quickness of inspiration. The sprained ankle was a fiction—a fiction not essayed with any thought that he would be subjected to such a special test, but with the belief that a chance might come in which he could make a break for freedom and for life.
A series of fierce shouts went up from the thunderstruck Wyandots, as they saw the fugitive ricocheting over the grounds, as may be said, like the ball from the throat of a Columbiad.
The halt and the lame who were the first to step into the pool of Siloam, after the angel had stirred the waters, were no more quickly healed than was Deerfoot by the ringing war-cry of the Wyandot chieftain.
A consuming anger like that of the wolf, when the panther robs him of his prey, must have fired the hearts of the Wyandots, at the moment they saw the trick played on them by this despised youth. He, a boy in stature and years, had pitted his skill, his strategy, his woodcraft, his brains against theirs, and he had won.
The readiness of Deerfoot added several rods to the advance originally given, so that a great advantage was thus obtained, and it was improved to the utmost.
The wonderful youth ran as never before. His lithe legs doubled under him with inconceivable quickness, the eye seeing naught but the twinkling of the beaded moccasins. The still wind cut by his face as though it was a gale. He was a gladiator stripped for the struggle, and every nerve and muscle was strained to the last tension. He seemed a swallow skimming close to the ground, or a shaft driven from his own bow, so graceful was his arrowy swiftness.
There were swift runners among the Wyandots, and the seven warriors included their fleetest, who now put forth every exertion of which they were capable. The difference in their speed was shown by their immediate separation, with rapidly increasing spaces between them; but the young Shawanoe drew away from them, as a child draws away from the stationary object which frightens it.
Deerfoot saw the half mile sweeping under his feet, as the steel rails glide under the plunging engine, and the single glance he threw over his shoulder told the glad fact that he had not misjudged his own matchless ability as a runner. Muscle and nerve and sinew never did their work more splendidly than now, when their existence was staked on the manner in which that work was to be done. Human ingenuity could never construct a piece of mechanism which could do such marvelous service, as did those limbs of the flying fugitive on that crisp autumn day nearly a century ago, in Kentucky.
Although, as we have stated, there were many rapid runners among the Wyandots, there was not one who could attain and hold the terrific pace of the Shawanoe, whose victory, it may be said, was assured from the beginning. Fired by their fury and chagrin, they made prodigious exertions to run down the youth, or at least to approach close enough to hurl their tomahawks; but this was useless, and with an exasperation beyond expression they saw their victim slipping irrecoverably from their grasp.
Suddenly a shot rang out on the frosty air. Waughtauk, the chieftain, and the only one who had a rifle, came to a dead halt and fired point blank at the vanishing youth, hoping at least to disable him, so he would fall into their hands. Deerfoot heard the firing of the bullet, as it nipped his cheek, but he did not hasten his pace, because he was unable to do so, and no need existed. From the first he had done his best, and there was no room for an increase in the way of speed.
A third of a mile is soon traversed at such a rate of travel, and in a brief while Deerfoot approached the end of the Long Clearing. His swiftness was unabated, but, when he once more glanced around and saw that the whole seven Indians had given up the pursuit and were standing at varying distances from each other looking at him, he instantly slackened his pace.
Coming to a dead halt he faced about and, swinging his arms over his head, gave utterance to whoops and taunting exclamations.
"Have the Wyandots learned to run? Who is Waughtauk, that a youth of the Shawanoes should teach him to walk? Let the Wyandots go back to their lodges and tell their squaws that Deerfoot has taught them knowledge! Are the Wyandots tired that they must sit down and rest? Shall Deerfoot come back to them and show them what to do, when their enemies are around them?"
No more stinging taunts than these can be imagined, and the Wyandots felt their full force. They were silent, possibly because their tongue contained no words which could give suitable expression to their feelings.
Clearly it was idle to maintain the pursuit any longer, and the seven Wyandots, including Waughtauk the chieftain, stalked back toward the block-house, for the purpose of pressing the siege with more vigor than ever.
Up to this point they had in reality accomplished nothing toward the reduction of the place. They had lost several of their warriors, and Deerfoot, as they all agreed, would make all haste to Wild Oaks to procure help for the beleaguered garrison.
An individual capable of such speed as he, would reach the Ohio before nightfall; and, under the stress of necessity, the settlers would be at Fort Bridgman before the sun could cross the meridian on the morrow.
Such was the reasoning of Waughtauk, and all of his counsellors agreed with him. A brief while before they would not have believed it possible that help could be brought before the following night; but since the occurrence just described they were prepared to believe Deerfoot capable of doing almost anything.
The precise conversation between the maddened red men, of course, can never be known to the historian, and it is not desirable that it should be; but the parties concerned were so interested in the words that they were close to the stockade of the block-house before it was recalled that the long valuable bow taken from Deerfoot was left lying on the ground where the new owner threw it when ready to join in the chase.
This was too valuable a trophy to be lost, and the Wyandot immediately turned about and hastened toward the Long Clearing to recover it, while the others passed on to mingle with those who were striving so hard to encompass the destruction of the little party in the garrison.
The Indian who hurried back, it will be remembered, was the one that had struck Deerfoot when he was a captive. He had been the most cruel in his taunts, and his hatred of the youth seemed more malignant, if possible, than that of the others.
He ground his teeth together, as he dropped into a walk, and recalled the inimitable cleverness with which the young warrior outwitted them.
"Why did we not know the dog spoke with two tongues? Why did we not make sure he could not run? Why did not some of our warriors lie in the woods at the end of the Long Clearing to catch him, if he should escape us?"
"He is a dog—he is a traitor!" muttered the fierce Wyandot, approaching the spot where he had thrown the bow, "and he shall yet fall by my hand——"
He was about to stoop forward to pick up the weapon, when a slight exclamation caught his ear, and he straightened up like a flash.
Less than twenty feet distant stood Deerfoot the Shawanoe, quietly looking at him. Both had reached the spot on the same errand, and thus they met.
The youth had the advantage of detecting the other first, and, as a consequence, was prepared. In the language of the west, it would have been said, under similar circumstances, that Deerfoot "had the drop" on the other Indian.
The latter, as he looked up, saw that the hand of the youth grasped his tomahawk, which was held so far back of his hip that only a glimpse of its edge could be seen. The arm extended straight down so that it needed to be thrown upward and backward, before the formidable missile could be launched.
Fate seemed to favor Deerfoot that day; for not only had he escaped from a cruel death, but the being whom he hated above all others, and with an intensity which only a barbarian can feel, now stood before him.
There was no misunderstanding the situation on the part of either. The Wyandot would have resorted to any treachery to slay Deerfoot, and he was aware that Deerfoot knew it. He had inflicted indignities upon the young Shawanoe which nothing less than the grace of heaven will enable the North American Indian to forgive.
The two gazed fixedly at each other without speaking, and for a second or two neither stirred a muscle. Then, while the Wyandot centered his burning gaze upon the bronzed face before him, his right hand began slowly stealing up from his hip to his girdle. It was seeking the handle of his tomahawk, but, guarded as was the movement, the Shawanoe saw it.
So absolute was Deerfoot's faith in his own prowess and unequalled celerity that, knowing as he did the meaning of his enemy's action, he permitted the hand to touch the weapon, before he affected to notice it.
The instant the Wyandot griped the tough wooden handle, he snatched it forth with surprising quickness and threw his hand back over his head with the purpose of hurling it at the defiant youth.
But the latter was the quicker. His left hand made one lightning-like sweep, and the tomahawk shot from his grasp with the suddenness of the thunderbolt. Although the Wyandot threw his almost at the same instant, yet there was just enough difference in time to make one a success and the other a failure.
Deerfoot's weapon sped as direct as a rifle-ball, and clove the skull of the Wyandot as though it were card-paper. The tomahawk of the latter, which was in the act of leaving his hand, was so disarranged by the shock that it was thrown up in the air and fell at his feet, as he toppled over backwards, with a shriek which reached Waughtauk and his warriors, and whose meaning they knew too well.
Deerfoot advanced and recovered his tomahawk, that had done this terrible execution. Then he picked up his valued bow from the ground and examined it to make sure that it had suffered no injury.
He did not stoop to take the scalp of the dead warrior, who hoped so ardently a brief while before to capture his. The Shawanoe had never scalped a vanquished foe; but when he caught sight of several Wyandots hastening to the spot, he flourished his bow defiantly in the air, gave utterance to several taunting cries, and, turning his back upon them, plunged into the wilderness with such speed, as to render all thought of pursuit out of the question.
And as he sped like a hound on a trail, the face of Deerfoot the Shawanoe was turned toward the settlement of Wild Oaks on the far-away Ohio.
Every one in the block-house, with the exception of the two little girls of Colonel Preston, was wide awake. The conviction was so strong that the crisis was at hand, that even Blossom Brown hunted out his young master Ned Preston, and placing himself by his side, said—
"I's awoke, suah's yo' bo'n."
"It is best that you keep awake too," replied Ned, "for it is a good deal better than to be awakened by fire and Indians."
"I can't understood why de Injines don't fight fair," said Blossom, with a tone of impatience; "we don't use fire on dem, and why can't dey do de same wid us? If I could talk de Injine language, I'd go down dar and try to argy de matter wid 'em; I'd show 'em de—de—onscrupulousness ob usin' de flames to burn us out. If we could only make 'em 'shamed, dat would be a big p'int gained."
"It is nonsense to think of anything like that, Blossom; the Wyandots are determined to burn down the block-house if there is any way to do it——"
He abruptly stopped, for the tramp of feet was heard outside, close to the front door. Megill and Stinger instantly fired down in the darkness, guided only by the sense of sound; but the cry that rang out on the snowy air, proved that execution was done.
Instantly there followed such a prodigious shock, from a blow against the door, that the whole building shook. Before the men could bring their guns to bear, the sound of rapidly running feet showed that the Indians had dropped their battering ram and hurried off in the darkness.
Almost at the same moment Mrs. Preston, who was peering through the loopholes on the eastern side, saw an Indian arrow, wrapped with blazing tow, shoot upward from the edge of the woods, and going slower and slower, as it curved over, sweep downward with a whizzing rush, and strike the roof overhead, with the same abrupt thud that had been heard several times.
It was followed immediately by a second from the same point, which seemed to take the same course, for it lodged very close beside it, and also held its place.
Then another flaming missile rose from the northern side, then from the south, and then from behind the river bank, with still others mounting from intervening points, until a beautiful and terrifying scene presented itself.
The blazing shafts followed each other in such rapid succession, that there were fully twenty ascending and descending at the same moment. These made all manner of fiery parabolas in the snowy atmosphere. One archer, who sent his missiles from the upper window of the cabin near the block-house, and another, who discharged his from behind the pickets close at hand, pointed them so nearly perpendicularly that they seemed to shoot downward almost directly through the fiery trail they made in their ascent. Others came from such distant points that their parabolas were lengthy, and they only rose a short distance above the block-house itself, before they plunged into the slabs of the roof.
These struck the latter at every possible angle, and with every imaginable result. In some cases the arrow was so warped in its flight that it took a path almost as erratic as that of the Australian boomerang. Impinging against the roof at an acute angle, it would glance far upward, and, turning over and over, come tumbling to the earth, where it flickered a minute and died out.
Others hit the planks, and, like a mountaineer among the rocks, who could not retain his hold, slid down the steep incline to the ground. Still others missed the building altogether, and, plunging their flinty heads in the earth, were quickly extinguished.
But the alarming fact remained that the majority of the flaming missiles found a lodgment in the roof, where they burned with a fierceness which showed they were an improvement on those first sent. One could not but wonder where the Wyandots obtained all these weapons: they must have started on the expedition with the expectation of using this peculiar mode of warfare.
The fiery shower lasted but a few minutes, but at the end of that time there were fully thirty shafts sticking in the roof and burning vigorously. Viewed from the outside the block-house looked like some vast monster whose hide was pierced with flaming spears, but who slumbered on in the darkness, unmindful of the pests.
This lavish distribution of fire showed that the ground was covered with a fine sprinkling of snow, which was still floating downward at an almost imperceptible rate. There was no such mantle on the roof. It was so smooth and steep that most of the particles ran downward and off. A thin tiny line of snow-points was continually pouring over the eaves, where the wind blew it to atoms again.
The twists of flame made the air about the cabin luminous, and the millions of snow-flakes twinkled and glistened with starlike brilliancy, as they came out of the darkness and fluttered in the glow for a moment, ere they vanished again.
Several of the burning arrows were fired against the sides of the block-house, where they flickered a brief while. These, added to the other missiles on the ground, threw a dull reflection through the loopholes, that enabled the garrison to see each other "as through a glass darkly."
Their figures were easily distinguishable, as they moved carefully about, and now and then the glimpse of a face was so ghastly and unnatural that it was hard to recognize it. Blossom Brown was the only one who was distinguishable at the first glance, and even he scarcely looked like himself.
One unusually strong reflection from an arrow that imbedded itself in a corner disclosed the faces of the little sisters Mary and Susie, sleeping beside each other, with the warm comfortable blankets drawn close about them.
Each had thrown her arm over the other, and their dimpled cheeks almost touched, as they slumbered sweetly and peacefully, secure in that trust in their heavenly Father, whom they had asked to take care of them and their friends, while the wicked Indians tried so hard to hurt them.
Taking advantage of the illumination, six or eight of the Wyandots fired at the loopholes thus made visible; but the garrison knew the danger and kept out of range.
The most alarming fact about the attack was the numerous burning arrows on the roof. Colonel Preston and Jo Stinger agreed that, after all, this was the most vulnerable point of the block-house, and it was more than likely to ignite, if only a moderate number of the fiery shafts could be made to hold their place a short time.
Although some of the snow found a lodgment under the overlapping slabs, there was not enough to affect the bits of flame that were burning in many places.
"This is bad business!" exclaimed the Colonel, "and must be checked at once."
As he had done in the previous instances the commandant drew a stool under the trap-door on one side of the roof, while Jo Stinger did the same on the other. When these were lifted a few inches, the sight which greeted them was enough to cause consternation. The light which entered the upper story through the opening thus made disclosed every object with great distinctness.
Jo Stinger saw that most of the coils of flame were not of a dangerous nature and would soon expire of themselves; but there were two or three that were gaining a headway that was likely to do alarming injury, unless checked.
"Be keerful, Colonel," said Jo, "the varmints are watching us, and you'll get a shot afore you know it."
The warning was none too soon. Several of the Wyandots were waiting a movement of the trap-door. They had stationed themselves in the upper story of the cabin, which gave them the necessary elevation, while the flaming missiles themselves afforded all the view required.
Two shots were fired at the slight gap made by the lifting of the covering, and the Colonel dropped it with a bang and an exclamation. But he quickly rallied and called into play some of the strategy he had learned during a long experience on the border.
The really dangerous shots (that is, those from the upper story of the cabin) must necessarily come from one side of the structure. The Colonel held a piece of planking so that it would act as a shield, and catch any of the bullets from that point. Grasping the stock of his rifle with one hand, he then stealthily reached out, and with much difficulty and labor managed to dislodge the most threatening brands in that direction.
This left only one in his "jurisdiction" which he really feared. With a skill that Jo Stinger could not restrain himself from praising, Colonel Preston managed to send this arrow with its fiery mane sliding down the roof, without receiving any harm, though more than one shot was fired at him.
Much the same task confronted Jo Stinger, and he performed it with the expertness that was to be expected of such a veteran; but when he had done all he could, there remained the most dangerous shaft of all. It had lodged in the very peak of the roof, near the southern end, which was the closest to the cabin that sheltered the Wyandots, and in direct range of their fire.
This was burning with a persistency which looked as if the tow had been soaked with some chemical, although such could not be the fact; but, having found a lodgment, there it stuck and grew, with every prospect of kindling a blaze that would soon spread to the entire roof and building.
Jo Stinger fortified himself as best he could, and took every precaution. Then, amid the dropping shots of the Wyandots, he carefully felt his way forward with his rifle, until he could not extend it an inch further: he still lacked more than a foot of reaching the dangerous spot.
The red men, who saw the failure, raised a shout, and the scout was compelled to draw back his weapon and muffled arm, without accomplishing anything toward the extinguishment of the blaze that threatened the destruction of the block-house and all within.
"You think 'cause Jo Stinger has played the fool, there's nothing left of his wit, but you'll soon larn he hasn't forgot everything he once knowed."
"Is it the only one that endangers the roof?" asked Colonel Preston, as Jo joined them.
"Yes; if we can get that out, the trouble is over for the present, though I don't know how long it will stay so."
"Suppose you cannot extinguish it?" asked Mrs. Preston.
"Then the block-house has got to burn."
This announcement caused dismay, for all felt that the few blunt words of the scout were the simple truth. They so affected Blossom Brown that he dropped back on a stool, and set up a howling that must have reached the ears of the Wyandots outside.
"It's all de fault ob dat Deerhead—I mean Deerfoot, dat was so orful anxious to run us into dis old place, when I told 'em it wasn't wise. I wanted to go back to Wild Oaks where I had some chores to do, but he obsisted, but took mighty good care to keep out de block-house hisself, as I took notice——"
Blossom Brown would have gone on for an indefinite time with his loud wailing, had not Stinger checked him by the threat to throw him out the trap-door upon the roof.
Afraid that his bluff answer to Mrs. Preston's question might have caused too much alarm, the scout added—
"If the varmints don't do any more than that, we're all right, for I'm going to put the blaze out."
"You know the risk," said Colonel Preston, apprehensive that Jo intended some effort that would expose him to extra peril.
"I reckon I do," was the response of the scout, who was the coolest one of the whole company.
The situation could not have been more trying to the bravest persons. In a manner almost unaccountable, a blaze had fastened itself in a point of the roof beyond the reach of those within. There it was burning and growing steadily, with the certainty that, unless checked pretty soon, it would be beyond control.
Jo Stinger was the only member of the garrison who appeared equal to the task, and more than one feared that to save the block-house he must assume a risk that was certain to prove fatal.
Ned Preston caught the arm of the man in the darkness and asked—
"Can't you put it out with a wet blanket?"
"Well, you're a boy that does know something!" exclaimed Jo, adding with a burst of admiration, "Give me your hand, younker; that's the very idee I had in mind."
This "idee," as the hunter termed it, was the ordinary one of spreading a blanket, soaked with water, over the spaces endangered by fire. Probably nothing more effective could have been devised, but it should have been adopted when the peril involved was much less. One-half of the entire roof was illuminated by the crackling blaze which was steadily eating its way into the solid timber.
Jo Stinger, having determined on his course, spent no time in useless conversation. Under his direction one of the blankets was saturated with water from the precious supply in the barrel. As it was necessary to see what they were doing, a tallow dip was lit and placed where it threw a faint illumination through the interior. The garrison could distinguish each other's figures, and no one needed any advice to keep out of the path of such bullets as might enter through the loopholes.
The scene was picturesque and striking. Mary and Susie still lay wrapped in slumber, and their closed eyes and innocent faces subdued every step and word, lest they should be awakened. Father and mother glanced fondly at them many times, and wondered how long that refreshing unconsciousness would continue.
By general agreement the entire party centered their attention on Jo Stinger, who, having soaked the blanket, made ready to throw it over the stubborn fire. The task of necessity was attended by such extreme peril that all held their peace, oppressed by the gravity of the danger. At the same time the crackling of the flames and the unmistakable presence of smoke in the room showed that, if the extinguishment was delayed much longer, the attempt would be too late.
Jo placed the chair directly under the trap-door on the eastern side of the block-house and was about to set foot on it, when Colonel Preston stepped forward.
"Jo, you've forgotten; the blaze is further over on the other side."
"That's the reason I'm going to take this side."
The Colonel stepped back, and the scout laid the dripping blanket upon one arm, as though it were an overcoat. Grasping the edge of the opening, and helped by Megill from below, he quickly climbed upward, opening the door at the proper moment by the pressure of his head against it.
It was not raised an inch more than necessary, when he slowly crept out, like a crab casting its shell.
The blaze which was the cause of all this alarm and care was started, as will be remembered, in the very peak of the roof, but from some cause it had worked its way down the western side, which was necessarily illuminated through its entirety by the light therefrom.
The shifting of the fire threw the eastern half of the roof in comparative shadow, though the flickering glow was quite certain to reveal the figure of any large object on it. The fact that Jo emerged with his dripping blanket without drawing a shot, led him to hope that his action was unsuspected.
In order to "play every point," Colonel Preston cautiously raised the trap-door on the other side a few inches, and, guarding his face and arm, extended the stock of his rifle toward the blaze, as if he expected to pound it out.
He advanced the weapon quite slowly and with a movement intended to impress the sharpshooters with the belief that he had perfected an arrangement by which he was able to reach the endangered point.
As he anticipated, this diversion drew several shots, which whistled about his head with a vigor that gave him a vivid idea of the vigilance of the besieging Wyandots.
While this counter-movement was in progress, Jo Stinger was carefully making his way along the roof on the other side. The unusual steepness made this difficult, and had he not grasped the peak and held on, he would have shot along the slope to the ground, as if sliding down the side of a tree.
Inch by inch he progressed, expecting every minute that a bullet would be fired at him. He kept the saturated blanket well rolled together and in front, so that it served the purpose of a shield against any shot from the cabin, where the sharpshooters seemed to have gathered for the purpose of keeping the roof clear of all persons.
Jo Stinger had nearly reached the point from which he expected to "ring down the curtain" on the flame, when he was confronted by an experience altogether novel and unexpected.
Inasmuch as the burning arrows had done such good service, one of the Wyandots on the edge of the woods launched another, which went high in the air and, curving gracefully over, plunged downward toward the roof.
Jo had no knowledge of its approach, until he heard the whizzing rush of the flaming shaft, as it drove its head against the wet blanket, glanced off and slid to the earth.
"It won't do to loaf 'round here," he muttered, "or I'll be crawling over the roof with a dozen blazing arrers, and if Jo Stinger knows hisself, he don't mean to play walkin' lantern for the Wyandot varmints."
He had attained the position he was seeking, and a most delicate piece of work was before him, but he was equal to it.
The Indians, who were gathered in the cabin, and collected at different points in the woods and along the stockade, watching the flame with no little exultation, saw it creeping downward and spreading with a rapidity which boded ill for the garrison huddled beneath.
The fine, silver-like snowflakes glistened in the fire-light, and floated shudderingly down the roof, without affecting the blaze; but at the moment when scores of eyes were gleaming like those of so many wild beasts, a dark shadow suddenly disclosed itself—what seemed an immense black hand spread out and closed over the dangerous fire, which was instantly extinguished.
The extinguishment of the burning roof, for the time, was complete. Utter darkness came like the blowing out of a candle in a vault.
"The varmints know what it means!" muttered Jo Stinger, who made a hurried retreat along the roof toward the trap-door, which had been thrown wide open in readiness for his reception.
The Wyandots were quick to learn the cause of the sudden darkness, and they opened a brisk fire on the roof. This necessarily was at random, and the scout dropped through to the floor, without so much as a scratch upon him.
Colonel Preston and his friends would have felt like uttering a cheer over the success of Jo's boldness, but for the conviction that the worst was yet to come and was close at hand.
One fact was so apparent that it caused a strengthening of hope: the wind, which had been blowing almost a gale from the south, had fallen, so that the lull was perceptible. Should the Wyandots fire the cabin standing a short distance from the block-house, the flames were not likely to communicate unless the gale appeared again.
All was darkness once more. The wind soughed dismally through the trees and moaned around the block-house, which was scorched and still smoking from the burning arrows of the Wyandots. The fine snowflakes were still sifting downward, and far overhead was heard again the honk of wild geese flying to the milder regions of the south.
From within the settler's cabin standing near the stockade came a dull glow, but there was no other sign of life that eye could detect. And yet the block-house was environed by hostile red men, who were as eager as so many wolves to break into the fold.
Colonel Preston, Jo Stinger, Megill, Turner, and the boys were at the loopholes watching and listening. Mrs. Preston alternated from the side of her children to that of her husband, exchanging words with the brave man who had been so cramped in his movements for the last day or two that he was unable to do the service he wished to render his friends.
The sounds of hurrying feet, the hoarse guttural exclamations and the bird-like signals showed that the Wyandots were near the fort. They had taken advantage of the Egyptian darkness to steal up close to the sides of the building, where their presence could only be discovered through some movement that made a noise sufficient to reach the ears of the listeners above.
Several times the heavy log which they had dragged from the river bank was carried stealthily up to within a few feet of the building, when, having located the door, they ran forward with the battering ram. Delivering the blow they dropped the log and scampered to escape the shots which were sent after them in the darkness.
Now and then some of these bullets found their mark, and the assailants learned to their cost that it was not simple amusement on which they were engaged.
Believing they had made some impression on the door, eight Wyandots stole forward, lifted the tree-trunk from the ground, and stepped heavily and quietly backward several paces, where they paused to gather breath for the fierce rush.
At the very moment they had concentrated their strength and were in the act of moving, a flaming arrow sped upward like a rocket from the other side the clearing, and, curving over, went a short distance beyond the block-house, and, by a singular mischance, buried its head in the log, which was held above the ground and in the act of being plunged against the door.
The shaft stuck and the flaming twist of tow gave partial glimpses of the eight swarthy figures laboring toward the building with the timber between the two divisions. The knowledge that they were exposed to the aim of the Kentuckians, spread consternation among the Wyandots, who released the burden so suddenly that it fell upon one warrior's foot.
The pain was so acute that, like a civilized being, he caught the injured member in both hands and danced round and round on the other foot, howling with torture, while the others skurried away in the darkness, as though a bomb-shell had burst among them.
The crack of several well-aimed rifles hastened the steps of these frightened warriors, and he who was nursing his bruised foot dropped it and limped off, with a haste that would have been impossible under other circumstances.
This incident, which was not without its element of comedy, was followed by a still more singular one.
Despite the vigilance of the garrison, the Wyandots were constantly tempted to efforts which, it would seem, promised no success at all, and which exposed them to great danger from the rifles of the Kentuckians.
We have described the windows on the lower story of the block-house, which were without panes, long and so narrow that it was not deemed possible that any person could force his body through.
And yet there was one warrior who had probably spent most of the day in considering the matter, and who concluded there was a chance for him to succeed, where all others had failed.
A peculiar noise on the lower floor led Colonel Preston to descend the ladder to investigate. For some minutes he was unable to conjecture what the disturbance could mean, but the faint glow thrown out by the flaming arrow which drove its head into the log, showed that the window at the right of the front door was blocked up by an Indian, who was wedged fast, and unable to get in or out.
He was struggling desperately, but could not extricate himself, and the astounded commandant concluded that, if he was attenuated enough to enter that far, he was probably capable of going still further, and must be a curiosity in the way of bulk which was worth seeing.
The Colonel shuddered to think what would have been the result if this savage had secured an entrance. It would have taken him but a minute or two to remove the fastenings of the door, when the whole horde of ferocious red men would have swarmed in.
The officer immediately ran forward and, catching the two arms of the intruder, pinioned them. Then he began pulling with might and main. That he might not throw away any strength, he placed both feet against the logs below the window, and, leaning back, threw all his energy in the effort.
So great was the force exerted that in all likelihood he would have succeeded in drawing the exceedingly thin warrior through the window, had not a couple of friends, at the same moment, seized his legs, which were frantically beating vacancy, and commenced pulling with equal ardor in the opposite direction.
The Wyandot was now as anxious to retreat as he had been to advance, and he strove to help his friends; but his efforts were so handicapped that he gave them little if any assistance.
The arrow which had burned so brightly for a minute or two expired, so that all was darkness once more, and the singular tug of war went on.
When Colonel Preston held his breath, compressed his lips and did his utmost, he felt the Indian move forward several inches in response; but there were a couple fully as muscular, and inspired by as strong enthusiasm as the pioneer. The tug which they put forth brought the brave back again, with probably a slight gain.
The warriors at the heels had the additional advantage of the sympathies of the one over whom they were disputing, and who bid fair to become elongated to an alarming extent by this singular controversy. He kept twisting his hands in such a way that he broke the hold of Colonel Preston more than once, while he quieted his legs so as to favor his friends all he could.
The first flirt which the Indian made was so sudden and unexpected that the Colonel fell backwards on the floor; but he was up on the instant, and grappled the sinewy arms again.
"If this keeps on much longer," thought the officer, "something must give way. Suppose we should pull the rascal in two, with half inside and half out. That might be fair to us, but the Indian, considered strictly as an Indian, would not be of much account. I wonder whether——"
"Hello, Colonel, what's going on?"
Jo Stinger had heard the singular disturbance, and, unable to guess its meaning, was hurrying down the ladder to inform himself.
The exquisite absurdity of the situation caused a momentary reaction from the gloom which had oppressed Colonel Preston, and led him to reply—
"I've got a red man here that we're using as a cross-cut saw, and we've stretched him out to almost double——"
At that instant the individual referred to, knowing that all depended on one supreme effort, wrenched his wrists loose and, like a flash, struck the Colonel such a blow in the face that he reeled backwards almost to the other side the room.
The Wyandots at the other end of the line were reinforced at the critical juncture by two others, who caught hold of their man wherever it was the most convenient, and the four gave a long pull, a strong pull, and a pull altogether, that was sure to accomplish something definite.
Fortunately for the elongated Indian his legs were equal to the strain, and he shot backward through the opening like the lady in the show, who is fired from the giant cannon by the aid of springs alone. He and his friends rolled over in one promiscuous heap, but were quickly on their feet and skurried away in a twinkling.
Jo Stinger scarcely credited the singular story when the Colonel related it, but when the particulars were given, he could not refuse to believe.
"You could have ended it, Colonel, when you had his head inside," said the scout.
"I know that, but I did not like the thought of taking such a frightful disadvantage of an enemy."
"Then you ought to have done it without thinking," muttered Jo, who was beginning to feel less mercy toward the Wyandots, since they had made their own furious hatred so manifest.
"If there's any likelihood of that varmint trying the thing over again, I'd stay here; but a chap who goes through, or tries to go through what he did, is apt to get enough."
"I am sure of that," assented Colonel Preston, who was still rubbing his face where the vigorous blow had fallen upon it.
There was no occasion to remain below-stairs, and the two went up the ladder, where a consultation was held as to what was best to do, if indeed they could do anything in their perilous situation.
Midnight had passed, and a hope was gaining ground that, if they could hold out until morning, the prospect of beating off the Wyandots would be improved. The American Indian seems incapable of doing his best work except in darkness, and another night of such utter gloom as the present was not likely to come.
It was not known, of course, that Deerfoot had escaped from his enemies, and the belief was general that his career had been brought to an untimely end; but, as we have shown, the young Shawanoe, with all his fleetness, could not bring reinforcements from Wild Oaks before the succeeding night, and it would have been a great feat could he accomplish it in that limited time.
The garrison had enough food to last them a week, and the supply of water was sufficient for the same time, unless too many draughts should be required by the work of the torch and burning arrows.
A continuous assault upon the door and the frequent firing into the loopholes and windows promised something, but the danger and delay which attended such work were too great for the red men, who knew the value of time as well as did the settlers themselves.
All within noted the direction and strength of the wind with an anxiety which cannot be described. The space separating the block-house and the cabin was so small that a slight gale from the right quarter was certain to carry the flames from one to the other. Both parties therefore were watching the indications with an equal intensity of interest.
Once the wind was just right, but a lull came, as the torch was about to be applied, and Waughtauk, after recovering from the terror caused by the appearance of the scout at the window, must have felt a grim impatience, as he saw the hours steadily slipping away, with no marked change in the situation.
But the fiery arrows had done excellently well, although at the critical moment a wet blanket, in the full sense of the word, was thrown upon the prospects of the assailants. Waughtauk and his sharpshooters knew how cleverly they had been outwitted, and they were sure the strategy could not succeed a second time.
The orders were therefore given to try the blazing missiles again, and in a few minutes a converging fire was opened, which looked as if a miniature bombardment had begun.
The pyrotechnic display, under the peculiar circumstances, was singularly striking.
By and by the missiles found a lodgment on the roof of the block-house, and the twists of flame once more lit up the rough surface, scorched and blackened in many places, and on which the flakes, instead of sliding off, as aforetime, seemed to stick with an unusual persistency.
There were broad patches of snow over the greater portion, and although some of the arrows held, yet the major number fell over, after striking and flickering a few minutes, and went out. The flakes which had collected now helped blot out the flames.
The cause of these changed conditions was due to a number of saturated blankets that had been carefully spread over the roof. During the darkness which followed Jo Stinger's exploit, and after Colonel Preston's failure to win in his tug of war with the Wyandot, the garrison had wisely improved the time by soaking quilts with water and laying them over the most ignitable portion of the roof.
Men and boys had given up those appropriated to their use; indeed all had been taken, except those which protected the little girls while sleeping. The mother offered those, if needed, willing to enfold and warm her little ones with her own loving arms, and such few extra garments as could be gathered among the company; but the scout declined, saying he had all he could use. At the same time he would have given anything in his possession for enough material to plaster the entire surface.
Favored by the sheltering darkness, Jo then stretched these coverings over the slabs. He fastened them together and balanced them over the ridge, so there was no possibility of their slipping off.
This was done with such care that no space was lost. The temperature was so low that in a few minutes the blankets were stiff with frost, and, although the hunter was toughened by many years' exposure, his hands became so benumbed he could hardly use them.
It was these frosty blankets which caught the snow and held it, and which rendered useless so many of the burning shafts discharged by the Wyandots.
But there were spaces where the seasoned wood was exposed. Several of the blazing missiles, as might have been expected, lodged there and began burning their way into the timber.
Furthermore, as these flames lit up the gloom, the Wyandots, eagerly looking upon the scene from every point of the compass, saw a sight which must have amazed them: it was the figure of a man stretched out at full length on the roof, holding on with one hand, while the other seemed to be occupied in giving the finishing touches to the saturated goods, which, so far as they went, were an effective shield against the fire.
Was ever such reckless daring known? It looked as if the scout Jo Stinger deliberately invited this manner of his taking off, in preference to torture by flame, or at the hands of his dusky enemies.
If such were the fact, the Wyandots did not restrain their fire. Every one who commanded the position immediately opened upon the poor fellow, and the sharpshooters in the cabin near at hand discharged their pieces with unerring accuracy.
Bullet after bullet struck the figure which, as it lay at full length, was a fair target for the many rifles. Still he held on and made no effort to lift the trap-door and drop beyond range of the deadly sleet hurtling about him.
But there is a limit to the capacity of the strongest, and all at once the hold was loosened. He seemed to catch vainly at the steep roof, over which he began slipping; but there was nothing which he could grasp that would stay his downward flight. Faster and faster he went, until he shot over the eaves, and, striking the ground, collapsed in a limp heap in which there was not a particle of life.
The Wyandots, with whoops of delight, dashed forward from the darkness, each eager to be the first to scalp the man whom they well knew, and regarded as the most formidable member of the garrison.
Forgetful of the risk they ran (for the spot where the inanimate figure fell was revealed by the burning arrows), the warriors scrambled with each other as to who should secure the coveted trophy.
Scarcely a full minute had passed when cries of rage and chagrin were heard from the disappointed group: for that which they seized and struck at was not a man at all, but a dummy cunningly put together, and placed in such a position on the top of the block-house that not a Wyandot who fired at it had the slightest suspicion that he was throwing his ammunition away.