Produced by An Anonymous Volunteer
THE SCOUTS OF THE VALLEY
by Joseph A. Altsheler
CHAPTER I. THE LONE CANOE
A light canoe of bark, containing a single human figure, moved swiftlyup one of the twin streams that form the Ohio. The water, clear anddeep, coming through rocky soil, babbled gently at the edges, where itlapped the land, but in the center the full current flowed steadily andwithout noise.
The thin shadows of early dusk were falling, casting a pallid tint overthe world, a tint touched here and there with living fire from the sun,which was gone, though leaving burning embers behind. One glowing shaft,piercing straight through the heavy forest that clothed either bank,fell directly upon the figure in the boat, as a hidden light illuminatesa great picture, while the rest is left in shadow. It was no commonforest runner who sat in the middle of the red beam. Yet a boy, innothing but years, he swung the great paddle with an ease and vigor thatthe strongest man in the West might have envied. His rifle, with thestock carved beautifully, and the long, slender blue barrel of theborder, lay by his side. He could bring the paddle into the boat,grasp the rifle, and carry it to his shoulder with a single, continuousmovement.
His most remarkable aspect, one that the casual observer even would havenoticed, was an extraordinary vitality. He created in the minds of thosewho saw him a feeling that he lived intensely every moment of his life.Born and-bred in the forest, he was essentially its child, a perfectphysical being, trained by the utmost hardship and danger, and withevery faculty, mental and physical, in complete coordination. It is onlyby a singular combination of time and place, and only once in millionsof chances, that Nature produces such a being.
The canoe remained a few moments in the center of the red light, and itsoccupant, with a slight swaying motion of the paddle, held it steady inthe current, while he listened. Every feature stood out in the glow, thefirm chin, the straight strong nose, the blue eyes, and the thick yellowhair. The red blue, and yellow beads on his dress of beautifully tanneddeerskin flashed in the brilliant rays. He was the great picture offact, not of fancy, a human being animated by a living, dauntless soul.
He gave the paddle a single sweep and shot from the light into theshadow. His canoe did not stop until it grazed the northern shore, wherebushes and overhanging boughs made a deep shadow. It would have takena keen eye now to have seen either the canoe or its occupant, andHenry Ware paddled slowly and without noise in the darkest heart of theshadow.
The sunlight lingered a little longer in the center of the stream. Thenthe red changed to pink. The pink, in its turn, faded, and the wholesurface of the river was somber gray, flowing between two lines of blackforest.
The coming of the darkness did not stop the boy. He swung a littlefarther out into the stream, where the bushes and hanging boughs wouldnot get in his way, and continued his course with some increase ofspeed.
The great paddle swung swiftly through the water, and the length ofstroke was amazing, but the boy's breath did not come faster, and themuscles on his arms and shoulders rippled as if it were the play ofa child. Henry was in waters unknown to him. He had nothing more thanhearsay upon which to rely, and he used all the wilderness caution thathe had acquired through nature and training. He called into use everyfaculty of his perfect physical being. His trained eyes continuallypierced the darkness. At times, he stopped and listened with ears thatcould hear the footfall of the rabbit, but neither eye nor ear broughtreport of anything unusual. The river flowed with a soft, sighing sound.Now and then a wild creature stirred in the forest, and once a deercame down to the margin to drink, but this was the ordinary life of thewoods, and he passed it by.
He went on, hour after hour. The river narrowed. The banks grew higherand rockier, and the water, deep and silvery under the moon, flowed ina somewhat swifter current. Henry gave a little stronger sweep to thepaddle, and the speed of the canoe was maintained. He still kept withinthe shadow of the northern bank.
He noticed after a while that fleecy vapor was floating before the moon.The night seemed to be darkening, and a rising wind came out of thesouthwest. The touch of the air on, his face was damp. It was the tokenof rain, and he felt that it would not be delayed long.
It was no part of his plan to be caught in a storm on the Monongahela.Besides the discomfort, heavy rain and wind might sink his frail canoe,and he looked for a refuge. The river was widening again, and the bankssank down until they were but little above the water. Presently he sawa place that he knew would be suitable, a stretch of thick bushes andweeds growing into the very edge of the water, and extending a hundredyards or more along the shore.
He pushed his canoe far into the undergrowth, and then stopped it inshelter so close that, keen as his own eyes were, he could scarcely seethe main stream of the river. The water where he came to rest was notmore than a foot deep, but he remained in the canoe, half reclining andwrapping closely around himself and his rifle a beautiful blanket wovenof the tightest fiber.
His position, with his head resting on the edge of the canoe and hisshoulder pressed against the side, was full of comfort to him, and heawaited calmly whatever might come. Here and there were little spacesamong the leaves overhead, and through them he saw a moon, now almosthidden by thick and rolling vapors, and a sky that had grown dark andsomber. The last timid star had ceased to twinkle, and the rising windwas wet and cold. He was glad of the blanket, and, skilled forest runnerthat he was, he never traveled without it. Henry remained perfectlystill. The light canoe did not move beneath his weight the fractionof an inch. His upturned eyes saw the little cubes of sky that showedthrough the leaves grow darker and darker. The bushes about him werenow bending before the wind, which blew steadily from the south, andpresently drops of rain began to fall lightly on the water.
The boy, alone in the midst of all that vast wilderness, surrounded bydanger in its most cruel forms, and with a black midnight sky above him,felt neither fear nor awe. Being what nature and circumstance had madehim, he was conscious, instead, of a deep sense of peace and comfort.He was at ease, in a nest for the night, and there was only the remotestpossibility that the prying eye of an enemy would see him. The leavesdirectly over his head were so thick that they formed a canopy, and, ashe heard the drops fall upon them, it was like the rain on a roof, thatsoothes the one beneath its shelter.
Distant lightning flared once or twice, and low thunder rolled along thesouthern horizon, but both soon ceased, and then a rain, not hard, butcold and persistent, began to fall, coming straight down. Henry saw thatit might last all night, but he merely eased himself a little in thecanoe, drew the edges of the blanket around his chin, and let hiseyelids droop.
The rain was now seeping through the leafy canopy of green, but he didnot care. It could not penetrate the close fiber of the blanket, and thefur cap drawn far down on his head met the blanket. Only his face wasuncovered, and when a cold drop fell upon it, it was to him, hardened byforest life, cool and pleasant to the touch.
Although the eyelids still drooped, he did not yet feel the tendency tosleep. It was merely a deep, luxurious rest, with the body completelyrelaxed, but with the senses alert. The wind ceased to blow, and therain came down straight with an even beat that was not unmusical. Noother sound was heard in the forest, as the ripple of the river at theedges was merged into it. Henry began to feel the desire for sleep byand by, and, laying the paddle across the boat in such a way that itsheltered his face, he closed his eyes. In five minutes he would havebeen sleeping as soundly as a man in a warm bed under a roof, but witha quick motion he suddenly put the paddle aside and raised himself alittle in the canoe, while one hand slipped down under the folds of theblanket to the hammer of his rifle.
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p; His ear had told him in time that there was a new sound on the river. Heheard it faintly above the even beat of the rain, a soft sound, long andsighing, but regular. He listened, and then he knew it. It was made byoars, many of them swung in unison, keeping admirable time.
Henry did not yet feel fear, although it must be a long boat full ofIndian warriors, as it was not likely, that anybody else would be abroadupon these waters at such a time. He made no attempt to move. Where helay it was black as the darkest cave, and his cool judgment told himthat there was no need of flight.
The regular rhythmic beat of the oars came nearer, and presently as helooked through the covert of leaves the dusky outline of a great warcanoe came into view. It contained at least twenty warriors, of whattribe he could not tell, but they were wet, and they looked cold andmiserable. Soon they were opposite him, and he saw the outline of everyfigure. Scalp locks drooped in the rain, and he knew that the warriors,hardy as they might be, were suffering.
Henry expected to see the long boat pass on, but it was turned towarda shelving bank fifty or sixty yards below, and they beached it there.Then all sprang out, drew it up on the land, and, after turning it over,propped it up at an angle. When this was done they sat under it in aclose group, sheltered from the rain. They were using their great canoeas a roof, after the habit of Shawnees and Wyandots.
The boy watched them for a long time through one of the little openingsin the bushes, and he believed that they would remain as they were allnight, but presently he saw a movement among them, and a little flashof light. He understood it. They were trying to kindle a fire-with flintand steel, under the shelter of the boat. He continued to watch them'lazily and without alarm.
Their fire, if they succeeded in making it, would cast no light upon himin the dense covert, but they would be outlined against the flame, andhe could see them better, well enough, perhaps, to tell to what tribethey belonged.
He watched under his lowered eyelids while the warriors, gathered ina close group to make a shelter from stray puffs of wind, strove withflint and steel. Sparks sprang up and went out, but Henry at last saw alittle blaze rise and cling to life. Then, fed with tinder and bark, itgrew under the roof made by the boat until it was ruddy and strong. Theboat was tilted farther back, and the fire, continuing to grow, crackledcheerfully, while the flames leaped higher.
By a curious transfer of the senses, Henry, as he lay in the thickblackness felt the influence of the fire, also. Its warmth was upon hisface, and it was pleasing to see the red and yellow light victoriousagainst the sodden background of the rain and dripping forest. Thefigures of the warriors passed and repassed before the fire, and the boyin the boat moved suddenly. His body was not shifted more than an inch,but his surprise was great.
A warrior stood between him and the fire, outlined perfectly againstthe red light. It was a splendid figure, young, much beyond the averageheight, the erect and noble head crowned with the defiant scalplock, thestrong, slightly curved nose and the massive chin cut as clearly as ifthey had been carved in copper. The man who had laid aside a wet blanketwas bare now to the waist, and Henry could see the powerful muscles playon chest and shoulders as he moved.
The boy knew him. It was Timmendiquas, the great White Lightning of theWyandots, the youngest, but the boldest and ablest of all the Westernchiefs. Henry's pulses leaped a little at the sight of his old foe andalmost friend. As always, he felt admiration at the sight of theyoung chief. It was not likely that he would ever behold such anothermagnificent specimen of savage manhood.
The presence of Timmendiquas so far east was also full of significance.The great fleet under Adam Colfax, and with Henry and his comrades inthe van, had reached Pittsburgh at last. Thence the arms, ammunition,and other supplies were started on the overland journey for the Americanarmy, but the five lingered before beginning the return to Kentucky.A rumor came that the Indian alliance was spreading along the entirefrontier, both west and north. It was said that Timmendiquas, stung tofiery energy by his defeats, was coming east to form a league with theIroquois, the famous Six Nations. These warlike tribes were friendlywith the Wyandots, and the league would be a formidable danger to theColonies, the full strength of which was absorbed already in the greatwar.
But the report was a new call of battle to Henry, Shif'less Sol, and theothers. The return to Kentucky was postponed. They could be of greaterservice here, and they plunged into the great woods to the north and,east to see what might be stirring among the warriors.
Now Henry, as he looked at Timmendiquas, knew that report had toldthe truth. The great chief would not be on the fringe of the Iroquoiscountry, if he did not have such a plan, and he had the energy andability to carry it through. Henry shuddered at the thought of thetomahawk flashing along every mile of a frontier so vast, and defendedso thinly. He was glad in every fiber that he and his comrades hadremained to hang upon the Indian hordes, and be heralds of theirmarches. In the forest a warning usually meant the saving of life.
The rain ceased after a while, although water dripped from the treeseverywhere. But the big fire made an area of dry earth about it, and thewarriors replaced the long boat in the water. Then all but four or fiveof them lay beside the coals and went to sleep. Timmendiquas was one ofthose who remained awake, and Henry saw that he was in deep thought. Hewalked back and forth much like a white man, and now and then he foldedhis hands behind his back, looking toward the earth, but not seeing it.Henry could guess what was in his mind. He would draw forth the fullpower of the Six Nations, league them with the Indians of the greatvalley, and hurl them all in one mass upon the frontier. He was planningnow the means to the end.
The chief, in his little walks back and forth, came close to the edge ofthe bushes in which Henry lay, It was not at all probable that hewould conclude to search among them, but some accident, a chance, mighthappen, and Henry began to feel a little alarm. Certainly, the comingof the day would make his refuge insecure, and he resolved to slip awaywhile it was yet light.
The boy rose a little in the boat, slowly and with the utmost caution,because the slightest sound out of the common might arouse Timmendiquasto the knowledge of a hostile presence. The canoe must make no plash inthe water. Gradually he unwrapped the blanket and tied it in a foldedsquare at his back. Then he took thought a few moments. The forest wasso silent now that he did not believe he could push the canoe throughthe bushes without being heard. He would leave it there for use anotherday and go on foot through the woods to his comrades.
Slowly he put one foot down the side until it rested on the bottom, andthen he remained still. The chief had paused in his restless walk backand forth. Could it be possible that he had heard so slight a sound asthat of a human foot sinking softly into the water? Henry waited withhis rifle ready. If necessary he would fire, and then dart away amongthe bushes.
Five or six intense moments passed, and the chief resumed his restlesspacing. If he had heard, he had passed it by as nothing, and Henryraised the other foot out of the canoe. He was as delicate in hismovement as a surgeon mending the human eye, and he had full cause, asnot eye alone, but life as well, depended upon his success. Both feetnow rested upon the muddy bottom, and he stood there clear of the boat.
The chief did not stop again, and as the fire had burned higher, hisfeatures were disclosed more plainly in his restless walk back andforth before the flames. Henry took a final look at the lofty features,contracted now into a frown, then began to wade among the bushes,pushing his way softly. This was the most delicate and difficult task ofall. The water must not be allowed to plash around him nor the bushesto rustle as he passed. Forward he went a yard, then two, five, ten, andhis feet were about to rest upon solid earth, when a stick submergedin the mud broke under his moccasin with a snap singularly loud in thesilence of the night.
Henry sprang at once upon dry land, whence he cast back a single swiftglance. He saw the chief standing rigid and gazing in the direction fromwhich the sound had come. Other warriors were just behind him, f
ollowinghis look, aware that there was an unexpected presence in the forest, andresolved to know its nature.
Henry ran northward. So confident was he in his powers and theprotecting darkness of the night that he sent back a sharp cry, piercingand defiant, a cry of a quality that could come only from a whitethroat. The warriors would know it, and he intended for them to know it.Then, holding his rifle almost parallel with his body, he darted swiftlyaway through the black spaces of the forest. But an answering cry cameto his, the Indian yell taking up his challenge, and saying that thenight would not check pursuit.
Henry maintained his swift pace for a long time, choosing the more openplaces that he might make no noise among the bushes and leaves. Now andthen water dripped in his face, and his moccasins were wet from the longgrass, but his body was warm and dry, and he felt little weariness. Theclouds were now all gone, and the stars sprang out, dancing in a sky ofdusky blue. Trained eyes could see far in the forest despite the night,and Henry felt that he must be wary. He recalled the skill and tenacityof Timmendiquas. A fugitive could scarcely be trailed in the darkness,but the great chief would spread out his forces like a fan and follow.
He had been running perhaps three hours when he concluded to stop in athicket, where he lay down on the damp grass, and rested with his headunder his arm.
His breath had been coming a little faster, but his heart now resumedits regular beat. Then he heard a soft sound, that of footsteps. Hethought at first that some wild animal was prowling near, but secondthought convinced him that human beings had come. Gazing through thethicket, he saw an Indian warrior walking among the trees, lookingsearchingly about him as if he were a scout. Another, coming from adifferent direction, approached him, and Henry felt sure that they wereof the party of Timmendiquas. They had followed him in some manner,perhaps by chance, and it behooved Mm now to lie close.
A third warrior joined them and they began to examine the ground. Henryrealized that it was much lighter. Keen eyes under such a starry skycould see much, and they might strike his trail. The fear quickly becamefact. One of the warriors, uttering a short cry, raised his head andbeckoned to the others. He had seen broken twigs or trampled grass, andHenry, knowing that it was no time to hesitate, sprang from his covert.Two of the warriors caught a glimpse of his dusky figure and fired, thebullets cutting the leaves close to his head, but Henry ran so fast thathe was lost to view in an instant.
The boy was conscious that his position contained many elements ofdanger. He was about to have another example of the tenacity andresource of the great young chief of the Wyandots, and he felt a certainanger. He, did not wish to be disturbed in his plans, he wished torejoin his comrades and move farther east toward the chosen lands ofthe Six Nations; instead, he must spend precious moments running for hislife.
Henry did not now flee toward the camp of his friends. He was too wise,too unselfish, to bring a horde down upon them, and he curved away in acourse that would take him to the south of them. He glanced up and sawthat the heavens were lightening yet more. A thin gray color like a mistwas appearing in the east. It was the herald of day, and now the Indianswould be able to find his trail. But Henry was not afraid. His angerover the loss of time quickly passed, and he ran swiftly on, the fall ofhis moccasins making scarcely any noise as he passed.
It was no unusual incident. Thousands of such pursuits occurred inthe border life of our country, and were lost to the chronicler. Forgenerations they were almost a part of the daily life of the frontier,but the present, while not out of the common in itself, had, uncommonphases. It was the most splendid type of white life in all thewilderness that fled, and the finest type of red life that followed.
It was impossible for Henry to feel anger or hate toward Timmendiquas.In his place he would have done what he was doing. It was hard to giveup these great woods and beautiful lakes and rivers, and the wild lifethat wild men lived and loved. There was so much chivalry in the boy'snature that he could think of all these things while he fled to escapethe tomahawk or the stake.
Up came the sun. The gray light turned to silver, and then to red andblazing gold. A long, swelling note, the triumphant cry of the pursuingwarriors, rose behind him. Henry turned his head for one look. He sawa group of them poised for a moment on the crest of a low hill andoutlined against the broad flame in the east. He saw their scalp locks,the rifles in their hands, and their bare chests shining bronze in theglow. Once more he sent back his defiant cry, now in answer to theirs,and then, calling upon his reserves of strength and endurance, fled witha speed that none of the warriors had ever seen surpassed.
Henry's flight lasted all that day, and he used every device to evadethe pursuit, swinging by vines, walking along fallen logs, and wading inbrooks. He did not see the warriors again, but instinct warned him thatthey were yet following. At long intervals he would rest for a quarterof an hour or so among the bushes, and at noon he ate a little of thevenison that he always carried. Three hours later he came to the riveragain, and swimming it he turned on his course, but kept to the southernside. When the twilight was falling once more he sat still in densecovert for a long time. He neither saw nor heard a sign of humanpresence, and he was sure now that the pursuit had failed. Without aneffort he dismissed it from his mind, ate a little more of the venison,and made his bed for the night.
The whole day had been bright, with a light wind blowing, and the forestwas dry once more. As far as Henry could see it circled away on everyside, a solid dark green, the leaves of oak and beech, maple and elmmaking a soft, sighing sound as they waved gently in the wind. It toldHenry of nothing but peace. He had eluded the pursuit, hence it was nomore. This was a great, friendly forest, ready to shelter him, to soothehim, and to receive him into its arms for peaceful sleep.
He found a place among thick trees where the leaves of last year laydeep upon the ground. He drew up enough of them for a soft bed, becausenow and for the moment he was a forest sybarite. He was wise enough totake his ease when he found it, knowing that it would pay his body torelax.
He lay down upon the leaves, placed the rifle by his side, and spreadthe blanket over himself and the weapon. The twilight was gone, and thenight, dark and without stars, as he wished to see it, rolled up, foldafter fold, covering and hiding everything. He looked a little while ata breadth of inky sky showing through the leaves, and then, free fromtrouble or fear, he fell asleep.