CHAPTER III
OVER THE MOUNTAINS
When I opened my eyes a young man was surveying the clearing through achink above the door. This morning vigilance was customary in every cabinalong the frontier and revealed the settler's realization of the everpresent danger. No wonder those first men grew to hate the dark forest andthe cover it afforded the red raiders. A reconnaissance made through apeephole could at the best satisfy one that no stump in the clearingconcealed an Indian.
It was with this unsatisfactory guarantee that the settler unbarred hisdoor. He could never be sure that the fringe of the woods was not alivewith the enemy. And yet young men fell in love and amorously sought theirmates, and were married, and their neighbors made merry, and children wereborn. And always across the clearing lay the shadow of the tomahawk.
Now that I am older and the blood runs colder, and the frontier is pushedbeyond the mountains, I often wonder what our town swains would do if theyhad to risk their scalps each time a sweetheart was visited!
The man at the door dropped back to the puncheon floor, announcing: "Allclear at my end."
A companion at the other end of the cabin made a similar report, and thedoor was opened. Two of the men, with their rifles ready, stepped outsideand swiftly swung their gaze along the edge of the forest. The earlymorning mists obscured the vision somewhat. A bell tinkled just within theundergrowth. Instantly the fellows outside dropped behind stumps, while weinside removed the plugs from loopholes.
"All the cattle is in," murmured a youth to me, so young his first beardhad barely sprouted. "Injun trick to git us out there."
Several minutes passed, then Davis loudly called from the fort:
"It's all right! Hodge's critter wa'n't fetched in last night."
Even as he spoke the cow emerged from the bushes.
Smoke began issuing from the cabin chimneys and the women came from thefort to warm up the remains of the pot-pies, to bake corn bread andprepare mush. The men scattered through the clearing. Some chopped downbushes which might mask a foe's stealthy advance, others cleared out logswhich might serve as breastworks for the raiders.
Labor did not appeal to the four killers, and their part was done whenthey slipped into the forest, each taking a different course, and scoutedfor signs and bagged some game. As my business demanded an early departureI was not expected to participate in any of these precautions.
I saw that my horse had his feed and water and led him back to the cabin,and gave my weapons their daily overhauling. Mrs. Davis paused in herlabors long enough to remind me of her message to Patricia Dale. Ireassured her so earnestly that she turned from her corn-bread baking in aflat pan before the open fire and stared at me rather intently. There wasno dodging her keen eyes.
"See here," she exclaimed; "you've met Patsy already, I 'low."
I hesitated between the truth and a lie, and then nodded my head. Shebrushed a limp strand of hair from her face, and in so doing left asmut-streak across her nose, and half-closed her eyes while a smile tuggedat the corners of her mouth.
"I can't say yet whether you're lucky, or just the opposite," she demurelyremarked.
A loud call from the forest relieved my answering this insinuating remark,and I stepped outdoors to find the men leaving their work and the womenleaving their cooking. "White man coming!" bawled a young man.
"Ain't any of the scouts," said Davis. "Better gather the children in.White man sure enough, but it may be one of the renegade breed. Surveyorsfrom the Kanawha say Tavenor Ross is out with the reds ag'in."
There was no haste or confusion in preparing for this possible attack ledby a white man. The children scuttled to their mothers; the men slowlyfell back to fort and cabins. The fact that four Indian-haters werecarefully scouting the woods satisfied us that no enemy could get veryclose without being fired upon. The white man called again. This time hewas answered from two directions.
"It's all right," shouted Davis. "Ike Crabtree answered him. So did LigeRunner. Crabtree never would 'a' yipped till sure there wa'n't no Injunwaiting to be shot down. Prob'ly some one from the Holston."
"Hooray!" howled a seventeen-year-old lad, who painted his face inaddition to wearing Indian leggings. "It's Jesse Hughes!"
His endorsement of the passionate, reckless man evoked more enthusiasmfrom the younger men than from their elders. So implacable was Hughes inhis hatred of the natives that he was incapable of any self-restraint. Hisparticipation in the massacre of the Bulltown families had made him awell-known character wherever Indian-fighters met.
Crabtree loved to kill Indians, but he always weighed his chances andnever scorned an advantage. Hughes killed on sight, whether in asettlement or in the woods, whether the act brought one or a score ofdusky avengers on his trail. Nor did it matter if the Indian be friendlyto the whites and known to be perfectly harmless. His skin condemned him.
Although a master of woodcraft and possessing a knowledge of westernVirginia equaled by few men, Hughes was never asked to lead a command ofrangers sent to rescue prisoners, or punish a village. He was tooirresponsible. He would imperil the lives of a score of friends bent on asurprise attack by firing upon the first savage he saw.
The young men saw in him the successful killer. Their elders preferred totravel the forests without him. His presence in a settlement once war cameto the frontier, however, was always desirable, as in case of a fight hewould do the enemy much damage.
When he rode from the forest the four scouts came with him; and there wasno question as to their admiration of the fellow. Greetings were calledout by men and women. He saw me mounted and some one told him of myjourney. He rode up to me and warned me to be watchful as he had foundtracks a few miles south of the mountain-trace I proposed following.
His errand at Howard's Creek was to secure a few men and attempt to cutoff this band. Eager queries for news induced him to say he had just comefrom Clinch River, and that Captain William Russell, in charge of therangers along the Clinch, had started Daniel Boone and Michael Stoner forthe Falls of the Ohio to warn the surveyors along the river that theIndians were out and would soon be attacking the frontier and combing theKentucky country clean.
With much gusto he added that three Cherokees had been killed recently atthe head of the Clinch. The thoughtless, in unison with Hacker and hiscompanions, cheered this announcement most lustily. The men with familieslooked very grave. Of Baby Kirst, Hughes had seen no signs.
His report of Indian-signs near my route over the mountains influenced meto return to the cabin and check up my ammunition more carefully. I spreada double handful of small bullets on the table, running seventy to thepound, and let each slip through my fingers to make sure none wasirregular. Only those which were round and smooth were returned to thepouch.
My flints and greased linen patches were examined a second time. An agedman, known as Uncle Dick, came in and watched me curiously, and grinned inapproval of my caution. It was seldom a man reached his advanced age onthe frontier. I had never heard Uncle Dick's last name, nor do I believethere was any one on the creek who had heard it.
According to rumor he had gone against some law in South Carolina and hadfled to the frontier. Despite his many years he was sturdy and strong, buthis failing eyesight made him dependent upon knife and ax. Much travel inwet weather had crippled him with rheumatism, and he remained close towhatever settlement he happened to visit.
"Fill the breast o' yer shirt with hunks o' corn cake, younker. Be sureyer ax is hitched so it won't be snagged from the loop when ye ridehellitiflicker through the bushes," he warned me.
I nodded, and he seated himself on a three-legged stool and whetted a longknife against one of the fireplace stones, and mumbled:
"Don't make no differ about me, but for the sake o' these younkers heresuch men as love killin' Injuns oughter keep clear o' the settlements an'do their stent on t'other side the Ohio. Old Cornstalk's powerful keen togit them fellers. When he hears they're here at the creek he's likely tostrik
e quick an' mighty pert. Wal, if they come an' I can make ithand-grips with 'em I 'low there'll be some new Injuns in the HappyHuntin'-grounds."
When I bid the people good-by and received their kindly wishes for a safejourney, Uncle Dick was still at the fireplace, trying to improve therazor-edge of his blade.
I rode through the woods without spending any time in looking for signs.Runner and his mates had scouted a circle around the clearing in athorough fashion, and I could spare my eyes until I reached the firstslope of the mountains. When the path began to ascend and I was afforded abetter view of the heavens, thunder-clouds were piling in sullenmassiveness above the western horizon.
The heat was very oppressive. The dull rumble of thunder came across thevalley behind. It was as much of a vibration as a sound, something to befelt as well as heard. The song-birds were keeping close to the thicketsand fluttering about nervously. By the time I was well committed to thefirst rugged ascent, a yellowish gray wall filled the western sky. Acrossthis the lightning played.
As the curtain of rain drove in toward the Greenbriar I knew that anysavages lurking west of Howard's Creek would be bothered to keep theirpriming dry. No rain fell on my path, however, and at no time did I losethe early morning sun. On gaining a higher elevation I could see the stormwas following the valley down to the head waters of the Clinch.
I had not neglected Uncle Dick's advice in regard to provisions, and thefront of my loose hunting-shirt held a bag of corn cakes and some cookedvenison. On reaching the first slope I had watched carefully for thetracks Hughes had seen south of the trace, but found none.
There could be no question of Hughes' ability to read Indian-signs; andhis warning recalled the Grisdols to my mind. These people--two brothersand two children--had their cabin in a hollow close by a tumbling brookand to one side of the trace. I planned to make a slight detour and pass aword with them and to warn them to be watchful.
The fact that Hughes had found signs near the mountains would indicate theIndians had planned a raid against some isolated home, and as there was nofooting in the trace I followed, it might easily be that the enemy hadentered lower down.
Along toward the noon hour I topped a ridge and decided I would halt andeat at the first spring or brook I came to. My horse, an old campaigner inwilderness work, pricked his ears as we began dipping down the gentleslope. I studied the path ahead and the timbered slopes on both sides todiscover the cause of this attention.
The animal was intelligent. I knew it could be no wild creature as therewas no suggestion of fear in the attentive ears. Dissatisfied at remainingin ignorance, I reined in to investigate more carefully. Almost at oncethe horse swung his head to the right and gazed curiously. On this sidethe space was bordered by a beech grove. Owing to the rank bush-growthlining the path, little could be seen of the grove from any point belowwhere I had halted until a brook, which cut the path, was reached.
I leaned forward and looked between the horse's ears and discovered a beardown in the hollow, nosing about for nuts and grubs on the bank of thebrook. A bear was always acceptable meat to a settler, and I at oncedecided to stalk the brute and pack his carcass to the Grisdol cabin.
After the first moment he passed behind some trees, but as I continued toglimpse him I knew he had not taken alarm. I slid from my horse andstarted him down the trace, and then ducked into the grove and rapidlydescended toward the brook. I had no fear of my horse losing himself, ashe would make for the stream where I would join him within a few minutes.
As I flitted from tree to tree I repeatedly sighted the animal as he pokedhis nose about in search of ants or grubs, and yet when I reached a pointwithin sixty or seventy-five yards of where he should have been feeding Icould not locate him.
A half-formed suspicion popped into my mind from nowhere. My horse hadshown no nervousness in drawing nearer to the bear. The bushes preventedmy seeing the horse, but I could hear him as he quickened his pace toreach the tumbling brook. Now for a second I saw the bear again, and mysuspicion grew stronger.
The brute impressed me as being very lean, whereas the season was enoughadvanced to have grown some fat on his bones. I was fairly startled nextto behold the creature emerge from behind a tree and walk upright towardthe opening made by the brook, cutting across the trace. Had I not beenpartly primed for the surprise I should have been astounded at my seconddiscovery; the bear was armed with a gun.
Expecting to behold me on the horse when the animal reached the brook thefellow's only thought was to remain unseen by any one in the trace. Hehalted behind a tree, but in full view of me, and standing with his leftside exposed to me. Had I the instincts of a killer I would have shot himforthwith, and as he was obviously stalking me, having discovered I wastraveling over the trace, I would have been justified. As it was Iwhistled shrilly.
Like a flash the bearskin fell back and a painted Shawnee wheeled to faceme. Even as he turned his smoothbore banged away and half a dozen buckshotrained through the branches over my head. He was slipping behind the treewhen I fired.
He went down with a foot and part of his leg exposed. Controlling animpulse to close in I reloaded, taking great care in wrapping the greasedpatch about the bullet. I believed I had done for him, but to make sure Isent another pellet through the exposed foot. It twitched, as a dead limbwill, but without muscular reaction. Reloading, and circling warily toavoid being taken by surprise by any companion, I reached the beech. Myfirst shot had caught him through the base of the neck, killinginstantly.
He wore a necklace of bear's claws and was hideously painted. He had thesnake totem on his chest and was nude except for his breech-clout andmoccasins. Fastened to his clout were four awful exhibits of hispredaceous success--four scalps. One was gray, another streaked with gray,and two--oh, the pity of it--were soft and long.
I removed them and placed them in the roll of buckskin that I carried formoccasin-patches. And my heart being hardened, I scalped the murderer withnever a qualm. No warning was longer needed at the Grisdol cabin. TheIndians had struck.
Furtively scanning the grove, I stole to the trace where my horse stoodfetlock-deep in the brook. The dead warrior had known of my coming, or ofsome one's coming, and had had time to masquerade as a bear. He hadthought to catch his victim off his guard.
The four scalps proved the raiders were out in numbers, for a small partywould not venture so far east. But the dead warrior's attempt to ambush mein a bearskin also proved he was working alone for the time being. Yetgunshots carry far, and I might expect the Shawnees to be swarming intothe hollow at any moment.
Mounting my horse, I turned north, left of the trace, and picked a coursewhere no trail ran, and from which I could occasionally catch a glimpse ofthe path some fifty feet below. I discovered no signs of the enemy, andthere was no way of telling whether they were ahead or behind me. Thatthey must have heard the roar of the smoothbore and the whip-like crack ofmy Deckhard was not to be doubted. Nor would they fail to guess the truth,inasmuch as the rifle had spoken last.
It became very difficult to keep along the side of the slope and Idismounted and led the horse. The prolonged howl of a wolf sounded behind.My horse was greatly afraid of wolves, yet he did not draw back anddisplay nervousness. I increased my pace, then halted and half-raised myrifle as there came a shuffling of feet above me, accompanied by a tinyavalanche of forest mold and rotten chestnuts. I rested the rifle over thesaddle and endeavored to peer through the tangle of beech and inferiorgrowth which masked the flank of the slope.
The sliding, shuffling sound continued with no attempt at concealment thatI could discover; and yet there was nothing to shoot at. Suddenly thenoise ceased. I was still staring toward the spot where it had lastsounded when a calm voice behind me called out:
"They're after you."
It was Shelby Cousin, with the hate of the border making his young facevery hard and cruel.
"I've been scouting 'em," he informed me. "I seen you take to the side o'this ridge. I seen 'em streamin'
down the trace. They picked up your trailmighty smart. Now they're scattered all along behind you."
I opened the roll of buckskin and disclosed the terrible trophies. Hestraightened and threw his head back, and for a moment stood with his eyesclosed, his slight figure trembling violently. Then he fiercelywhispered:
"How'd you git these from the devils?"
There was an expectant glare in his gaze. I showed him the hair of theShawnee.
"Good! Good!" he repeated exultantly as he gloated over the repulsivething. Then gloomily:
"But why couldn't I 'a' took it? Luck's been ag'in' me for days. Found aburned cabin after I quit you on the Cheat, an' 'lowed to ambush the partywhen they made for the Ohio. 'Stead o' goin' to their villages they fooledme by strikin' across to here. Now they've made this kill! Who be they?"
"The Grisdols. Only a short distance from here. Two men and the twochildren. No women. I knew them. I must go there and bury them and thesescalps."
"I'll help," he mumbled. "I ain't heard no discovery-yell yet. They'restill huntin' for your signs along this ridge." Trailing his double-barrelrifle, he took the lead and began a diagonal descent to the trace I hadabandoned. I murmured a protest, but he assured me:
"They're all behind us. We can make quicker time in the trace. They'll hopon to your trail sure's shootin'. Speed is what we hanker for."
His woodcraft was remarkable. He seemed to possess the gift of seeing thatwhich was concealed. With a glance he would observe land formations andthe nature of the growth, and confidently circle a heavy grove and tell mewhat would be the nature of the traveling beyond, and whether wet or dry.
"We could slide down into the trace in a minute any time, but I don't wantto take to it till we round the bend ahead; then we'll be out o' sight o'the reds strung along the ridge."
He had halted as he explained this and I was almost abreast of him, and hestartled me by whipping up his rifle and firing. As the shot rang out herejoiced:
"One!"
I had heard nothing, seen nothing, and yet he had both heard and seen, andhad made his kill.
"No use coverin' up any longer," he said. "They're closin' in. Make forthe trace shortest way. Hold back once you hit it for me to come up.There's not more'n two or three close at hand, but the whole kit an'b'ilin' know we're here."
The spiteful _spang_ of his rifle barely interrupted the woods life closeabout us. Only for a moment did the squirrels cease their chatter. Agrouse drummed away in alarm, but only for a short flight. No cries ofrage, nor war-whoops, warned that the enemy were closing in on us. Had Ibeen new to the border I should have disbelieved my companion's statement.Leading the horse, I started down the bank while Cousin climbed higher.
It was not until my horse slid down a ten-foot bank that I heard a hostilesound--the rush of many feet through last year's dead leaves. I heard theDeckhard fired once, and instantly the side of the ridge was as quiet as adeath-chamber. Then came the scream of a panther, Cousin's way ofannouncing a kill.
They must have attempted rushing him, thinking his rifle was empty; for hefired again, and once more gave voice to his war-cry. Then the old eternalquiet of the forest dropped back in place. Until I heard a Shawneescalp-cry I could rest easy as to my companion. I slipped into the traceand mounted, and pushed ahead.
The Indians were abreast of me and there was the danger of their cuttinginto the trace ahead. That they had not followed at my heels made mebelieve they were concentrating all their energies on making a surroundand killing, or capturing their much feared enemy. They would prefer todance Cousin's scalp than to dance a dozen of men of my caliber.
There were no more shots up the ridge, and I found it hard to decide justwhat gait I should permit my horse to take. I could not leave the boybehind, nor did I care to risk being intercepted. I was worrying my mindinto a fine stew over this point when the bushes stirred ahead. I droppedto the ground behind the horse, but it was young Cousin. He motioned forme to hurry.
"You dodged them!" I said.
"Black Hoof's band. They're hard to dodge," he whispered, striding rapidlyalong and swinging his head from side to side. "How far to the Grisdolcabin?"
"Two miles."
"Then ride for it. I'll run at your stirrup. We'll need that cabin if itain't been burned. I 'low it'll be a close race."
There was no sign of pursuit. I was no novice in Indian warfare, but inthis instance I scarcely believed the Shawnees would draw near enough tomake the chase interesting. So far as I could observe Cousin had succeededin stealing away from them, and there was no Indian who could overtakehim, especially if he ran at my stirrup.
"They've took four sculps on this side the valley," he murmured as heloped along at my side. "I bagged three on 'em. You fetched one. BlackHoof is too big a chief to call it quits. He's back there leadin' thechase. So I 'low it'll be close."
A curious little thrill chilled my spine. Catahecassa, or Black Hoof, wasone of the most redoubtable and resourceful savages to be found in theShawnee nation. If below Cornstalk's intellectual plane he made up formuch of any such discrepancy by his fiery courage and deep cunning.
The long-drawn howl of a wolf sounded up the slope on our left and wassoon answered by a similar call directly in our rear. For a third time thesignal menaced us, on our right and at a considerable distance.
"They're still scoutin' the ridge for me," murmured Cousin, his lean faceturning to the left. "The heft of 'em are comin' along the trace behindus. Those over to the right are hustlin' to find out what's up. We mustgit along faster!"
My mount responded eagerly, for he sensed the danger. And it was wonderfulto observe how Cousin kept up, with one hand on my stirrup, the otherholding the rifle. We were well beyond the brook where I shot my Shawnee,and within half a mile or less of the Grisdol cabin, when our flight wasinterrupted for a few moments by the behavior of my horse.
It was just as we turned from the main trace to strike into the pathleading to the cabin that the animal bolted sidewise, crowding Cousin deepinto the bushes. I reined in and stared down on a terrible sight--that ofthe four Grisdols. They lay in the path, head to head, in the form of across. I felt my stirrup shake as Cousin's hand rested on it. He gave alittle gasping sob and whispered:
"How near to the cabin now?"
"Less than half a mile," I told him as I soothed my horse and permittedhim to pick his way around the dead.
Once more we were off, but now Cousin ran behind, for the way was windingand narrow, and at places the overhanging boughs tried to brush me fromthe saddle.
There was no need of glancing back to make sure my companion was keepingup, for his impatient voice repeatedly urged me to make greater speed.
"If the cabin ain't standin' we've got to have 'nough of a lead to let uslose 'em in the woods," he reminded.
The path completed a detour of some tangled blackberry bushes and ended ina natural opening, well grassed.
"There it is! The roof is partly burned!" I encouraged.
"The walls stand. The door's in place. Faster!"
Across the opening we raced. From the woods behind arose a ferociousyelling. The Shawnee were confident they had driven us into a trap. Weflashed by two dead cows and some butchered hogs, and as yet I had notseen an Indian except the one masked in a bear's pelt. The cabin roof wasburned through at the front end. The door was partly open and uninjured.
It was simple reasoning to reconstruct the tragedy even while we hastenedto shelter. The family had offered resistance, but had been thrown into apanic at the first danger from fire. Then it was quickly over. Doubtlessthere had been something of a parley with the usual promise of life ifthey came out. The fire crackled overhead, the victims opened the door.
Cousin said they had been conducted to the main trace before beingslaughtered. As I leaped from my horse a fringe of savages broke fromcover and began shooting. Cousin dropped the foremost of them. I led thehorse inside the cabin and my companion closed and barred the door.
The in
terior of the place mutely related the tragic story. It is thehomely background of a crime that accents the terrible. On the table wasthe breakfast of the family, scarcely touched. They had been surprisedwhen just about to eat. An overturned stool told how one of the men hadleaped to bar the door at the first alarm. I spied through a peephole butcould see nothing of our foes. A low cry from Cousin alarmed me. He wasovercome at the sight of a small apron.
"I wish I'd stuck to the open," he whispered. "The air o' this placechokes me."
"If we can stand them off till night we can send the horse gallopingtoward the woods to draw their fire. Then we can run for it."
"There won't be no darkness to-night," morosely replied Cousin. "They'llmake big fires. They'll try to burn us out. We're well forted till theygit the roof blazin' ag'in. We'll 'low to stick here s'long we can. Theywon't dare to hang round too long."
He took a big kettle from the fireplace and thrust it through the hole inthe roof. Bullets whistled overhead, with an occasional _whang_ as a pieceof lead hit the kettle and ricochetted. After the first volley the Indiansrefused to waste their ammunition, either realizing it was useless, orsuspecting the kettle was some kind of a trick.
"I 'lowed they'd git tired," muttered Cousin, sticking the top of his headinto the kettle and lifting the edge a crack so he could scrutinize theforest. After a minute of silence his muffed voice called down to me: "Hada notion that cow we passed nearest the woods was dead. Try a shot that'lljust graze the rump."
I fired and a Shawnee began rolling toward the bushes. The iron kettlerattled to the ground, and young Cousin, with head and shoulders thrustthrough the roof, discharged both barrels of his rifle. The Indian stoppedrolling. I was amazed that Black Hoof's men had not instantly fired avolley. I exclaimed as much as he dropped to the floor.
"Here she comes!" he cried as the lead began plunging into the thick logs."If they keep it up we can dig quite a lot o' lead out the timbers. Ittook 'em by surprise to see me comin' through the roof, an' it surprised'em more to see two shoots comin' out of a gun that hadn't been reloaded.Mighty few double barrels out here. Huh! I 'low somethin' cur'ous is goin'to happen."
I could discern nothing to warrant this prophecy. No Indians were to beseen. Cousin called my attention to the sound of their tomahawks. I hadheard it before he spoke, but I had been so intent in using my eyes that Ihad forgotten to interpret what my ears were trying to tell me. There wasnothing to do but wait.
Cousin discovered the horse had drunk what water there had happened to bein the bucket, leaving us scarcely a drop. Half an hour of waiting seemedhalf a day; then something began emerging from the woods. It resolveditself into a barrier of green boughs, measuring some fifteen feet inlength and ten feet in height.
Its approach was slow. The noise of the axes was explained. The Indianshad chopped saplings and had made a frame and filled it with boughs.Behind it was a number of warriors. About half-way across the clearingwere half a dozen long logs scattered about.
"They're thinkin' to make them logs an' while hid by their boughs yank 'emtogether to make a breastwork. Then they'll pepper us while 'nother partyrushes in close. New party will pelt us while the first makes a run to gitag'in' the walls where we can't damage 'em from the loopholes. That BlackHoof is a devil for thinkin' up tricks."
I fired at the green mass. Cousin rebuked me, saying:
"Don't waste lead. There's three braves with long poles to keep thecontraption from fallin' backward. They're on their feet, but keepin' lowas possible. There's t'others pushin' the bottom along. There's t'othershuggin' the ground. You'll notice the ends an' middle o' the top stick upright pert, but between the middle an' each end the boughs sort o' sagdown. If the middle pole can be put out o' business I 'low the weight ofit will make it cave in. Loaded? Then don't shoot less you seesomethin'."
With this warning he fired at the middle of the screen, and the middlesupport developed a weakness, indicating he had wounded the poleman. Hefired again, and the whole affair began to collapse, and a dozen warriorswere uncovered. These raced for the woods, two of them dragging a woundedor dead man.
For a few seconds I was incapable of moving a muscle. I was much like aboy trying to shoot his first buck. Or perhaps it was the very abundanceof targets that made me behave so foolishly. Cousin screamed in rage. Mybonds snapped, and I fired. If I scored a hit it was only to wound, fornone of the fleeing foe lessened their speed. "Awful poor fiddlin'!"groaned Cousin, eying me malevolently.
"I don't know what was the matter with me. Something seemed to hold meparalyzed. Couldn't move a finger until you yelled."
"Better luck next time," he growled, his resentment passing away.
He loaded and stood his rifle against the logs and began spying from therear of the cabin. Whenever he glanced at the apron his eyes would closefor a moment. No women had lived there. One of the Grisdols, the father ofthe two children, had brought it as a reminder of his dead wife. Cousin'sgreat fight was not against the red besiegers, but against his emotions. Iknew he was thinking of his sister.
"Come here!" I sharply called. "They want a pow-wow. One's waving a greenbough."
Cousin climbed to the hole in the roof, holding his rifle out of sight bythe muzzle. He yelled in Shawnee for the man to advance alone. The warriorstrode forward, the token of peace held high. So far as I could see he didnot have even a knife in his belt. Overhead Cousin's rifle cracked and theIndian went down with never a kick.
"Good God! You've fired on a flag of truce, after agreeing to receive it!"I raged.
He stood beside me, a crooked smile on his set face, his eyes gleamingwith triumph, his shapely head tilted to enjoy every note of the horribleanger now welling from the forest. "You fired----"
"I 'low I did," he chuckled. Then with awful intentness, "But the folkswho lived here an' was happy didn't fire on the Injun fetchin' 'em abundle o' peace-talk. They believed the Injuns meant it. Do you reckon Itreated that dog any worse than the Shawnees treated my father and motherand little sister ten years ago? If you don't 'low that, just keep shet.When a Injun sends you a flag o' truce you want to tie your scalp down, orit'll blow off."
The chorus of howls in the forest suddenly ceased, then were succeeded bysharp yelps of joy. Cousin stared at me in bewilderment. Darting to theback of the cabin, he peered through a chink. "Come here," he softlycommanded. I joined him and took his place at the peephole. There was ahaze of smoke in the eastern sky.
"That's why Black Hoof an' his men are hangin' round here," he sighed. "Hesent a small band farther east. They've made a kill. That's a burnin' overthere."
"That would be Edgely's cabin," I decided. "But they moved back toDunlap's Creek three months ago."
"Thank God for that!" he exclaimed. "But we'll have more Injuns round usmighty soon. I wish it was dark."
"They've stopped their yowling. Look out for fresh deviltry!"
He nodded and walked to the front of the cabin. The horse neighed shrilly.The call was repeated in the forest. The Indians continued silent. I heardit first; that is to recognize it. For I had heard it the day before. Thevoice of a man shouting fretfully, much as an angry child complains.Cousin understood it when a whimpering note was added.
"Baby Kirst!" he softly cried. "Black Hoof will 'low his medicine ismighty weak. Baby's out there an' in a bad frame o' mind. Somethin' isgoin' ag'in' the grain. It's good medicine for us that he wandered up thisway."
I began sketching the happenings at Howard's Creek, but before I couldfinish the bushes on the hem of the woods were violently agitated and BabyKirst rode into the clearing, his horse in a lather. When he beheld thedead cows and hogs he yelled like a madman and plucked his heavy ax fromhis belt, and turned back to the woods. He disappeared with a crash, hishoarse voice shouting unintelligible things.
"Now you can go," quietly said Cousin as he unbarred the door. "Be keerfulo' the Injuns to the east. They'll be a small band. I 'low I'll follerKirst. If he don't drive 'em too fast there oughter be good h
untin' forme."
That night I rode into the Greenwood clearing on Dunlap's Creek withouthaving seen any Indians along the way.