The work for a time was as hard as before, and the animal showed so much reluctance that, in addition to the tugging at the rein by the leader, he required some vigorous prodding from his master before he would do his duty; but ere long a pleasant fact became apparent to all; the wood was so open that it was a comparatively easy matter for all to advance. If it should remain thus, they could push on with little more trouble than that encountered in travelling over the trail itself.
Of course, nothing was easier than for the Shawanoes to follow the footprints of the party, and it was to guard against any surprise of this kind that Kenton remained some distance behind the others.
Within the following half hour a pleasant surprise came to the little party.
"My gracious!" exclaimed the pioneer to his wife, "do you see that, Margaret?"
He pointed to the ground between them as he spoke, and she nodded her head with a smile.
"We are travelling over a trail," he added; "Red Crow is keeping his promise; he knows what he is doing."
It was the truth. The path was faintly marked, but it was unmistakable, and all knew the meaning. They were approaching one of those open spaces, known as "salt licks," which are quite numerous in Kentucky and Ohio. Naturally they are the resort of animals who thread their way over long distances to the spots where the brackish moisture, oozing through the ground, affords a taste of the mineral which is as indispensable to beasts as to human beings.
The bears, deer, buffaloes and other inhabitants, journeying toward one common point, gradually form paths through the forest, into which additional brutes turn, adding to the distinctness of the trails, which sometimes radiate outward from the common centre like the spokes of a wheel, until they gradually lose themselves in the wood, as the brutes diverge from the route, whose individuality becomes lost like the course of the streams in the sandy wastes of Africa or the barren regions of the Southwest.
By and by the path was as clearly defined as the trail connecting the settlement and the block-house. A short distance farther and they arrived at the lick.
The favorite time for the wild animals to visit these places of refreshment is early in the morning, but when our friends arrived there, a huge wolf was lapping the ground on the other side. They caught but a single glimpse of him, when he skurried off among the trees, vanishing in a twinkling.
The sight was a singular one, with the ground worn as smooth as the floor of a barn by the licking of multitudinous tongues, and its moisture glistened in the sunlight, as if it had been oiled.
The horses showed their appreciation of the luxury by stretching out their necks and eagerly applying their tongues to the saltish surface. They were allowed to do so freely, and a few minutes later Kenton joined them. His handsome face expanded with a broad grin, and he surprised all, especially the recipient of the compliment, by slapping Red Crow on the shoulder.
"Arqu-wao, you're a powerful good chap, and here's my hand on it."
The Shawanoe, rather gingerly, allowed his palm to be almost crushed in that of the scout.
"He's doin' jes' what the varmint said he would," added Kenton, addressing the rest of the party. "If nothin' don't happen, he'll land us at the settlement all right, but we're goin' to be followed."
"Have you discovered anything?" asked Mr. Edwards.
"Not as yet, but they won't let us slip away in this style without some kind of a rumpus; we musn't stay here too long."
Red Crow was of the same mind, for he tugged at the rein of the leading horse, who was reluctant to abandon his feast, while the pioneer had to work as hard with the other before he would leave the spot. The lick was skirted and another trail taken on the other side, so that the journey was continued in substantially the same direction as before. Inasmuch, however, as this path must soon dissipate itself, there was some curiosity to know what their guide would do when the point of vanishing was reached. Not a member of the party, however, felt distrust of his ability and loyalty to them.
Kenton, as before, fell to the rear, for there was every reason to believe that whenever the Shawanoes chose to make a demonstration, it would be from that quarter. As anticipated, the path grew fainter as they progressed until it was hardly perceptible, but the wood remained open, and progress was comparatively easy.
For some minutes before this the whites had been sensible of a dull, roaring sound, which at times was quite distinct, and then sank again beyond their power of hearing.
"I believe that is the stream where Larry and I had so much trouble yesterday and last night," said Wharton to his father.
"Undoubtedly you are right."
"I wonder whether he intends we shall cross it?"
"If he does, he knows the way."
"I guess we will not, for you know the regular trail doesn't take the other side."
"But if he means to follow a new course to the settlement, it may be necessary."
The afternoon was well along, and some of the party had eaten nothing since early morning. All were hungry, but though there was a substantial lunch in the packs carried by the horses, no one spoke of it. They were too desirous of getting forward while the opportunity was theirs, to pay any attention to their appetites.
They had not yet reached the torrent, which was now close at hand, when Red Crow halted the animals and said to the pioneer:
"Wait here—Arqu-wao go ahead—won't stay long—want to see."
Mr. Edwards bowed his head, signifying that it should be as he wished, and the Shawanoe was off in a twinkling before Kenton, who was hardly out of sight to the rear, could come up. He soon appeared, and inquired what had taken place.
"Thar's trouble," was his emphatic comment.
"How can you know that?" asked the pioneer, with slight impatience; "you haven't seen anything."
"We're not far from where the younkers had the row yesterday; the lake isn't more'n half a mile up stream, and the reg'lar trail ain't that fur off in t'other direction."
"Don't you think Red Crow is acting wisely?"
"No one could do as well. It ain't that; but I told you we wouldn't reach the settlement without a rumpus. He means to take us across the gorge. The other varmints may not know the course we've took, but they'll be smart enough to 'spect that we'll try to cross at this spot, and some of 'em will be on the watch thar as sure as you're born. Wait hyar whar you be till I go ahead and larn how things stand. I think Red Crow is likely to need me."
The words proved true sooner than the sagacious scout suspected.
Red Crow, the friendly Shawanoe, who had proved his loyalty to the whites in so many striking instances, left the little party where he had halted them in the wood and walked rapidly toward the gorge, which he intended should be crossed by the fugitives and their animals.
It followed that, if such was his intention, the means of crossing was at his command. So it proved.
He struck the gorge at a place where it was so narrow that Larry Murphy, and even Mrs. Edwards herself, would have found no difficulty in leaping it. The horses, if stripped of their loads and sharply urged, would no doubt have done the same; but to meet such an emergency some one had caused the trunks of two trees to lie as close as possible side by side, the "dip" between the logs being packed with dirt and gravel, so that a space of fully two feet wide and quite level was presented. It was strong, and any horse could walk over without trouble.
It was curious that the youths, while searching for just such a spot the previous evening, should have missed it. They must have passed quite near to it.
Red Crow stood a moment calmly contemplating the rude work of art, his eyes roving from where he stood to the other side and beyond. It would seem as if he ought to have been satisfied with the strength of the bridge, but he appeared to be in doubt, and to test it he started to walk across.
At the moment of doing so a figure stepped from behind one of the large trees and advanced to him. Red Crow looked up and saw Blazing Arrow, who, detecting his approach, had dodged behind shelter. The face of the miscreant was the embodiment of rage as he ground out the words: "Dog of a Shawanoe! friend of the white man! you shall die! rot at the bottom of the water!"
The words were loud enough to be heard above the dull roar of the current. Red Crow recoiled for a moment on catching sight of his execrated relative, but it was through surprise rather than fear. The next moment he took a step forward.
"Blazing Arrow is a rattlesnake! Arqu-wao does not fear him! he hurt him when he was young and weak like a squaw, but Arqu-wao is now a man and a warrior!"
While speaking, Red Crow hung his bow behind him and drew his knife. Blazing Arrow had left his rifle leaning against the tree where he was hiding, and his hunting-knife was in his hand when he stepped upon the bridge.
Had the two been obliged to stay apart for a few minutes they would have used the time in taunting each other, an art in which the American race is hardly less adept than the Caucasian; but they were eager to come together; their hatred was too burning for either to waste any time.
They met in the middle of the bridge, directly over the sweeping current, and assailed each other like a couple of catamounts. It was a fight to the death, and was fiercely waged by each. Neither would ask or show mercy, and one or both must succumb.
It would be distressing to describe the terrific encounter in detail. Nothing could have been fiercer, but it continued only a few minutes, when a spectator would have seen that Arqu-wao was overmatched. Blazing Arrow was much the larger, and not only was fully as active, but more powerful. He pressed his advantage remorselessly, and, though he was severely wounded by the weapon of the other, he conquered.
The swaying bodies kept their places on the narrow bridge, though sometimes they narrowly missed rolling into the torrent beneath, until finally the efforts of Arqu-wao relaxed. Then, seizing him in his brawny arms, Blazing Arrow lifted him high in the air, and holding him aloft for a moment, hissed:
"Die, dog of a Shawanoe, your blood is white!"
He swung the senseless body outward, and it shot downward like a bowlder, and with a loud splash vanished beneath the surface.
But the bloody form of Blazing Arrow was scarcely ten seconds behind it. The furious exclamations were yet trembling on the dusky lips when the crack of a rifle broke the stillness. The miscreant, with a resounding shriek, leaped clear of the bridge and sped downward like a meteor, the spray flying high in the air as he, too, vanished from human sight.
"Confound it!" muttered the enraged Simon Kenton, "why didn't I get hyar jes' a minute sooner? I've give Blazing Arrer his last sickness; but afore I done that he put poor Red Crow to sleep; but it's all over now, and thar's no use of kickin'."
Advancing to the edge of the torrent, he looked in the direction of the falls to see the bodies disappear. Once he thought he saw a dark object for a moment, which he fancied might be one of them, but it disappeared before he could make certain, and was not seen again.
As he had remarked to himself, there was nothing to be gained by "kicking," and with a sigh of regret over the unfortunate Red Crow, or, as he was known among his own people, Arqu-wao, he turned about and hurriedly rejoined his friends, who were greatly agitated at the tragedy that they knew had taken place near them.
The scout told, in as few words as he could, what had occurred, and added:
"It's too bad for Red Crow, but I'm afeared that rifle-shot and the beautiful yell of Blazing Arrer has been heard by the rest of the varmints; leastwise we don't want to stay hyar any longer."
Before allowing the party to cross the rude bridge with the animals, Kenton preceded them and made a careful reconnoisance. He could discover no signs of Shawanoes, and, picking up Blazing Arrow's rifle from where it rested against the tree, he signalled the pioneer and the rest to follow him over.
It was easy for all to obey, but a vexatious delay was caused by the reluctance of the horses to trust themselves on the narrow foot-bridge, with the rushing current below. In the very middle of the support the leader became panic-stricken, and, in attempting to back to the shore from whence he started, lost his balance, and that was the last of him. The other reached the bank in safety.
There was no semblance of a path on the other side, and what Red Crow would have done, had he lived, after crossing, cannot be known; but Kenton did not hesitate. His knowledge of the country enabled him to proceed intelligently. He explained the route clearly to the pioneer, and leaving him to follow orders, he again assumed the duties of rear guard, adding:
"Push ahead, Brigham, as best you can; to-night will settle whether the folks get to the settlement or not. If we can dodge the varmints till after the sun goes down we'll be all right."
"Suppose we get into trouble?"
"I'll signal you. If you hear this gun go off, don't pay any 'tention to it except to travel faster, if you can."
With an exchange of these brief sentences, the pioneer set out, closely followed by his wife, the boys and the scout.
Fortunately the horse that went off the bridge did not take all the lunch with him. Mr. Edwards brought out what was left and divided it among his companions, and they ate as they walked.
They were now pursuing a clearly defined policy. It was to come back to the regular trail at a point well beyond where the Indians were believed to be waiting in ambush. If the hostiles could thus be thrown behind them, there was reason to hope for the best.
The chief trouble was because of the horse. Without any path for his feet, and with the trees now and then interfering, and with places so impassable that they were compelled to make laborious detours, the progress was exasperatingly slow; but with the passing of the afternoon and the approach of night, hope strengthened. Safety lay in darkness, which was close at hand.
At intervals the listening ear of the pioneer caught a familiar signal from Kenton, but in every instance it was interpreted "All right," and served to add to the buoyancy of the spirits of all.
The scout was strongly inclined to place a favorable explanation on this immunity from attack. The Shawanoe war party was small in numbers; it had suffered the loss of three or four of their best men, among them their leader, Blazing Arrow. This weakened them greatly.
On the other hand, if the Shawanoes were hunting for the two boys, or for the pioneer and his wife, they were confronted by a marked change in the situation. Not only had the two couples been united, but the most dreaded ranger of the border was with them. There were five rifles among the whites instead of two, and every person holding a weapon was not only ready, but was skilled in its use. They knew of the threatened peril, and were on the alert to guard against it.
In other words, the whites had increased and the red men decreased to that extent that Kenton half believed the Shawanoes hesitated to attack them. It was certain that they would not do so unless they could gain some great advantage over them, which was what the scout determined should not be gained if it lay in his power to prevent it. Certainly, if skill and woodcraft could avail, it never would come about.
The veteran ranger employed all the consummate art of which he was master. He fell farther behind than any of his friends ever suspected; he made long half way circuits through the woods, and as they neared the trail he once passed entirely round the company without their knowledge. Nothing escaped his lynx eyes, but, when the sun at last went down and twilight stole through the forest, he had not caught the first suspicious sign.
It was only fairly dark when Edwards stopped, as he had agreed to do, on reaching the trail. Kenton was with them a few minutes later.
"Things look powerful well," was his encouraging remark; "I haven't catched sight of hide or hair of the varmints since that hoss of yours turned summersets off the bridge."
"That is something to be grateful for," was the response of the pioneer. "I feel more hopeful than at any time since leaving the block-house."
"It is a purty good tramp yet afore we reach the settlement; can you all stand it?"
"You know better than to ask me that question," replied the settler with a laugh; "we have been on too many tramps ourselves, but I don't know about the rest."
"Excepting me," was the cheery response of the wife. "I am so glad to have Wharton and Larry safe with me that I know not what fatigue is; I believe I could walk all night without suffering."
"If you give out, make the hoss help."
"No; he has had it harder than any of us. He'll be the first to stop; but, Wharton, what about you?"
"I'll never let my mother beat me walking," he said with a laugh, affectionately kissing her ruddy cheek.
"And as for Larry Murphy," added the young gentleman alluded to, "it'll be a few years from now before he allows any one to beat him in walking towards home, when he knows that a good supper and bed is awaiting him there. I'm riddy, gintlemen, when ye say the word."
The good fortune which attended the members of the party did not desert them. What movements were made by the Shawanoes and what their intentions were could never be known, but not a hostile shot was fired within hearing of the fugitives, who at last reached the settlement in safety, all profoundly grateful to heaven for its mercy.
The enormous sales of the books of Horatio Alger, Jr., show the greatness of his popularity among the boys, and prove that he is one of their most favored writers. I am told that more than half a million copies altogether have been sold, and that all the large circulating libraries in the country have several complete sets, of which only two or three volumes are ever on the shelves at one time. If this is true, what thousands and thousands of boys have read and are reading Mr. Alger's books! His peculiar style of stories, often imitated but never equaled, have taken a hold upon the young people, and, despite their similarity, are eagerly read as soon as they appear.
Mr. Alger became famous with the publication of that undying book, "Ragged Dick, or Street Life in New York." It was his first book for young people, and its success was so great that he immediately devoted himself to that kind of writing. It was a new and fertile field for a writer then, and Mr. Alger's treatment of it at once caught the fancy of the boys. "Ragged Dick" first appeared in 1868, and ever since then it has been selling steadily, until now it is estimated that about 200,000 copies of the series have been sold.
—Pleasant Hours for Boys and Girls.
A writer for boys should have an abundant sympathy with them. He should be able to enter into their plans, hopes, and aspirations. He should learn to look upon life as they do. Boys object to be written down to. A boy's heart opens to the man or writer who understands him.
—FromWriting Stories for Boys, by Horatio Alger, Jr.
Ragged Dick.Fame and Fortune.Mark the Match Boy.Rough and Ready.Ben the Luggage Boy.Rufus and Rose.
Tattered Tom.Paul the Peddler.Phil the Fiddler.Slow and Sure.
Julius.The Young Outlaw.Sam's Chance.The Telegraph Boy.
Frank's Campaign.Charlie Codman's Cruise.Paul Prescott's Charge.
Luck and Pluck.Sink or Swim.Strong and Steady.Strive and Succeed.
Try and Trust.Bound to Rise.Risen from the Ranks.Herbert Carter's Legacy.
Brave and Bold.Jack's Ward.Shifting for Himself.Wait and Hope.
Digging for Gold.Facing the World.In a New World.
Only an Irish Boy.Adrift in the City.Victor Vane, or the Young Secretary.
Frank Hunter's Peril.Frank and Fearless.The Young Salesman.
Walter Sherwood's Probation.A Boy's Fortune.The Young Bank Messenger.
HOW I CAME TO WRITE MY FIRST BOOK.
When I was sixteen years old I belonged to a composition class. It was our custom to go on the recitation seat every day with clean slates, and we were allowed ten minutes to write seventy words on any subject the teacher thought suited to our capacity. One day he gave out "What a Man Would See if He Went to Greenland." My heart was in the matter, and before the ten minutes were up I had one side of my slate filled. The teacher listened to the reading of our compositions, and when they were all over he simply said: "Some of you will make your living by writing one of these days." That gave me something to ponder upon. I did not say so out loud, but I knew that my composition was as good as the best of them. By the way, there was another thing that came in my way just then. I was reading at that time one of Mayne Reid's works which I had drawn from the library, and I pondered upon it as much as I did upon what the teacher said to me. In introducing Swartboy to his readers he made use of this expression: "No visible change was observable in Swartboy's countenance." Now, it occurred to me that if a man of his education could make such a blunder as that and still write a book, I ought to be able to do it, too. I went home that very day and began a story, "The Old Guide's Narrative," which was sent to theNew York Weekly, and came back, respectfully declined. It was written on both sides of the sheets but I didn't know that this was against the rules. Nothing abashed, I began another, and receiving some instruction, from a friend of mine who was a clerk in a book store, I wrote it on only one side of the paper. But mind you, he didn't know what I was doing. Nobody knew it; but one day, after a hard Saturday's work—the other boys had been out skating on the brick-pond—I shyly broached the subject to my mother. I felt the need of some sympathy. She listened in amazement, and then said: "Why, do you think you could write a book like that?" That settled the matter, and from that day no one knew what I was up to until I sent the first four volumes of Gunboat Series to my father. Was it work? Well, yes; it was hard work, but each week I had the satisfaction of seeing the manuscript grow until the "Young Naturalist" was all complete.
—Harry Castlemon in the Writer.
Frank the Young Naturalist.Frank on a Gunboat.Frank in the Woods.Frank before Vicksburg.Frank on the Lower Mississippi.Frank on the Prairie.
Frank Among the Rancheros.Frank in the Mountains.Frank at Don Carlos' Rancho.
The Sportsman's Club in the Saddle.The Sportsman's Club Afloat.The Sportsman's Club Among the Trappers.
Snowed up.Frank in the Forecastle.The Boy Traders.
The Buried Treasure.The Boy Trapper.The Mail Carrier.
George in Camp.George at the Fort.George at the Wheel.
Don Gordon's Shooting Box.The Young Wild Fowlers.Rod and Gun Club.
Tom Newcombe.Go-Ahead.No Moss.
True to His Colors.Rodney the Partisan.Rodney the Overseer.Marcy the Blockade-Runner.Marcy the Refugee.Sailor Jack the Trader.
The Houseboat Boys.The Mystery of Lost River Cañon.The Young Game Warden.
Rebellion in Dixie.A Sailor in Spite of Himself.The Ten-Ton Cutter.
The Pony Express Rider.The White Beaver.Carl, The Trailer.
Edward S. Ellis the popular writer of boys' books, is a native of Ohio, where he was born somewhat more than a half-century ago. His father was a famous hunter and rifle shot, and it was doubtless his exploits and those of his associates, with their tales of adventure which gave the son his taste for the breezy backwoods and for depicting the stirring life of the early settlers on the frontier.
Mr. Ellis began writing at an early age and his work was acceptable from the first. His parents removed to New Jersey while he was a boy and he was graduated from the State Normal School and became a member of the faculty while still in his teens. He was afterward principal of the Trenton High School, a trustee and then superintendent of schools. By that time his services as a writer had become so pronounced that he gave his entire attention to literature. He was an exceptionally successful teacher and wrote a number of text-books for schools, all of which met with high favor. For these and his historical productions, Princeton College conferred upon him the degree of Master of Arts.
The high moral character, the clean, manly tendencies and the admirable literary style of Mr. Ellis' stories have made him as popular on the other side of the Atlantic as in this country. A leading paper remarked some time since, that no mother need hesitate to place in the hands of her boy any book written by Mr. Ellis. They are found in the leading Sunday-school libraries, where, as may well be believed, they are in wide demand and do much good by their sound, wholesome lessons which render them as acceptable to parents as to their children. All of his books published by Henry T. Coates & Co. are re-issued in London, and many have been translated into other languages. Mr. Ellis is a writer of varied accomplishments, and, in addition to his stories, is the author of historical works, of a number of pieces of popular music and has made several valuable inventions. Mr. Ellis is in the prime of his mental and physical powers, and great as have been the merits of his past achievements, there is reason to look for more brilliant productions from his pen in the near future.
Hunters of the Ozark.The Last War Trail.Camp in the Mountains.
Lost Trail.Footprints in the Forest.Camp-Fire and Wigwam.
Ned in the Block-House.Ned on the River.Ned in the Woods.
Two Boys in Wyoming.Cowmen and Rustlers.A Strange Craft and its Wonderful Voyage.
Shod with Silence.In the Days of the Pioneers.Phantom of the River.
Neither as a writer does he stand apart from the great currents of life and select some exceptional phase or odd combination of circumstances. He stands on the common level and appeals to the universal heart, and all that he suggests or achieves is on the plane and in the line of march of the great body of humanity.
The Jack Hazard series of stories, published in the lateOur Young Folks, and continued in the first volume ofSt. Nicholas, under the title of "Fast Friends," is no doubt destined to hold a high place in this class of literature. The delight of the boys in them (and of their seniors, too) is well founded. They go to the right spot every time. Trowbridge knows the heart of a boy like a book, and the heart of a man, too, and he has laid them both open in these books in a most successful manner. Apart from the qualities that render the series so attractive to all young readers, they have great value on account of their portraitures of American country life and character. The drawing is wonderfully accurate, and as spirited as it is true. The constable, Sellick, is an original character, and as minor figures where will we find anything better than Miss Wansey, and Mr. P. Pipkin, Esq. The picture of Mr. Dink's school, too, is capital, and where else in fiction is there a better nick-name than that the boys gave to poor little Stephen Treadwell, "Step Hen," as he himself pronounced his name in an unfortunate moment when he saw it in print for the first time in his lesson in school.
On the whole, these books are very satisfactory, and afford the critical reader the rare pleasure of the works that are just adequate, that easily fulfill themselves and accomplish all they set out to do.—Scribner's Monthly.
Jack Hazard and His Fortunes.The Young Surveyor.Fast Friends.Doing His Best.A Chance for Himself.Lawrence's Adventures.
ROUNDABOUT LIBRARY.
The attention of Librarians and Bookbuyers generally is called toHenry T. Coates & Co.'s Roundabout Library, by the popular authors.
EDWARD S. ELLIS,HORATIO ALGER, JR.,C. A. STEPHENS,MARGARET VANDEGRIFT,HARRY CASTLEMON,G. A. HENTY,LUCY C. LILLIE and others.
No authors of the present day are greater favorites with boys and girls.
Every book is sure to meet with a hearty reception by young readers.
Librarians will find them to be among the most popular books on their lists.
HENRY T. COATES & CO.1222 CHESTNUT STREETPHILADELPHIA