“It must be our Britisher,” said Kingdom, thoughtfully, “so few of the Indians have horses. But we will soon find out. Come on.”
Leaving their cart where it was, for Neb could be trusted not to run away, the boys walked with as great a show of unconcern as possible down into the valley. They took pains to speak to each other in tones moderately loud, as though they were looking only for a place to camp, hoping to attract the stranger’s attention. But their approach seemed entirely unnoticed. They could see only the flanks and back of the horse which was standing among the low bushes, and were somewhat surprised to notice that the animal was saddled. So perfectly still did the creature stand, too, they were puzzled more and more.
Suddenly the horse raised its head, looked backward with great, sorrowful eyes for a moment, then with a low, pitiful whinny turned and trotted toward the boys.
“Something’s wrong here,” said Kingdom, beneath his breath. “My goodness, I hope—”
The sentence was cut short by John speaking to the dapple gray that had now come close up to them, plainly doing its best to talk.
“Show us what it is—what’s the matter, old fellow?” said Jerome, patting the horse’s forehead.
Kingdom did not wait for an answer to his companion’s question, but stepped quickly forward among the underbrush. He pushed his way through to a small, clear space beside the stream, and as he reached it a little cry of surprise and dismay escaped him. Then swift as a deer he leaped to the center of the open space, and in another instant was kneeling beside the body of—Theodore Hatch, the Quaker.
The man lay face upward upon the leafy ground, the pallor of death upon his cheeks, the scalp cut from his head. Beside his body the ground was ploughed deep by the hoofs of the horse, showing clearly how the faithful beast had watched and waited for a word from the master who could not speak. A few feet distant were the dead ashes of a tiny fire, and a small coffee dipper burned black still setting among them, its contents long since evaporated.
“Oh, Ree!”
John Jerome could say no more as, followed by their faithful dog and the stranger’s horse, he hastened through the brush to his friend’s side and at a glance saw what was there.
“He’s alive—sure as the world, the body is still almost warm!” cried Ree in an undertone, and seizing the blackened dipper, filled it at the brook and bathed the stranger’s death-like face.
“See if there is brandy or anything in his saddle bags, John,” he next commanded. “Oh, if we can save him!”
Instead of taking the chance of finding nothing to the purpose among the stranger’s baggage, John dashed away across the valley and up the hill to their cart. He knew there were restoratives in a small medicine chest they carried beneath the seat of that vehicle, and in a minute or two he had selected what he wanted and returned. He found that Ree had loosened the stranger’s collar and placed his own coat beneath his head.
“Where is the wound, Ree?” he asked in a whisper.
“I haven’t looked,” Kingdom answered, drawing open the stranger’s mouth and putting between his lips a tiny quantity of the stimulant Jerome had brought. “Help rub his hands.”
As both boys pressed and chafed the stricken man’s fingers, palms and wrists, they felt a feeble warmth in them—so feeble, indeed, that they feared their task was hopeless. But they worked on and on, again administering a portion of the stimulant. At the end of twenty minutes they could see that freer circulation of blood had been established and were hopeful.
A very little later the stranger’s eyelids fluttered and opened. His horse, which had watched, with almost human intelligence, everything that had been done, gave a soft, low whinny of gladness.
“Steady, Phœbe,” murmured the stranger in a dazed, uncertain way, recognizing the voice of his faithful mare, but not realizing where he was. “Sweet Phœbe,” he whispered again, his eyes closing dreamily as the horse answered to his words with a delighted little neigh.
“Out of his head,” whispered John Jerome in tones of sympathy.
“He must have lain here since last evening, at least,” Ree answered, “and his horse has not moved from the spot. He had probably ridden up here to camp for the night and had not even unsaddled his mare when he was shot. We must keep our eyes wide open, old chap.”
“It is just such another sneaking murder as they told about at Pittsburg, Ree.”
“You go back and bring up the cart, John. We may as well camp right here. It is the safest spot we can find, according to the old saying that ‘lightning doesn’t strike twice in the same place.’”
John hurried away to carry out this suggestion, while Kingdom prepared to build a small fire, taking the precaution to dig a hole in the earth for that purpose, and covering this nearly over with strips of green bark that the flame would be concealed and not bring the Indians down upon them.
In a short time John returned with Neb and the wagon and with blankets and fur robes a comfortable bed for the wounded stranger was soon made. While one lad prepared supper, then, the other unharnessed and unsaddled their own and the Quaker’s horse and tethered them by short ropes where they might drink or graze along the bank of the stream. It was apparent that the dapple gray had eaten nothing during the long watch over its wounded master for now the animal drank and ate most greedily.
A sort of broth, not unlike beef tea, was prepared from venison for the sick man and though the boys persuaded him to swallow some of it, he was still delirious and knew nothing of where he was or what had happened.
A more thorough examination of the stranger’s condition revealed the fact that he had been shot through the left side, just over the heart, and either in falling or from the butt of a rifle or some similar instrument had received an ugly wound on his head, just back of his right ear. These injuries, added to the fact that his scalp had been carried off, made it quite miraculous that he was still alive.
“But I have heard of men living after having been scalped,” said John. “Poor fellow!”
“It’s a bad business; but we must pull him through,” Kingdom replied with determination. “I’ll watch him and the camp till midnight or after. You get some sleep, John, while you can.”
As Jerome had fully expected, though he knew it was useless to remonstrate, Ree did not call him until almost daylight. Getting up, he hitched up Neb and saddled the stranger’s horse, which came up to him with perfect gentleness when he called “Phœbe,” the name he had heard the master use. A little later he broiled some venison steaks, and then called Ree to breakfast.
Theodore Hatch, if such was the stranger’s name, though the boys doubted it, had been very restless during the night. Often in his delirium he had spoken of a letter and twice had mentioned the name of Ichabod Nesbit. How so gentlemanly appearing a man could be connected with the dead robber was more than the boys could guess, though they now considered it certain that he, as well as the precious pair of rogues they had met at the Eagle tavern, had some mysterious interest in the man whom the Indian, Black Eagle, had killed.
As the stranger was still unconscious Ree and John had no fear of giving offense as they spoke of these things in his presence. Indeed, he had not the least understanding of what was taking place around him.
How to continue their journey, carrying the sick man with them, was considerable of a problem for the young travelers, as their cart was already heavily loaded; but they solved the difficulty by making a pack-horse of the stranger’s mare, thus providing room under the canvas of their covered wagon to prepare a bed for the injured stranger. They raised him up and placed him upon the blankets with much effort but successfully, and before the sun was an hour high, were once more on their way.
Fifty miles ahead of them was the lonely cabin by the Cuyahoga river. A somewhat greater distance on the backward trail was Pittsburg. To the south and west almost an equal distance was the only other semblance of civilization in all the surrounding wilderness—the missionary settlement of the Moravians.
Whether to take the wounded man to the latter place or back to Pittsburg or straight on to the cabin was a question the boys discussed at some length. The result was their decision to push on toward the Cuyahoga, and before nightfall they had traveled a good twelve miles. They saw no sign of an enemy during the day or the night which followed. The stranger continued insensible of all that was taking place, though he called out frequently, often speaking to his horse, his tones showing the deepest love for the animal. And the mare, pricking up her ears at every sound of her master’s voice, exhibited for him an attachment far beyond anything of the kind the boys had ever seen.
It may have been this very love the unhappy animal had for its stricken master which resulted in the mare’s giving the alarm when the two boys had almost forgotten the dangers constantly surrounding them. For suddenly, as the sun was going down in the afternoon of the second day after the discovery of the unconscious form of Theodore Hatch, when preparations were being made to camp in a convenient gully, the horse sniffed the air and snorted and neighed violently.
Quick to realize that something was wrong, Kingdom leaped for his rifle, and had no more than secured the weapon when a bullet shrieked close to his shoulder and buried itself in a tree behind him.
“Down, John!” Ree called, but not heeding the command, Jerome, who had gone a few rods away for water, sped forward to the camp before seeking shelter behind a tree trunk.
Vigilantly both boys watched for a sight of the would-be assassin. They could see nothing but a streak of smoke curling up in the direction from which the shot had been fired. Several minutes passed, and though no sound of footsteps was heard, there came just as suddenly as before, from another direction, the crack of a rifle and a bullet speeding so near John Jerome’s head that he dropped flat on the ground.
“It looks as if we were surrounded,” said Kingdom coolly, as John called out that he was not hurt.
The stranger’s dapple gray was trembling with fear, though Neb, the cart horse, was not in the least disturbed.
“There’s more than just a different degree of intelligence to cause that,” whispered Kingdom, crouching behind a tree and cautiously peering out, John having called attention to the behavior of the horses. “I’ll venture to say that the Redskins around us now are the same that scalped the stranger, and the horse knows it.”
No further sign of the attacking party was seen. What had become of the foe or foes neither Ree nor John could guess, and though, when the twilight had given way to dense darkness, they took turn about in making a half dozen scouting expeditions to learn if possible where the enemy was, and what might be expected from that source, no trace of savage or savages could be discovered.
Puzzled as they were, neither boy lay down to sleep that night, nor did they build a fire, whose light might make them easy targets.
While it was still dark Neb was hitched up, the still unconscious stranger in the cart made as comfortable as possible, and with the first light of the dawn of another day, the young emigrants were pushing on farther and deeper into the wilds, undaunted by the night’s experience.
All possible care was taken to guard against surprise, however, and with much coaxing and petting and painstaking instruction Ring, the big, yellow half-mastiff, was taught to give up the place he liked best, close beside Neb, for which horse he showed a deep friendship, and follow along a hundred yards or so in the rear. Ree went ahead an equal distance, except when it was necessary to help John clear the way of trees or logs for the cart to pass, and John himself kept a sharp lookout on either side, while driving.
So the day passed and nothing occurred further to alarm the two boys or retard their advance. But they reminded one another that they must not relax their watchfulness.
They hoped and fully believed that when they reached the country about their cabin—with all the woods near which they were well acquainted, their trouble would be at an end. If Captain Pipe, the Delaware chief, were in his village, he would permit no attack to be made upon them by Big Buffalo or any other of his tribe, and there would be only the wandering Mingoes to fear. Some of these and many others the lads had traded with and knew personally. A few presents would renew their friendship, and all would be well.
Until the cabin was reached, however, there were many dangers to be reckoned with, and these were increased by the fact that they were trying to save the life of the, to them, almost unknown man, who might have enemies they knew not of, and who could not help them one bit, while positively delaying their progress by adding to their load and the care with which they must travel, on his account.
Camp was made, the evening following the mysterious attack, in the center of a considerable open space, nearly bare of trees, which may have been at one time an Indian corn field. The horses were picketed close to the wagon and a defense of brush and small logs was built to a height of a few feet all about the cart. The wagon’s contents were then so arranged that the wounded man, who, though still delirious, seemed to be gaining in strength, was protected from stray bullets by boxes and other articles piled at either side of him.
“It seems actually foolish to go to all this trouble,” was Ree Kingdom’s comment as he surveyed the completed task.
Bang!—pr-r-r-r-s-s-st! A bullet whizzed through the low breast-works and flattened itself on the iron tire of the cart, close to John’s left elbow.
“Look! There he goes!” cried young Jerome, and leveled his rifle at an Indian who leaped from tree to tree with most astonishing speed, traveling in a circle about the camp at a distance of eighty or ninety yards, loading his rifle as he ran, with the greatest dexterity.
In another moment, as he thought the chance was favorable, John fired. A second later Kingdom also let drive, but all to no purpose, for the next second there came from the side of the camp opposite that from which the first bullet had flown, another to keep it company, splitting a spoke in one of the cart’s wheels.
No sooner had he fired this second time than the Indian disappeared in the depths of the woods.
“Land o’ Goshen! What does the Redskin mean?” exclaimed John, as both boys saw him fleeing away.
“He’s the same fellow that fired at us last night. Look how nervous this poor mare is. That proves it if nothing else does,” answered Kingdom, boldly rising from behind the brush-work defenses, and patting the terror-stricken horse of the stranger.
“And did you see him run?” John added. “I’ve heard people talk of horses going like a streak of lightning, but I never saw anything on legs get over the ground the way that buck did. I wonder, now, how long he intends keeping up this game!”
Before Ree could answer the voice of Theodore Hatch was heard loudly calling, “Nay, do not shoot! Thou art my friend. Hast thou the letter, Ichabod—Ichabod Nesbit?”
They were the most connected and intelligible words the stranger had uttered, though often in his unconsciousness he had called out, but usually in a disconnected, incomprehensible way.
“Ichabod, dost thou not know me? Thou art not dead, Ichabod! Ah, I was deceived. They told me thou wert killed by an Indian in the forest.”
The boys looked questioningly one to the other. Their thoughts ran back to the frayed letter the men at the Eagle tavern had had, and back farther still to the death of Ichabod Nesbit at the hands of Black Eagle.
“I believe he is better,” said Kingdom, referring to the stranger. “His brain is clearer, though he doesn’t know anything. I’ll fix him up some fresh medicine.”
By turns the two boys slept and watched the long night through. As before, the mysterious enemy gave no further trouble after twice firing upon the camp, and another day came and passed without incident.
Fearful of a repetition of the attack of the two preceding evenings, the young travelers made camp early this day that they might make a more secure defense than before, ere nightfall. This work they completed to their satisfaction while the sun was still shining.
The rise of ground on which they had halted gave them an advantage over their foe which they had not had before. Impatiently they watched and waited for the expected appearance of the lone savage.
“The third time’s the charm, they say,” remarked John, with an uneasy little laugh. “I believe we will get him or he will get us, this time.”
Kingdom did not answer, and the minutes slipped slowly by. The sun was just disappearing from view, like an immense ball of red among the western trees, when the Indian came.
Both boys caught sight of him at the same moment, standing on a hill-top across a rugged little valley from themselves, quietly surveying them. As he was between them and the fading light, they saw his face, painted a bright red, and his buckskin clad figure most distinctly; and both were certain that a belt which hung loose about his waist was adorned with human scalps.
For several seconds the young savage stood gazing vacantly toward the lads. Then he saw that he was observed. Quick as magic, and as mysteriously, he disappeared.
“He will not come back tonight,” was Ree’s quiet comment, when the savage vanished.
“Great guns, but he’s swift!” exclaimed John, more excitedly.
“He knows we are expecting him, and we will have no trouble to-night,” said Ree, and time proved that he was right.
Early next morning the boys did have visitors, however. Two strange Indians strode up to their camp as they were preparing to move. They were the first the young men had seen in the wilderness, but they appeared friendly and remained and talked for some time.
The boys learned from the savages that nearly all the Redmen of the country had gone off to the northwest to join with the Delawares and others already there, in fighting which was expected. The Indians had kept a careful watch on the movements of General St. Clair and his troops, who, even then, were marching into the territory which now comprises northwestern Ohio, and a battle was looked for at any time.
These two Indians did not know, however, or declined to say, whether Big Buffalo, who had made the boys so much trouble on their first trip into the wilderness, had gone to join Captain Pipe and the other Delaware warriors. They likewise professed ignorance when John, in language not exactly diplomatic, demanded to know who the young Indian, who had twice fired upon them was. Shrugging their shoulders, the savages showed a desire to talk about other things, and both Ree and John were convinced that the fellows knew more than they cared to acknowledge.
For friendship’s sake the young pioneers gave each of the savages a small present as they separated, and the latter promised to send other Indians whom they met to trade with the young men as the hunting season progressed. However, as so many of the Redmen had gone off to the expected scene of war, the boys realized at once that their work as traders would not be so profitable as it had been the previous winter; but, on the other hand, they would, on that account, have more time for hunting and trapping, themselves, and could also work with less frequent interruptions in the many tasks necessary to the improvement of the land for which they had paid Captain Pipe.
The wounded stranger had become more and more restless during the journey of this day, but not once did he come to his senses. Ree and John gave him the best care they could and at the same time made all haste possible, believing that if they could but reach their cabin and place the sick man on a fairly comfortable bed, they could save his life. Nevertheless it was necessary to make camp some time before sundown to be on their guard against the return of the supposed assailant of the stranger, and this they did.
But the wily savage did not appear. Perhaps he knew that he would be expected; perhaps the journey of the boys was taking him too far from his accustomed haunts to pursue them farther. The lads did not attempt to decide the question, but remained ever closely on their guard, and kept Ring, their dog, on duty as a special scout on both flanks and front and rear, most of the time, while they worked their way steadily forward.
Ring’s scouting, though not so intelligent as that of a human being, of course, was very helpful to his masters; but most of all, it resulted in the making of a discovery which had a most important bearing upon the future and added a great deal indeed to the adventures which were in store for the two friends.
“It was not far from here that Ichabod Nesbit fired at us, killing our horse, last fall,” said John one evening as the boys were making camp.
“We must be somewhere near the spot. Very likely we shall pass it tomorrow,” Ree answered.
“It is not over a mile from here,” John insisted. “When Nesbit shot at us and ran back, Tom Fish and I followed after him, you remember, never thinking that Black Eagle was chasing him. I recollect noticing at the time that oak tree with the bark torn off by lightning over there. Why, it couldn’t have been very far from here that Black Eagle caught Nesbit and killed him.”
Ree had climbed into the cart to give the still unconscious stranger a drink of water and to make his bed more comfortable in preparation for the night, and gave no answer. So, thinking little more of the fate of the outlaw of whom he had been speaking, John strolled over to a fallen treetop at the edge of a little hill a dozen rods away, to gather an armful of dry wood for the fire. Ring had gone on ahead of him and now ran down into the valley where there was a stream of water. Thinking the dog was only wanting a drink, the boy paid no attention to him, and was starting back to camp when Ring came bounding forward, with some strange object in his mouth.
“What have you found now, old fellow?” demanded John, putting his wood down; for Ring was constantly discovering bones and other things in the woods, and carrying them into camp. For answer the dog dropped the strange object at his master’s feet.
“By gravy! Where did that come from?” was John’s soliloquy, the indifference which had first marked his tones quickly disappearing.
With deep interest he examined a small, oblong, metal box, such as snuff was carried in many years ago, turning it over and over, and trying in vain to open it. The box was greatly discolored and so dingy that John was not sure of the quality of the metal, though he supposed it to be silver.
“Where’d you find it, Ring?” he asked, but the dog only wagged his tail as his head was patted.
“There’s a strange thing to find in such a place as this,” cried John, tossing the box to Ree, as he reached the camp. “Ring fetched it up out of the valley yonder.”
“Well! What’s in it?” Ree asked interestedly. “There’s no name on it. Open it.”
“I don’t know who has a better right,” was John’s reply, and without more ado Ree struck the edge of the box sharply against the heavy wheel of the cart. A piece of paper, yellow and water-stained, fell to the ground as the lid flew open.
“Maybe this will tell whose box it is,” said John, picking the paper up, “if it isn’t too dark to read it. Why, it’s only a piece of some old letter or something,” he added, unfolding a long half-sheet of the size commonly known as foolscap. “There’s no name at the beginning or the end, that I can see.”
“It is a woman’s writing,” said Ree, looking over his chum’s shoulder. “But I guess it doesn’t amount to much. Some poor chap’s sweetheart wrote it, maybe, and he must have carried it a long while before he lost it. I wish we knew just where Ring got hold of it; for”—and Kingdom’s voice sank to a whisper—“I am afraid, John, it may be another case like that of our friend in the cart here.”
“But let’s find out what it says,” John answered impatiently.
“It is too dark. It won’t do to make a target of ourselves by building enough fire to see by, and we will have to let it go till morning.”
The wisdom of Ree’s remark about too much firelight was very apparent, so John conquered his curiosity by joking his companion about the fear he had expressed that the snuff box might have been found upon the person of some white man cruelly murdered in the woods, as Theodore Hatch had so nearly been.
“I suppose Ring got the box out of the man’s inside pocket, then buttoned his coat up again,” he laughed.
It was so unusual for Ree to take a gloomy view of any circumstance or discovery, that, realizing there was not much probability, after all, that their dog had secured the box from the body of some unfortunate hunter or explorer, as he had suggested, he was quite bored by John’s fun. But he did not show it; that would have been more unlike him still.
It is rather strange that, notwithstanding that they had been talking of Ichabod Nesbit just a minute or two before the strange box was found by their dog, neither of the boys thought of the outlaw in connection with the odd discovery, in all their conversation about the matter during the evening. The box they rubbed and polished and made certain it was silver, but no name or sign of whose property it might have been did they discover, except the torn piece of paper, the writing on which it was too dark to read.
The night passed without incident, and by dividing the long hours of watching over the camp and wounded stranger, both Ree and John obtained some sleep and rest—enough that with the coming of daylight each felt more spry and fresh than at any time since the discovery of the unconscious form of Theodore Hatch had resulted in the breaking of their slumbers.
John watered the horses at the brook in the valley hard by and harnessed Neb while Ree broiled some venison and toasted some corn bread, brought from Pittsburg, for their breakfast. As they sat on a small log within their camp, eating and talking, the conversation turned at once to the silver snuff box and its written contents.
“And now read the letter, Ree; don’t keep a fellow waiting any longer,” John demanded.
Kingdom secured the box from a small chest in the cart, where it had been safely deposited over night, and as John ate away, a piece of bread in one hand, a piece of venison in the other, watching with much interest all that his friend did, the latter removed the lid and took out the yellow-stained paper.
“Why, it is not all here! The letter has been torn in two right through the middle!” he exclaimed. “We didn’t notice that last night.”
“Well, land o’ Goshen! Read what you can! I’ve been waiting all night to find out what the writing is, and now you behave as though we had no interest in the thing!” John cried with an impatient laugh.
“You read it! Look here! Now what can be made out of this?”
Together the young men studied the writing. As Ree had said, the document had been torn squarely in two lengthwise, and that which remained was so faded and so soiled that to read it was difficult. By degrees, however, the wording and letters were made out as follows:
Buried near Philadeltaining upwards of oneand hidden with it is othto mention several piecesnot to exceed twoexplained to both of yto each, my dear nepfor you when you shalof this letter together,the treasure which IIt will never be claimshall never again renor have I in the nathan a few years to live.never see either of you ahave placed in a cedarjewels and silver areyou how to find the caskthe Bunch of Grapes innwest, is a woodland whby the many charred sttrees, caused by a fireforest there some yearsgreat deal of damageanyone can tell you. Butthat now. It is a lonelyyou will not need go atthe buried treasure. Growstone’s throw, or perhapsfrom the road are threetogether. There are no othmoney and valuables I hatwelve yards directlyyards directly north ofthree trees, which is onas you approach from theof mullen has grown upwhere the chest is hidshall find, only as Imy separate letters to eachboth share in this property,such pains to arrange forand the silver and the jewbe the property of whom
Buried near Philadel
taining upwards of one
and hidden with it is oth
to mention several pieces
not to exceed two
explained to both of y
to each, my dear nep
for you when you shal
of this letter together,
the treasure which I
It will never be claim
shall never again re
nor have I in the na
than a few years to live.
never see either of you a
have placed in a cedar
jewels and silver are
you how to find the cask
the Bunch of Grapes inn
west, is a woodland wh
by the many charred st
trees, caused by a fire
forest there some years
great deal of damage
anyone can tell you. But
that now. It is a lonely
you will not need go at
the buried treasure. Grow
stone’s throw, or perhaps
from the road are three
together. There are no oth
money and valuables I ha
twelve yards directly
yards directly north of
three trees, which is on
as you approach from the
of mullen has grown up
where the chest is hid
shall find, only as I
my separate letters to each
both share in this property,
such pains to arrange for
and the silver and the jew
be the property of whom
But I have seen to ittoo deep for the plowsharesand very like it will nevby some strange fortune,yourselves should be thethe two halves of this le
But I have seen to it
too deep for the plowshares
and very like it will nev
by some strange fortune,
yourselves should be the
the two halves of this le
“Well, I wish we had the other part of that letter!” cried John Jerome, his eyes sparkling. “Somebody has been in this part of the country looking for hidden treasure!”
“It appears that that is what the whole thing is about, but it isn’t in this part of the country,” said Ree, more quietly. “Don’t you see, in the very beginning it says, ‘Buried near Philadel’? Why, the rest of that word, which is cut away, with the other half of the letter, would make it Philadelphia, of course.”
“My! but I’d like to stumble onto that chest, just the same,” was John’s reply. “Why, the letter tells of gold and silver and jewels—maybe it is pirates, Ree! For pity’s sake, let’s read it through again!”
Much less excited than his companion, Ree went over the writing once more, trying with John, but in vain, to supply the missing words at the end of each line. They could make out nothing definite, though the more they studied the more certain they were that some one had written a description of the hiding place of certain money and valuables, and then for some reason cut the paper in two.
The mystery about it all and the fascination which the possibility of finding hidden treasure has for every one, kept the two boys poring over the writing and talking of it much longer than they thought. Time passed so quickly that half the forenoon was gone ere they could put the subject by and prepare to resume their journey.
His brain cooler and his thoughts more calm than John’s, as he continued to think of the mysterious document, a happy idea came to Ree’s mind and he wondered that he had not thought of it before. Why not try, with the aid of Ring, to learn just where the silver snuff box had lain? There might be something to afford some clue to the owner of the box close by, or it might be that he had been right in suggesting that some poor fellow lay cold in death not far away.
Without delay Kingdom told John of his idea, and filled with a variety of expectations, hopes and fears, that young man hailed the thought with delight. Ring was called, and the silver box held where he could see and smell it.
“Take it back, you rascal! Take it where you found it!” commanded Ree, talking that tack with the dog, because he knew Ring would understand better than if he asked him where he had found the box.
John joined in the command, and a look of understanding coming to the dog’s eyes, though the poor fellow showed that he thought he was being scolded for having done something wrong, he seized the box in his teeth and trotted away.
With a hasty glance into the cart to see that the wounded man was safe for the time being, both boys set off at a little run to follow Ring. Straight to the hillside and down into the valley the dog went, then for a considerable distance followed the stream therein.
Running around a clump of bushes, the dog disappeared from view. A half minute later, when Ree and John came up with him, he was standing beside a pile of stones half covered by brush. Under this little mound a woodchuck or skunk had burrowed, and there were evidences that Ring had started to dig out whatever animal was inside.
“You don’t suppose the silver box came out of that hole, do you?” John asked of Ree, his tones showing disappointment.
“No, I don’t,” was the decisive answer, as Kingdom pulled away some dead branches, and lifted up a flat stone, “but I do think that the bones—”
“Of Ichabod Nesbit are under those rocks!” cried John, excitedly finishing the sentence.
With anxious haste John began tearing away the brush from over the heap of stones which, he was now certain, covered all that remained of the body of Ichabod Nesbit, the outlaw, whom Black Eagle, the Indian, had killed a year before.
“You remember Black Eagle’s telling us that he placed stones on Nesbit’s body, don’t you?” he asked of Ree, who was working more quietly, but no less industriously than himself. “‘Put stones on him and Great Spirit never find him,’ he said, you know.”
Ree did remember these words of the Indian, but he was thinking of something else, and said:
“We can hunt here all day, John, and we will find the bones of Nesbit under this pile of stones and brush, I’m sure; but the other half of that letter is not here. I’ll tell you where it is, though. I’ll bet a coonskin cap the chaps we saw at the Eagle tavern have it.”
“I remember! You mean that piece of paper or letter, or whatever it was, that they were so afraid I’d see!”
“And don’t you recollect how curious they were to know all we could tell them of Nesbit, and how he was killed, but especially where? As sure as shootin’ they have one half of that paper telling where some one buried a fortune, and they must have known that Ichabod Nesbit had the other half! Why, it is as plain as day!”
Five minutes later the boys had completely uncovered the bones of a man. That they were those of their one-time enemy, Ichabod Nesbit, there could be no doubt. John recognized the remnants of a blue homespun shirt which Nesbit had worn, but Ree clinched the matter by making the discovery that the skull of the skeleton was missing. For they recalled how Black Eagle had journeyed to this western country and carried away the skull to convince another Indian that he had really killed Nesbit.
“It’s too bad,” said Ree, quite sorrowfully. “Nesbit might have been a prosperous man if he had but used his gifts in the right way. And here he lies!”
“Thunderation! He would have killed us, if Black Eagle hadn’t killed him,” John broke out, almost indignantly.
“But we ought to give his bones as decent a burial as possible, ’way off here; that is what I was thinking of,” Ree made answer. “Yet, we haven’t time to do it now. Our friend up there may have taken a delirious spell and fallen out of the cart before we get back, as it is.”
Meanwhile the boys were searching the ground about the skeleton carefully. They found nothing, however, and rightly judged that Black Eagle had taken all of Nesbit’s property which was in sight, for which he cared, at the time he killed the man.
The manner in which their dog had chanced to find the snuff box—the one thing which had not been carried away—was plain. It had fallen away from the rotted clothing still clinging to the bones, at which unknown animals had been gnawing, and was brought to light when Ring tried to get at these burrowing creatures in their holes.
Returning the stones and brush to the position in which they had found them, but agreeing to return some day and bury the skeleton properly, Ree and John lost no time in hastening back to their camp. The mystery of the snuff box and the writing in it had been partially solved, and now their thoughts were again chiefly of reaching their long-deserted cabin as speedily as possible.
Within an hour after their discovery of the lonely, last resting place of Ichabod Nesbit’s body, they were again making their way farther and deeper into the wilderness, one of whose manifold gloomy and terrible secrets had that morning been revealed to them. They little knew at that time what others were in store.
The young emigrants were now not a great deal more than one day of successful traveling distant from the little log house on the bluff above the Cuyahoga river, which had been, and was again to be, their home.
“We don’t want to get there at dark, but should have plenty of time to look about us and get beds fixed up, and all that, when we do reach the shanty,” John Jerome told his chum. “We better go just as far as we can to-day, and then maybe we can reach our house by noon to-morrow.”
Ree accepted the suggestion as a good one, and, though they did their best for the sick man in the cart, Theodore Hatch, had he been possessed of his senses, would have said he had a pretty rough ride, as Neb was urged to the best possible speed over the hilly, densely wooded country through which the little party was now traveling.
Within a mile or two after leaving camp on this day the boys passed through the valley where their horse had been shot and killed on their previous trip into the wilderness. There stood the cart they had had, practically as they had left it, but presenting a most forlorn appearance with the rank grass and low bushes growing up all about it. On examination, however, the weather-beaten vehicle was found to be in fairly good condition, and the two friends determined that some time soon they would return for it. Though they were already provided with a strong, heavy cart, it would be very convenient to have another in case of accident, and as the abandoned property was their own, there was no reason why they should not reclaim it.
With the coming of another evening camp was made not more than four miles, the boys judged, from their destination. They exercised the same care as before, and one remained up with the wounded stranger and on guard until morning; but save for the unusually loud howling of a pack of wolves, finding it harder to obtain food now that winter was coming on, there was nothing to disturb the lads throughout the night.
John did guard duty from some time after midnight until dawn, and, taking a little walk not far from camp at daybreak, saw and shot a fine young deer.
“We will not want to move into our house with an empty pantry,” he delightedly told Ree, the latter springing up upon hearing the discharge of the rifle.
John’s elation over the killing of the deer was quite unusual. It was not that such an occurrence was uncommon or that he had made an extremely good shot; but this was a very important day to him. To Kingdom it was the same—the day to which they had looked forward for many months, and especially during the weeks since they had left Connecticut; and both were genuinely happy. The weather was cool and bracing. Most of the trees were bare and every stream was covered with floating leaves, save where the current was strong enough to sweep them away. All nature was preparing for winter, and the effect was invigorating. It made the young pioneers anxious to do the same.
Except for the one Redskin who had shown a hostile disposition, no trouble with any Indians had been experienced. There was promise that game would be no less abundant than the previous winter, for the summer had been favorable. There was a prospect, also, of probably two weeks of Indian summer in which to get ready for the colder, stormy weather.