Thus were the hearts of the two friends light, and their hopes buoyant, as they began their last day’s journey. Their progress was excellent, though the road was through the unbroken forest. Every few minutes they recognized some spot that they knew, as they drew nearer and nearer to the home they sought, and so did they come at last, when the sun was still in midsky, to the top of the hill from which, looking across the valley to the high knoll rising beside the river, they could see the cabin they had so hurriedly left six months before.
John was driving. Ree had gone some distance in advance of the cart but was waiting for it to come up; and as though they read each other’s thoughts, the two lads went forward together to a point which would afford them a complete view of the little valley whose natural clearing they had enlarged in their first work of home building.
Silently they stood side by side and gazed upon the quiet scene. There was the cabin, seemingly just as they had left it. Between it and them was the little field of corn they had planted. Indians had carried away most, if not all, of the grain, it was plain to be seen; but the stalks remaining showed that there must have been a good yield. To the right was the little plot of ground which they had ploughed, after a fashion, for potatoes. The grass and some weeds had so grown up there, however, that it was impossible to determine at once whether this crop had grown, and if so, whether the potatoes had been stolen. Squashes and beans had been planted in the same way, and a closer investigation would need to be made to discover what had come of the work of the springtime, so far as these were concerned, also.
All in all the deserted, lonesome look which pervaded the scene made John blue and melancholy. Quick to notice this, and anxious to dispel such a feeling in his friend, Ree cheerily said:
“At any rate, John, there is a lot of grass grown up on our farm, and we will need to cut a lot of it for two horses.”
“It makes me almost homesick,” the other answered with a sigh.
“Fiddlesticks! We’ve got too much to do to be homesick! Wait here and keep your eye on the cart while I scout over to the cabin. I’ll be back and help you down the hill, but we want to know that all is serene before we drive into the open.”
So saying, Ree trotted down the hill, skirted the edge of the forest a little way, and then, seeing that all was quiet, walked quickly across the clearing and up the steep slope to the rude little house. An involuntary, almost imperceptible shudder passed over him as he noticed at once the deep dents in the heavy door of the cabin, recalled the attack which Big Buffalo had led upon them, and saw a great dark blot upon the threshold, which he knew had been dyed there by blood of that fight.
But putting the gloomy thought from his mind, with a determination such as he well knew how to exercise, he pulled the latch-string still hanging out, and pushed open the door. A damp, musty odor greeted him, and with only a hasty glance inside, and leaving the door open to admit the fresh air, he turned and hurried across the valley and up the hill to where John was waiting.
“Keep your eyes wide open, Ree,” Jerome called out as Kingdom came near, “that sneaking Redskin is not far away!”
As all had been very quiet it was hard to understand what John meant, but the latter pointed to Phœbe, the wounded Quaker’s mare, as Ree asked for information, and it was enough. The poor beast was terror-stricken as when before it had scented that lone savage who had so nearly killed its master.
“I haven’t seen a thing,” Jerome went on, “but I’ll wager that the mare is not mistaken.”
As though in emphatic confirmation of John’s words, a rifle sounded and a bullet sped through the canvas of the covered cart.
In an instant Return Kingdom’s weapon was in readiness. A streak of darker hue against the background of the trees mid which he was watching, darted like a shadow between two large oaks. Quick as lightning the boy fired.
A piercing yell followed Ree’s shot. John, no slower than his companion to see the flitting form of the Indian, dashing away among the trees, also fired just as the savage screamed. But there came no answering bullet or sound.
“I rather guess we got him—one of us,” said John, exultingly. “I never saw so slippery a heathen, though. He glides along fast as an arrow and with no more noise. Why, his feet hardly touched the ground!”
Having quickly reloaded his rifle, Ree was watching keenly in all directions; but when no sight or sound of the wary savage appeared, he replied to his friend’s remark.
“Slippery as an eel; maybe wehavefinished him.”
Careful search, however, failed to reveal to the boys any trace of the Indian whose body John had been quite confident they would find stretched upon the leaves not far away. As he had done before, the fellow had disappeared instantly and completely as a puff of thin smoke in a raging gale.
Considerably disturbed, the lads took their cart and horses down the hill and into the open space between the forest and the cabin, with the greatest caution. They had hoped they were quit of their mysterious foe, and his sudden reappearance, when there had been reason to believe he was far away, was more than annoying.
“At any rate we will have four good, strong walls between ourselves and the murderous scamp to-night,” said John Jerome, as they drove up the hill to the cabin. “It is funny that on our other trip we were mysteriously shot at in just this way.”
“It is probably the fellow they told us of in Pittsburg,” Kingdom answered. “I am glad he hasn’t tried to shoot the horses; maybe he will let them alone. We will have to build a lean-to for them, right away.”
In a few minutes the journey which had taken so long was over. The cart of the young pioneers was drawn up before the cabin door, and there was so much to be done in the next hour or two that the prowling Redskin might have been more successful in his secret attacks than he had yet been, had he improved the opportunity. Fortunately he did not, and in a short time a bright fire was driving the chill, damp air from the little log house, and a bed was fixed up in a snug corner and Theodore Hatch was carried to it. The horses were watered and tethered near the door, and a late dinner was prepared by John, while Ree proceeded with the unloading of the cart.
Though still unconscious and so weak that he could scarcely lift his hand, his threshing about and calling out in delirium long since over, no one seemed to feel the change in the situation more than did the wounded stranger. As was his custom, Ree gave him the best attention in his power, before eating his own dinner, and as he did so, could not but notice the change for the better which his patient showed. And he was not greatly surprised by the greater change soon following.
Sitting astride a chest, a pewter plate between them, the young pioneers were eating their noonday meal when a groan came from the stranger’s rude couch. Immediately Ree was at the man’s side to make his position more comfortable, and John arose to help, if necessary.
Slowly the Quaker’s eyes opened. Slowly there came into them a gleam of intelligence he had not hitherto shown. Ree stooped to adjust the coarse pillow under the injured head.
“I fear I have been ill. What place is this, young friend?”
It was the voice of Theodore Hatch, low and weak, but clear and sane. No sound could have given Return Kingdom or John Jerome greater pleasure than this indication that their work and worry and constant efforts to save the life of this man, a stranger, but a human being and brother white man still, would be rewarded by seeing him recover. But his tones were so pitifully feeble and his loss of strength so complete, that John turned away, tears in his eyes.
“You are still sick, and must lie very quiet,” Ree answered the unfortunate man in a gentle voice. “You are with friends who will do anything they can for you.”
It seemed to take a full minute for the man’s injured brain to comprehend what was said to him. At last he seemed to remember what had happened. There came a look of great alarm upon his face, and in husky, deeply anxious tones he said, struggling to rise up:
“Hast seen my saddle bags? Where—where are they? Surely—surely—”
“Here they are, all safe and sound,” John answered, as Ree gently bore the sufferer down on his bed again; and as he felt his property placed in his hands, the wounded Quaker, holding them with all his remaining strength, allowed his eyes to close. Soon he slept and it required no doctor to tell that the crisis had been passed and Theodore Hatch was on the way to health again.
“Have you ever seen what’s inside those saddle bags, Ree?”
John Jerome asked the question when it was certain that Theodore Hatch was sleeping, and the more comfortably because the property to which reference was made was clasped under his arm.
“I took a shirt out of the bags, you know, to make bandages. There was nothing in them that I saw to make him so anxious about them,” Kingdom answered. “Of course I didn’t see anything in them, nor look for anything except something to tie up his wounds with.”
“That man at Fort Pitt thought he had gold in the bags, that he kept them close by him all the time, you remember,” John went on. “Now I don’t think there is any gold in them, but maybe the other half of that letter about those hidden valuables is there; that’s what I’ve been thinking; for don’t you know how at first he would call out for Ichabod Nesbit and ask if he had the letter, and all that? Yes sir, Mr. Hatch will be able to tell all about the paper we found in Nesbit’s snuff box, when he comes to enough and gets strong.”
“You are wrong, John; see if you aren’t. Because if this man has the other part of the letter, and was looking for Nesbit to get the part he had, to put the two together, what was that paper that Duff and Dexter had at the Eagle tavern? Then, too, Duff and Dexter were just such rough fellows as Nesbit and might have been associated with him. But you can’t imagine this respectable Quaker and Nesbit having anything to do with one another, can you?”
Still John would not give in to Ree’s way of thinking, and as the argument was delaying their work when there was much to be done, the talk was discontinued.
The short afternoon came to a close before the boys were fully prepared for evening. Their goods were all unpacked and carried into the cabin, where they lay in confusion. A great pile of dry wood had been carried in, and fresh, dry leaves gathered for beds, but no provision had been made for shelter or protection for the horses, and there were numerous spots in which the cabin walls needed re-chinking to keep out the wind; the hot summer sun having baked the mud so dry that in places it had fallen away from between the logs.
Without a word, when their supper was over, Kingdom, taking a large blanket, hung it before the fire in such a way that the cabin was made quite entirely dark.
“What’s that for?” demanded John.
“You’ll see. Now I’m going out, and you close the door after me. With the blanket before the fire, any one who might be watching will need to look pretty close to see the door opened and closed. And I’m going to stay outside all night, keeping in the shadow where I won’t be seen, and watch the horses and at the same time watch for that slippery Redskin. If I can capture him, I’m going to do it.”
John started to answer, protesting that Ree must not take the whole night of guard duty upon himself; but his chum interrupted him:
“We must appear to have gone to bed and be sound asleep, so let the fire die down early. One of us must be inside to watch Mr. Hatch, anyway, and you must do that. When my eyes get used to the darkness I can see all around the clearing, and all I’ll want of you is that you be ready if I call you. If we are going to be spied upon, we want to know it from the start.”
Saying no more, Kingdom slipped out of the darkened cabin and to the darkest side of the building.
Quickly John closed the door, and drew the blanket from in front of the fireplace. He saw the wisdom of Ree’s plan clearly, and was ready to do his part. Hard as it was to remain awake when he had planned on a good, sound sleep, as they were carrying in leaves to make soft beds, he resolved not to close his eyes. He fixed a snug place in the chimney corner for the dog, Ring, and then, as the stranger was resting comfortably, to all appearances, he found a seat on a deerskin on the floor, and with his back against another, spread over a chest, settled himself to wait and listen.
As the wind moaned dismally about the cabin and the swish and tinkle of the water of the river below came to his ears, he thought of Ree outside in the cold, and remembered how ever ready his chum was to take upon himself their greatest burdens. Then he recalled the necessity of their being ever keenly watchful, and admiring Ree the more, as he thought of their danger, told himself again that he must not shut his eyes. Almost at the same moment his chin dropped upon his chest, and, completely worn out, he succumbed to the pleasant warmth, to which he had not lately been accustomed, and fell sound asleep.
By no means afraid, for he was almost fearless, but considerably worried by the antics of the Indian, who seemed able to appear and disappear in a most startling and mysterious manner, whenever he chose to do so, Kingdom stationed himself in the shadows close to the cabin wall, and vigilantly watched in all directions. He was protected from the wind, but the night air was cold and raw, and for want of exercise he became quite chilled.
From all sides came at intervals the discordant howls and screams of the beasts of the forest. The melancholy dirges of the wind among the trees added to the general gloom. Still Kingdom courageously remained at his post, though as the hours dragged by, and even the horses, grazing a few yards from the cabin door, were undisturbed, he felt that his labor was lost.
Remembering, however, that the whole object of his having undertaken this plan of vigilance was to find out whether Indians or other foes were spying upon himself and John, and knowing that unless he watched all night he would not know positively whether prowlers had been about, the lad straightened himself up and with renewed determination put behind him a great temptation to go in and lie down, and turn Ring out to keep guard until morning. Still he saw no sign of any known or unknown enemy and his interest in his self-imposed task was beginning to wane again, when a sound of footfalls in the leaves at the edge of the forest, to the left of the cabin, came to him.
Grasping his rifle closer, Ree strained both ears and eyes to detect the coming of—he was sure it could be no one else than the Indian who had been following upon their trail. In another second there came out of the woods two figures, carrying a canoe between them.
Ree could not at once make out whether they were Indians or white men in rough frontier dress. Their burden seemed heavy, and as they came nearer, heading toward a low place in the bank beside the river, he observed that the canoe was well filled, which accounted for its seeming to weigh a great deal. At the same time he discovered that the two men were Indians. What were they doing? Why were they traveling by night, in this manner?
Unseen by the Redskins, Ree watched them narrowly. They had approached to within one hundred yards of him to reach the river just at the foot of the steep slope leading down from the cabin, and so avoid going around a growth of bushes upon the bank, to get to the water.
Even in the dim moonlight the white boy saw them clearly. Suddenly as a lightning flash, he realized what the savages were doing. He recognized the canoe they carried. It was his own and John’s—the one which, with other property that they had been unable to take with them, they had hidden in a great hollow log a quarter of a mile away, when leaving the cabin to hurry to Connecticut.
It was more than probable that these two Indians had found the canoe some time before and had planned to steal it. Their discovery that the two boys had returned and would soon regain possession of the craft and their other belongings prompted the Redskins to make haste to carry the canoe and goods away before this should happen.
Sure that he was correct in thus reasoning, but desirous of making no hard feelings with the Indians over the matter, Ree adopted a novel plan. As the savages set their burden down preparatory to the launching of the canoe, the boy walked quickly toward them.
“How do, friends,” he called. “It’s real kind of you to bring us our canoe so soon.”
Never were two savages so completely taken by surprise, or more at a loss to know what to do or say. There was such kindness in Kingdom’s tones that they were not sure whether his remark was meant to be sarcastic or not.
One of the Indians made a leap as though he would run away. The other, with the savage “Ugh!” uttered in a tone so ridiculously crestfallen that Kingdom could hardly suppress a laugh, stood still.
Walking quickly up to the Redskin, Kingdom gave him a hearty handshake, seeing which the other Indian approached, somewhat after the manner of a small boy who fears punishment, and also shook hands.
Ree would have liked to talk with the Indians and learn the general situation as to the progress of hostilities in the northwest and the state of affairs along the frontier, but they were too chagrined to remain. The two agreed, however, to return at some future time for presents Kingdom promised them in return for their having carried the canoe and its heavy load to the cabin.
He recognized them, just before they were leaving, as Beaver Hair and Long Arrow, Mingoes who had called at the cabin once or twice the previous winter, and was anxious to make friends of them. This he undoubtedly succeeded in doing, for the savages knew that had he been disposed to open fire upon them he could probably have killed them both; and in their eyes he would have been justified in doing so, having caught them in the act of stealing.
Long afterward it developed that Beaver Hair and Long Arrow were, as was true of most Indians, honest; but they had obtained fire water of a trader near where the Cuyahoga empties into Lake Erie, and were not in their right senses when, as they were paddling up the river, they discovered that the boy traders had just returned to the cabin, and they, having long ago discovered where the canoe was hidden, concealed themselves to await a favorable time for carrying the property off.
That they were caught in the act they attributed to two things, the anger of the Great Spirit and the keen scent of Kingdom, whom from that night they called “White Fox”; for they believed that it was some powerful sense of smell possessed by Ree which had awakened him and resulted in their being discovered.
Kingdom watched the two Indians as they disappeared down the river, and as he walked up the slope to the cabin, looking carefully for any other visitors, he saw the gray light of another day upon the eastern horizon. Still he loitered in the darker shadows, but when it was well-nigh daylight, and all continued quiet, he quietly entered the cabin, thinking to get some rest.
Fast asleep, just as he had settled himself down to wait and watch, his back against a skin-covered chest, Ree found John, and smiled as he immediately guessed that his chum had set out to remain awake all night, and resolved to have some fun. Thin ice had formed on a shallow puddle of water at the foot of the hill, and securing a small piece Ree placed it on John’s bare head. For a few seconds the sleeper did not stir, but just as the cold was penetrating to the scalp and John moved uneasily, Ree spoke in deep, unnatural tones:
“Injun get scalp heap quick! Heap nice scalp!”
With a yell, John leaped to his feet, his hands flying to his head only to encounter his wet hair.
Ree had leaped into a corner where he was not immediately seen, while John, his senses not yet collected, but bewildered and really alarmed, seized his rifle and sprang to a loop hole. In another moment, however, he heard his friend’s laughter. Then he guessed what had happened; but he did not look around. Still staring out of the loop hole, he said in the most ordinary tone:
“Looks as though it would be a nice day, Ree.”
“It was quite a chilly night,” Kingdom answered in the same manner, stirring the coals of the fire, and getting down on his knees to blow them.
And not once that day was the joke referred to. Afterward John said that the first impression he had as he felt the ice on his head was that his hair was on fire.
John was much surprised but equally pleased as he learned of Ree’s adventure of the night, and could not wait until after breakfast to run down to the foot of the slope to inspect the canoe. He found that it was only a little warped by reason of having been out of the water all summer, and the kettle and other articles they had left with it, were also in good condition.
Awakened from his long sleep at last, but still keeping his precious saddle bags under one arm, Theodore Hatch was telling Ree that he felt much improved, as John returned to the cabin.
Indeed, the mysterious stranger was looking vastly better than at any time yet, and when breakfast was ready, ate quite heartily, propped up on the rude bed he occupied. He inquired about his mare, Phœbe, before he asked anything else, and that led to the telling of the whole story of how he had been found and cared for by the boys. With much feeling the Quaker expressed his gratitude.
“I was traveling into the wilderness unarmed,” he said. “I am a man of peace, as are all those of our faith. I have met hostile Indians at different times, but when they saw who and what I was, they made no movement toward molesting me. I cannot understand why I was attacked, but it must have been because of the failing light, and my assailant, whoever he was, may not have seen rightly. It was just at evening as I prepared to spend the night beside a little thicket. I saw no one, but heard a shot and fell with the wound in my side. I was still conscious as a young Indian ran up to me and beat me on the head with his hatchet. Then I knew no more.”
As he spoke, Theodore Hatch put up his hand to feel his injured head. A look of horror and mental anguish came to his face.
“Was I scalped?” he gasped.
John was almost ready to laugh over the Quaker’s despairing tone, but kept a straight face, and Ree in answer to the question soberly nodded.
“The poor, deluded sinner,” groaned the stranger. “I have forgiven mine enemies always—always. I must—I will—aye, I do, truly forgive him. He did not know I was a man of peace. Oh, why did I come into these forests?”
“Well, why did you, sir?” asked John Jerome, quite respectfully, but brimming over with curiosity, as he remembered the Quaker’s embarrassment when the name of Ichabod Nesbit had been mentioned at Pittsburg. He turned around on his three-legged stool and looked the older man squarely in the face as he asked the question, but Ree to hide his embarrassment rose and looked out of a loop hole.
The stranger made no answer, but giving Jerome a startled, searching look, seemed to hug the saddle bags under his arm the closer.
“I think Mr. Hatch better not talk any more now,” said Return Kingdom, quickly looking around and noticing the Quaker’s flushed, excited manner. “You must be careful, you are still so weak,” the boy continued, adjusting the straw-filled bolster for the man to lie down again.
“I didn’t mean any harm by my question,” John spoke up, quietly.
“Thou didst no harm, young friend, but almost frightened me,” the stranger answered.
So the incident passed leaving the boys more curious than ever to know the history and true identity of Theodore Hatch. Ree would not confess that he was especially anxious to learn these things, because his fear of wounding the man’s feelings would not permit him to question the stranger; but John openly vowed that he meant to find out just who and what the stranger was, and would do so sooner or later. And in time the boys did ascertain all they could have wished to know, but in ways quite unexpected.
“There’s a lot of work to be done, building a horse shed and all,” said Ree, when the two friends were outside the cabin after the talk with Theodore Hatch, “but in spite of that, one of us should go back along the trail and bury the bones of Ichabod Nesbit. I’m afraid that some day our Quaker will ask to be taken to the place, and he would not think very well of us if he found things just as they were left.”
John fell in with this suggestion heartily, but it was agreed that there would be time to perform the task spoken of, two or three days later, and meanwhile some inkling of the whereabouts of the lone Indian might be obtained. Thus it was that after some discussion it was decided that Ree should go that very day to the village of the Delawares on the lake a few miles away, to learn all he could of this particular savage and the disposition of the Indians in general, while at the same time he showed the people of Captain Pipe, the Delaware chieftain, that the lads desired to renew their friendly relations with them. John would remain with the stranger to care for him and guard the cabin, giving his work the while to cutting small logs with which to build a barn.
Taking some presents for the Delawares, Ree set out at about nine o’clock, promising to be home by dark. John shouldered his axe and went to work. It had been Ree’s first plan to make his trip on horseback, but resolving that it would be safer to slip through the woods very quietly until he found out just what the situation with reference to the Indians was, he traveled on foot, and soon found himself upon the familiar portage trail leading from the Cuyahoga river to the headwaters of the Tuscarawas.
Ree knew the way perfectly, for he had traveled the route several times the previous winter. He felt no harm for his safety, but kept his eyes wide open and pushed forward among the great oaks and beech trees stealthily and rapidly. He saw no Indians but once or twice when splendid shots of game might have been made, he ignored them for safety’s sake. Leaving the beaten trail after an hour’s traveling, he made directly through the woods to the lake. Without seeing any human creature he approached the Indian town.
An air of loneliness hung over the place. Instead of smoke rising from two score or more of fires, in and among the rude log and bark houses and wigwams, the few columns of blue vapor which ascended seemed to show that the village was almost deserted.
This was true. No one remained in the usually lively home of Captain Pipe save a number of children and old men and squaws.
“How—ugh!” grunted an old warrior, smoking his pipe in a sunny place. He recognized Ree at once and held out his hand.
In a few minutes a half dozen aged men of the tribe had gathered around and all gave the young trader welcome. They could speak little English and though Ree knew some Delaware words their efforts at conversation were so poorly rewarded that one of the Indians went to call an interpreter.
To Ree’s surprise and pleasure the person summoned was Gentle Maiden, the daughter of Captain Pipe, a young woman thoroughly deserving of the pretty name the Moravian missionaries had bestowed upon her. From them she had learned the language of the “Long-knives” and with her Kingdom could communicate readily.
Gentle Maiden had no hesitancy in answering questions. She said her father and his warriors were still in the northwest country and might be absent all winter. Even lately runners had been in the neighborhood to call all able-bodied men to join the braves who had first gone forth for the expected fighting, and no Indians remained in the vicinity save those who were too old to go to war, and some of the women and children.
“And Big Buffalo?” asked Ree, referring to the Redskin who had given himself and John so much trouble and from whom he had made his escape in the nick of time after the attack upon their cabin.
“Big Buffalo is with the rest,” said Gentle Maiden.
“There is an Indian—not a Delaware, I think—but one who roams the forests alone and is not a friend of the Palefaces. What of him? He is still about here?”
“He is not of my father’s people,” was the Indian girl’s answer.
“You know who he is?”
“There are many wanderers in the forests; many of our race have been driven, even like yonder leaves in the wind, before the coming of the Long-knives.”
The answer puzzled Kingdom. It was apparent that the Indian girl wished not to tell what she knew of the mysterious Redskin, and that her sympathy was with him, though she declared herself still friendly to the young traders who had bought land of her father a year earlier.
With genuine Indian hospitality the Indians brought food for Ree, but he noticed that it was of inferior quality and not so generous in quantity as usual—only a handful of parched corn. He ate, however, to show his friendliness, and after a time, leaving his gifts, a string of glass beads and a large pocket knife, with the Delawares, bade them good-bye.
Reaching home some time before sundown, Ree found that John had passed a quiet, busy day. Under these favorable circumstances, as he was almost completely exhausted by his long hours of watchfulness the night before, this following, too, upon many nights of broken rest, he said that Ring might do guard and both himself and John would turn in early. To this the latter would not listen, however, saying he would remain awake to keep an eye on the horses lest some wild beast attack them, if nothing more. He could remain in the cabin and do this, peering frequently through a loop hole, he said.
This, their second night in the cabin, passed quietly. Once toward morning Phœbe, the Quaker’s mare, snorted and trembled violently, but John saw or heard no cause for alarm, though the horse’s action undoubtedly indicated that the lone Indian was somewhere near.
Agreeing that this was almost certainly the case, the boys were especially watchful as they were about their work next day and for many days afterward. No night passed, either, until their lean-to stable was completed, but that one of the young men stood guard, much to the alarm of Theodore Hatch, who feared an attack upon the cabin at any time.
This thought did not worry either Ree or John. The tactics of their solitary foe, they were now certain, were not to fight in the open, but to shoot from some safe distance; and he had shown such fear for his own safety by always disappearing immediately after he had fired a shot, that both lads held him more or less in contempt. Still, they realized the constant danger the Redskin placed them in, and though they had not made an open agreement to that effect, each boy knew that he wanted only the proper opportunity to shoot the Indian dead.
How differently they felt afterward, at least for a time, had no bearing on their plans at this time. They only knew that it was a case of kill or be killed.
The days passed rapidly. There was so much to do that it seemed that deep snows might make hunting a difficult task rather than a pleasure, before they could get to it. No sooner was the barn built than the corn, or all that remained of it, had to be gathered and stored away—the fodder stacked against the stable, the ears hung over the rafters of the cabin,—and the few scattered potatoes which remained, harvested. Of the latter there was scarcely more than enough for seed for the following spring, and to supplement their store of food in addition to the meat they might always have, nuts were gathered—beech nuts, chestnuts, hickory nuts and butternuts.
When all this had been done there was grass to be stored away for the horses. It scarcely deserved the name of hay—the long grass which grew in open spots along the valley; but quite a large stack of it was laboriously harvested with no tools other than a scythe and home-made rake.
Thus more than two weeks passed, and Theodore Hatch, as much a mystery as ever, was becoming strong enough to dress himself and walk about for a few minutes at a time, when Ree again reminded John of the necessity of their giving the bones of Ichabod Nesbit a decent interment. The result was that John proposed to go himself, on horseback, the following day, and perform the task referred to.
So it was agreed, and allowing the Quaker to rest under the impression that he was going back along their trail only to bring up the old cart, which for more than a year had stood exposed to the weather in the ravine where it had been left, John started off at daylight on a clear, frosty morning. The fine air and the beautiful, peaceful quiet of the woods, broken only by the occasional call of wild turkeys or the chattering of squirrels and other small animals, put the younger of the boy pioneers in a most happy frame of mind.
Neb, having done little work for more than a fortnight, was also in high spirits and needed no urging to trot or gallop wherever the forest was sufficiently open to permit it. Good progress being made, therefore, horse and rider reached and crossed the gully where the abandoned cart stood, by the middle of the forenoon. Proceeding more slowly then, for the trail was becoming more difficult for traveling, they approached the spot they sought.
“I don’t mind the ride at all, but I shan’t enjoy playing sexton, I know,” John was saying to himself, as he dismounted to lead Neb down the hill sloping to the brook beside which Ichabod Nesbit’s bones lay, and casting about for a suitable place to tie the horse.
“Hark!”
John spoke beneath his breath, and his heart beat fast. Angry voices came to his ear, and they were not far away.
Slipping the bridle rein over a branch, the lad went cautiously forward, keeping behind the thicket which skirted the stream.
Again the voices were heard. Undoubtedly they were those of white men engaged in violent argument.
“’Twas the Quaker, blast him!” one coarse voice exclaimed. “And you, you Indian dog, said not a word about him till now! Why didn’t you tell us you had told him where you killed the man?”
Scarcely was this sentence spoken when John reached a point not more than fifty feet from the source of the angry contention where he could see, but, hidden by the thick brush, escaped being seen.
There stood Duff and Dexter, the men he and Ree had met at the Eagle tavern, and also Hank Quilling, the proprietor of that disreputable establishment. With them was an Indian,—and—could it be possible that he was associating with such rogues?—John almost whistled for amazement. The Redskin was his old friend, Black Eagle.
Duff was speaking. His rage was terrible as he pointed his finger menacingly at the Indian and cried out, as the Mohawk stood haughtily erect, his arms folded upon his chest, though his eyes flashed.
“Blast your red hide! I could—by the Eternal, Iwill—kill you!”
With a tremendous oath, the white man raised his rifle and quick as flash discharged it, the muzzle almost touching Black Eagle’s body.
It was all over in an instant. The bullet sped to the Indian’s heart; the poor fellow fell senseless, dying at his slayer’s feet.
“Lord, man! Would you bring a whole tribe of warriors down on us! An’ us away off here—”
It was the proprietor of the Eagle tavern who was speaking now, gasping the words chokingly, frightened and dazed by the brutal murder committed.
Before he could say more, John Jerome sprang among them. So quickly and noiselessly had he emerged from the brush that he was not seen till his angry voice came shrill and harsh:
“You fiends! You fiends! Oh, I hope I’ll see you hanged for this! What does it mean! Shooting Black Eagle down like a wolf—or—or a beast! And he was more a decent man than all three of you!”
With a curse upon the boy, Duff sprang forward and bore him down. Together they fell heavily, the murderer foaming at the mouth like a mad dog, in the violence of his rage, his evil, disfigured face almost black and horrible to behold, while his companions stood aghast.
“Don’t get us into no trouble, Duff! You don’t know what yer doin’ when yer blood’s up!” Dexter protested, hurrying to the combatants and trying to draw his villainous companion away, the man and boy rolling over and over in their fierce struggle.
“Make short work of it, Duff, whatever you do! There’s another o’ them boys, an’ he may be here any minute—an’ Injuns, too!” yelled Quilling, the landlord, jumping about in his fear and excitement, and ending with—“Fight it out, dang ye! Ye’ve had a noose round yer neck ’fore now, but nobody kin say I killed the boy!”
And with these words the fellow threw his rifle over his shoulder and ran.
“Won’t do no good to kill him—won’t do no good, Duff,” Dexter kept gasping, still trying to pull his friend away, though his efforts were puny as a child’s.
“Curse you—curse you for two cowardly fools!” Duff yelled, again and again, vainly trying to get his hands on John Jerome’s throat. And then he looked to see whither Quilling had retreated.
The boy, struggling beneath the man’s greater weight, needed no better opportunity. He managed to get one foot quickly free and letting it drive with all his force against his assailant’s middle, sent the fellow rolling upon the ground.
The next second John was upon his feet, his rifle at his shoulder. Dexter was already running to overtake the fleeing landlord, and Duff, picking himself up, looked first at John, then at his runaway friends.
“Boy,” he said, slowly and distinctly, in tones more of deep, deliberate hate than anger, “I was minded to kill you the night you spied on us at that dirty hole of Quilling’s. There are reasons why I am going to let you go again”—
“Yes, here’s one!” snapped the boy, defiantly raising his rifle.
“You impudent —— but I’m not through with you yet.” Duff’s voice was low, though deeply, bitterly threatening. But he was interrupted—
“Now you march!” commanded John Jerome, and his voice was stern and sharp. “I’ll let daylight into that black heart of yours, right here, and now, if you don’t!”
Boldly, not once turning his head to see if the rifle’s muzzle still covered him, Duff strode away; but he called to his companions:
“Run, you blasted idiots! but I miss my guess if I don’t know who’s got something you’d like blasted well to get hold of!”
As the rough fellow disappeared among the trees, John still watching, an Indian, who, unobserved, had seen the killing of Black Eagle, stole away through the bushes and vanished as silently as he had come and as he had watched.
Until Duff was out of view John held his rifle ready for immediate use. As he turned from watching the retreating figure of the wretch, his gaze fell upon the outstretched form of the dead Indian—the staring, lustreless eyes and powder-burned, blood-stained body presenting a horrid sight. Near by the brush and stones were thrown aside and the bones of Ichabod Nesbit were scattered all about.
“I see it all now,” came slowly and solemnly from the boy’s lips. “It is plain as anything ever was! It was the letter they wanted; and to think that those miserable cut-throats made poor Black Eagle come all this distance to show them where Ichabod Nesbit lay, only to shoot him down in such a manner, when they didn’t find it! What was it that Duff was saying, too? Ree will want to know every word: ‘It was the Quaker, blast him!’ that is what he said. ‘And you, you Indian dog, said nothing about him.’ Well! I wonder if Theodore Hatch wasn’t on his way here to find that letter, himself, and if Black Eagle didn’t direct him where to come. Poor Black Eagle! Ichabod Nesbit was the cause of your death at last.”
So communing with himself in thoughts and frequent murmured words, John spent a half hour so deeply buried in his reflections concerning the murder of the unfortunate Indian, the likelihood that the murderer might be brought to the rope’s end as he so richly deserved, and the mystery of the letter describing the buried treasure, that he did not realize how swiftly time was passing.