Boone quickly rallied his startled followers, and when the red men returned the hardy settlers were ready and awaiting their coming
Boone was wildly gesticulating as he drew near, but his gestures were misunderstood by his friends. Before either scout was able to regain the place where the pioneers were hiding, there was anotherwild whoop and a band of Indians larger than that which had been seen the previous day darted from the woods in the rear of the settlers. Before they were able to return the unlooked-for fire, two of their number fell dead from the bullets of their enemies, while three more were wounded.
Like a flash the Indians were gone again. But Boone quickly rallied his startled followers and when the red men returned, as they did within a few minutes, appearing from another section of the forest, the hardy settlers were ready and awaiting their coming.
Once more had the careful preparation of Boone for what he thought was likely to occur saved his followers and himself from peril.
Several of the Indians fell under the deadly fire of the white men, and with loud cries and lamentations the warriors dragged their fallen comrades into the forest and once more disappeared.
"Never have I seen the Indians so savage as in these two attacks," said Boone soberly to Peleg, after guards had been established for the night and the men had stretched themselves on their blankets to obtain such sleep as was possible in the midst of the threatening dangers. "They seem almost beside themselves with rage."
"Do you still plan to go on?"
"I shall go on," said Boone simply. "The waymust be opened for our people to gain some of the advantages of this wonderful region toward which we are moving. The tribes hereabout are a strange people. I have never known Indians more hospitable than are the Cherokees and Shawnees. If one brave enters the wigwam of another, even if it be that of a stranger, he is deeply offended if he is not given an invitation to eat, though he may just have had a meal at his own wigwam. Nor is it sufficient on these occasions that the ordinary food be offered him. You know the Indians live mostly on venison and hominy, but when a visitor comes, sugar, bear's oil, honey, and rum, if they have it, are to be set before him."
"Suppose they do not have anything in the house to eat?"
"Then the fact is stated quietly. It is at once accepted as sufficient. I was in a wigwam not long ago where the visitor thought the host was not as hospitable as he ought to be and he took him severely to task. He said: 'You have behaved just like a Dutchman. I shall excuse you this time, for you are young, and have been brought up close to the white people, but you must remember to behave like a warrior and never be caught in suchlittleactions. Great actions alone can ever make a great man.' They are a strange people," added Boone thoughtfully. "I saw awhite man some time ago trying to help in carrying some game which the warriors had shot. I shall never forget how the Indians laughed when, after the squaws and the boys had started to bring back the meat, this white man took a large piece of buffalo meat on his own back. After he had gone two or three miles he found it was becoming too heavy for him and he threw it down. Then I saw one of the squaws, laughing as if it was a huge joke, take the meat which the white man had dropped and put it on her own pack, which already was as large as that of the man, and carry the double burden back to camp."
"They are not as swift as our men, though," suggested Peleg.
"Not for a short distance," assented Boone, "but they can keep up a pace for an almost incredible length of time. I have known Indians who could run twelve or fourteen hours without a morsel of food, and then, after a light meal and a short rest, start again and go as far as they had before they stopped."
"They never do that in fighting, though."
"No, they may keep up a warfare for many years, but they never make a prolonged attack. They like a sudden dash such as they made upon us and in which those poor fellows were killed. Peleg, I fear the morrow. The Shawnees that are watchingus see our axes, and they are sure now that we are trying to enter their hunting grounds and take away their lands. We shall have serious trouble, I fear."
And the following day Boone's fears were confirmed.
There was no open attack by the Indians such as had been made previously, though the yells of the warriors were frequently heard in the distance. It was plain that they were striving to terrorize the hardy settlers and make them turn back on their way.
One of the men who had been stationed as a guard was shot early in the morning and his mutilated body was not found until Daniel Boone, making a tour of the camp, discovered what had befallen his companion.
Returning to the camp, Boone summoned his men, and as soon as they were assembled, said to them: "We must stop our work on the road for a time and build a fort."
There was an expression of consternation on the faces of some of his comrades as they heard this quiet statement from the scout, and, aware of what was in their minds, though no one spoke, Daniel Boone continued; "It will not require many days. I think a fortnight will be sufficient for us to buildsuch a fort as will protect us. We are now almost as far on our way as we wish to go. We will begin the work at once."
Whatever disappointment or fears may have been in the minds of his companions, no one made any open protest, and the task immediately was begun. Certain of the men were assigned to the felling of trees, others dug trenches and set the logs in the stockade, which was erected first.
When the stockade had been completed, various cabins were built wherein the men might live if they were compelled to seek the refuge of the fort.
The defences were erected near a spring of water that promised to be never-failing. Nearby was the river, so close to the fort as to enable the defenders to escape if flight became necessary. And yet the fort was sufficiently far from the banks to prevent an approach by their enemies without being discovered.
So steadily did the men labour that Boone's prophecy was fulfilled, and when fourteen days had elapsed the little fort was declared to be ready for occupancy. The stockade was strong and had been made of the stakes fashioned from the trees. One end of each log was sharpened and then all were driven into the ground side by side; portholes being provided at frequent intervals.
A feeling of intense relief came to the hardlybeset men when the work was completed. The supreme thought, however, in the mind of the leader, was voiced when he explained to Peleg the following day: "It is now April, and I must go back to the settlement on the Clinch for my family."
"Alone?" inquired Peleg quickly.
"Yes, alone. I must not take one man away from the party here, and I shall be doubly anxious for you all while I am gone; but the time has come when I may think of my family and myself. In this wonderful land I, too, would make my home."
"But will you dare to come back with your family with only you and Israel to protect them?"
Boone's face lighted up with the rare smile which occasionally appeared upon it as he said: "There will be others, many others, I hope, who will join us on our way."
"I never knew the Indians to be so savage as they are now," suggested Peleg anxiously.
"That is true," said Boone, "and one cannot altogether blame them. They seem to be well-nigh mad in their hatred of us because we have begun to build our homes in the land which they planned to keep as their own. If it were not for their fear of the 'Long Knives,' as they term us, I fancy they would make a desperate assault very soon. As it is, however, they have a wholesome feeling of fear mingled with their anger, and although youwill have to be continually on your guard, I do not believe they will venture to attack the fort while I am gone."
Peleg made no reply, and the scout, acting as if the last word had been spoken, soon after set forth on his long journey to the Clinch.
During the absence of their leader the men continued their labours, felling the trees and clearing the land, until in the immediate vicinity of the fort sufficient ground had been made tillable to enable them to plant the few seeds which Boone had insisted should be brought with them.
The days now were warm, and the delights of the marvellous climate were appreciated by all the men.
The only event of special interest that occurred during the absence of the scout was the coming of Sam Oliver. As unconcerned as if he had long been a member of the company and had earned his thirty-three cents per day for his labours, the hunter entered the fort one night and composedly received the warm greetings which were given him. It was well known that the newcomer was a famous shot, and the coming of even one man strengthened the little garrison not a little.
The general line of the defence of the fort was at once mapped out by Sam, who without a word assumed the position of leader. It was he who arranged the details and the nightly guards whichwere maintained, and it was his word which decided any dispute that arose among the men.
One day Peleg was on guard in the adjacent forest. His watch was almost ended and he was about to return to the fort, when he was startled to behold an Indian approaching with the palms of both hands extended.
Holding Singing Susan in readiness for instant use, and glancing keenly about him into the adjacent forest to make sure that his visitor was unaccompanied, Peleg waited patiently for the stranger to approach.
As the warrior drew near Peleg looked at him with increasing astonishment. Dressed in the Indian garb, the warrior, who seemed to be only about twenty years of age, nevertheless had no features like those of the neighbouring tribes. Tanned, the stranger undoubtedly was, but nevertheless his skin did not have the bronze colouring of the Indian. His figure and even his walk were more like the white man's. And yet in every other point the stranger apparently was of the Indian race.
As he drew near Peleg, his face was lighted by a smile as he said, "Me broder. Me white Shawnee."
Peleg did not respond, although his astonishment was increased by the speech of the approaching warrior.
"Me wan' go home. No fader. Me Shawneefader. Me wan' white fader. White moder dead. White fader dead. No Shawnee fader some more."
The puzzling statements were followed by some words unintelligible to Peleg, though he concluded that they were spoken in the Shawnee tongue.
"Do you want to see Daniel Boone?" he inquired.
Gesticulating forcefully, the young man inquired, "He me fader?"
"No."
"White fader dead. White moder dead. Shawnee warriors kill me fader. Kill moder. Many moons ago."
"How many?"
A puzzled expression for a moment appeared on the stranger's face, and then, comprehending the meaning of the question, he opened and closed his hands so many times that, although Peleg was unable to count the number of moons indicated, he concluded that the Shawnee was approximately of his own age.
"Me live in Shawnee wigwam many moons. Me Shawnee. Me white Shawnee. Me have Shawnee fader and Shawnee broder," and he held up two fingers to indicate the number of his brothers.
One of the men who had been stationed as a guard was shot early in the morning
"What are you doing here? What do you want?" demanded Peleg sharply. He was mystified by the statements which had been made and wasfearful of some trap or treachery on the part of his visitor or his companions, who might even then be watching from the nearby forest.
"Me fader, me broder, me go," the visitor replied, pointing to himself. "All go trap many beaver, many mink, many muskrat," he added, making a circle with his hand to indicate his inability to count the pelts which had been taken. "Me broder he wan' go on warpath. He wan' help drive palefaces out Kantuckee. Me fader he say he go," nodding his head many times to emphasize his statement. "But one night many owls scream and cry. He say then no go. Me broder he say go. Me fader say yes."
"Where are they now?"
The young stranger gazed earnestly into the face of his questioner, and at last, apparently comprehending his question, turned and waved his hand toward the forest to indicate that the men to whom he had referred were far away.
"Why are you here? Why do you not go with them?"
"Me wan' see white faces some more. Me wan' find white broder. Me white Shawnee, where go? Must see paleface wigwam."
For a moment Peleg was silent as he gazed earnestly into the face of the young man who had so strongly impressed him. He was convincedthat he was indeed white, and he concluded that he must have been adopted by the Indians many years ago. As a consequence of his association with the Shawnees, doubtless he had almost forgotten the language of his own people.
In his statement words unknown to Peleg were spoken, but he had understood enough to convince him that either the white Shawnee was speaking the truth, or else was trying to set some trap into which the defenders of the fort might be drawn.
"Come with me," said the young scout finally. As they turned toward the fort they met Sam Oliver, who stopped and gazed in surprise at Peleg's companion, and laughed scornfully when he heard the story of the stranger.
"You say you and your Shawnee father and brother buried the canoe in which you came down the river?" demanded the hunter brutally as he turned upon the visitor.
"Bury canoe."
"Then you take us straight to the place where it is. I know well enough you are trying to play some sneaking game on us, and if you are, you will be the first one to suffer for it. If you try to lead us into any trap, no matter what happens to us, I will put a bullet into you."
"No go," pleaded the young warrior.
"You must go!" retorted Sam Oliver harshly.
Peleg sympathized with the stranger. He understood, he thought, the desire of the returning white man to shield his foster-father and brother. The young hunter was now convinced that his visitor had spoken truthfully.
"Sam," he ventured to suggest, "this young brave was stolen when he was a little child, and he has lived with his Shawnee father ever since. He doesn't want to betray him. You cannot blame him for that, can you?"
"There is only one way to deal with the varmints!" retorted Sam hotly. "You might just as well try to make a pet out of a nest of rattlesnakes as to try to be friends with an Indian. No, sir! This—whatever he is, white man, or red man—he must prove what he has said, and the only way for him to do it is to take us to the place where he pretends that canoe is buried in the ground."
The brutal manner of the hunter apparently had made a deep impression upon the stranger. With manifest reluctance he finally consented to conduct the party to the place where the canoe was buried. It was well known among the settlers that the Indians, after their voyages on the river, buried their light canoes to prevent them from being warped by sun and rain.
"You go where owl cry. Owl scream, me fader—iron——" The stranger stopped as ifhe was unable to recollect the word he wished to use, making motions with his hands to describe what he wished to say.
Peleg suggested, "Was it an iron kettle?"
A vigorous nod from the stranger indicated that was the word he was trying to recall, and he continued, "Me fader hide iron kettle in hole in tree. Me show you."
"You wait here," ordered Sam, "while I get two or three more men and we will soon look up that kettle."
Peleg suspected that the white Shawnee, in order to delay the quest of the hidden canoe and thereby give his foster-father and brother an opportunity to escape from the region, had suggested a visit to the tree where the cry of the owl had alarmed his father.
In a brief time, however, Sam and his companions returned, and the hunter roughly ordered the stranger to lead the way.
While Sam Oliver had been gone to the fort to secure a few of his comrades to accompany him, the young Indian, or white, or white Indian—Peleg was uncertain to which class his visitor really belonged—entered with apparent confidence into conversation with the young scout. In his broken English he related many things concerning the life which he had lived in the wigwam of his foster father.
Peleg was impressed by the increasing facility with which the white Shawnee, as the young brave preferred to call himself, was using the language of the whites.
It may have been that the words he now heard recalled to his mind expressions which had almost faded from his memory. At all events he talked more freely and with an increasing ability to express himself.
"Me fader hear owl cry. He know from strange cry that some die or be pris'ner. He old man. He 'fraid. He say go back up river. Me broder hesay no. Me say no. Me fader still 'fraid, but he keep him promise."
"What was his promise?" inquired Peleg.
"He say he take us on warpath to help keep palefaces from going into Kantuckee. He no wan' go, but he say he go. We all lie down sleep. Pretty quick me fader wake up. Me fader wake me broder. Wake me, too."
"What was the trouble?" asked Peleg.
"Me fader have sleep and see——"
"What do you mean, he had a dream?"
"That so," replied the visitor, nodding his head. "Me fader have dream."
"What did he dream?"
"He say we go to Kantuckee, we die. Me fader cry. He no wan' go on warpath."
"But you came," suggested Peleg.
His visitor nodded and continued: "Me fader say he keep him promise. But he say more. He say we go back to wigwam. Go quick. He good man. Heap good man. He keep him promise. Me broder say me fader mus' keep him promise now."
"So you came?"
"We go on warpath. Me fader say he go quick. No stay any more where we sleep."
"So you started right away, did you?"
"We go on warpath all night. When light come we turn to place where white man build fort."
"Are there many Shawnees here?"
The young visitor, nodding, said: "Pretty quick, heap Shawnee come."
He held up three and then four fingers to express the idea that the Indian bands were advancing in parties of three or more, and at some prearranged place or by some well-known signals the scattered little parties would be brought together and one large band formed.
The information was startling to the young scout and seemed to him to be altogether probable. It was in accordance with the well-known methods of Indian fighting, and agreed with experiences which the young hunter already had had.
He deeply regretted the absence of the great leader. The gentleness and firmness, the courage and resource of Daniel Boone would be greatly needed if the Shawnees attacked the little fort. Boone, however, was not near and his help could not be relied upon.
Meanwhile Peleg was awaiting the return of Sam Oliver. He was well aware of the excellent qualities which the hunter possessed, and he was familiar also with the intense bitterness with which Sam looked upon the Indians. For him they possessed no good qualities. They were simply enemies of the whites and to be exterminated like the rattlesnake and the panther. Herecognized no feeling of patriotism on their part, and, because the method of their warfare was cruel, he judged their motives accordingly.
"Me no wan' go where canoe is," said the young brave earnestly. "Me love Shawnee fader. Me no betray him. Him good man. Me fader kind to me. No wan' him lose scalp."
"It is too bad," acknowledged Peleg. He was distressed by the fear that Sam Oliver and his companions would have little mercy upon the Indian father to whom they were compelling the young man to conduct them. In his heart there was a desire to help the young stranger who had felt the call of his own people so strongly that he had even deserted the family which had cared for him since his early childhood.
Peleg's thoughts were interrupted by the return of the hunter and four of his comrades. It was evident that all five were suspicious of treachery, and also that they were determined to put the strange visitor's words to the test.
"Now, then!" ordered Sam, as he turned sharply upon the white Shawnee. "You take us straight to that place where you say your canoe was hid."
Apparently unmoved by the brutal demand, the young visitor answered, "Me no wan' you hurt me fader. Him good fader. Him take care me."
"Why didn't you stay with him then?" laughed Sam.
"Me wan' see white fader's people, too. Me wan' find white moder's people," said the visitor simply.
"You will have time enough to look them up after we have found out whether you are telling us the truth or not," declared Sam. "I have my suspicions that you are trying to get us into some trap, and as I told you before, if you are I shall fill you full of lead the first thing. If I find you are trying to trap us, you cannot complain if I do just what I tell you I shall do."
"Me no wan' go," repeated the young man.
"You are going whether you want to go or not," retorted Sam Oliver brutally. "Are you coming with us, Peleg?" he inquired, turning to the young scout.
"I am," said Peleg quietly. He had made his decision instantly in his desire to protect or help the young visitor, whose suffering in the prospect of being compelled to betray his father had deeply stirred the heart of the young hunter. Aware that there was no escape from the demand, the white Shawnee turned and led the way into the forest.
The men who were following him were continually alert, suspicious as they were of thetreachery of their guide, and fearful of the presence of other Shawnees in the forest through which they were moving.
The confidence of Sam Oliver, who followed close upon the heels of the stranger, in a measure strengthened the courage of his followers.
Peleg, who was next behind the leader, was as observant of the hunter as he was of the signs in the woods. He was convinced, too, that the young stranger was using time either to delay his followers or to give them an opportunity to abandon their demand for him to be false to the foster-father who had cared for him since his childhood.
If such thoughts had been in the mind of the young white Shawnee they were not expressed and certainly were not fulfilled. There was no escaping the demands of Sam Oliver and his companions.
At last, when an hour or more had elapsed, the guide stopped and, raising his hand in token of silence, in a low voice explained that they were approaching the tree in which the iron kettle had been concealed.
Instantly the demeanour of the settlers changed and they began to creep forward more stealthily. Every man was alert to discover the presence of the Indian who still might be near the place where the kettle had been hidden.
After a few moments Peleg perceived twoIndians not far before him. Both were seated before a fire cooking some venison. One of the warriors was an old man and his companion not much more than a boy.
The guide discovered the two Indians at the same time that Peleg did and instantly he became greatly agitated. Once more he turned to Sam Oliver and in low tones begged him not to kill the man who had been his foster-father nor the other who had been his foster-brother.
"Sam," whispered Peleg, "it will be better for us just to make prisoners of these two men. I think we ought to do this. The boy plainly has spoken the truth. He did not want to betray his father and his brother, and you and I cannot blame him. Take both the Indians prisoners, but do not fire upon them."
Aware that Sam was somewhat moved by his plea, Peleg repeated his request more urgently and was almost as relieved as the guide when at last Sam reluctantly consented.
In accordance with the directions of the hunter the band scattered to surround the place where the two unsuspecting Indians were cooking their dinner. When all the preliminaries had been completed, Sam Oliver stepped forward and in his loudest tones demanded the surrender of both men. At the same time his companions dartedforward, making a rush upon the unarmed warriors.
To the surprise of every one, the old Indian made a desperate resistance. With an almost incredible quickness the Indian boy dodged his enemies and escaped to the forest. The old man, apparently striving to hold back the attacking party, resisted to the utmost of his strength until in his rage Sam Oliver raised his rifle to his shoulder and shot him.
The recent guide, when he saw his foster-father fall, instantly rushed to the spot where the old man was lying. The aged warrior was bleeding profusely, but he was still conscious. Flinging himself upon the ground beside the prostrate body, with the tears streaming down his cheeks and his voice broken by sobs, again and again the white Shawnee spoke to the aged warrior. Even Sam Oliver was silent as he saw the grief of their guide.
His companions indifferently watched the bereaved boy, but Peleg looked away when he saw the old man raise his hand feebly and place it upon the head of his adopted son. It was a token of his forgiveness, although his few words were not understood by the listening group. The meaning of the act, however, was clear to every one.
Soon the old warrior breathed his last, and as soon as Sam Oliver was aware that the end hadcome his sympathy speedily departed. Turning once more to the guide and ignoring the grief of the boy, he roughly said: "Now take us where that canoe is buried. The other Indian has got away from us, and he will probably make straight for the canoe. You lead us there about as fast as you can travel and we will try to head him off before he can go down the river!"
In broken utterances the young white Shawnee begged the hunter not to enforce this last demand. "Me show where me fader was. Me fader dead. Me no show where broder is. Me wan' broder escape. No go broder! No go broder!" he besought the hunter earnestly.
Sam Oliver, however, was not to be turned from his decision. "You go with us or I shall make you!" he said, and in spite of Peleg's protests he turned the young guide's face to the forest and with many threats compelled him to lead the way.
Two hours elapsed before they came near the place where the canoe had been buried. Creeping cautiously among the trees, the settlers came within rifle shot of the spot, and as they peered keenly about them no one at first was able to discover the presence of the young Indian.
By the direction of Oliver every man remained in his hiding-place waiting for the arrival of the Indian boy, who, Sam was convinced, would sooncome to the place. This expectation was fulfilled, as in about ten minutes the young Indian appeared and started to the sandy shore of the river.
Without hesitation he proceeded to the spot where the canoe had been hidden and, as he began to dig the sand, the hunter ordered his companions to fire upon him. The reports of the five rifles rang out together.
The young Shawnee leaped high into the air and fell dead upon the sand. Doubtless he never knew of the unwilling treachery of his foster-brother by which he and his father had lost their lives.
The grief of the white Shawnee at the death of his foster-brother was pitiful to behold. Even Sam Oliver and his companions, who seldom showed any sympathy for the Indians, were not unmoved by his agonized cries of grief.
In the Shawnee tongue, some words of which all the white men present understood, the young stranger poured forth his sorrows. He called upon the spirits of his foster-father and brother to wait for him in their journey to the happy hunting-grounds. He explained that in no way had his treachery been of his own choosing. In spite of his protest, he explained, he had been compelled to direct the white men to the place where those who were nearest and dearest to him had fallen before their fire.
Several minutes elapsed and no one of the settlers spoke. Then Sam Oliver said sharply: "We have had enough of this! I feel just about as guilty as I do when I shoot a panther cub." Without a further word the hunter stepped to theplace where the body of the young Indian was lying and scalped his victim. Even Peleg, hardened though he was to the scenes that were enacted upon the border, shuddered as he saw his companion perform this act.
At the urgent request of Peleg the white Shawnee was permitted to return with his newly found friend to bury the body of his foster-father, after his brother also had received decent burial at his hands.
When this act, in which Peleg had aided, was completed, the young hunter turned to his heartbroken companion and said, "You must come to the fort with me."
"No go! No go!" wailed the visitor.
"I do not blame you very much," acknowledged Peleg, "but you have no other home, and you might just as well come with me. I am sure you will be treated kindly, and as soon as Daniel Boone comes back you need have no further fears. If you go back to the Shawnees they will think you have betrayed your father and brother. Of course I understand that you did not do anything of the kind."
"Me do! Me false to me fader," interrupted the white Shawnee, his lamentations breaking forth afresh.
"What is your name?" abruptly demanded Peleg.
The reply of his companion sounded to him very like Tontileaugo, but although it was repeated several times Peleg was unable to pronounce it distinctly.
"I might call you Tonti, and I might call you Henry. Which do you like better?"
"No call Tonti."
"Then I will call you Henry. Don't you remember what your name was when you were a white boy?"
"Henry" shook his head, although plainly he was striving to recall the name which belonged to the years that were now dim in his memory.
"You come with me," said Peleg.
Together the two boys returned to the fort. Neither of them spoke until they entered within the stockade, where the men of the settlement were assembled listening to Sam Oliver's dramatic description of the events which had just taken place.
The sight of the hunter seemed to revive the sorrow of Henry, as Peleg henceforth called the young stranger, and bring back recollections of his own, unwilling treachery to the family which had been kind to him since the time of his adoption into the tribe.
However, Peleg did his utmost to shield his friend, to whom his heart went out in strong sympathy.
"What you goin' to do with your friend?" laughed Sam as he spoke to Peleg when the group at last scattered.
"I am going to take care of him," replied Peleg quietly.
"Make a pet of him, are you? The next rattler I find or the next wolf's cub I run across I will bring back to you, lad, and let you make a pet of that, too. The only trouble is that a rattlesnake is kinder at heart than an Indian."
Peleg shook his head but did not reply to this statement of the hunter.
"It is true, what I am tellin' you," continued Sam, as if somehow he was striving to justify himself. "It's got to be extermination. Either you kill the redskins or they will kill you. There isn't room for both in the same land. They are trying to kill us off, and I am not one to sit down quietly and invite them to bring their tomahawks and brain me. If I can get the drop on them before they can get it on me, that's all to my advantage."
"I think Henry feels——" began Peleg.
"Henry? Who's Henry?" broke in Sam Oliver.
"That's the name I have given this boy. He told me what his name was in Shawnee, but I could not quite get it. It sounded like Tontileaugo, and I offered to call him Tonti for short but he didn't like that."
"You will live to regret the day you ever took him in," warned Sam.
"But he is a white boy," persisted Peleg.
"Born white, but raised an Indian. It doesn't make much difference where a man is born. He grows to be like what he sees and is used to. He has been brought up to look at things through Indian eyes and he thinks Indian thoughts. You will find he will play you false before you are done with him."
"I shall have to take my chance as to that," said Peleg. "Daniel Boone has told me to try to do something to help somebody every day. He told me to start out with that in my mind the first thing every morning."
"You are makin' a mistake, lad," said Sam Oliver more quietly.
It was plain to Peleg that the old hunter was convinced that what he said was true, and there had been many experiences along the border to justify him in his conclusion. What Sam Oliver had been unable to comprehend was that, much as the methods of the Indians in their warfare were to be condemned, they still were fighting for the protection of the lands which they believed to be their own.
A few days afterward Daniel Boone and his family arrived with their little caravan, whichincluded two milch cows and several pack-horses. The scout was hilariously greeted by the settlers, and without opposition at once resumed his position as leader of the little community.
Every one that could share in the labour was busily engaged now throughout the long hours of the day. The sound of the axe was continually heard, and the few crops which had been planted were carefully tended, and, what is more, were giving promise of an abounding harvest from the small sowing.
Peleg had related to the great scout the events which had been connected with the coming of Henry to the settlements. The young scout's heart was still sore for his friend, who now had little to say to any one except Peleg. Together the boys toiled in the field or hunted game in the forests; but Henry was never stationed as a guard.
"It is this way, lad," said Boone, after he had heard the entire story. "Sam Oliver means right, but he has no understanding of the feelings of any one else. BecauseIshoot an Indian andheshoots an Indian, he thinks we both act from the same motive. Never yet have I raised my rifle to fire at an Indian without feeling in my heart that perhaps he might be as fully entitled to the land for which he is struggling as I am. I should be glad to share with him. The trouble is he will not share withme. There ought to be room enough here for us both; but, now I am sure, lad, through the actions of the Indians themselves, it must be either white man or red man who will dwell in this wonderful country." As he spoke, Daniel Boone looked around him at the wonderful vision that spread before his eyes. It was a day late in the summer and a slight haze rested over the forests and the fields. The silence which enveloped all things was in itself impressive. The cloudless sky and the colours of the trees below the hill where the scout and his companion were standing combined to impress upon their minds the marvellous beauty of the region. "This is destined to be a great land, lad," Boone said simply. "It is a wonderful thing that you and I should have a little part in opening it up. When I close my eyes, almost I see the homes that will be built here, the men and women who will find resting-places here; even the voices of the little children who will be born two hundred years from now are sounding in my ears." Changing his tone, Boone said: "Have you seen anything in your friend to make you feel suspicious of him?"
"Never!" said Peleg positively. "Have you?"
"No. There are some men in the settlement, however, who are fearful that he may try to betray us when trouble comes."
"He never will," said Peleg positively. "If you had been with me and seen him when Sam Oliver shot his foster-father and brother I am sure you would never suspect Henry of not being true."
"That is my feeling, lad," said Boone gently. "Do all in your power to prevent him from doing anything which might arouse the anger or even the suspicions of our men."
"He never talks to Sam Oliver and very seldom to any one else. He stays with me all through the day, except when I am on guard."
"You are welcome to bring him to our home any time."
"To stay there?" inquired Peleg.
"That is what I mean, lad," replied the great scout, his face lighting up with the occasional smile that appeared upon it. "My wife and daughters feel toward him as I do. Do you know that they were the first white women ever to stand on the banks of the Kantuckee River?"
"I had not thought of that," replied Peleg.
"There are many others coming soon. Already I have received word that Mrs. McGary, Mrs. Hogan, and Mrs. Denton are on their way here."
The arrival soon afterward of more than a score of white men to join the settlers aroused great enthusiasm, because now it was confidently believed that, after so many had passed safely over theroadway which Boone and his companions had opened to the beautiful region, many more would surely follow. These expectations were soon fulfilled.
The continued labours of the whites, however, had increased the intense hostility of the Indians, who naturally believed all these lands belonged to them. When they saw the settlers felling the trees and erecting their houses and planting their crops, a spirit of determination to drive the whites from the region spread among the tribes.
There was just now, however, a lull in the direct warfare. Dusky faces occasionally were seen in the forest, but there was no open attack.
Daniel Boone, however, was not to be deceived. He was confident that it was simply the hush which at times precedes the coming of the tempest. In his own mind he was convinced that the Indians simply were reserving their strength until they could rally a sufficient number to make an attack worth while. And Boone in the midst of all his labours—for he was toiling with the men of the settlement—was forming plans by which he hoped to meet the fierce attacks he expected the Shawnees to make.
Frequent sallies upon the men when they were at work in the fields now began to be made. While they were plowing, the stealthy warriors did their utmost to waylay and shoot them. When theywere hunting they were chased and sometimes fired upon. Sometimes an Indian would creep up near the fort in the night and fire upon the first of the garrison to appear in the morning. The little settlement soon was in a state of continual and increasing alarm.
Even many of the ordinary duties of life were performed only at great risk. But the determination in the hearts of the hardy people to defend their new homes in the wonderful region strengthened with every passing day.
Many of the settlers every night assembled within the walls of the fort. It was the expressed desire of Boone that all should do this, for in this way only could the safety of every one be assured. For the most part the people responded willingly to his appeal, and after a certain eventful night all were willing to heed his counsel. On that particular night occurred a struggle with the prowling Indians which made the name of one of the heroic women long to be remembered.
As has been stated, the opening by Daniel Boone of the road through the wilderness to the new settlement, and the safety with which the journey thither had been accomplished, were strong inducements now to other families to make similar ventures.
Within a few months the little settlement had increased until it contained at least one hundred and fifty people. Trees had been felled, log houses had been built, and with great energy the new people were preparing to make permanent homes in the fertile valleys. Most of the newcomers were more than willing to follow the suggestion of Boone, who strongly advised all the settlers to seek safety in the shelter of the fort when night fell.
The great scout was convinced that the Shawnees were continually watching the little community, and that their anger at the determination of the settlers to make permanent abodes in the beautiful region was steadily increasing. Every day Boonewas watchful. Occasionally the red men were seen, and not infrequently they crept close enough to the fort, or to the men when they were toiling in the forests or fields, to fire upon them; but as yet no concerted attack had been made.
Among the families which had come was one named Merrill. Mr. Merrill was a vigorous, active young man, and his wife was almost as large as he and as strong. So convinced were the two young people of their ability to withstand any attack that might be made upon their home that they had been somewhat unmindful of the request of the leader.
One morning in December Daniel Boone said to Peleg: "I wish you to go to Mr. Merrill's at once, and say to him that I have seen recently some signs of the Indians which greatly disturb me. It will not be necessary for you to say more, except that I strongly urge the Merrills to comply with my suggestion and come nightly to the fort."
Peleg, at the request of the scout, mounted a horse and rode in the direction of the little log cabin which the Merrills had erected on the extreme border beyond the settlement. He and Henry, accompanied by young Israel Boone, who now had become almost a man in size, had been frequent visitors at the friendly home of the Merrills. It was therefore with a feeling of personalinterest as well as anxiety that the young hunter hastened to carry out the suggestion of the great scout.
Before he arrived at the little house its appearance suggested to him that something was wrong. It was early in the morning and yet no smoke was rising from the chimney. The silence which rested over the place seemed ominous. So anxious was the young scout that he dismounted before he entered the clearing, tied his horse to one of the trees, and then cautiously crept forward to discover what might be amiss with the household.
When Peleg approached the border of the little clearing he halted and peered anxiously before him. No one was seen about the place. Delaying only a brief time, and holding Singing Susan in his hands ready for instant use if occasion required, Peleg called to the inmates of the house.
"Hello!" he called. As no response was given to his hail, he raised his voice and called again, "Hello! Mr. Merrill!" Not even the dog, which was a great pet of Peleg's, made any response. Several minutes elapsed and the silence was still unbroken.
Troubled by his failure to arouse any one, Peleg darted swiftly across the clearing and, as he approached the door, stopped in astonishment when he beheld near the threshold the bodies of twodead Indians. As he looked about he saw bloody trails leading into the forest, which indicated that others also had been wounded. In the door a large breach had been made which was evidently the work of the Indian tomahawks.
The young scout, his flesh creeping at his discovery, glanced about him in every direction, but no sign of friend or enemy could he see. The door itself was partly open, and as Peleg stepped within the little cabin the odour of burned feathers greeted him.
There were many indications of a struggle which plainly had taken place within the room, but it was not until he had passed out to the rear of the little building and descried Mrs. Merrill approaching that his full courage returned. The resolute woman, her face pale, but otherwise not betraying any emotion, approached the young scout and said quietly: "I have just buried my husband."
The astonishment of Peleg was so great that he was unable to reply to the staggering statement, and then aware that the silent grief of his friend was almost more than she could bear, he assisted her within the house and soon was listening to her story.
"I did not like to bury my husband so soon," began the woman at last, "but I dared not wait to ask any one to come."
"Tell me about it," said Peleg quietly, "unless you think that we had better start for the fort right away."
Mrs. Merrill shook her head as she said: "I do not think there is need of immediate haste. It must have been about midnight when our dog began to growl so savagely that my husband thought something must be wrong. He got up, and when he opened the door to find out what the trouble was he received the fire of six or seven Indians. He sank to the floor, but managed to call me to close the door and let down the bars.
"I don't know that I ever had such a thrilling or awful moment in my life! I could hear the savages on the porch, and I was afraid they would get to the door before I could shut and bar it. Just as I managed to close it and let the bar fall, the Indians began to pound upon it with their tomahawks. If I had been one second later they would have got inside the house and I should now be where my husband is. They kept pounding on the door until they made a large hole in it. They did not know that I stood close by, waiting for them with an axe, and as fast as one after another—four of them—tried to crawl through, I killed or badly wounded every one that made the attempt. They could not force their way into the cabin," she added simply.
"How many Indians did you say there were at the door?" inquired Peleg in astonishment.
"Four, but only two of them were killed. At least there are only two left here, and the others may have got away."
"I saw two," said Peleg. "How many were there altogether?"
"Seven, I think. They kept away from the door after that, but pretty soon I heard them up on the roof. I knew then that they were trying to get into the house by coming down the chimney."
"I think I know how you kept them out," said Peleg, smiling slightly.
"Yes," replied the woman. "I grabbed the only feather bed we had in our cabin and ripped it open, in desperate haste, feeling just as I did when I was trying to close the door. I knew if I was not quick enough the Shawnees would be in the room. It was fortunate that there were coals on the fireplace, and just as soon as I put the feathers on them a blaze sprang up and such smoke as I never saw began to pour up the chimney. In less than one minute two of the redskins fell into the fireplace, and with the same axe with which I had defended the door I quickly put an end to both varmints."
"That made six of the seven, then," suggested Peleg.
"Yes. But the seventh wasn't ready to leave yet. He ran around to the door and tried to crawl through while I was busy at the chimney. It was fortunate that I chanced to see him. He got a gash in the cheek, and you ought to have heard him yell when he ran away from the door. Talk to me about the Indians never making any fuss! This man was yelling so that you might have heard him at the fort. He called me the 'Long Knife Squaw,' but I didn't care so long as he cleared out for good and all! And I don't believe any of them will come again very soon."
"What are you going to do now?" inquired Peleg.
"I haven't any plans."
"You must come with me to the fort."
"But I must not leave my clearing," said the heroic woman. "Now that my husband is dead, I shall have everything to do."
"Come with me, and I will find some one to do what ought to be done here."
Yielding to the persuasion of the young scout, Mrs. Merrill accompanied him to the fort, where at once some of the women offered her the solace of their sympathy.
Peleg at once assembled a little company of men, and led by Daniel Boone himself they returned to the scene of the brave woman's struggles.The dead Indians were buried and the two cows were driven within the stockade.
"It will not be safe," said Daniel Boone to Peleg, "for Mrs. Merrill to come back here alone. If she does insist upon coming, either you or Israel must be with her. She should be persuaded, however, not to expose herself to such dangers as she will meet here."
"She seems to be able to protect herself," said Peleg dryly.
"Indeed she does. I question if there is another woman in our settlement who would have been able to do what she did. Single-handed, to keep off seven Shawnees! I believe that the story of her bravery will be told to your grandchildren, Peleg."
Mrs. Merrill, however, was found to be more reasonable than the great scout's fear had warranted. She was quite willing to make her home for the present where the peril and the loneliness were not so great as in her cabin.
The attacks of the Indians continued, although no party as large as that which had attacked the home of the Merrills was seen. The plowmen in the fields, the men cutting the timber, and those who separated from their fellows while hunting game were continually in danger.
The determination of the whites was as great asthat of the Indians, and although every one was anxious, no one thought of withdrawing from the settlement.
To Daniel Boone himself there came a little later an experience almost as thrilling as that which had befallen Mrs. Merrill.
Among the new families was one named Callaway. In this family there was a girl of nearly the same age as Daniel's Boone's daughter Jemima. One morning, early in the summer, the girls, taking the one canoe which was kept near the fort, paddled out upon the river.
"Do not go more than one hundred feet above or below the fort," warned Daniel Boone, who stood on the bank watching the girls. Both promised, and soon in their light-hearted way were paddling the canoe back and forth from shore to shore.
Satisfied that the girls were well within the protection they needed, Daniel Boone returned to his labours and no one was left upon the bank to watch them.
As the sport continued, and before either of the girls was aware of the fact, the light canoe had drifted beyond the points which had been designated by the scout as the limits of safety. Discovering some flowers along the shore, they pushed the little craft in among the tall rushes while they plucked the blossoms they were seeking. The canoe waswell within the rushes and concealed, as the girls thought, from the sight of any one on the bank.
Suddenly the younger girl, emitting a piercing shriek, turned to Jemima Boone, and exclaimed: "Look there! Oh, look there!"
As Jemima sharply turned about she saw, creeping through the rushes and concealed from the sight of any one on the shore, a huge Shawnee warrior, who already had seized the painter of the little craft.
Scream followed scream when the Indian began to pull the canoe toward him. In a moment he was joined by several of his dusky comrades. The canoe was drawn to the shore and the girls, prisoners of the savages, were dragged up the bank.
The screams of the terrified girls were plainly heard at the fort. A little company of frightened women and frantic men quickly assembled upon the bank, but in spite of the piteous appeals it was too late to help the unfortunate prisoners. Four additional Indians appeared and, assisting their comrades, seized the girls and with them rushed into the wilderness.
The men from the fort who were standing on the bank of the stream were unable to cross, the only canoe being now on the opposite shore.
Calling to one another, the men endeavoured to find some one who would venture to swim to the other shore. No one volunteered, however, as all were afraid that the Indians might return if such an attempt should be made. Both Daniel Boone and the father of Miss Callaway were absent from the settlement at the time, and it was nearly night when they returned.
Stopping only a moment to comfort his heartbroken wife, Daniel Boone, as soon as he wasinformed, acted promptly and decisively, as was his habit. He was well aware that no time should be lost, and fortunately he discovered Peleg at that moment returning to the fort.
"The girls have been taken by the Indians," said Boone, suppressing his emotion.
"What girls? What do you mean?" inquired Peleg, aghast.
"Jemima and her friend, the Callaway girl."
"When?"
"This noon. I have no time to explain. We must get a party to start right away. Find every man you can and I, too, will look about, and we will meet here at the fort just as soon as we can get our party together."
Darting into the house, Peleg secured Singing Susan, and then, finding Israel Boone, who was almost as aroused as his father, the two instantly began their search for men who would join the rescue party.
Soon afterward a band of eight men stood with the scout on the bank of the Kentucky River near the fort. The quiet of the summer evening was unbroken save by the occasional cry of some night-bird. It had been long since the screams of the disappearing girls had been heard, but the direction from which they had come indicated the way in which to start the pursuit.
"How many are here?" inquired Boone, as he glanced about the group.
"Eight," replied Peleg, "including you and Israel."
"We need more, but I shall not wait. We will start at once."
The canoe meanwhile had been secured by one of the boys of the settlement who swam across the river at dusk and returned in the little craft, paddling with his hand, for the blades had been broken by the Indians to delay pursuit.
The men now were ferried across the river, and as soon as every one was standing on the opposite bank Daniel Boone again inquired: "Is every one prepared?"
Every member of the party declared that he was ready to follow wherever the great scout might lead.
Instantly Daniel Boone led the way into the forest. The anxious scout was so quiet and self-controlled that an uninformed spectator would never have suspected that he was labouring under special stress. Even Peleg was astonished at the composed bearing of the man.
Turning to Israel, the young scout remarked: "Your father is saving every ounce of his strength for the work ahead of us. He is not wasting any time crying."
"He never does," responded Israel proudly."Do you know, Peleg," young Boone said, "there are times when Parson John Lythe preaches to us that he speaks of the Great Father of us all, and somehow I always think of Him as if He looked somewhat asmyfather does."
Deeply impressed as Peleg was by the reverence in which the son of Daniel Boone held his father, there was no opportunity at the time for further conversation.
In Indian file the pursuers advanced, and all soon were running, following the custom of the Indians. So skilled was the leader in this work that it was well known that he was able for many hours to maintain the pace at which he was now moving.
"One time," said Israel to Peleg, "my father ran like this for eight hours, then rested two hours, and then ran eight more, and after he had taken another rest he made the third stretch of the same number of hours."
The leader had not spoken except when in the dim light of the moon he was compelled to stop to search for the trail. Once when he halted he said to his companions: "The Shawnees are not moving in one body. They have broken up into ten parties and are moving in parallel lines."
"Did they expect to throw us off the trail in that way?" asked Israel scornfully.
"Doubtless they hoped to. Peleg," inquiredBoone, turning to the young scout, "how many do you make out were in this band that stole Jemima?"
"About thirty, I should say," replied Peleg.
"It is more nearly thirty-five," declared Boone, as he turned to direct his followers to resume the pursuit.
Somehow the night did not prove to be a serious obstacle to the great leader. Almost as if by instinct Boone found his way, and the parallel trails made by the Indians, instead of throwing the pursuers into confusion, really aided them. If the trail was lost in one place it then became comparatively easy for the men to scatter and in a brief time discover it nearby.
"How far have we come?" Israel inquired of his father when a halt was made in the morning.
"Thirty miles," replied Daniel Boone.
"Do you find anything new?"
"Yes," replied the scout, nodding his head. "The Indians are less careful than they were. The trail is becoming plainer. I hope we shall overtake them before noon."
It was not long before the pursuit was resumed, and the pace of the entire party was increased when it was discovered that the Indians had entered a buffalo road and were following that clearly defined path.
The expression upon the face of Boone, who, with Peleg and Israel, was in advance of the little band, made every one aware that he expected soon to overtake the savages. The time of anxiety as well as peril was surely approaching.
"Peleg," whispered Israel, "what do you think will be done to the girls if the Indians see us before we get within rifle shot?"
Peleg shook his head and did not reply, although both he and his friend were aware that the Indians would doubtless tomahawk their captives and then flee if they should discover their pursuers close upon them.
Nearly ten more miles were covered before the escaping band was overtaken. Each party discovered the other almost at the same moment. The Indians were in the act of kindling a fire and preparing camp for the night. Almost as if it was one sound, the rifles of Daniel Boone, Peleg, and Israel rang out together.
Two of the Indians fell to the ground. All the other braves, as if driven by one impulse, instantly turned and fled from the spot, leaving the terrified girls behind them. So sudden had been the flight of the savages that when they darted into the adjacent forest they had been unable to don their moccasins. Not a man in the pursuing party had been injured.
The cry of Jemima Boone when in the dim light she beheld her father approaching at the head of the rescuing party was one that those who heard her never were able to forget. She sprang from the ground where she had been seated and threw herself into her father's arms. For a time not a word was spoken by any one, while the well-nigh exhausted girl clung to Daniel Boone sobbing as if her heart would break.
The pursuit which had been led by the great scout had been so swift and unrelenting that scarcely any time for rest had been given the band since its departure from the fort the preceding evening; and only a short time for recuperation could be allowed even now. This was some hardship for the men, but for the girls, who, in addition to the terror and despair which had possessed them, had been compelled to travel through the forests at a speed which exhausted their strength, it was doubly hard.
Jemima explained to her father that they had arrived at the place where they had been discovered only a few moments before the coming of the hunter and his friends. The girl shuddered as she said: "If the Shawnees had had two minutes more they would have killed both of us before they ran; and I do not understand why they ran, anyway."
"How many warriors were in the band?" inquired her father.
"Thirty-six."
"We cannot stay here long. The varmints will be coming back, and they outnumber us so greatly that we may have serious trouble."
It was accordingly decided that the party should begin their return at once. For a time Daniel Boone carried his daughter in his arms, while her companion, almost exhausted, was also carried by one of the men.
When several miles had been covered word for rest was given, and then, after a hasty meal was made from the loin of a deer which Peleg shot, the flight toward the fort was resumed.
It was soon discovered, however, that the Indians were not pursuing, and when Boone became convinced that this was so, his anxiety was relieved, and he decided not to maintain the swift pace at which they had been moving.
Two days later the party arrived at the fort on the bank of the Kentucky, and the relief of the distracted mothers as well as the general rejoicing over the safe return of the rescuers was great. After a rest of a day, the scout and all the party resumed their accustomed summer tasks.
It was a few days afterward, while Peleg and Israel were engaged in hoeing a field of corn that belonged to Peleg, that the scout approached his friend.
"Peleg," he said, as he halted in front of the boy, "we are to have a meeting in the fort to-morrow at noon and I hope you surely will be present."
"What is the meeting for?"
"We are to pass some laws. We now have more than one hundred and fifty souls in this little settlement, and up to the present time every one has been a law unto himself. We now must pass some laws which shall govern us as a community."
"Is Sam Oliver here again?" inquired Peleg with a laugh.
"Not as yet," answered Boone quizzically, smiling as he appreciated the discovery his young friend had made as to one of the causes for his desire to pass some laws by which all should be regulated.
"Colonel Henderson will preside," said Boone. "He, as you know, was the original purchaser of this tract of land from the Cherokees, and he kindly consented to permit us to make a settlement here."
"I shall try to be there," promised Peleg, as the scout passed on to make further arrangements for the meeting, and the two boys resumed their task.
It was a serious assemblage of men that met the following noon. After accepting the chair, Colonel Henderson said: "I shall ask the Reverend JohnLythe, our pioneer preacher, to address the Throne of Grace."