Although Jethro Juggens was not in the slightest danger of molestation by the Shawanoes from the moment he emerged from the cabin and started across the clearing, he was not to escape all danger and a great scare.
He chafed at the binding of the linen armor about his ankles. He was impatient to walk faster, and could not do so in that situation. His strength was great, but a Hercules could not have overcome the obstacle without loosening it. Glancing to the right and left and on all sides, and seeing nothing threatening, he decided to end the intolerable annoyance in the only way possible. He therefore stopped short and stooped over to loosen the bandages.
But lo! it was impossible. His body was so confined that he could only make a slight inclination. The hands, which were partly covered, would not reach further than a point just above his knees.
"I' clar to gracious!" exclaimed the alarmed Jethro, straightening up like a jack-knife, "I's committed sooicide. I'll nebber be able to get my feet free. I'll hab to lib dis way de rest ob my life, and dat won't be berry long."
But the first shock over, the truth gradually dawned upon him that inasmuch as he had wound himself up, he must possess the ability to unwind himself. All he had to do was to begin at the upper instead of the lower part of his body.
"Qu'ar I didn't tink ob dat," he said, with a chuckle at his own fright.
It was the work of but a few minutes to unwrap his body and limbs, when he kicked his feet free, and "Richard was himself again." By that time, however, he had entirely freed himself from the sheets, which he flung over his left arm, while he held his heavy gun in his right.
"What's de use ob smotherin' myself to def," he muttered. "Dar ain't no Injuns 'round, and dar won't be—gracious hebben."
From the edge of the wood, barely fifty feet away, a dark object issued and advanced straight upon him.
"Dat's de Panther! I knows him by his face; he wants to git eben wid me 'cause I wouldn't 'low him to stick his foot in my mouf."
Forgetful of the effective weapon he had in his hand, Jethro made a dash for the flatboat, his nearest refuge, and forgetful, too, of the voluminous folds over his arm, he tangled the lower ends about his feet and sprawled headlong to the ground. This completed the panic, and letting go of his rifle, he rolled over on his back and made desperate efforts to gather the mass of linen over his face and body, so as to protect him against bullet and knife and tomahawk, somewhat as a child covers its head at night to escape imaginary terrors.
There was so much of the stuff that the armoring of his head and limbs was quite effective, but his feet were left wholly unprotected. The only recourse left was to kick, which he proceeded to do with a vigor that would have sent any man flying had he come within reach of the whirring pedals.
When this had continued until Jethro was tired, he concluded that the demonstration had frightened off his enemy. Dropping his feet on the ground, he drew the covering of his face sufficiently to one side to permit him to peep forth. Seeing nothing, he ventured to raise his head a little higher and to look around.
The dark object that had thrown him into the panic was just disappearing from sight in the direction of the wood whence it came. There was enough moonlight at that moment for him to identify it.
"By gracious! it am a bar! I done forgot dat I had my loaded gun and could hab drapped him easy. If any ob de folks had come 'long while I lay on my back kickin' at de sky, dey would hab tought I had a bone in my froat and didn't know what to do wid it."
In all probability the bear, when he first appeared, intended to make an investigation, but the sight of a figure, smothered in sheets and with his feet thrumming in the air like a couple of drum sticks, must have frightened bruin into leaving the strange animal alone.
Jethro was disposed to make chase after the animal and bring him to account, but reflection showed the unwisdom of allowing any diversion to interfere with the plain dictates of duty.
"Dar's no tellin' what trouble Mr. Kenton may hab tumbled into widout habin' me dar to pull him out. De rest ob de folks don't know how to shoot Injuns half as well as me."
It was evident the youth felt quite proud of his exploits, and who can blame him? He surely had warrant for his pride. He had decided to pay a visit to the flatboat even though time was so urgent. It lay close against the bank, just as it had been left earlier in the day, after the cargo was removed. Abandoning it before a chance was given to break it up, and with the vague hope that they might be permitted to turn it to account some time in the future, the pioneers offered it no harm, nor was it injured by the Indians who, later, came upon the scene.
Jethro stepped over the heavy gunwale and looked about him with peculiar interest, for, as is well known, that craft was the scene of many stirring incidents during the preceding twenty-four hours.
There was the long sweeping oar, balanced on a pivot at either end, with the handle reaching almost to the middle of the boat. That portion considered the stern (although in no respect did it differ from the bow) had the covered space, used as sleeping quarters for the females. At the other end was where the cooking was done.
In the bottom lay the two long poles to be used in controlling the boat when necessary, and, groping about, Jethro noticed the pieces of rope that had served to bind The Panther, and which no one had deemed valuable enough to be removed. Other pieces of board and a few fragments of articles were scattered around, but none was of any account. Jethro flung down his big armful of linen at the bow, and, sitting upon them, gave himself over to characteristic meditation.
There is no intellect so dull through which some bright thought does not now and then flash. It may come and go too quickly to be turned to account, but, all the same, it is that mystic throb which proves that all human souls are beating in unison with the divinity that created them.
Sitting thus at the prow of the flatboat, meditating upon the strange occurrences through which he had passed since leaving his old home in Virginia, a scheme gradually assumed definite form in the brain of Jethro Juggens, whose brilliancy and originality startled even himself.
And yet, when it comes to be analyzed, there was really nothing startling and brilliant in it. The wonder would have been, if any person, with a modicum of sense, could have held his place under similar circumstances and not thought of that which gradually worked its way into his consciousness.
There were the poles used in handling the flatboat; there were bits of rope scattered about the bottom of the craft. He was sitting upon almost half a score of tough, thin sheets of linen; he was the possessor of a sharp knife and was dextrous in its use; and the wind was blowing almost a gale from the west, and therefore directly up stream; why not sail the flatboat up the Ohio?
This was the question which at first held the youth breathless with the very grandeur and magnitude of the scheme; but, as fully considered, it became simple and more practical.
Jethro was far from suspecting the real use to which his scheme could be possibly put. He knew and suspected nothing of the desperate straits in which his friends were placed at that very hour. He had an altogether different project in view.
"Dey're pickin' dar way frough de woods, whar it's dark, and habing all sorts ob trouble. Dey can't see tings, and dat makes it wusser; de one dat's walkin' at de head will be sartin to hab a limb cotch him under his chin and raise him off his feet; den he'll feel like sw'aring, but will be afeared to do so, 'cause de heathen might oberhear him and stop him, and make him explanify de meanin' of his discumvations.
"De tramp wouldn't be much if de sun war shinin' so dat dey could walk long widout steppin' on snakes. When dey see me come sailin' up de ribber, why, dey will be so pleased dat Mr. Altman won't—dat is, he won't obsist on my workin' so hard, and Mrs. Altman won't frow out so many digustin' hints 'bout de bigness ob my appertite."
Having labored up to his decision, Jethro Juggens threw away no time in carrying it out. It really seemed as if everything had been directed for the last hour or two to prepare this very course to him. The failure of the wooden box to serve him as an armor, and the resort to the sheets of linen, the turning of his steps toward the flatboat, and, above all, that strong, steadily-blowing west wind—many persons would have seen something more than a mere coincidence in these things, and who shall say that this view would not have been right?
The task that presented itself to Jethro Juggens, though a hard one, was by no means impossible. His keen-edged knife soon fashioned excavations in the soft planking at the sides, through which he passed some of the pieces of rope and fastened one of the poles in an upright position, or nearly so, for he was wise enough to place it so that it leaned backward like the masts of ordinary sailing vessels. He secured this as strongly as he could, and then did the same with the second pole on the other side, and directly opposite the first.
He had now two strong uprights or masts. He examined and tested them until certain that nothing more could be done to add to their firmness. Then he set to work to knot or tie a number of the sheets together at the corners, until a sail was fashioned of the right dimensions, and this, in turn, was secured to the masts.
He went about the business with that deliberation and care which marks the skilled workman. Almost any one, placed as he was, would have been hasty, nervous and unfitted to do a good job. It would have been neglected at some point, and, consequently, disaster would have come at the beginning of the enterprise. Jethro wrought as though such a thing as danger was not within a hundred miles, and that, too, when he had recently passed through some terrifying incidents.
When the work was completed, he had a sail containing something like fifty square feet, the sheets secured together with no little skill, and the masts so strongly set that they could be relied upon, unless some unusual cause interfered with them. The only probable contingency to cause misgiving was the wind.
That would not always blow from the west, and it might cease within an hour, or even less time.
"It may get contrary," reflected Jethro, "and turn de oder way; if dat am de case, dis old boat will go kitin' down de Ohio till we strike de Massissip—and den—I done forgot what dat riber runs into, but if I discomember incorrectly, it am de Red Sea; don't want to go dar, so I'll jump ober board, if I can't stop de boat, and take to de woods.
"Mebbe de gale will twist 'round and come from de souf; under dem sarcummentions de boat'll bang in 'mong de trees and smash tings. If Mr. Kenton had managed to got 'long when I ain't wid him, and Mr. Boone don't fall down and hurt hisself, why dem two might got de Injins togeder and hold dem on de Kentucky shore, while I run ober' em wid de flatboat.
"Dat would gib' em such a good squshin' dat dey wouldn't bother us for a good while. It happens, howsumeber, just now dat de wind am blowin' right, and we kin sail up de Ohio as fur as we want, dat is," qualified Jethro, "if we don't want to go furder dan de wind will took us—but why don't the old ting start?"
The sail was spread, and the strong gale was impinging dead against it, and yet, strange to say, the flatboat remained as motionless as if sunk at the bottom of the river.
Jethro Juggens was alarmed on the very threshold of his strange enterprise by the threatened danger of failure. When everything was ready to start, the flatboat refused to stir so much as an inch.
In the hope of helping matters, he swung the bow oar a number of times, so as to turn the head out in the stream. It moved a foot or two, and then became stationary, gradually working back to its former position. Then he tried the same thing with the stern oar, accomplishing about as much as if he had attempted to overturn a rock.
"Dat beats de dickens!" muttered the puzzled youth, stopping to rest himself. "Qu'ar de wind am jes' strong enough to hold de boat stock still. I guess I'll onwestigate."
And, doing so, the mystery was speedily solved. He had forgotten to hoist the anchor, which lay imbedded on the bottom, on the outside of the boat near the stern.
"I'll neber tell nobody dat," he said, ashamed of the blunder. Lifting the heavy weight over his gunwale, he dropped it in the bottom of the boat, which immediately began gliding slowly up stream. With the aid of the long paddles, he easily worked the craft so far out in the stream that there was no danger of running into any of the overhanging limbs and vegetation.
Jethro did not make the mistake of paddling the flatboat into the middle of the current, which was so much stronger there as to impede, if not to check, its progress altogether. And, as before stated, there could be no saying how much longer this favorable wind would continue.
The dusky youth overflowed with complacency when he sat down at the prow and noticed the satisfactory trend of events.
He was within a dozen yards or so of the wooded bank, sometimes approaching still closer, in accordance with the configuration of the land. His desire to keep advancing, while the chance was his, led him to venture further in, in order to take advantage of the sluggish current. Once or twice he felt a projecting root graze the bottom, and again the craft came almost to a standstill from partially grounding in a shallow portion. Its momentum, however, carried it over into deeper water, when its speed instantly increased.
Seeing nothing for him to do, Jethro seated himself at the bow, with his rifle resting in the boat near him, and his feet hanging over the water.
"Mr. Kenton and Boone and Altman and Ashbridge and all de rest ob de folks couldn't hab tought ob dis if dey had put their minds altogeder onto it. It was Jethro Juggens dat trotted out de idee. Some folks tinks he ain't much more dan a fool, and mebbe he ain't, but he knows a ting or two, and when dey cotch sight—"
At that instant the flatboat struck a shallow portion with such suddenness that it instantly stopped, and the youth, unprepared for the shock, sprawled overboard with a loud splash.
Nothing more serious than a shock and wetting resulted, and when he clambered to his feet the water did not reach to his knees. Grasping the prow with his huge hand, and applying his prodigious strength, he easily forced the front of the boat into deeper water and swung himself over the gunwale.
"Dat sort of bus'ness am inconwenieut, and it musn't happen agin."
Several sweeps of the two oars, he grasped one in either hand, worked the craft sufficiently far from land to prevent any repetition of his mishap. Then, caring naught for his moistened clothing, he sat down at the prow again.
The boat was moving steadily up stream, with more speed, indeed, than it had ever shown descending it. So long as the strong wind blew from the west this progress would continue. The moon, veiled at intervals by the drifting masses of clouds, sometimes revealed the trees on his right sweeping backward and occasionally, when the light was wholly unobstructed, he could catch the dim shadowy outlines of the Ohio shore. Not only was the water rippled by the bow of the boat as it forced its way forward, but it was broken into tiny chopping seas by the action of the gale.
The roving eyes detected no sign of life in any direction. The gloom was not pierced even by the starlike twinkle of some Indian campfire or signal light, but the dull boom of a rifle report, rolling over the river from the direction of Rattlesnake Gulch, proved that life, fierce, alert and vigilant, still throbbed with terrifying intensity.
It so came about that the second Shawanoe, he who succeeded in recapturing the canoe from Simon Kenton, was returning in the direction of the clearing. The sagacious warrior knew the ranger would be quick to discover the theft of his property, and would make search for it. Only by the utmost care and skill could he escape an encounter with the terrible scout, whom he held in unspeakable dread.
It was natural, therefore, that he should give his closest attention to the shore he was skirting, confident that that was the only direction whence danger could come. So, while the canoe skimmed the water, he held his gaze on the bank, and watched and listened with the acuteness of long training.
"Who dar?"
The question was asked in a sepulchral voice, and would have startled the bravest man. The head of the Indian whirled about like a flash, and he saw that which, it is safe to say, no member of his race had ever seen—an Ohio flatboat gliding up stream, with a broad spread of white sail, and moving with a noiselessness of death itself.
More than that, it was almost upon him. Only by dextrous work could he save himself from being run down. Less than a dozen feet separated them.
Glancing at the frightful object, the Shawanoe observed the figure of a sturdy, broad-shouldered man, standing near the bow with his rifle in his grasp. The sight was more than he could stand. With a frantic sweep of his paddle he drove the canoe like a swallow against the bank, leaped out and dashed into the woods.
"Dat chap acts as dough he am scared," remarked Jethro, in doubt whether or not to fire; "de next time, I 'spose, I oughter shoot fust and den make my obspectful inquiries afterward."
The incident was hardly over when to the surprise and disappointment of the youth the progress of the boat began to slacken, soon ceased, and then it slowly floated down stream. The wind had died out more suddenly than it had risen. He quickly dropped the anchor overboard.
"Wonder how fur I've come," he thought, peering at the bank and unable to locate himself; "reckon I must hab come fifteen or twenty miles—but dat can't be either, for de folks at de block-house would hab seen me if I didn't see dem—hulloa! dat chap must tink he knows me; it ain't him after all."
The canoe which had shot under the bank so suddenly, now emerged again and paddled straight towards the flatboat, only a short distance away. The action so startled the dusky youth that he would have acted upon his own suggestion of firing before asking any questions, had he not perceived that the occupant was a white man.
"Dat can't be Mr. Kenton or Boone," mused Jethro, closely studying the stranger. "No, it am somebody dat hasn't de honor ob my obquaintance. Him and me ain't neber met afore."
As the individual came closer and was more plainly shown in the dim moonlight, he was seen to be a sturdy man in middle life, dressed much the same as Mr. Ashbridge and Altman—that is, with more regard for the fashions of the age than was shown by men like Boone and Kenton.
"Good evening," he called, nodding his head in salutation; "may I come aboard?"
"Who am yo'? Am yo' name Girty?" asked Jethro, in doubt whether to permit the man to join him, now that his canoe was near enough to permit him to do so. His appearance was pleasing, and his voice had a hearty ring about it, but the African, since he was master of the situation, felt he could not be too careful of his company.
The stranger laughed at the question asked him, and replied:
"Bless me, that's the first time I was ever taken for Mr. Girty. You seem to be alone on the boat."
Jethro suspected this to be a trick meant to make him unmask his weakness. He was not to be caught that way.
"No, sah! dar's whar yo's mistooken, sah. Dan'l Kenton and Simon Boone, and 'leven oder gemman am in dis boat wid me, and if yo'——"
"Tut, tut," interrupted the stranger, with another laugh, so genial in its character that it disarmed the youth.
"'Scoose me; I meant to say dat dem folks would like to be wid me."
"My son, you and I are the best of friends; you surely have no misgiving regarding me; my name is Finley."
And, with this remark, he stepped over the gunwale and cordially shook the hand of Jethro, who was won by his looks and manner. He helped fasten the canoe at the side of the flatboat, and invited the visitor to seat himself upon the remaining sheets at the stern, an invitation that was so agreeably accepted that Jethro was certain he had never met so delightful a gentleman.
There may be some among my readers who have recognized the name of the man who paddled out in the canoe as among the most honored in the early history of the West. He was James B. Finley, the famous missionary, whose career is one of the brightest pages among the many stained by cruelty, vice and crime. For years he carried his life in his hands, traversing the vast stretches of wilderness with rifle over his shoulder, living on the game brought down by his own marksmanship, or what he could obtain in the lodges of the red men or the cabins of the pioneers. He slept in the woods, freezing by the lonely campfire, or sweltering in the smothering heat of the summer sun.
And wherever this devoted man went, he carried the message of his Master. He labored unceasingly in His vineyard, illustrating precept by his own example, and winning many to the right way, not only among the rough bordermen, but from among the fierce warriors themselves.
Without turning aside in this place to refer more fully to Rev. Mr. Finley, the interesting fact should be recalled that it was under his exhortation that Simon Kenton, years subsequent to the events we are now recording, professed conversion, and became a deeply devout man.
The missionary showed his tact by making no reference to the tremendous falsehood he had just brought home to Jethro Juggens.
Laying his hand in a fatherly way upon the shoulder of the youth, he remarked:
"You will believe me, my son, when I tell you I am surprised."
"Yes, I offen s'prise folks."
"What is your name, please?"
Jethro answered all his questions truthfully and respectfully, so that in a few minutes the gentleman gained a fair understanding of the incidents in which the colored youth had been involved during the past few days, and which placed him in his present extraordinary situation.
"I have seen a great many flatboats pass down the river," remarked Mr. Finley, at the close of the interesting narrative, "but this is the first time I ever saw any go up stream."
"Yes, I tinked I'se begun de fashine."
"But why is it you are at rest?"
"'Cause de anchor am drapped overboard."
"But don't you notice that the wind is blowing again, and the boat will move readily."
Jethro had not observed the fact until his friend reminded him of it. Then he made haste to hoist the anchor, and once more the flatboat resumed its singular voyage up the Ohio.
Even after considerable more conversation than has been recorded, Jethro Juggens and the missionary had much to learn of each other.
The youth was especially puzzled to understand how it was that almost immediately following the flight of the Shawanoe in the extremity of panic, the good man should have paddled out to the flatboat in the canoe that had been so hurriedly deserted.
"That was a curious circumstance," said Mr. Finley, musingly; "sit down beside me and I will tell you about it."
"I's bery glad to do so," replied Jethro, placing himself at a respectful distance from the good man, "if you don't tink I had better keep a lookout dat we don't run by the block-house afore we knows it."
"My dear boy, we are still a long way from that. Have no fear. From what you have told me I see you understand that sad times are coming between the white people and the Indians of this region."
"Yes, sah."
"I and many of my friends have been expecting it for weeks and months past, and have done all we could to prevent the dreadful state of things that is now at hand."
"How was it you tried to prevent it?" asked Jethro, feeling that he ought to say something when the missionary paused; "was yo' idee to get all de Injuns togeder, tie' em fast to de trees, and den let the trees fall down on 'em and mash 'em?"
"No, we had a better plan than that," gravely replied the missionary, making sure the youth did not see the flitting smile; "I went among the different tribes and talked with the chiefs and leaders, and strove in every way possible to show them not only the wickedness of going upon the war-path, but that in the end they themselves must be the chief sufferers."
Jethro Juggens turned his head and stared at the speaker in amazement.
"And did yo' go right 'mong de heathen all alone by yo'self?"
"That's the only way in which I could have gone. They would not have allowed me to have any companions, for that would have shown I distrusted them."
"Wal, didn't yo' obstrust them?" inquired the youth, to whom the whole business was a mystery.
"I cannot deny that I felt I was in danger of violence at times, but when I took up the work of my Master I expected that, and therefore was not disappointed. If it was the will of Heaven that I should yield my life at any time, I was always ready. You know, my son, that that is the true way to live."
"Yes, sah."
"So it never caused me any discomfort. The only uneasiness a person should feel is whether he is ready for the call when it comes. Well, to return to what you asked me about, it soon became clear to me that the worst sort of trouble was at hand. The Indians have defeated the expeditions sent against them, until many believe our government is not strong enough to conquer them. They need a crushing defeat, just such as I am sure the next battle will be, before we can secure a lasting peace for the frontier. I was engaged in this business when I approached the Ohio this evening. At the moment of reaching the river I caught sight of this boat and the ingenious arrangement you have made. I saw the terrified Indian whom you hailed dash to shore and flee in mortal fright into the woods.
"There was not enough light for me to recognize him," continued the missionary, speaking as though every person, American and Caucasian, in that vast region was an acquaintance. "I called to him, but he paid no heed, and inasmuch as he had left his canoe behind him and I wished to cross the river, I thought I might as well call upon you."
"What yo' want to cross de riber fur?" asked Jethro, without reflecting that his question approached impertinence.
"Just now, I am looking for a chief known as Wa-on-mon, or, as his own people call him, The Panther."
"Do yo' know dat debbil?" demanded the amazed youth, springing to his feet and looking down in the face of the surprised missionary, who replied:
"I have known him a good many years, have slept in his lodge, have fondled his two children, have hunted with him, and placed my life in his hands times without number."
Jethro could hardly express his astonishment at this information. Aside from what he had seen of the fierce chieftain, he could not forget the character given him by Simon Kenton. In his way, he related the proposed duel to the death between the ranger and the leader of the Shawanoes.
Mr. Finley listened with the deepest interest, for he felt a strong attachment to both of the parties, and he cherished the hope that the fearful personal encounters between them would give way, sooner or later, to a more charitable, if not to a gentler feeling.
"De reason de fout didn't take place," explained Jethro, "was 'cause de Panther got scared and runned away."
The reply was, in effect, that which was made by Daniel Boone when discussing the question with Kenton.
"You are mistaken in supposing Wa-on-mon was frightened; he is afraid of no man."
"What den made him get skeered at Mr. Kenton?"
"He did not. The Panther's heart is full of bitterness toward the white people. He saw, by hurrying off, a chance to do greater harm to those whom he regards as intruders upon the hunting grounds of his people; that is why the two did not meet."
"Mr. Kenton says de Panther hab shot women and children, and done de wust tings dat you can tink of."
"Simon Kenton is a truthful man."
"And I know he hab tried to do a worser ting dan dat."
"Impossible! What can it be?"
"He tried to step into my mouf when I war asleep."
The brave old pioneer preachers were as full of humor as they were of tenderness or pathos. Mr. Finley threw back his head and shook with laughter, though it was noticeable that it was as silent as that of Leatherstocking when that inimitable hero was amused with anything that took place in the woods.
The missionary made the youth give him the particulars of the incident, and despite the tragic atmosphere by which it was surrounded, he appreciated its grotesque features. Before he had grasped the whole occurrence he shuddered at the tempest of fury that he knew had been awakened to life in the breast of the terrible chieftain of the Shawanoes.
"To think of his being flung to the ground by this young man, of his being struck by him, and then bound and held for hours in captivity—ah, me! I pray that this colored youth may never fall into the power of Wa-on-mon. Much I fear that yesterday's events have so deepened the hatred of the chieftain, that the truth can make little impression upon his heart."
By questioning and comment, Mr. Finley gradually gained an accurate idea of the perilous situation of the pioneers who were on their way to the block-house to escape the storm that was already bursting from the sky. The information, however, that he filtered through the brain of Jethro Juggens could not fail to be mystifying in more than one respect.
Thus he knew that the pioneers had started up the Kentucky side of the river for Capt. Bushwick's block-house, and, before going far, had come to a halt, while Kenton returned to the clearing in quest of the canoe that had been left there beside the flatboat. His natural object, it would seem, in taking this course, was to secure the smaller craft for use in transporting the women and children to the other side of the Ohio. Why he should have taken Jethro Juggens as a companion could not be conjectured.
Another self-evident fact caused the missionary less misgiving than would be supposed. Kenton had captured the canoe, for he and it were gone when the youth boarded the flatboat. Furthermore, the craft in which the visitor paddled out to the flatboat was the very one, as identified by Jethro, which, in some way, had been recaptured from the ranger. The presence of the warrior in the boat seemed to point with absolute certainty to the conclusion that the Shawanoe had slain the great pioneer before wresting the property from him.
But Mr. Finley did not accept that theory, and was willing to await an explanation in the near future.
An inexpressibly greater and more distressing problem lay beyond that, as to the ultimate fate of the two families turned back, as may be said, on the threshold of success. The action of Kenton and Boone told their anxiety to place them on the same side of the Ohio with the block-house, and it indicated with equal certainty the appearance of some frightful danger in their front.
That danger must be The Panther and his war party. Thus, it will be perceived, that by a course of rapid reasoning the missionary was approaching a correct idea of the situation.
He knew nothing of Rattlesnake Gulch, for the pioneer circuit preachers of the west had to traverse too many vast areas of wilderness to become minutely familiar with every portion; but the checking of the fugitives, or the turning back of their real leader, could mean but one thing; they had discovered the presence of The Panther and his Shawanoes in their path.
All and considerably more than the foregoing being conceded, the missionary could not but regard the turning over to him of the invaluable canoe, to say nothing of the flatboat itself, as providential. There was now abundant means to carry the imperiled ones to the other shore.
But missionary Finley was too familiar with the people of the West, and too well versed in woodcraft, to feel over-confidence, or to believe that it was plain sailing into the haven of absolute safety. If The Panther had cut off the flight of the fugitives to the block-house, he was not the one to permit them to flank the danger by means of the canoe.
The first step necessary, as it seemed to the good man, was to open communication in some way with Simon Kenton.
"Have you any idea where he is?" he asked of Jethro.
"Yes—I feels purty suah, and it makes me feel bad."
"Where can he be?"
"He fell out dat canoe and got drownded; I feels bad 'cause I neber oughter left Mr. Kenton alone. He took me 'long to hab care ob him, and I outer feel dat I am to blame for his drownin'."
"Have no alarm about that. Kenton is too good a swimmer to lose his life in that way."
"But he mout get de cramps."
"He might, but he didn't. He probably awaited your return as long as it was safe, and then continued up the river to join his friends. In some way he lost the canoe to the Shawanoe, who abandoned it to me."
"I should tink dat he would come back to look for de boat."
"The same thought has occurred to me, I hope he has done so, for then we shall be pretty sure to see him. But, after all, if he set out for that purpose, he has probably given it up and returned, or he would have shown himself before."
All this time the flatboat, with its broad spread of sail, was gliding steadily up the Ohio, keeping as close as was prudent to the Kentucky shore.
An odd thought had gradually assumed form in the mind of the missionary. He had noted the headlong panic into which the single Shawanoe was thrown by the sudden sight of the fantastic craft, and he asked himself whether, such being the case, The Panther and his warriors could not be temporarily frightened, and advantage taken of it.
"At any rate it is worth trying," was his conclusion.
But in arriving at this belief, it did not occur to the good man that the seeming apparition might produce the same effect upon the white men as upon the Shawanoes.
The reader has long since penetrated the cause of the panic into which Simon Kenton was thrown—a panic as wild, as unreasonable and uncontrollable as that of the single Shawanoe, some time before, when he plunged into the forest and fled as if from the pursuit of the evil one himself.
There were no more superstitious men living than the daring pioneers and scouts of the West. Never hesitating to meet death, and courageously facing peril before which most people would have cowered, they demanded that that death and that peril should present themselves in tangible form. In other words, they shrank at receiving no blows, provided the opportunity was given them of striking effective blows in return.
In trailing an enemy, when the "crossing of the ways" was reached, that is, where it was impossible to decide from evidence the right path to take, the question was often decided by a flirt of a hunting-knife; whichever course the implement indicated when it fell, was accepted as the finger of Providence, and was followed with as much unflinching vigor as though the possibility of an error did not exist. In many other respects was this belief in signs and the awe of the supernatural shown.
The brief, terrified glance of Kenton revealed to him an Ohio flatboat moving up the river against the current—something which in all his varied experience he had never seen. The same glance showed a yawning white spread across the craft, as if it were the upturned wing of some monster swimming on its side in the water.
Without pausing to reflect that this appearance was the key to the whole mystery, the brave man gave way to terror, and, throwing discretion to the winds, dashed into the enclosure among his friends with the exclamation:
"Boys, we're lost! We're lost! There's a ghost coming up the river!"
His words and manner threw the others into consternation. While it is certain that some would have shown more coolness, yet nothing is more contagious than fear, and the panic of one considered the clearest-headed and most daring of the rangers caused the rest for a brief while to bid good-by to their senses.
Forgetful of the Shawanoes near at hand, and thinking of nothing but the new and dreadful peril, the men and women made haste to gather about the tall figure that advanced almost to the middle of the inclosure before checking himself.
"What is it, Kenton? For heaven's sake, tell us!"
"Where is it? What does it look like?"
"Keep your head, Simon," counselled Boone, in the babel of exclamations, "and tell us what it is the ghost of."
"You remember t'other flatboat," said Kenton, partially recovering his self-mastery, "the one the MacDougalls was on, and they was all killed?"
"Yes, of course, of course," replied several.
"Wal, the ghost of that flatboat is coming up the river; it's right off shore; it'll be among us in a few minutes; we had better take to the woods."
And, incredible as it may seem, the intrepid scout would have led the absurd stampede, had not his elder and cooler friend laid his hand on his arm.
"Simon, you ain't yourself; don't forget the varmints are all around us."
"Dan'l," returned Kenton, sharply, "did you ever see a ghost?"
"I have not."
"Wal, if you want to see one, walk down to the edge of the river and there it is! As for me, I want to git away afore it comes any closer; but I forgot 'bout the varmints; I'll wait till you folks have a look at it, and then we'll all run."
Evidently, the ranger was rallying from his panic.
Among the group that gathered around him were several who were quick to recover from their own fright, and to see that the true course was to investigate the cause of the latter's state of mind.
"Wait here till I take a look for myself," said George Ashbridge, touching the elbow of his father; "there's something in this that I don't understand; I will be gone but a few minutes; it's the strangest condition of affairs I ever knew."
He whisked off in the obscurity and quickly reached the river side.
Meanwhile, Missionary Finley gave proof of his sagacity. Having decided to use the flatboat and its sail as a possible weapon, he had risen to his feet, and with hands grasping the bow oar was figuring as to how he could discover the proper point at which to work the boat to land.
He had made up his mind to emit a signal which would be recognized either by Boone or Kenton, if it reached their ears, when across the brief, intervening space he heard the threshing and the terrified exclamations of his old friend.
"Here we are, Jethro! This is the place! Now, work with a will!"
Both bent their strong arms to the task, and the water was churned at each end of the craft by the broad blades that swept deep and powerful like the arms of a propeller. The bulky boat responded and began approaching the bank, no more than a couple of rods distant.
In this hurly-burly of affright and excitement, the missionary compressed his lips to keep back the tugging smile. He had caught the first words uttered by Kenton, identified his voice, and understood the cause of his alarm.
"If it please Heaven to deliver us all from peril," was the thought of Finley, "I shall not forget this affair, and I will make sure that Simon is not allowed to forget it."
It was only a minute or two later that George Ashbridge hurried to the margin of the water. The sweep of the long oars and the sight of the flatboat itself, with the spread of sail above it, all so near that they were recognized at the first glance, told the whole amazing story to the young man, though, as yet, he could not comprehend how it had all come about.
One of the figures toiling at the sweeps was Jethro Juggens; he could form no suspicion as to the identity of the other.
"Is that you, Jethro?" called Ashbridge, in a guarded undertone.
"It am," was the proud response; "keep out ob de way, Marse George, or dis boat will run ober you. We's comin' like thunder."
"There! that will do," said the missionary, as the boat struck sideways, almost abreast of where the youth was standing; "we couldn't have made a better landing. Good evening, my friend; I am sure we are welcome."
With these cheery words the man, with his rifle in his left hand, stepped across the gunwale upon the hard earth and extended his right to young Ashbridge.
"My name is Finley—James B. Finley; I am a missionary for Ohio and Kentucky, and joined your young friend hero to see whether I can be of any help to you and those with you."
"And an angel could not be more welcome," was the fervent response of the youth, returning the warm pressure of the good man.
"There seems to be trouble here," said he, with grave concern.
"We are in sore straits, indeed; we have been resting for a good while, afraid to go on, for there is an ambuscade of the Indians just beyond, into which they are waiting for us to enter."
"I presume the Shawanoes are in charge of The Panther."
"So Daniel Boone tells us."
"I feared as much; I'm glad that Boone is with you."
"And so is Kenton."
"Yes; I recognized his voice; he seems to be a little disturbed by the appearance of our craft."
"I never knew it was possible for a man like him to become so frightened. He seems to have lost his wits."
"They will soon return to him; he's a noble fellow."
"Jes' let me know what you want done," remarked Jethro Juggens, who had placed the anchor so as to hold the flatboat motionless; "don't forget dat I fixed up dis yer contrivance."
"Yes, all the credit belongs to him. He will explain when there is time; we have not a minute to spare now; it looks as if the appearance of the boat has given the red men, as well as the others, a scare."
"No doubt of that, and Kenton's performance has had a good deal to do with it, for he upset our people completely."
"We must take instant advantage of this diversion, which is providential; let us go to your friends at once."
The missionary set off with young Ashbridge at his side and Jethro Juggens immediately behind them. A few brief, hurried steps took them to the group, whose members were beginning to regain a part at least of their senses.
It was no occasion for Mr. Finley to indulge in any pleasantry at the expense of his old friend, Simon Kenton, however appropriate it might be at another time. His words were grave, quick and prompt, as were becoming. He hurriedly shook hands with Boone, Kenton and the rangers, to all of whom he was well known and by them held in high esteem. He greeted the others warmly in turn, using his tongue while doing so.
"The appearance of the flatboat is so strange that it gave you all a good scare, and no wonder that it did so. It has produced the same effect upon The Panther's party, else they would not have allowed us to land or permitted this passing back and forth; but like you they will soon recover from it; one must use this opportunity, so providentially placed in our way."
"That's the right kind of talk," remarked Kenton, who was already humiliated at the part he had played a short time before.
"From what Jethro told me, you have little, if any, luggage with you."
"Only what we can carry in our hands," replied Mr. Altman.
"So far as I can judge, you are all gathered in this spot—a thing you would not be permitted to do but for the fright of the Indians. Follow me then; I will lead the way."
Less time than would be supposed was occupied in this broken conversation. As stated, the words of the missionary were quickly uttered, and he showed his promptness by wheeling about and moving down the gentle incline toward the river. It seemed strange for him to take the lead of a party of rangers, among whom were Daniel Boone and Simon Kenton, but his leadership was only for the moment, and could have been assumed by Jethro Juggens himself, for it signified an advance only to the flatboat itself.
Boone, with several quick strides, placed himself beside the preacher.
"Have a care," he continued. "I don't understand what makes the varmints so quiet."
"Because they are scared, as all of you were by the flatboat and its sail."
"The only one of us skeered was Simon," corrected the great pioneer, "and then he skeered us by the way he carried on."
"Well, any one of you would have been just as much frightened as he, and I suspect the rumpus he created had something to do with the panic of the Shawanoes; but you are right; it will not last long, and it may be over already."
The habit of caution to which all the rangers were trained asserted itself. Grasping their rifles firmly, they involuntarily assumed a crouching pose and stepped lightly forward, as if afraid the slightest footfall would betray them. They glanced to the right and left, and more than once fancied they discerned shadowy forms stealing here and there in the gloom.
It was natural, perhaps, that a different and somewhat peculiar feeling should influence the two families of settlers. They felt as if they would ignore the existence of enemies in their immediate neighborhood; they would forget that any danger of that nature ever threatened them at all, and devote their utmost energies to hurrying forward to the flatboat. They held their gaze in that direction, and tried to pierce the gloom and see nothing but the single object upon which their hope was fixed.
Mr. Ashbridge and his wife clasped a hand of Mabel between them. Mr. Altman and his wife clung to each other, while George Ashbridge had fallen slightly to the rear with Agnes, while the rangers seemed to straggle irregularly forward, as they had done when pushing through the woods, but, in truth, they were advancing in accordance with a well-defined idea of the best course to follow at this time.
Finley, Kenton and Boone held their places at the head, and the fugitives speedily reached the river side, where the unpleasant fact became apparent that the wind, which had been blowing so long and steadily, had dropped to a degree that it could no longer be of any help to them.
Not a moment was to be lost. Everything depended upon boarding the flatboat and pushing off at once from shore. The party was so large that the craft was sure to be crowded, but its buoyancy was sufficient to carry still more.
To most of the party hurrying on board, the silence and inactivity of the Shawanoes were incomprehensible. That they had been partially dazed was fair to believe, but it could not continue long. The presence of the boat, with its sail still spread, against the bank, must tell the story to the fierce red men, who ought to be as quick to recover from it as were the pioneers.
It mattered not that the wind had failed. The one point was to get the flatboat away from land, and out into the stream. That done, a long step would be taken toward safety. The ambuscade would be flanked and avoided.
"You can't hurry too much," said the missionary, beginning to show nervousness now that the critical moment was at hand. He helped the women on board, and did what he could to prevent the confusion caused at this juncture by the crowding. He expected that a volley would come every moment from the gloom along the shore, and therefore held his station where his body would be most likely to shield the helpless ones.
Amid the confusion there was something approaching order, and it can be said that no time was thrown away. Within a minute of reaching the flatboat it seemed that every one of the pioneers was on board.
"Lay down," whispered Boone, addressing the settlers especially; "the varmints are sartin to fire afore you can get out on the river—"
"Dar goes dat canue," called Jethro Juggens, who managed to be the first on board.
The little boat had been swung around and fastened to the farther side of the more bulky craft, so as to allow the latter to approach nearer the land. The youth was doing what he could to aid his friends (really doing nothing), when he observed the canoe several feet away with the intervening space steadily increasing.
"Jump over after it," commanded Kenton, who himself would have done what he ordered but for the need of his presence on the flatboat.
"Drop dat boat!" shouted Jethro, addressing (with a view of impressing those around him) an imaginary foe. At the same moment, leaving his gun behind him, he leaped overboard and swam powerfully toward the little craft. The clothing of the youth had not yet dried from the wetting received by his bath earlier in the evening, and at this sultry season of the year a plunge in the river was pleasant than otherwise.
Jethro ought to have noticed that while the canoe was drifting with the current it was also approaching the middle of the Ohio. That could hardly take place without the interference of some one.
But the powerful youth noted not the significant fact, and swam with lusty stroke straight for the little boat that had changed hands so frequently during the last few hours, and been the cause of more than one furious wrangle. Only a second or two was necessary to reach it, and he laid his hand on the gunwale.
At that instant a Shawanoe warrior rose from the interior of the canoe, and lifted his hand in which was clasped a knife, with the purpose of burying it with vicious energy in the breast of the astonished youth.
"Whew! gorrynation! I didn't know yo' war dar!" gasped Jethro, dropping like a loon beneath the surface just in time to escape the ferocious thrust.
The Shawanoe leaned so far out, with upraised weapon, to strike the African when he came up, that the canoe careened almost upon its side. He was in this attitude of expectancy when, from the flatboat, came the sharp crack of a rifle, and the savage plunged over, head first, with a smothered shriek, and sank from sight.
"I expected something of the kind," muttered Simon Kenton, who, amid the tumult around him, proceeded to reload his rifle with as much coolness as if he were in the depth of the forest and had just brought down a deer or bear.
From the undergrowth immediately above where the boat was pushing from land, a second warrior, whose zeal outran his discretion, emitted a ringing whoop, and dashed straight at the crowding fugitives. He was nearer Mrs. Altman than any of the others, and meant to bury his uplifted tomahawk in her brain, but when almost within reach he made a frenzied leap from the ground, and, with outspread arms and legs, tumbled forward on his face.
It was never clearly established who was quick enough to check the murderous miscreant in this fashion, for fighting had fairly begun and considerable shooting was going on; but the moon at that moment was unobscured, and Mr. Altman insisted that he saw Missionary Finley raise his rifle like a flash and discharge it in the direction of the warrior just at the instant before the husband could intervene in defence of his wife.
When the good man was afterward taxed with the exploit, so creditable to his coolness and courage, he showed a reluctance to discuss it. Pressed further, he would not admit the charge, and yet refrained from denial. It will be conceded, therefore, that the presumption is reasonable that Missionary Finley was the instrument of saving Mrs. Altman's life when it was in the gravest possible peril. Meanwhile Jethro Juggens found himself with interesting surroundings. Availing himself of his great skill in the water, he dived so deeply that his feet touched bottom and he came up a dozen rods away from the canoe and between it and the Ohio shore. The passing of the Shawanoe took place while the youth was beneath the surface, so that he was unaware of the true situation when he arose and stared at the boat.
"Gorrynation, if de t'ing ain't upsot!" was his exclamation when he had approached somewhat nearer and saw the boat turned bottom upward.
The spasmodic lunge of the Shawanoe had overturned the craft, which resembled a huge tortoise, drifting with the current.
"He's walking on de bottom ob de ribber, wid dat boat ober his head, to keep from gettin' moonstruck. Dat can't be neither," added Jethro, "onless he am seventeen foot tall, and I don't tink he am dat high."
The gently moving arms of the swimmer came in contact with something. Closing his hands about it, he found it to be the oar flung out of the canoe by the overturning.
"Dat'll come handy," thought Jethro. "When he sticks out his head to get a bref ob air, I'll whack him wid de paddle till he s'renders."
After manoeuvring about the canoe for some minutes, a suspicion of the truth dawned upon the youth. Even when under the water he was able to hear the deadened reports of the rifles above, and he believed that one of the shots must have reached the occupant of the boat, whose frenzied leap capsized it.
Gathering courage after a few minutes, he grasped the canoe and managed to swing it back into proper position, but it contained so much water as to forbid its use until it was emptied. This could be done only by taking it ashore. Jethro therefore tossed the paddle inside, and grasping the gunwale with one hand, swam with the other toward Ohio. It may be added that he reached it without further event, and there for a time we will leave him to himself.
"Lie down!" thundered the missionary, seeing that his first order was only partially obeyed. "My good woman, I beg your pardon, but it must be done."
His words were addressed to Mrs. Ashbridge, who, in her anxiety for her husband and son, was exposing herself in the most reckless manner. As he spoke, he seized her in his arms as though she were but an infant, and placed her not too gently flat in the bottom of the boat.
"There! spend these minutes in prayer—no; that will never do," he added, grasping the shoulder of Agnes Altman, who, at that moment, attempted to rise; "keep down—all that is between you and death is that plank."
"But—but," pleaded the distressed girl, "tell father and George to be careful, won't you, please?"
"We are in the hands of God, my child, and have only to do our duty. Help us by causing no anxiety about yourselves."
The great necessity, as has been explained, was to work the flatboat away from land. The most direct means of doing this was by pushing with the poles that had been taken on board for that use; but they were fastened in place as supports for the sail that had brought the craft to this place. The sweeps would accomplish this work, but only slowly and by frightful exposure on the part of those swaying them.
Nevertheless, Jim Deane seized the bow sweep at the moment another ranger grasped the rear one, and both wrought with right good will.
Dark forms appeared in greater number along shore and near the craft itself. The gloom was lit up by flashes of guns, and the air was rent by the shouts of the combatants, for the white men could make as much noise as their enemies in the swirl and frenzy of personal encounter and deadly conflict.
Boone, Kenton, the missionary and most of the men had leaped into the flatboat and crouched low, where all seemed huddled together in inextricable confusion. The two were toiling at the sweeps, and the craft worked away from the shore with maddening tardiness. To some of the terrified inmates it did not seem to move at all.
"A little harder, Jim," called the missionary "shall I lend a hand?"
"No," replied Deane; "I'll fetch it, I don't need you—yes I do, too."
As he spoke, he let go of the sweep and sagged heavily downward.
"Are you hit?" asked the good man, raising the head upon his knee.
"I got my last sickness that time, parson—it's all up—good-by!"
The missionary would have said more, would have prayed with the fellow, despite the terrifying peril around him, had there been time to do so, but Jim Deane was dead.
"God rest his soul!" murmured the good man, gently laying down the head, and drawing the body as closely as he could to the gunwale, where it would be out of the way.
As from the first, the missionary exposed himself with the utmost recklessness, and, where the bullets were hurtling all about him, the wonder was that he had not already been struck; but the life of Rev. J. B. Finley was one of sacrifice, peril, suffering and hardship, in which his last thought was for himself. He was ready for the call of the dark angel, whether he came at midnight, morning, or high noon, and the angel did not come until after the lapse of many years, when the scenes such as we are describing had long passed away.
A strange and for a time wholly unaccountable occurrence took place near the stem of the flatboat, only a moment before Jim Deane was mortally smitten.
Simon Kenton had just withdrawn his attention from Jethro Juggens and his canoe, and was looking toward the bank at his elbow, when he uttered an exclamation, the meaning of which no one caught, or, if he did, failed to notice it in the tumult and hullabaloo. At the same moment the ranger gathered his muscles into one mighty effort, and made a leap toward shore.
Superb as was his skill in this direction, the distance was too great to be covered, and he stuck in the water, but so near land that he sank only to his waist. He struggled furiously forward, seemingly in the very midst of the Shawanoes, and was immediately lost to sight.
There was no time to inquire the meaning of this extraordinary action, and no one suspected it, but it became apparent within a brief space of time.
It was at this juncture that several noticed the wind had risen again. It was blowing not so strongly as before, but with sufficient power to start the flatboat slowly up stream. Boone called to all to keep down, while he, crouching close to the stern, held the oar so that it helped steer the craft into mid-stream.
The missionary did the same with the forward sweep, and, impelled by the wind, the craft slowly forged away from the Kentucky and toward the Ohio shore.
All hearts were beating high with hope and thankfulness when a piercing cry came from Mrs. Ashbridge.
"Where is Mabel? What has become of Mabel? Oh, where is she?"
Dismay reigned during the minute or two of frenzied search of the interior of the craft. The space was so small that the hunt was quickly over, with the dreadful truth established that little ten-year old Mabel Ashbridge was not on the flatboat.
Missionary Finley announced the fact when he said:
"She has fallen into the hands of the Shawanoes; that was the cause of Simon Kenton leaping ashore."