"So had I," she returned, her eyes on the circling trees. "Still, he will be here before he leaves Kentucky. He was doubtless detained on business."
Norton nodded, remembering Elisha Ayres. Probably Boone had sought the little schoolmaster and the latter had detained him. Well, so much the better; friends were at work, and there seemed to be sore need of them all.
"When you see him, then, tell him of seeing me here," said the Louisianian. It would be well to have Boone kept informed. "He is a very good friend——"
"Wait," the girl broke in quietly, frowning. "What are you going to do? If the rivermen are after you, as it seems they are, you would be very foolish to take the river trail——"
"I am a woodsman, sweet Kitty," he laughed easily, "and I am willing to take my chance against any white man save only Boone—and perhaps one other. Would that honest Davy Crockett were here with me! He and I have had many a trail together, but—well, no matter. Trust me, Kitty; the forest can harm me not."
"But the river can, my confident paladin of Louisiana! Bethink you, the rivermen can use canoes to get ahead of you, lay an ambush——"
Norton uttered an ejaculation. She was right—he had overlooked the river. With a sudden anxiety in his brown eyes, he looked at her gravely, thinking hard. His was no lack of self-reliance, else he had not been on this present errand. But he was in a strange country, and the Kentuckians and rivermen were strange to him; above all, to find himself so swiftly and shrewdly attacked, as he had been that morning, was disconcerting. He longed for some man at his back, some man like young Crockett or old Boone, not dreaming what manner of man Fate was even then leading to his comradeship.
"What think you I had best do, Madam Kathleen?" he asked quietly. She flushed a little under his serious eyes, but met the look frankly.
"Take the Tennessee trail," she returned slowly. "Since you are a woodsman, and look it, this will be easy for you. Take the fork to the left, as you first intended; after a few miles, strike west and work back north to the river gradually, through the woods. Blue River is only forty-five miles distant. Do your enemies know your destination?"
"No—it is known only to Mr. Elisha Ayres, who is my friend and helper."
"Oh—you know him, then!" The grey eyes widened suddenly, and he was amazed at their quick friendliness and warmth. "Why, 'twas he who taught me learning! Well, then, by all means circle around through the woods to the Blue River, and God preserve you, sir!"
"I doubt not He will," responded Norton gravely.
He knelt beside the spring and dipped the gourd, more as an excuse for his stay than because he wished a drink. The girl refused the proffered vessel, and Norton put it to his lips.
As he drank, his eyes fell on the shadow cast by the corner of the log cabin. A tuft of grass suddenly leaped from shadow to sunshine; some moving object at the corner of the cabin had caused the change. Norton was on his feet instantly, and a leap took him to the corner, hand on knife.
Quick as he was, he found the front of the cabin deserted. His horse was grazing quietly; there was no flutter of leaves, no swing of branches, to show that anyone had fled hastily into the trees. Half-wondering if he had been mistaken, he glanced down at the ground by the cabin corner, as the alarmed Kathleen joined him.
"Ah!" he cried swiftly, stooping over a faint mark on the ground. "Get me that rifle from my saddle, Kitty! Here is a gentleman who wears a patched moccasin—"
"Stop!" The girl caught his arm as he rose, and her face was set in swift alarm. "It was my father—I told you he did not like to have strangers around! I patched that moccasin myself—please go, and quickly!"
"Hm!" Norton looked at her. "Does it occur to you, Kathleen, that your worthy father may have overheard what we said about my journey? By the way, are you so certain that he is your father?"
"Why—what mean you?" The colour ebbed from her cheeks as she gazed at him. "Of course he is my father! Please depart, sir——"
"Nay, I dislike to be hurried." And Norton calmly pulled out his pipe. He was angry, but it showed only in his narrowed eyes. "Now our mutual friend, Colonel Boone, seems to have an idea that Abel Grigg is not your father, sweet Kitty. I confess that the same thought has come to me, since seeing him. Have you any coals inside?"
She stamped her foot, half in anger and half in dismay.
"Good lack, sir, will you not be gone?"
"Not until you fetch me a coal, at all events."
She looked at him, read determination in his face, and with an impatient gesture ran to the cabin door and vanished inside. After a moment she appeared with a brand in her fingers, evidently pulled from the fire inside. Smiling, he took it and set it to his pipe.
"Ah, that is better! Now, Kitty, as to your birth: Do you know anything of your mother?"
He fully expected fresh expostulation from her; instead, she nodded quietly.
"Yes, though I do not conceive your right to question me, sir."
"My right is the interest of a gentleman," he said gravely, and she flushed. "May I ask who your mother was?"
"I—I do not know her name," stammered the girl, helpless wonder in her eyes. "Her initials were H.E.M., but my father never speaks of her."
"You mean, Abel Grigg never speaks of her," corrected Norton. A new anger flashed into the girl's face.
"Oh, you are insufferable!" she cried bitterly. "I have tried to help you, and your impertinent curiosity——"
"Nay, Kitty, it is only the interest of a gentleman, as I said before," smiled Norton, "Still, you are right. My curiosity is impertinent, it may be, and if you were not the fairest maid I think I have ever seen, perhaps my interest in you would be less. Frankly, I expect to return to this vicinity before a great while, and shall look forward to seeing you again. But tell me, please—how is it that you know your mother's initials, but not her name?"
She looked at him for a long moment, divided between anger at his cool insistence and comprehension of the iron will behind his gentle courtesy. Her hand went to her dress.
"Because of this. It used to be my mother's, father has said——"
She laid a pin in his hand, and Norton stared down at it in rank incredulity. He turned it over and saw the graven initials on the back, "H.E.M." Then, reaching inside his buckskin coat, he brought out its duplicate and laid it beside the other. Both pins were identical—a small golden eagle, with half-obliterated enamel.
"By thunder!" said Norton very softly, "Kitty, do you know what this is?"
"No—a pin, that's all," she looked up at him, perplexed. He turned over his own pin, showing her the twined initials graven there, "C.N.—E.D."
"This was my only legacy from my father," he continued slowly. "Ask Colonel Boone to tell you the story. My father was Charles Norton, my mother Eliza Darby—their initials, you see. But how on earth did you get yours? It could not have belonged to your mother, unless your father had given it her. And if Abel Grigg was an officer in the Revolution—then I'm a liar!"
"But what is it?" she queried, wide-eyed. He came to her side, pointing to the two little gold eagles, and explained:
"This broken enamel, here, showed Cincinnatus at the plough—the Roman story, if you remember"—and she nodded to his words. "The motto was 'Omnia relinquit servare rempublicam'. Kitty, this eagle is from the order of the Society of the Cincinnati, composed only of Revolutionary officers and their eldest male descendants. I am a member, in virtue of my father's having been one before me—but how on earth did you get this? Does your father know what it is?"
"No, because I have asked him," she returned, excited interest in her eyes. "He says it is just a bauble—but please, please go now! He was here, and I'm afraid that—that——"
"Very well, Kitty." And returning one of the eagles to her, he replaced the other beneath his leathern shirt. "Say nothing to him of this, mind. I'll investigate it when I return. Farewell—and remember, I'll come back sooner or later!"
He raised her hand to his lips, bowing, and turned to his horse. He scarcely remembered more than that he rode off with a wave of his hand; his brain was in a wild riot of thought. It was a moral certainty that Abel Grigg had no right to wear that golden eagle, and in fact knew nothing about it—where, then, had Kathleen Grigg's eagle come from?
"'Just a bauble,' eh?" muttered Norton, his lips tightening in anger. "Friend Grigg, I would be pleased to have you repeat those words to me! By thunder, you'd learn something about the Revolution in a confounded hurry!"
And so he rode off into the wilderness, nor looked back to see the girl gazing after him, hands at her breast.
Gradually, Norton's mind settled out of chaos into order. The girl was no daughter of Abel Grigg; so much was certain. He felt a hot anger at thought of her in the hands of such a man. There was no chance that Grigg had lied to her about the eagle, for his very use of the term "just a bauble" showed Norton that the backwoodsman had not known what it was. No man who was a member of the Cincinnati but reverenced the order and all it stood for, and whenever he thought of those words Norton felt hot anger thrilling him.
Turning to his own situation, he dismissed the remembrance of Kitty Grigg for the present. Had her father overheard their conversation? If so, there was a bare chance of finding trouble waiting near Blue River. He saw, however, that she had suggested the wisest course to him. Half an hour later, coming to a fork in the trail, he promptly turned off to the south.
His best plan now lay in finding the man Red Hugh, of whom Boone had spoken, and enlisting his services. There might also be a messenger at Dodd's Tavern, if Ayres kept his word.
Norton perceived very plainly that he had been neatly driven out of Louisville as a fugitive, but he firmly intended to return otherwise—for divers reasons. If he was to detect the river-pirates or whoever formed the band of Blacknose, he must do it by means of scouting along the river. It might require weeks and months of arduous work and woods-living, and such a man as Red Hugh would prove invaluable. Were Boone right in his description of the man who slew Indians—and Norton knew of too many such to doubt—this Red Hugh would be more than apt to know all the river-haunts this side the Mississippi.
"After all," he told himself cheerily, "things seem to have turned out very well! If Ayres does not forget his promises, we may yet bring Blacknose to book."
He passed one or two scattered cabins that afternoon, shot a wild turkey, and camped for the night beside a creek, in perfect content. In case Grigg had not overheard his plan, he decided to let the man think he had followed the Tennessee trail; he was not at all sure that Duval and Grigg were not leagued against him, and knew better than to trust in the lawyer's seeming apology. Kitty's words rang in his mind—"If Charles Duval gave you an apology, look to your steps!"
"She knew the breed all right," he reflected, the next morning. "I should have known better myself. Well, now for the north and west!"
He made no effort to hide his camp. As the creek ran north, seemingly to the Ohio, he led his horse along its bed for a good mile, picked hard ground for the emergence, and rode off, leaving a carefully covered trail. Even were he followed, his pursuers would be a day or two later, he knew, so before noon he flung off all care and rode on through the woods.
Another turkey and a small deer fell to his rifle that morning, after which he wended his solitary way in peace, with meat and to spare. Stopping at noon, he lighted a small fire and proceeded to smoke enough of his fresh meat to last for a few days, as he was going on to the river, where game was thinned out. He had been following no trail and had seen no one all that morning; the forest seemed limitless and desolate, empty of all human life.
Norton, however, did not relax his vigilance. While he was engaged with his meat, he paused suddenly, caught up his rifle, and drew the feather from the touch-hole. He heard no sound, but he had a subtle warning that someone was near; before he had unstopped his powder-horn, the bushes opposite were flung aside and two Indians appeared.
"How!"
They gazed at him, motionless, with only the single word of peace, and Norton returned the stare with interest. Both men were dressed in beaded buckskin; both wore medals and carried Kentucky rifles, and both were unpainted; the larger man was strikingly handsome, while the other, who possessed but one eye, had a wild ferocity in his features.
Without a word more, the larger man laid his rifle on the ground and made an inquiring motion toward the meat. Norton told them to help themselves, and endeavoured to make them talk; but neither would say a thing, save for a swift exchange of gutturals between themselves.
He watched them in no little interest as they ate, and came to the conclusion that they were no ordinary warriors. He knew little of the northern tribes, but from the fact that the one-eyed man wore moccasins of unmistakable Cherokee make, he guessed the two had been on a trip to the south. Having none of the Kentuckian's contempt for the Indian, Norton went on about his work quietly though watchfully, rather perplexed by the oddity of their silence. Pouring fresh powder into his pan, he set his rifle ready to hand, whereat he thought the handsome Indian smiled a little.
When they had eaten the better half of his deer, they both drew out small pipes of the precious calumet stone—a thing which in itself marked them as men of rank. Norton silently proffered them tobacco. The handsome chieftain made the ceremonial of four puffs and handed his pipe to Norton, who repeated it, thinking they would now talk. In this he was mistaken. The one-eyed man emitted a grunt as Norton made the four puffs in Indian fashion to the four quarters of the heavens, but that was all. Although he ventured a question, neither replied.
With that Norton gave a shrug, rose, and began tying his smoked meat to his saddle. He wished that he knew more about the northern redskins, for these were certainly men of some importance, but his experiences had been confined to Creek, Cherokee, and Seminole, while these two were quite clearly of a different race—whether Shawnee, Miami, Wyandot, or Ottawa he could not tell.
As he turned to pick up his rifle, the larger man rose and came forward, smiling. He reached forth an empty powder-horn, which was finely carved, and indicated by signs that Norton was to give him powder; it was not a demand, but a courteous request. Norton, at first inclined to anger, found himself suddenly impressed by this unknown Indian; having plenty of powder himself, he at length assented and poured a few charges into the empty horn.
At this, the Indian gravely proffered him a shilling—and Norton noted that it was English money. He was well aware that he was going through a remarkable experience, there being little enough money in the settlements themselves, to say nothing of Indians using it—a thing unheard of.
"You're welcome," he smiled, waving back the coin. "I don't wish payment—you're quite welcome, though I don't suppose an Indian would ever hand me out free powder."
Whether he was understood or not, he could not tell. The one-eyed man, still sitting over his pipe, grunted out something; the other turned with swift anger in his face and poured forth a flood of words. Norton guessed shrewdly that the one-eyed man had expressed entire willingness to give him free powder at any time—from the end of a rifle.
Abruptly, the friendly chief turned to Norton again, and made signs for the latter to remove his moccasins—at the same time unfastening his own. Puzzled, the Louisianian hesitated a moment and finally obeyed, seeing that the other meant it. Then the Indian held out his moccasins—ankle-high, and elaborately beaded and quilled. Norton drew back, glancing at his own torn and stained and unbeaded pair, which he had obtained from a Creek squaw on his way north.
"You mean to exchange with me?" he asked, wondering. "No, I can't do that, man! Why, those moccasins of yours are magnificent! Want to sell them?"
A lightning flash of terrible anger shot into the swarthy features, but was gone instantly. Again the Indian nodded and held out his moccasins. Understanding that he was being paid in this fashion for his hospitality, Norton reluctantly accepted, amazed that an Indian should even think of payment. When he had donned the new and unusually fine pair of the Indian, he put out his hand—and met a smiling refusal to shake.
Frowning, he turned to his horse and mounted. As he rode away, his friend sent him a wave of the hand; then he splashed across the shallow creek near his camp, and the strange pair of redskins were lost behind him. It was odd, undoubtedly; that refusal to shake hands had been a very manly way of saying they were enemies, yet he knew there was no Indian war going on at present.
Unable to account for the whole experience, he dismissed it from his mind. It was one of the weird silent happenings which the wilderness holds in store for those who penetrate her fastnesses; strange things, memories which remain for ever, yet which may never react upon the future, the ebb and flow of Dead Sea tides leaving nothing upon the shores of life save the brine of wasted energy. Had John Norton known who his two guests were, however, he might not have considered the incident closed, so far as he himself was concerned. To them, indeed, it might well prove a momentary thing.
So he dismissed it lightly enough, and looked ahead. As he sat by his campfire that night and considered his situation, he found it good. He was to seek a certain unnamed settlement on the Indian shore, twelve miles this side of the Blue River, and on the Kentucky side would find Red Hugh; then on to Blue River, Dodd's tavern, and the messenger from Ayres. That afternoon he had seen the river hills to the north; so by keeping due west, getting off early, and pushing hard, he might find Red Hugh's cabin by the next night. He must have come a good twenty miles, he considered, of the forty-five lying between Louisville and his destination, for all that he had taken a circuitous course.
Before sunrise he was up and on his way again. Two hours later he drew up on a rising knoll amid the hills, and saw the signal-fire of Destiny awaiting him.
It was a spiral of blue smoke, ascending from the valley beyond, and perhaps a mile away. Norton sat watching it for a moment; to his trained eye it showed a fire of green wood, too small for a careless settler's building, too large for that of Indian or backwoodsman.
Since his meeting with the two redskins, Norton had regained his caution. He knew that the Kentucky woods were filled with adventurers and peculiar individuals of all descriptions, to say nothing of Indians who might or might not be hostile. So, having made certain that there were no settlers' cabins in the vicinity, he dismounted and went forward on foot. His horse, an Indian pony he had bought at Fort Massac, followed at a little distance behind him, treading almost as silently as did Norton himself.
After proceeding some distance, he tied the beast to a tree and went on more cautiously still, for that fire interested him. It was evidently built by someone who feared nothing in the woods, yet was a stranger to woods' ways, and Norton thought for a fleeting instant that he might have chanced upon the retreat of Blacknose. With his rifle ready loaded and primed, he stole forward, using all his woodcraft.
But his all was not enough, it proved. While he was crossing a thickly overgrown hollow, he flushed up two cardinals from a canebrake just ahead, and as the birds went up Norton realized that his cunning had been in vain. He was just about to plunge into the high canebrake when the tall yellowish stalks were brushed aside to disclose a figure of nearly his own height, and a white man stepped forth.
For a moment the two men stared at each other in mutual surprise and admiration, for both were striking in looks—Norton in his capable, alert, piercing-eyed way, the stranger in sheer manly beauty. He was an inch shorter than Norton, was this stranger who had risen from the midst of the cane; the effeminacy of the long hair curling over his shoulders was at once offset by a strong nose, large mouth, and square chin, and very large, deep-set, commanding dark eyes.
Norton was startled by the appearance of this man, who seemed not of the woods and yet a woodsman. He wore a magnificent ruffled shirt of finest French linen, flung open at the throat to display a neck as bronzed as Norton's own; his coat and knee-breeches were of black satin, his knee-high moccasins of rude home make; a watch fob-ribbon hung on one side of his belt, a powder-horn and hunting-knife opposite. Over one ear was stuck a long crayon, while in his hand he held a thin board with paper fastened to it.
"Parbleu!" exclaimed the stranger, then continued instantly in excellent English, staring hard at Norton: "Your coming was most unfortunate, sir! You frightened away the finest specimen of Kentucky cardinal I have seen this year!"
"Accept my apologies, monsieur," smiled Norton, speaking in French. "You are a Frenchman, then?"
"I? Not at all!" cried the other. "I was born in Louisiana, removing later to France, but this is my country. Who are you, sir, who speak French so excellently in this wilderness? Do you come from the French Grant up-river?"
"No, I gained that language in New Orleans," returned Norton, wondering greatly who this eccentric stranger might be. "I regret having frightened away your bird—I trust you did not anticipate dining upon him?"
The other looked bewildered.
"Eh? Dining? Do you eat such birds, sir?"
"Heavens, no!" And Norton laughed despite himself. "But what else could you want of him?"
The stranger broke into a frank laughter; so winning and direct was his whole attitude that the puzzled Norton felt an odd liking for the man.
"It seems we were both mistaken then! I was limning the bird—but come to the higher ground in here. Did you ever see a cardinal's nest?"
"I never looked for one," returned Norton curtly. He followed to a small patch of drier ground in the centre of the cane-brake, and the stranger eagerly pointed to a nest in the branches of a young cottonwood, to one side.
"Sit down—stay quiet!" commanded the other quickly. "They will return in a half-hour, sir——"
"Then I'll be on my way," broke in Norton drily, "for I have other business than watching birds, sir."
He turned, when the stranger set down the paper and board, on which only a few sketchy lines were visible, and caught at his arm.
"Pardon, sir—one moment! Are you lately from Louisiana? Do you know that country well?"
"I've lived there all my life, practically," said Norton. "Why?"
"Well"—and the other seemed to forget his birds temporarily—"I was but a child when I went to France, and last year I heard a monstrous strange story of Upper Louisiana, which I have never been able to authenticate. I met one of the men who had been on Colonel Burr's ill-fated expedition, and he assured me that on the banks of the Missouri there is a mountain of salt——"
"Travellers' tales," laughed Norton, but the other continued quickly:
"Wait, sir! He also stated very decidedly that had Colonel Burr succeeded in his venture, he would have been joined by a great tribe of Indians. This tribe inhabit a country of some nine hundred square miles, around the salt mountain, fight always on horseback, and are armed with the short Spanish carbines——"
"My dear sir," inquired Norton in frank wonder, "are you in earnest?"
"Of course I am!" And indeed there was no mistaking the eager interest of the stranger's handsome face. "I am a student of ornithology, sir—that is, I pursue the study in my spare time—but I am also keenly interested in such matters of ethnology, and if you could enlighten me as to this Indian tribe, I would appreciate it. You seem a person of no little refinement and culture——"
"Thank you," laughed Norton heartily. "Well, sir, I can assure you that this tale is a myth in all its branches, is not worthy of credence, and your informant was wholly wrong. I trust that is sweeping enough. Now, as I am in some haste, I will leave you to your birds and pursue my way. Do you know how far I am from the Blue River?"
"I do not, sir"—and the frank eyes twinkled at him. "I have been in camp here for a week past, watching this pair of birds at work. Fortunately my sketches are completed, but my provisions are gone, and I have lost my spare flints and cannot shoot. How say you—shall we seek the Blue River together, sir, and become gentleman adventurers through the wilderness?"
Something in the merry, careless, wholly engaging manner of this man made the Louisianian warm toward him. He could not mistrust that frank, sturdy, piercing-eyed face; here was a man in whom there was no guile, and almost involuntarily Norton struck his hand into that of the other.
"Done!" he laughed happily. "By thunder, sir. I like you! Hold on, though." He paused in dismay as a sudden thought struck him. "I must refuse your company, sir, for your own good. I am in some danger, and if you travelled with me it might turn out badly all around."
"Danger?" And when the other frowned Norton discovered a strange quality of power in the strong face. "Do not tell me you are a criminal."
"I'm not." Norton hesitated, in some embarrassment. Another steady look from the deep-set eyes of the stranger, and he concluded suddenly to open his heart to this man, to whom he felt so greatly drawn. "Frankly, sir, I am in Kentucky for the purpose of rooting out a gang of river pirates known as Blacknose's gang. Their organization has discovered my purpose, and——"
"Oh, is that all!" And the other laughed, passed his arm through Norton's, and gently urged him through the canes ahead. "Nonsense, friend!En avant!"
"I guess you don't know much about that gang," grunted Norton.
"Well, I ought to," retorted the other drily. "Last year I lost a dozen hogsheads of the finest tobacco, some prime ginseng cured in Canton fashion, and a good load of flax! I know them, and appreciate your danger. I am with you, sir, and with all my heart—there's the hand of John Audubon on it!"
"Audubon!" repeated Norton, his eyes kindling. "Why, I met your partner at Louisville—" He halted abruptly.
"And I'll wager that Rosier told you I was touched in the head, eh?" Audubon broke into a peal of ringing laughter. "Every man to his trade! Rosier cannot understand why I will not settle down behind the counter and make money. Nay, but I cannot! Now come along—here is my camp."
Norton followed into a small glade of cottonwoods, where a horse grazed beside a rudely erected brush shelter. He remembered that Rosier had said his partner was touched in the head, but he did not need to remember what else Rosier had said. He knew already that he could trust John Audubon—in fact, he felt that he could more than trust him.
Within an hour the two men had become firm friends. They were alike only in the saving grace of humour, for Audubon had been trained in a gentler school than Norton. The latter was amazed to find that his new comrade, as Rosier had said, left his family and business at Louisville, in order to spend weeks in the woods; yet when Norton saw the drawings and sketches of birds which Audubon proudly displayed, he was forced to confess that the long weeks had borne fruit.
"I can't see what use they are, except to science," he said ruefully, "but I presume you get out of them the same keen satisfaction that I get out of a trail well blazed or a hunt well finished."
"Exactly," laughed the other. "But enough of this. Tell me about Blacknose."
Norton did so, relating all that had happened to him since his eventful arrival at the Taylor farm. Audubon listened in keen interest, stroking his long powerful chin but saying nothing. When Norton had made an end, the naturalist—for this, and not shopkeeping, was his real profession—quietly bundled up his drawings in a portfolio. He arranged them neatly and in precision, and not until he had buckled the last buckle did he break the silence which had fallen. Then his eyes clenched on the keen sword-gaze of Norton, and he smiled.
"I will go with you. My wife is with General Clark, and need fear nothing; I myself am accounted as a little crazed, so no man would hurt me. But let them wait! The day is coming when this country of ours shall take her rightful place among the nations who sit at the feet of science! Look at our bison and elk, our countless new species of every bird and animal——"
He broke off suddenly, laughed at his own hot enthusiasm, and continued.
"But, sir, your pardon. You are a soldier, and I am not—but in truth I have served in the navy of France, so let us demolish these river pirates together. Poor Rosier would scarce credit me joining you, I fear!"
Norton smiled. He liked this animated, vivacious, strong young fellow immensely, and was far too well educated to share in the prejudices of the Kentuckians against him. Audubon had been in Louisville only a few months, his life having alternated between France and America, but his business venture with Rosier had been sadly crippled by the activity of the river pirates, and also by his own indifference. He did not lack energy for any pursuit which attracted him, however, and flung himself into Norton's problem with a whole-hearted enthusiasm which delighted the Louisianian.
The latter went over each point, from the description of the would-be assassin to his last meeting with Duval and Grigg. On this last, Audubon managed to throw some faint light.
"Grigg was accused of horse-theft this spring," he said thoughtfully. "He was even had up in court, but Duval defended him most ably, and had him acquitted. I have often seen them together, too. This fellow Duval is a most able lawyer, Norton; he is said to be a second Hercules in strength, and seems to have plenty of money. So you met the famous Colonel Boone, eh? I hope for that pleasure some day; he is a famous man, a famous man!"
Norton tried to elicit some information about the two mysterious Indians whom he had met, but Audubon merely shook his head, knowing nothing of the redskins and caring less.
"As to this river piracy, one of our merchants, a Mr. Tarascon, last year tried to capture the men. His hogsheads of tobacco were privately marked in a certain place, and after losing two cargoes he had all the river captains watching for them. One Captain Brookfield, who runs a horse-power barque of forty tons, stated later that he had received a number of hogsheads from a settler at Blue River. He believed them to be the ones in question, but the private mark had been branded over very cleverly. So that plan came to nothing."
"At least," exclaimed Norton eagerly, "it would go to show that the Tarascon boats were looted between Louisville and Blue River, eh? Of course, others have vanished at different points; a band of pirates with confederates on the boats would not be so foolish as to commit all their piracies at one spot, especially after what happened to the Mason and Harpe gang through just such work. Well, I believe we can do no better than to seek this man, Red Hugh—if indeed you are willing to incur the risk of helping me."
"Do you wish me?" Audubon looked at him calmly. "I do not want to intrude——"
"Why man," and Norton laughed in sheer happiness until his brown face lost all its cold grimness and expressed only eager delight—"when I left Louisville I wished that one of two men were with me—one of them Daniel Boone, the other a younger frontiersman named Crockett, whom I know well. Now I extend that to a third, and the third is named Audubon; I think, perhaps, that I would sooner have this same Mr. Audubon than either of the other two! You are a man, sir."
Audubon put out his hand, and Norton gripped it, eye to eye.
"And you," returned the other slowly, "are—well, that compliment gains its whole value, sir, in coming from you. I can say no more."
It was enough, and with a song in his heart Norton returned to get his horse, while Audubon gathered his scattered belongings and made ready to depart. The bird-lover had a small double-barrelled rifle which he had bought in Philadelphia some years before, and when he had replenished his stock of ammunition from Norton's store, the two set forth.
They were a strange pair—Audubon in his black satin and French shirt, Norton in his buckskin and magnificent moccasins. Both were well versed in threading wilderness pathways, however, and it was no great task to find the Ohio. Late that afternoon they pushed their horses to the brow of a small hill, and saw the great river lying before them. The hills, which drew close to the Ohio at Blue River, were some distance back from the banks at this point, dense patches of canebrake appearing along the lower ground. The summer heat had thoroughly dried out the canes, and at sight of the yellow-brown patches Norton nodded.
"I rode along the Indiana shore from Fort Massac to Louisville," he said, "and remember seeing these canebrakes from across the river. We're almost opposite a little settlement called Doe Run——"
"Yes," added the other quickly, "and we are some eight miles from the spot indicated to you by Boone. I went down-river to Henderson last month and remember seeing that rocky cliff on the Indiana shore. What think you—shall we press on and find your Red Hugh to-night, or wait till morning?"
Norton decided to camp where they were. The afternoon was far gone; there were no settlements on the Kentucky shore, and they would stand little chance of finding Red Hugh's cabin at night. So he went on with the horses, while Audubon went after meat; by the time Norton had made camp on a small hillock of dry ground among the canebrakes, his companion came in with a wild turkey and news that a storm seemed coming up from the south.
When darkness came down and their bird was cooking, Audubon's prediction was justified by a shrill whispering of the canes as the wind stirred them. A brush shelter was soon thrown up, however, and the two men settled down in comfort, regardless of the weather.
Norton found that his companion agreed with him on the course to be pursued. Leaving Ayres out of the case, they could do nothing but scout along the river shores, and with the help of Red Hugh might hope to accomplish something. This settled, the horses were picketed and Norton fell asleep to the rustling of the canes and the soughing of the wind in the cot ton woods.
He wakened once, to find the fire burned out, the sky overcast, and a stiff gale sweeping over the valley. No rain had fallen, however, and despite the uneasy feeling that should have warned him, Norton slept once more.
When he was roused again, it was by a shrill scream from a horse, followed almost instantly by a rush of feet and a volley of shots. Norton was on his feet at once, with a shout to his companion; Audubon was already up, however, as his voice testified.
"The cane's afire, Norton! A spark must have caught it——"
"Sparks don't fly against the wind," grunted Norton.
They stood silent, dismayed by the spectacle around them and by the truth of Norton's remark. Dawn had come up; the high wind from the south was still blowing, and the canebrake was afire along the edge of the higher ground behind them. The two horses had disappeared, frightened by the veil of smoke drifting over the camp.
"Had the canes been afire along the river below," went on Norton grimly, "we could lay it to our own fire. But this seems to me the work of other hands, Audubon. The canes have been fired at a dozen places——"
"Then we had best lose no time getting out of here," cried the other. "Hello! Where's my rifle?"
"Gone, with mine," Norton grunted angrily as he realized what had occurred. "The enemy has trapped us and——"
"What? You mean——"
"Blacknose," nodded Norton, pale to the lips. "No use trying to break through that line of fire, because we're hemmed in all round."
Audubon stared blankly at him, cursed, then turned his eyes to the fire-sweep. Both men were quite well aware of their position. An enemy had removed their rifles and freed their horses, and the fire would do the rest.
The thirty-foot canes were blazing fiercely, the drifted smoke and flames completely cutting off all egress by the neck of higher ground through which the two had entered toward the shore. As the fire took hold, the explosions of water in the cane-joints became continuous; so loud were they that Norton could not but imagine himself in the midst of a battle. Audubon stared at the spectacle, awe-struck, for the flames and smoke were rising high; he already held his precious portfolio, seeming to care for nothing else.
The two men were soon aroused to their danger, however. Across the little opening on which they stood slipped an immense rattlesnake, followed quickly by a rush of rabbits; from one side came a tremendous crashing amid the canes, and by the lurid glare which paled the growing daylight, Norton made out the form of a bear crushing his way in panic toward the river.
"Come on," he cried hastily, turning. "Our only hope is the river, Audubon! If we can splash through the shallows beyond the edge of the fire, we'll be safe."
"Lead the way, then," returned the other calmly. "Good God, what a sight!"
His leathern shirt already hot against his skin, Norton turned and plunged to where the bear was still crashing through the canes. The river was a hundred yards away, and so thick were the high canes that to force a passage was impossible; their only hope lay in following the course of the frightened bear. With hot anger raging in him against the fiends who had laid this trap, and with quick realization that Audubon's shot at the turkey the previous evening must have drawn their foes upon them, Norton dashed forward into the muck.
It was high time, for the nearer canes were already being fired by sparks. On every side the explosions were crashing out while small animals scurried past in blind panic. A moment later the two friends gained the shore, however, and as they did so a canoe appeared a dozen feet away, paddled by a single man.
"Help!" cried Norton eagerly. "Come in here and get us off, friend!"
The canoe was drifting slowly, and even as the two plunged out into the shallow water, they were halted abruptly. The high brake around them shut out the glare from behind, and by the rapidly increasingly daylight they saw that the single occupant of the canoe was covering them with a rifle.
"Hold on, thar!" he cried hoarsely. "This gun's primed!"
And Norton recognized Audubon's double-barrelled rifle. There was now no doubt as to the identity of the canoeist—it was he who had thieved their rifles and set the cane-brake afire.
"You'll pay for this work," exclaimed Norton, trying to repress his rage. His hand went to his belt. Audubon, also realizing at once who the man was, took a forward step.
"Come on, Norton—wade around the brake——"
"Stop!" The man in the canoe levelled the rifle full at them; he was barely three yards away, and an eddy of the stream floated the canoe around. "You-all ain't in no danger. This here's a warnin' to git. They's a flatboat comin' around the bend—swim out an' git took off; stay on her clar to Saint Looey, an' keep out o' this country, you"—and Norton perceived that the remarks were addressed to him.
He also perceived something else. The man was holding the rifle at his left shoulder; he was bearded, wore a buckskin coat and a cap of fox, with the brush hanging over his back. Norton started suddenly. He had no need to see powder-horn or moccasins.
"So you're completing your work, eh?" he cried savagely. "You're the man who shot at me on the Beargrass Creek road the other day, eh?"
The villainous face of the man contracted.
"Ain't no 'lasses sticking to your feet, is they?" he jeered. "Right ye are, pardner. Now, you-all git aboard that flatboat an' stay thar, see?"
Norton thought swiftly, his hand closing on the hatchet in his belt. This was one of the Blacknose gang, beyond a doubt, and was the man whom Ayres had seen talking with Duval. Was it possible that——
"Who hired you for this dirty work?" he demanded swiftly. "Tell me who Blacknose is, and I'll give you five hundred dollars—"
"Git out an' swim, ye cussed spy," snarled the man evilly. "I ain't goin' to miss ye next time——"
Norton, who had drawn his hand behind him, flicked forward his wrist in an underhand throw, having no chance to raise the tomahawk. Even as the steel flamed out, the man caught the motion and fired; Norton flung himself forward, felt a hot sear of pain across his head, and plunged bodily on the canoe.
It was a desperate expedient, but Norton was too hot with anger to care for possibilities. Before the man could fire his second barrel, Norton's weight sent the canoe over backward; he went with it, felt himself grappled, and had a brief glimpse of Audubon leaping at the canoe as he went under.
The water was little more than knee-deep, but Norton felt something sting at his shoulder and knew his opponent had a knife out. Smashing down with his fist through the smother, he tried to free himself of the hand at his throat, but vainly. Already wounded, he felt a terrible weakness stealing over him, and the water choked his lungs. His fingers closed on a wrist, and he gripped it desperately as he struggled up to get his head above the water.
In this he succeeded, pulling his opponent with him, and for a moment the two men stood breast to breast. The riverman fought with an appalling savagery, snarling like a beast, and Norton knew his case was desperate. Blood blinded him: the hand about his throat drew tighter; and with only his right hand holding off the menacing knife, he put down his left hand to his belt in a last desperate effort.
The other saw his object, but could not prevent it without loosing his hold on Norton's throat. Snarling again, he threw himself forward; Norton was not braced against the move, and went over backward into the water. It was life or death now, and the Louisianian knew it. Jerking his own knife free, he lashed out frantically. The blade drove home, but he pulled it free and struck, again and again.
Wounded, throttled, choked with mud and water, Norton felt himself loosed from that terrible death-grapple. He tried weakly to lift himself erect, but could only raise his head from the water, sobbing in the smoke-laden air, while burning cane-flakes fell all around. He could see nothing, but felt hands lifting him and heard the voice of Audubon in his ear. The words sounded faint and very far away.
Norton was by no means unconscious, but he was weak and nauseated and half-drowned. He was well assured that never again would he have to seek a left-handed man with red-streaked powder-horn. He needed no glimpse of the horror-struck visage of Audubon to tell him that their enemy would fire no more canebrakes.
He felt Audubon bundle him over the side of the canoe, with much difficulty, but was too weak to offer any assistance. Then Audubon himself climbed aboard and began to paddle the craft out into the river. Norton lay in the grip of a deadly coma until a burning flake settled on his back and aroused him as it ate through his leather shirt. He rolled over, quenched the burning in the water that half-filled the canoe, and sat up.
Clutching at the gunnels, he stared about. Behind was the roaring mass of flame which had so nearly swallowed them, and they were already in the swift current of the stream. The river made a sharp bend just above them, toward which the smoke was drifting; they had already swept out of the murk, and Norton saw a flatboat floating down-river, half a mile away.
Setting his teeth against the giddiness swirling over him, he reached down and grasped a paddle. At his feet were the rifles; Audubon must have recovered them, then. As he got his paddle over the side, Audubon looked around with a ghastly smile.
"All right, Norton?"
"Right enough. Keep her going."
Little by little he conquered himself. He was very weak, but as they neared the flatboat he managed to wave his paddle. The crew of the boat were lined up with rifles, but as Audubon stood up, at some risk to the canoe, they recognized his figure and got out their sweeps. Five minutes later they were alongside, and Norton fainted.
Sitting on a big tobacco hogshead and watching the Indiana shore, with Audubon standing gloomily at his side, Norton felt his bandaged head tenderly and considered what was to be done.
"I saved the canoe from going under," said Audubon, "then rescued the rifles. I could give you no help until I saw your head come up. By the way, this was in the canoe."
He held out a powder-horn—mottled, with a streak of red running through it. Norton stared down at it, then with a grim laugh reached into the coat which hung in the sun with his other clothes, and drew out the stopper Boone had found on the Beargrass Creek road that morning. The plug slipped deftly into place; the horn matched perfectly.
"Well, so much for an assassin," he said grimly. "Now that you've had your initial taste of the work our foemen do, have you lost taste for the enterprise?"
"Not unless the enterprise has lost taste for me," laughed Audubon, with a glance around. The crew of the flatboat were safe out of hearing. "I told our friends here that we had set fire to the canes ourselves, by accident——"
"Good. Am I badly hurt? Where are we?"
"You should have care; the bullet scraped along your skull, and you have a knife-gash in the side. We have just passed Buck Creek, and the rocky cliff for which we were making lies about three miles downstream. Best let Red Hugh pass, go to the Blue River settlement, and wait there until you are recovered."
Norton made no other reply than to reach for his half-dried clothes. The other looked at him, his fine face wrinkled into a frown of anxiety.
"It's rank madness, Norton!" he said quietly. "You're scarce able to walk, and are like to suffer——"
"I am going to find Red Hugh, if I die the next hour."
Norton finished drawing on the fine-beaded moccasins, slipped the red-streaked horn over his shoulder by its thong, and looked at his comrade. He felt shaky indeed, but so clearly did his whole manner evince the iron determination within him, that Audubon shook his head resignedly and turned to his own garments.
"The canoe is towing astern," he said simply.
Norton reached for his buckskin shirt, and staggered under a swirl of pain and weakness. Instantly the other was at his side, with a rush of protestation against trying to leave the hospitable flatboat.
"I am going to find Red Hugh," said Norton doggedly, and resumed his dressing as his head cleared.
They were slipping down the stream fast. Already the high cliff mentioned by Boone as a landmark was in sight, far ahead, and Audubon departed to find the captain. The latter readily assented to take the flatboat in close to the Kentucky shore, and sent his crew to the sweeps. The boat was going through to St. Louis, and her captain carried some freight for Audubon, so that the latter met with prompt obedience.
Meanwhile, Norton sat in the sun and wiped the wet rifles mechanically. Every trace of the storm had vanished and the morning was coming up splendid in summer warmth. Norton knew they were in a grave situation, however, and said as much when his comrade rejoined him.
The man whose canoe they now held had undoubtedly been one of the Blacknose gang, and Norton strongly believed he had been one of a cordon of spies stretched at intervals along the river. Were this the case, the conflagration would be noticed, the man's body might be found, and the gang would waste no more warnings. Norton's one hope lay in getting ashore unobserved, pre-supposing the river to be watched; if the flatboat ran in close to the wooded Kentucky shore, he and Audubon might land unobserved by anyone who watched from a distance. The river seemed deserted, save for the distantly smoking canebrake far behind. Whether there were any Blacknose spies aboard the flatboat could not be told.
So, with fresh ammunition and weapons and with rifles well-oiled, Norton and Audubon stood in the bow as the ungainly flatboat swept into an eddy and approached the well-wooded bank. On the opposite shore, the rocky cliff with its cabin below was still a trifle down-stream; above them rose a bluff, a solid mass of virgin timber that stretched through to Tennessee with cabins scattered in its depths. Save at Henderson and Louisville, the Kentucky shore was poorly settled as yet, Shawnee raids from the Wabash having discouraged too ambitious families.
The boat swept in to the bank, almost underneath a huge cottonwood, and with a hasty farewell to the river-captain, the two men leaped ashore and lost no time in reaching the summit of the bluff.
It was a harder task than it looked, however, and a good twenty minutes had passed when at length the two panting men gained the crest of the bluff and paused to rest. Norton knew he was in bad shape and conjectured that malaria had touched him, for the uncleared lands along the Ohio were notorious in this respect. With all his stubborn will set upon reaching Red Hugh, he tightened his lips and said nothing to Audubon of his reeling senses and disordered vision.
The flatboat was already far on her way to Henderson, once more hugging the Indiana shore. Norton motioned Audubon to lead the way, and in five minutes they struck upon a faint trail which ran along the crest of the bluffs.
"Well, the Indians had their uses after all," sighed Audubon, as they came upon it. "Whew! That was a stiff climb, Norton! Now where is this blazed tree of yours?"
Norton collected himself into coherency.
"Directly opposite that cliff on the Indiana shore—a big cottonwood, blazed north and south. We head straight south from it to reach Red Hugh's cabin."
"Well, we're not opposite that cliff yet. Come along!"
The trail ascended the bluff-crest toward a knoll which topped it. Norton caught himself staggering more than once; his wounds throbbed and ached, and his brain seemed on fire. None the less, he knew he was in no mortal danger, and was filled with a grim satisfaction over the events of that morning.
"There's no telling how many rivermen that fellow has murdered," he thought to himself, "and he tried his bloody work once too often. So that's one snake out of our path! If the current only swept his body away, our friend Blacknose will be in a pretty wonder as to what became of him."
The trail was steeper now, and he clambered up painfully after Audubon. At last, fearing lest his senses slip away altogether, he sank down on a huge root.
"Do you look for the tree," he said as the other turned. "I must rest a moment."
With an anxious glance at his white face, Audubon nodded and broke into the trees, for they were already on the knoll. Norton leaned back, faint and giddy, and as his eyes fell on the trail he noted idly that it was hard rocky soil, indented with the unmistakable marks of horseshoes. In his present state of mind this conveyed nothing to him; a settler might have passed along by the trail, or any wandering pedlar might have made the tracks.
He leaned back and closed his eyes, utterly relaxing himself and grateful for the brief rest. He seemed to ache all over, and for almost the first time in His life his whole body seemed wearied and fatigued. A strange lassitude had come over him.
"Norton!"
At the excited whisper he opened his eyes and sat up, to see Audubon peering through the bushes, finger on lip. The other beckoned hastily.
"Come in here! Be cautious."
Already refreshed by his rest, Norton crept into the bushes. Audubon's excited eagerness put him on the alert at once, and he stole after the other with all the silent care of an Indian. Reaching a densely overgrown covert, Audubon paused and held up a hand, listening. From above there came a low trilling bird-song, but Norton could make out nothing else.
"What is it, man? What did you find?"
"Listen!" whispered Audubon softly. "Isn't it like a goldfinch singing under its breath? The same little trills, the same sustained sweet notes in between—but it's a vireo, Norton! Would you guess it?"
Norton stared, but his friend was in deadly earnest. He heard the hidden bird change its song suddenly, and Audubon gripped his arm hard.
"There—that's the real vireo song, with the pulse-like, clear-cut notes! Did you ever hear such a thing before? That bird was giving a real goldfinch trill, man——"
"Where's the cottonwood?" broke in Norton drily. The other looked at him, his face blank on a sudden.
"Why—why—I clear forgot——"
Norton laughed, but Audubon suddenly gripped his arm harder. The bird above had broken off in mid-song, for no apparent reason. From somewhere outside the covert came the rattle of a stone, followed by a horse's snort.
"Keep quiet," breathed Norton, looking into the deep eyes of his friend. "Someone's on the trail."
Audubon nodded, and the two men stood tense and motionless, every nerve on edge. With startling abruptness there came a deep curse from the trail.
"Damn it, pull up! I ain't no Injun!"
There followed a chuckle in another voice—one that sent Norton's hand to his rifle.
"Winded, Abel? Well, there's no haste. What did that boat put in for?"
"How'n tarnation do I know?" growled the first. "Wa'n't none o' our boys on her."
"So much the better for her, then," laughed the second. "It's odd we didn't meet Tobin, Abel!"
A grunt replied. Norton glanced at his friend, his brown eyes aflame.
"Duval," he murmured under his breath. "Who's the other? Abel Grigg?"
Audubon nodded quickly, and his face was set in eager surmise.
"Is Tobin the man we—we met this morning, Norton?"
Norton pursed up his lips in a silent whistle, staring. Was the thing possible after all? He had vaguely suspected it before, yet it seemed incredible. He replied to the question with a mute shake of the head, as Duval's voice continued. It seemed that Duval and Grigg were pausing for breath on the trail opposite the covert.
"Listen here, Abel: this thing has to be finished up sharp, or that fool is apt to blunder on something that'll bring the Regulators down on us." Duval's voice was earnest, cold, menacing. "He got away from the boys at Louisville, and unless Tobin has met him and is attending to him, you'll have to do the work. I'll be busy in court at Henderson for a week to come."
"I'll 'tend to him," growled Grigg. "How 'bout layin' fer that cargo comin' down nex' month in Cap. Brookfield's hoss-boat? We could ship a couple o' the boys on her an' do the business by them islands at the Wabash."
"Not so bad," returned Duval. "Lay it to a bunch of Shawnees, eh?"
"Sure. That feller Tecumsey and his brother, the Prophet, is raisin' hell all through the tribes, Duval, an' they's goin' to be a blow-up mighty sudden on the border. Now looky here. If you're a-goin' on to Henderson, I'll leave ye here an' go to meet the boys, so I want to settle this business of ourn. How much you goin' to turn over fer the gal, eh?"
"I've told you before, Abel, that I'll give you five hundred cash and what stuff we've got in the cache. Take it or leave it."
"Well, that 'baccy in the cache will fetch about two hundred at Saint Looey, eh? Then we got that flax out o' the last boat, an' them ten kegs o' 'lasses—all right. You see to makin' out the papers an' I'll sign 'em. The gal won't consent, mebbe, but I'll swear she ain't of age. You got to have a preacher weddin', though."
"Of course, you fool!" And there was an exasperated note in Duval's voice. "Haven't I said I wanted to marry her? But you've got to clear out, understand—go to New Orleans or Saint Louis, I don't care which, and stay."
"I'll do that, all right. Well, see ye at Henderson."
"Take care of that spy, mind!" called Duval. Only silence ensued. Then came a faint thud of hoofs, and again silence.
Norton and Audubon stared at each other. The former had forgotten his illness in his high excitement, for now he knew beyond a doubt that fate had given over his enemy into his hand.
"By thunder!" he ejaculated slowly. "Audubon, we've got the whole game on the table before us! The mysterious Blacknose is Abel Grigg, and Duval is in league with him—is probably the brains of the organization. The black-hearted scoundrel! When we tell what we've just heard now——"
"Who'll believe us?" broke in Audubon gravely, and shook his head. "It won't do, Norton! Duval is too prominent a man to be smashed without clear evidence. Besides, we wouldn't break up the gang by nabbing him and Grigg alone. Depend upon it, we could do little against that clever villain without more evidence than those words. But what a blackguard he is—to be robbing his own townsmen!"
"And that girl—Grigg's daughter!" broke in Norton, a flame of rage sweeping through him. "Did you hear them? He's buying the girl, Audubon—buying her! Damn it, man, did you ever see that girl?"
Audubon gazed at him, astonished at the outburst.
"Yes," he replied slowly, "I've seen her once or twice in the store. Do you think that's really what they meant? Why, it can't be possible, Norton!"
None the less, Norton knew that the thing was true. He drew a deep breath as the full realization of his triumph broke over his mind. By a stroke of sheer luck he had solved the mystery of Blacknose—but was it luck? Had not one thing led to another in marvellous sequence—the cane-brake, the fire, the flatboat, the landing, and finally the vireo singing the song of a goldfinch? Surely, there was more than luck in all this!
A new burst of rage came into his heart at thought of Kitty Grigg, however. So this evil-hoary old backwoodsman who was not her father was planning to sell her to Duval! Norton inwardly vowed that such a sale should never be consummated. He remembered the girl as he had last seen her by the cabin, glorious in her unstained beauty and her fine clear poise—and groaned. With a sudden movement he reached inside his shirt and took out the little gold eagle still pinned to it.
"Audubon," he cried earnestly, "I swear by this emblem, which stands for the things I hold dearest—my country, and my father's memory—that before Duval carries through his purpose regarding Kitty Grigg, I'll do to him as I did to his servant this morning! So help me!"
The bird-lover gazed at him searchingly.
"Then—you know the girl?"
"Know her? Yes!" exclaimed Norton hotly. "I know her, and she's no daughter of Abel Grigg! Who her real family was will not be hard to find out if I can get in touch with some of the officers of the Cincinnati—but now for work. Audubon, you heard what those devils said about a horse-boat belonging to a Captain Brookfield. Do you know anything of such a craft?"
The other nodded, frowning.
"Yes. Brookfield is an odd genius who has invented a way of driving his forty-ton boat by horse-power against the river-current. He is at Louisville now, taking contracts for his next trip down the river, and sails next month."
"Well, see here!" Norton felt the fever gripping him again, but had already glimpsed a plan of action. "You get back to Louisville, see Elisha Ayres, and tell him about it. Ayres will communicate with me at Blue River."
"And you——!" queried the astonished Audubon.
"I'll trail that devil of a Grigg," said Norton hastily. "He said he was going to meet 'the boys', and if I can find their cache we'll nab the whole gang! By thunder, Audubon, we've the whole thing in our hands now!"
"But—wait!" cried Audubon hastily, as Norton turned toward the trail. "First, get this man Red Hugh! If he's a hunter, as Boone said, then you and he together will have no trouble picking up Grigg's trail, and you may need another rifle badly."
For a moment Norton considered this, while the fever swirled through him. He was sorely tempted to plunge off on the trail of Abel Grigg, but knew that there was sound advice in Audubon's words.
"All right," he said shortly. "Come—we'll find Red Hugh first."
His excitement overbore his illness for the moment, and returning to the trail he led the way to the very crest of the knoll. Duval and Grigg had been swallowed up in the forest, but staring them in the face was a giant cottonwood, blazed north and south. Pointing to it silently, Norton wheeled and headed away from the river into the trees.
How far they went through that wilderness he never knew, for after ten minutes he was fighting desperately against the pain and sickness which came over him. Worse than all, he was growing terribly weak; once he caught himself reeling, and only by a great effort did he keep on. Audubon had a small compass, by which they held directly south as Boone had commanded.
Then, almost without warning, Norton felt his knees giving way. He was very clear-headed, but he seemed to have lost the power of motion. With a single low groan he caught at a tree, missed it, and plunged down. Audubon was over him on the instant, raising him against the tree, dread anxiety in face and voice.
"It's just—weakness," gasped Norton. "A touch of fever, I think. Get Red Hugh—put him on the trail of Grigg. I'll be all right with a bit of rest. Hurry, man!"
Audubon looked about, biting his lips. Before he could reply, however, a bush to one side of them waved slightly, the sunlight glinted on a rifle-barrel, and a voice rang out in harsh command:
"Hands up, you skunk! Drop that rifle—quick!"
Helpless, the naturalist obeyed. Norton tried to reach his rifle, but could not move, and with another groan of despair fell back, waiting grimly for what might come.
Into the clearing before them stepped a strange figure, rifle still covering the startled Audubon—a tall man clad in buckskin and coonskin cap, with, of course, moccasins. He was gaunt and huge-boned, grey hair falling over his shoulders and a grizzled red moustache and beard half-hiding his face. For all that, Norton was startled by the man's features.
They were anything but those of a riverman. True, the sunken grey eyes held a smouldering ferocity which was almost madness; but the high brow, fine nose, and shapely head, even the delicate lines of mouth and chin beneath the flowing beard—all these expressed a keen intelligence, almost a nobility, which was utterly astounding to Norton.
"What's this—what's this!" The stranger lowered his rifle suddenly as his eyes fell on Norton's features. Carefully uncocking the weapon, he stared at the two friends, an indescribable expression of chagrin overspreading his countenance. "Gentlemen, I must crave your pardon. From his moccasins I took this gentleman for an Indian,"—and he gravely indicated Norton—"for he is deeply browned and his features were all but hidden from me. God be thanked I did not shoot first!"
"Amen to that!" cried Norton feebly, essaying a faint smile. Audubon, no less astonished at the looks and speech of the stranger, made a slight bow, and spoke coldly:
"If your murderous impulse has quite abated, sir, pray lend this gentleman your aid. We are seeking the cabin of a man called Red Hugh. Do you know where it is?"
From what Boone had told him, and from the appearance and manner of the stranger, Norton had a very shrewd suspicion that this was no other than Red Hugh himself. Leaning on his long rifle, the man surveyed the two friends critically.
"Well," he returned at length, "I may say yes to that question, sir. But I will barter my information for yours. You, sir"—and he bent his sunken grey eyes on Norton—"are wearing a pair of Shawnee moccasins. As you probably know, the beads and quill-work on those moccasins are peculiar. In fact, there is only one man besides yourself in the Northwest who wears such moccasins, and he is an Indian—the only Indian I have ever held under my rifle and spared. Where did you get them?"
Norton sat up, fighting off the dizzy weakness that all but mastered him. The man's words sent eager curiosity through him.
"I had them from an Indian," he returned quickly, and gave a brief account of the two he had encountered. Before he finished, a fresh spasm of nausea overwhelmed him, and he sank back in Audubon's arms.
"Enough of this talk," cried the naturalist angrily. "If you will guide us to this Red Hugh, sir, pray do so at once. We come to him from Colonel Boone——"
"If you had said that before, you would have bettered matters," broke in the tall stranger. "I am he whom you seek. Come."
Norton had lost all interest in the proceedings, for he could no longer fight off the fever. Between them the other two got him to his feet and half-carried him along a faint trail indicated by Red Hugh. After what seemed centuries to the reeling Norton, they came to a cabin, and he dimly felt himself carried inside. He knew little of what happened next, save that he drank a bitter draught and fell asleep.
When he wakened, he stared around him with wondering eyes, trying to place himself. He tried to move, and found himself too weak to raise his arm; yet the terrible sickness had passed.
He was lying on a couch of skins, and by the deepness of the sun outside he guessed it was mid-afternoon. The cabin was a bare place enough save for the furs heaped around the floor, but directly opposite him, beside the hearth, was a strange contrivance made of a stretched elkskin almost covering the side wall. From where he lay he could see a row of words across the top of the big skin, clearly done in red paint as if with a brush:
WYANDOT—SHAWNEE—MIAMI—CREEK—DELAWARE—POTT.—OTTAWA.
Under each tribal name was smaller writing which he could not read.
For a space he stared at the thing in wonder. Then, with a rush, he remembered that he lay in the cabin of Red Hugh, and all which had gone before. There was work to be done! Abel Grigg must be trailed to his meeting-place with the other pirates. Norton made a terrible effort to rise, but collapsed with a groan of despair.
At the sound, a figure darkened the doorway, and he looked up to see the tall form of Red Hugh bending over him. His head was lifted and a rolled skin set beneath it: then the old backwoodsman drew up a stool, fetched a bowl of hot broth from the fire, and set to work feeding him with a spoon.
"Talk later," he said gently. "First, you must eat. You have slept since yesterday, friend, and——"
Norton, feeling new strength with the first mouthful of broth, pushed the spoon away desperately. The words shocked him into energy, and again he tried to sit up.