VIIROBERT PROVES HIS VALOR
So they all set out, this morning of the day that the English called the last day of November. There were Washington, Christopher Gist, John Davidson the trader who spoke Mingo, the funny, fat Jacob Vanbraam of Dutch Land who spoke French and poor English, Tanacharison the Half-King of the Mingos, old Juskakaka the councillor, White Thunder the Wampum Keeper, young Guyasuta or Standing Cross the first-class warrior, Robert the Hunter and four white men to drive the pack-horses and make camps.
The white men all rode, but the Indians marched afoot, and Robert left his horse at Logstown. In the woods one could hunt more easily afoot than ahorse.
That was indeed a tough journey. Venango, Tanacharison said, was sixty miles by summer trail but was farther now, by winter trail. Already the trees and meadows were white, and the nights were freezing cold. The weather seemed to get angry again, as if trying to close the road for Washington; it had been angry ever since he had started, he said.
On the day after the first camp out from Logstown the sleety rain began to fall, and clear to Venango they scarcely glimpsed the sun or the stars. The creeks were swollen, the trail was slippery, dry wood for burning was hard to find.
But Washington made no complaint. At nightin his tent by the light of his smoky fire he put marks upon paper in a little book that he carried. After talking a while and listening to stories in Mingo and sign language by Tanacharison and old Juskakaka and White Thunder, he and Gist and Jacob Vanbraam rolled in their blankets inside the tent. The others slept outside under brush lean-tos covered with blankets.
“The Hunter is young. He may sleep in the tent and be warm between us,” Washington had invited. But Tanacharison answered:
“No. The boy is of warrior age. He shall sleep like an Indian, for he cannot carry a tent with him on the war trail. It is proper that you, the white chief, shall keep your message safe in your lodge. We know that you are strong.”
“If we meet with the French Indians, do we fight?” Guyasuta had asked.
“It seems to me a poor plan to lose scalps for these English when we don’t know what is going to happen,” said old Juskakaka.
“Those are small words,” Tanacharison reproved. “Washington is not a man to turn back. I see that. We have come to protect him and to show him the road. The French dogs must get out of the way. The war belt has been passed from the Mingo to Onondago of the Six Nations Council, and if the French refuse to quit the land, there is war. Pickawillanee of our brothers the Miami has been destroyed by the French. Already the Miami have taken Ottawa scalps, and the Wyandot have eaten ten white French and two French black men. If Washington fights we will fight, and show him we are standing with him and the English.”
Those were lean marches. The rain spoiled the food in the packs and drove the game to cover. It wet the guns and loosened Robert’s sinew bow-string; and two deer were all that he and Guyasuta were able to get. What were two deer among twelve men and an empty boy?
So the third evening’s camp was a hungry one. The rain had changed to snow, and leaving early after the halt Guyasuta went one way and the Hunter another, to find meat.
The Hunter prowled some little distance, through the snowy forest, seeking fresh tracks or a moving animal. The snow had covered all the old tracks and trails, the great forest seemed lifeless. Now if he only could find a turkeys’ roost—! But he saw no turkeys in the bare trees, and he saw no glint of deer, and he heard no sound except a squawking jay who told the forest that a hunter was abroad. Even the squirrels were in bed.
Then after a time he came to a large tree, with its inside hollowed out, for it had a hole wide enough for a boy, at its base. Whether anything had gone into that hole he could not tell, because of the snow, but sometimes wild animals lived in such places.
At any rate, nothing had gone in recently; the new snow was unmarked. Then he stooped, to try to see up into the hollow; he could not see far, for the hollow was dark and extended a long way; but hesmelt—and the hollow smelled of warm fur.
Wah! The Hunter sprang backward, and eyed the tree. The tree was breathing! From a knothole high up where a branch had once joined the trunk a thin waft of vapor like steam was floatingout into the cold air. This tree was inhabited. That vapor came from live animals.
Wah! And again—Wah! Raccoons! Likely enough a family of raccoons; and fat coons were not to be despised by hungry people. Whereupon the Hunter went to work. He raked together the few dry leaves and the damp leaves, in the hollow, and with flint and steel he started his smudge. The draught took the smoke inside and up through the shell of the trunk and it poured out of the knothole. He stood ready with a branch for a club; there was no use in fooling with bow and arrow.
He did not have long to wait. First he heard a scratching, as though the inhabitants of the tree were growing uncomfortable. And on a sudden, with a plump, down dropped a big bunch of fur and rolled out; and instead of springing with his club the Hunter jumped back, to grab his bow and fit arrow to string. For the animal was a bear.
The bear, half-grown and fat, sat up whimpering crossly at having been disturbed; and rubbed its eyes and muzzle with its clumsy paws. The mark was a splendid mark; Robert drew arrow to its head—and did not let go. Instead, he lowered his bow, and laughed.
“I will not kill you, brother,” he said. “I am hungry, but I give you your life because your mother saved me from the Cherokee. Do not blame me for putting smoke into your eyes. You shall go back and sleep.”
The bear was still rubbing his eyes and complaining. The Hunter stole around him and scattered the smoking leaves.
“The way is clear, brother,” said the Hunter; and he went a little distance, and looked back, and saw the bear just disappearing into the hollow again.
“Wah!” Robert remarked. “He was fat meat, and we all are hungry, but maybe I will find something else.”
Prowling on he stopped next at a cave under a rock ledge, much like the place in which White Thunder and Aroas and he had slept when upon the march to the Delawares, only deeper.
Dusk was gathering in the forest. Peering into the cave he could see white bones; he also heard a faint rustle; but what made the rustle he could not see, for the cave was crooked. But something growled low, and that was not a bear.
The bones were not bones from a bear feast, either; clean picked they were, but were not crushed. The Hunter cautiously crawled in, stooping, his bow and arrow advanced ready to be drawn and loosed. His nose told him of animals. The rustling had ceased, but the growling announced that the animal was at home. The floor rose, so that the space between floor and roof grew narrower; and when he came to a black hole just about large enough for him, but not large enough to turn around in, he stopped. All the cave was humming with that growl.
“Whoever you are, you are not good eating,” said the Hunter. “Stay there, for I am going.”
Maybe the animal answered “Sour grapes” and maybe it only laughed. Anyway, Robert began to crawl backward; and then his feet twitched, and he felt like hurrying, for he heard another, louder growl behind him. Hurry he did, until he could twist about.And when he straightened up, at the threshold, he confronted the owner of the cave.
Not more than fifteen feet before him there crouched, upon the body of a yearling deer, a mother panther, returned (likewise in a hurry) with meat for her family.
The face of the cliff curved in two horns, so that the Hunter had little choice of directions. The panther squatted more flatly, her tail lashing, her long, sharp claws clutching and rasping upon the snow, her tremendous fangs bared to the red gums, while her growls rose to a scream. In the dusk her eyes shone greenly.
Watching her, the Hunter hesitated. To be sure, he might climb the cliff face, if he moved carefully and threatened her off. Then perhaps she would go inside. But Guyasuta would ask him why he had run away. Besides, here was a deer.
“Leave me that deer and you shall have your life,” spoke the Hunter. “I have not harmed your babies. You can get another deer. Wah! Out of the way!”
The panther screamed with cat scream, and quivered tensely. She was about to spring. The Hunter, standing stanchly, put one arrow between his teeth and drew the nocked arrow full to the head. He scarce had time—right into the air she launched herself, and he loosed and dodged, and slipped. Her leap was short; as she landed and struck and bit he glimpsed his arrow in her shoulder, but the claws of her sound forearm ripped through leggins and flesh to the bone.
He jumped aside, not to run but to shoot again. He was very quick, and she was quick too. Thiswas a battle to the death. Snarling and tumbling and biting at the arrow she whirled for him; and poised firmly, waiting his chance, he loosed the second arrow just as she rose.
The bow twanged of itself, as it seemed to him; the arrow thudded; she barely had left the ground when she collapsed, for the arrow was buried to the feathers in her chest. She struggled but an instant, and surrendered.
The Hunter gave a scalp yell—“Wah hoo-oo-oo!” Not often did a boy with bow and arrow kill a panther in hand-to-hand battle. What a great beast this was—as large as himself! What teeth, what jaws, what claws! Now he was entitled to wear the panther claw necklace, token of a hunter and a warrior! And he had the deer.
He set to work at once, with his knife, skinning his enemy; and he cut and slashed rapidly for dusk was thickening, and the evening was cold. Very soon he had the pelt. His leg hurt furiously, but that should be looked at later. Then he dressed the deer carcass by removing its insides to make it lighter.
“Listen, brothers,” he called, into the cave mouth. “I am leaving you the meat of your mother and the insides of the deer. They will make you strong to hunt for yourselves.”
Then he set off, dragging the deer and carrying the panther pelt. The young panthers were large enough to eat meat; they would find rabbits and partridges, and would not starve.
So, well content, and wondering what Washington would say, he staggered along. The raw pelt was heavy, the deer carcass weighed not a little, theforest had waxed gloomy—and hark! Wolves howled! They were scenting his bloody trail!
Wah! He dared not stop, for his leg would stiffen. He had no mind to lose the pelt, or the deer. Ho! The camp could not be very far, but if he shouted he might attract French Indians in addition to the wolves. One never could tell. He knew a scheme, though. Thereupon he halted and peeled off his hunting shirt; he hung this upon a bit of brush over the deer carcass, to keep the suspicious wolves at a distance; he dragged the panther skin on, for another trail, then he wrapped the skin about his body for warmth, and with the long tail and the feet dangling he limped at best pace to reach the camp. Let the wolves follow.
After a time he smelled smoke. A fearsome sight he was when he hobbled in out of the darkness—a bare-headed brown boy clad from shoulders to ankles in a flapping panther hide, his bow in his hand and his arms smeared and his leg bloody. Wah!
“Wah!” uttered Tanacharison, and all. “The Hunter has taken a scalp! Good!”
“Well done,” said Washington. “A large panther. The boy is a hunter. But he is hurt. Sit down and let us look at that leg.”
“Where is the meat?” demanded Tanacharison.
“I left a deer in the brush, with my shirt on it to scare off the wolves,” panted Robert. “It should be brought quick.”
Guyasuta was here. He had returned with nothing. Now he sprang up and ran away, to back-trail to the deer carcass. The Hunter thankfully sat down by the fire; he was proud, but he did not show it—heonly told about the fight, while they listened and John Davidson and Jacob Vanbraam, helped by Washington, dressed his wound.
“He iss a brave boy,” Jacob Vanbraam declared. “He will make a soldier. Yah! Now pretty soon coom a deer, an’ we eat.”
George Washington said little, but he nodded and gravely smiled.