CHAPTER IX
My first three weeks in the woods were weeks of heaven. Never had Iseen the forest so beautiful, never had the soft velvet lights clothedthe wilderness with such exquisite mystery. Along the stony beds oflost ravines I passed and saw the frosty bowlders lie like silvermounds in the dawn, glimmering through steaming waters. I passed ateventide when the sunset turned the cliffs to crumbling crags of gold,and I saw massed mountain peaks reflected in pools where the shadowsof great fish moved like clouds.
I ate and drank and slept in the dim wood stillness undisturbed; Iwaked when my guide, the sun, flamed through the forest, and Ifollowed in his lead, resting when he hung circling in the noondayheavens, following again when he resumed the sky-trail towards thewest, seeking my couch when he lay down below the world's blue edge tofold him in the blanket of the night.
Twice came the rain, delicately perfumed showers shaking down througha million leaves, leaving frail trails of vapour errant through thetrees, and powdered jewels on every leaf.
And I lived well on that swift trail where the gray grouse scuttledthrough the saplings, and in every mossy streamlet the cold, duskytroutlings fought for the knot of scarlet yarn on my short hand-line.Once I saw bronzed turkeys, all huddled in a brood at twilight,craning and peering from their tree-perch; but let them go, as I hadmeat to spare. Once, too, at dawn, I heard a bull-moose lippingtree-buds, and lay still in my blanket while the huge beast wanderedpast, crack! crash! and slop! slop! through the creek, his hide allsmeared with clay and a swarm of forest flies whirling over him. Lord,how rank he did smell, but for all that I was glad the wind set notthe other way, for it is sometimes the toss of a coin what yourbull-moose will do, run or fight at sight; nor is it even doubtful inSeptember, when the moose-cow wallows and bawls across the marshes forher antlered gallant on the ridge.
I saw but one moose, for there are not many in our forests, thoughthey say the Canadas do swarm with them, and also with elks andcaribous.
There were few birds to be seen except near rivers: a blue-graymeat-bird here and there whining in the hemlocks, a great owl huddledon a limb, and sometimes a troop of black-cheeked chickadees that camecheerfully to hand for a crumb of corn. Squirrels were everywhere--thatis, everywhere except through the pine belts, and there I had to makeout with the bitter flesh of those villain partridges which feed onspruce-tips. I'd as soon eat a hawk in winter or dine on slices offried spruce-gum, for truly there is more nourishment in a moccasinthan in these ignoble birds dressed up like toothsome partridges.
I had not met a soul on the trail, nor had I found any fresh signssave once, and that was the print of a white man's moccasin on theedge of a sandy strip near the head-waters of the Ohio, which iscalled the Alleghany, north of Fort Pitt.
This foot-mark disturbed me, although it was three days old andpointing north. But that signified nothing, for the man who made ithad come in a canoe, yet I could find no sign that a canoe had beenbeached there, nor, indeed, any further marks of moccasins, and I mademoderate haste to get under cover, as I am timid about things I cannotaccount for.
Reason enough, moreover, for if there were no signs except that singleimprint, it was clear that the man who left that mark was wading theriver because he wished to leave no trail. And who is not suspiciousof those who appear to be at pains to conceal their tracks?
There is something terrifying in the sudden apparition of afellow-creature in the woods. When one has been living alone in theforest solitude, day after day, perhaps even craving company, I knownothing so shocking as the unexpected sight of another man in thewilderness.
Why this is so, why fear, caution, and anger are invariably the primalinstincts, I do not fully understand.
Sometimes, lying perdu, I have seen the tasselled ears of a wild-catflatten at first sight of a stranger cat; I have seen the wolverinesnarl hideously as he winded a strange comrade; I have seen thesolitary timber-wolf halt, hair on end and every hot fang bared, wherea brother wolf had crossed his trail an hour before.
So I; for as I slunk away from that foot-mark in the sand-willows, Ifound myself priming my rifle and looking behind me with all thehorror of a Robinson Crusoe, though I had miles of country to avoidthe unknown man withal.
Early that morning, having crossed, as nearly as I could make out, theboundary between our Province of New York and the Province ofPennsylvania, I had approached, somewhat nearer than I meant to, thecarrying-place on the Alleghany, which lies directly in the Fort Pitttrail.
Now, at mid-day, the sun heating the forest, I found my pack veryheavy and my shirt wet with exertion, but dared not halt until I hadcircled around that carrying-place. So I toiled on, the very rifle inmy hand heavy as lead, and my eyes nearly blinded with the sweat thatpoured from my hair and neck, bathing me in a sort of stingingcoolness. My stomach, too, was asking the hour, and the green-eyeddeer-flies whirled over me, fierce for blood, for I durst not lag evento wash my face in oil of pennyroyal.
It was only when at last above the trees in the east I perceived theblue peak of a mountain that I knew I was safe enough; for the peak inthe east belonged to the Alleghany range, and I had steered a finecircle without losing a mile.
However, I jogged on along a runway made hard by the hoof of countlessdeer herds, until I came to a thread of water curving through the mosslike a sword-blade on green velvet. Here I knelt, let go my pack, androlled over on the moss, dog-tired.
Hands clasped on my empty stomach I lay looking up at the sky throughthe matted leaves that thatched my forest roof, too tired even todrink. But the accursed deer-flies drove me to water as they drive thedeer, and I drank my fill and smeared me with pennyroyal and tallow,face and wrists.
For the first time since I had entered the wilderness I made no fire,but munched a cold breast of partridge and drove it into my stomachwith bits of ash-cake, drinking a mouthful between bites to moistenthe dry cheer. I ate very slowly, my eyes making their mechanicalcircuit of the silent trees, my ears ever flattened for a noise behindme.
Silence breeds silence; man's movements in the woods are soft andcat-like where caution is an instinct. I speak of true woodsmen--thosewho know the solitary life--not of loud and careless men who swaggerinto God's woodland mysteries as to a tavern tap-room.
Now, as I sat there, crumbs on my knees yet unbrushed, a suddeninstinct arose in me that I had been followed; nay, not so sudden,either, for the vague idea had been slowly taking shape since I hadseen that sign in the river-bed among the willows.
I had absolutely no reason for believing this; the foot-print wasthree days old and it pointed north. Yet, at the mere thought, theskin on my neck began to roughen and my nose gave little twitches.Unconsciously I had already risen, priming my rifle, and for a moment,I stood there, ankle deep in moss. Then, moved by no impulse of myown, I swear, I lifted my pack and passed swiftly along the littlebrook towards the main trail. Presently, through the willows to theright, I caught a glimpse of a shallow stream rushing noiselessly overa sand bottom, and on the other side of the stream I saw a notchedtree, the Fort Pitt trail!
Now I deliberately made a string of plain foot-tracks along the sandystream, pointing towards the shallowest spot. Here I forded, and mademore tracks in the mud, entering the Fort Pitt trail. I ran down thistrail till I came to a brier, and on the thorns of a spray whichcrossed the broad, hard trail, I left a few strings from my fringedhunting-shirt. Then I began to walk backward till I reached the spotwhere I had entered the trail from the sandy stream. I backed downthis bank, forded the shallows, then, instead of coming out on thesand, I waded up stream to my little thread of a brook, and up thatbrook till I found a great log choking it. And behind this log Isquatted, panting, and astonished at my own performance.
Yet, even now, I could not find reason to blush at my timidprecautions, for that feeling of being followed still haunted me. Itwas neither a coward's panic nor a cool man's alarm; it was somethingthat drove me to cover my tracks. The white hare does it whenunpursued by hounds; t
he grouse do it when no pointer follows--why? Iknow no more than the white hare or the grouse.
From my form among the ferns, rabbit-like I huddled with palpitatingflanks and nose atwitch in the wind. Nothing stirred save those sad,deformed leaves that drift earthward, dead ere spring is fled. Bubble!bubble! dripped the stream, its tiny waterfall full of voices, nowclear, now indistinct, but always calling sweetly, "Michael! Michael!Michael!" And if your name be not Michael, nevertheless it will callyou by your name. And the voice is ever the voice of the best beloved.
Alert, sniffing the air, I still could hear the voice of Silver Heels,down under the waterfall, and sometimes she called through laughter,"Michael!" and sometimes far away like a wind-blown cry, and sometimeslike a whisper close to my face.
So rang her voice as an old song in my ears, the while my eyes scannedthe dappled tree-trunks of a silvery beechwood, east and west, andthrough a long vista where, across a sunny streak of water, the FortPitt trail ran southwest.
The sun had spanned an hour's length on the blue dial of the sky, yetnothing moved in the woods. Still, strangely, I felt no impatience, nodesire to chide myself for good time lost in groundless watchfulness.One by one the tall trees shed young leaves too early dead; the voicesin the waterfall made low melody; the white sun-spots waned andglowed, mottling the silvered tree-trunks, lacing the water with apaler fretwork.
I sat now with my cheek on the cool, moist log, my rifle in my lap,watching the trees along the Fort Pitt trail. And, as I watched, I sawa man come out on the sandy bank of the stream and kneel down where mytracks crossed to the water's edge.
I was not astonished, but all over me my flesh moved, and without asound I sank down behind my log into a soft ball of buckskin.
The man was Walter Butler. I knew him, though God alone knows how Icould, for he wore the shirt of a Mohawk and beaded leggings to thehips, and at that distance might have been an Indian. He bore a rifle,and there was a hatchet in his beaded belt, and on his head he wore around cap of moleskin under which his black, coarse hair, freed fromthe queue, fell to his chin.
He crouched there, examining my tracks with closest attention for fulla minute, then rose gracefully and followed, tracing them up to theFort Pitt trail.
Here I saw two other men come swiftly through the trees to meet him,but, though they gesticulated violently and pointed down the stream,they spoke too low for me to hear a single whisper.
Suddenly, to my horror, a canoe shot across my line of sight andstopped as suddenly, held by the setting-pole in midstream. Itcontained a white man, who leaned on the setting-pole, silentlyawaiting the result of the conference on the bank above.
The conference ended abruptly; I saw two of the men start southtowards Fort Pitt, while Butler came hastily down to the water's edgeand waded out to the canoe.
He boarded the frail craft from the bow, straddling it skilfully andworking his way to his place. Then the two setting-poles flashed inthe sunshine and the canoe shot out of sight.
My mind was working rapidly now, but, at first, anger succeeded blankperplexity. What did Captain Butler mean by following me through theforests? The answer came ere the question had been fully formed, and Iknew he hated me and meant to kill me.
How he had learned of my mission, whether he had actually learned ofit, or only suspected it from my disappearance, concerned me little.These things were certain: he was Lord Dunmore's emissary as I was theemissary of Sir William; he was bound for Cresap's camp as was I; andhe intended to intercept me and kill me if that meant the winning ofthe race. Ay, he meant to kill me, anyhow, for how could he ever againappear in Johnstown if I lived to bear witness to his treachery?
I must give up my visit to the Cayugas for the present. It was to bea race now to Cresap's camp, and, though they had their canoe to speedwithal, the advantage lay on my side; for I was seeking no man's life,whereas they must soon find that they had over-run their scent andwould spend precious time in ambushes. Besides, they doubtlessbelieved that somewhere I had a canoe hid, and that would keep themhanging around the carry-trails while I made time by circling them.
One thing disturbed me: two of them had gone by water and two by theFort Pitt trail, and this threw me hopelessly into the wildernesswithout the ease of a trodden way.
Slowly I resumed my pack, reprimed my rifle, and turned my nosesouthward, bearing far enough west to keep out of earshot from theriver and the trail.
At first I had looked upon Fort Pitt as a hospitable wayside refuge,marking nine-tenths of my journey towards Cresap's camp. But now Idared not present myself there, with Walter Butler hot on my trail,armed not only with hatchet and rifle, but also doubtless with someorder of Lord Dunmore which might compel the officers at Fort Pitt tohand me over to Butler on his mere demand.
For, although Fort Pitt was rightfully on Pennsylvania soil, it hadlong been claimed by Virginia, and it was a Virginia garrison that nowheld it. Thus, should I stop there, I should be under the laws ofVirginia and under the claw-thumb of Dunmore or anybody who mightclaim authority to represent him.
There is, I have been told, a vast region which lies between theAlleghany Mountains and the Mississippi, a desolate wilderness savefor a few British garrisons at Natchez, at Vincennes, and at Detroit.These troops are placed there in order to establish the claim of ourKing to the region lately wrested from the French. Fort Pitt commandedthe gateway to this wilderness, and the Ohio flowed through it; andfor years Virginia and Pennsylvania had disputed for the right tocontrol this gateway. Virginia held it by might, not right. Through itDaniel Boone had gone some years before; now Cresap had followed; andwho could doubt that the Governor of Virginia had urged him on?
But the march of Cresap not only disturbed Sir William in hisstewardship; it angered all Pennsylvania, and this is the reason:
The Virginians under Cresap went to settle, and to keep the Indians ata distance; the Pennsylvanians, on the other hand, went only to tradewith the Cayugas, and they were furious to see Cresap's men spoiltheir trade. This I learned from Sir William on our evening walksabout Quider's hut; and I learned, too, that Fort Pitt was a Virginiafortress on Pennsylvania soil, guarded not only against the savages,but also against the Pennsylvanians, who traded powder and shot andrifles with the Cayugas, and thus, according to my Lord Dunmorepractically incited the savages to resist such philanthropists ashimself.
Clearly then, no emissary of Sir William would be welcomed atPittsburg fortress or town; and I saw nothing for it but to push onthrough the gateway of the west, avoiding Butler's men as best Icould, and seeking the silly, deluded Cresap under the very nose of myLord Dunmore.
My progress was slow; at times I sank between tree-roots, up to thethighs in moss; at times the little maidens of the flowering briersbade me tarry in their sharp, perfumed embrace. Now it was a wirymoose-bush snare that enlaced my ankles and sent me sprawling, packand all; now the tough laurel bound me to the shoulders in slenderropes of blossoms which only my knife could sever. Tired out while yetthe sun sent its reddening western rays deep into the forest, I kneltagain, dropped my pack under a hemlock thicket, and crawled out to aheap of rocks which overhung a ravine.
The sunlight fell full in my face and warmed my body as I creptthrough a mat of blueberry bushes and peered over the edge of the cragdown into the ravine.
A hundred feet below the Alleghany flowed, a glassy stream tinted withgold, reflecting forest and cliff and a tiny triangle of cobalt sky.Its surface was a mirror without a flaw, save where a solitarywild-duck floated, trailing a rippled wake, or steered hither andthither, craning its green neck after water-flies and gnats.
How still it was below; how quiet the whole world was--quieter for thehushed rumour of the winds on some far mountain spur.
The little blue caps which every baby peak had worn all day were nowchanged for night-caps of palest rose; the wild plum's bloom dustedevery velvet mountain flank, the forest was robed in flowing purple toits roots, which the still river washed in sands of gold.
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Below me a brown hawk wheeled, rising in narrowing spirals like awind-blown leaf, higher, higher, till of a sudden its bright eyeflashed level with mine and it sheered westward with a rush ofwhistling feathers. I watched it drifting away under the clouds intothe sunset, with a silly prayer that wings might be fastened to mytired feet, as Minnomonedo, leaning out from the centre of heaven,dipped the first bird in Mon-o-ma, the Spirit Water, which was alsoI-os-co, the Water of Light. "_Te-i-o! Te-i-o!_" I murmured,"_On-ti-o_--_I-e nia_, oh, _Mon-a-kee_!"
For God knows--and forgives--that, at sixteen, I was but an Algonquinin superstition, fearing Minnomonedo and seeking refuge in that Godwhom I did not dread.
In towns and cities the savage legends which I had imbibed with myfirst milk vanished from my mind completely, leaving no barriers to acalm worship of the Most High. But in the woods it was different;every leaf, every blossom represented links in those interminablechains of legends with which I had been nourished, and from whichnothing but death can entirely wean me.
To me, the birds that passed, the shy, furry creatures that slippedback into the demi-light, the insects, the rocks, water, clouds, sun,moon, and stars were comrades with names and histories and purposes,exercising influences on each other and on me, and calling for anindividual and intimate recognition which I cared not to disregard inthe forest, though I might safely forget them amid the crowded wastesof civilization.
I do not mean to say that I credited the existence of such creaturesas the wampum bird, nor did I believe that the first belt was made ofa quill dropped to earth from the fearsome thing. This was nonsense;even at night I dared mock at it. But still every human being knowsthat, in the midnight wilderness, strange things do pass which no mancan explain--strange beasts move, strange shapes dance by elf-fires,and trees talk aloud, one to another. If this be witchcraft, or if itbe but part of a life which our vast black forests hide forever fromthe sun, I know not. Sir William holds that there are no witches, yetI once heard him curse a Huron hag for drying up his Devon cattle witha charm. We Christians know that a red belt lies ever between God andSatan. And I, as a woodsman, also know that, _if_ there be demons inBiskoona, a thousand bloody belts lie for all time twixt _Minno_ and_Mudjee_, call them what you will, and their voices are in the passingthunder and in the noises of the eight great winds.
Sprawling there on the warm rocks like a young panther in the sun,ears attuned to the faintest whisper of danger, I gnawed a strip ofdried squirrel's flesh and sucked up the water from a dripping mossycleft, sweet cheer to an empty belly.
As for fire, that was denied me by my sense, though I knew that thecoming night would stiffen me. But I cared little for that: whatoccupied my thoughts was how to obtain food when a single shot mightbring Butler and his trackers hot on the scent ere the rifle smoke hadblown clear of the trees.
It was not always that one might knock down a stupid partridge with astick, nor yet were there trout in every water-crack. I looked down atthe darkening river, where the wild mallard still circled and dartedits neck after unseen midges; and my mouth watered, for he was passingplump, this Southern lingerer, fresh from the great gulf.
"If he be there in the morning," thought I, "perhaps I may risk a shotand take to my heels." For had I not thrown Butler and his crew frommy trail as easily as I brush a bunch of deer-flies from myhunting-shirt? And if I could do it once, I could repeat the trick ina dozen pretty ways of my own knowledge and of Thayendanegea'sinvention. Still I knew he was no forest blunderer, this Butler man;he had proved that in the Canadas; and I did not mean to beover-confident nor to rock caution to sleep in my first triumph.
And Lord!--how I hated him and wished him evil, waking, sleeping, insickness and in health, ay, living or dead, I wished him evil andblack mischance on his dark soul's flight to the last accounting. So,with thoughts of hatred and revenge, I saw the cinders of the sun goout behind the forest and the web of night settling over the world.Wrapped in my blanket, curled up in a bed of blueberry, I folded myhands over my body like a chipmunk and said a prayer to the God whom Idid not fear. After that I reprimed my rifle, covering flint and panto keep out the dew, settled the stock in a crevice near my head, andlay down again to watch for the full moon, whose yellow light wasalready soaring up behind a black peak in the east. And all night longI lay on that borderland of sleep which men in danger dare nottraverse lest a sound find them unready. Slumbering, again and again Isaw the moon through slitted lids, yet I rested and slept a sweetwholesome sleep which renewed my vigour by its very lightness.
Long before the sun had done painting the sky-scenes for his royalentry, I had brushed the dew from cap and blanket, primed my rifleafresh, and cautiously crawled to the cliff's brink.
Mist covered the river; I could not have seen a canoe had it beenfloating under my own crag; neither could I see my wild duck, thoughat times I heard his drowsy quack somewhere below, and the answeringquack of his mate, now rejoining her lord and master. Perhaps a wholeflock had come in by night.
Now, the intense stillness of early morn did not reassure me, nor didthe careless quacking of the ducks convince me that the river andshore were untenanted save for them. Many a drowsing mallard has beencaught by a lean fox or knocked on the head with a paddle. I had nomind to creep down and risk a shot at a shadow on the misty water, notknowing what else that mist might conceal. However, I was fiercelyhungry, and I meant to have a duck. So, shivering, I undressed, and,stark naked, I picked my way down the clefts to the base of the cliffand slipped into the water like a mink.
The water was warmer than the air; I swam without a splash, straighttowards the quacking sound, seeing nothing but the blank fog as yet,but meaning to seize the first duck by the legs if he were asleep, orby his neck if he dived.
Now, although I made no sound in the water, all around me I felt thepresence of live creatures stirring, and soon there began a peevishsound of half-awakened water-fowl, so that I knew I was near to aflock of them.
Suddenly, right in my face, a duck squawked and flapped; I grasped atthe bird, but held only a fistful o' feathers. In an instant the mistaround me rang with strong wings beating the water, and with awhistling roar the flock drove past, dashing me with spray till I,smothered and choked, flung up my arm towards a floating tree-trunk.To my horror the log rolled completely over, and out of it two menfell, shrieking, on top of me, for the log I had grasped was a barkcanoe, and I had spilled out my enemies on my own head.
We all went down, but I sank clear of the unseen men and rose again toswim for my life. They came to the surface behind me; I could seetheir shadowy heads over my shoulder, for the mist was lifting.
They were shouting now, evidently to others on the opposite bank, butmy way led not thither, and I swam swiftly for the foot of my cliff,missing it again and again in the fog, until I found it at last, andran panting and dripping up the cleft.
When I reached my rifle I leaned over the crag to look, but the rivergorge remained choked with vapour, though here above all was brightgray dawn. The shouting below came clearly to my ears, also thesplashing. I judged that the two men had thrown their arms over thecapsized canoe, and thus, hands clasped, were making out to keepafloat; for in this manner only can a capsized canoe serve two men.
Drying my bruised feet and dripping skin in my blanket, I hastened todress and strap on my pack, keeping a restless eye on the gulf below.When I was prepared, the sun, pushing up behind the peaks in the east,was already scattering the mist into long, thin clouds, and atintervals I made out the canoe floating bottom up, close inshore, andI heard the wrecked men paddling with their hands.
Presently Walter Butler's voice sounded from the bank, cautioning theswimming men to proceed slowly, and inquiring what was the cause fortheir upsetting.
They replied that a deer, swimming the river, had planted one foot intheir bow while they slept, and so overturned the canoe. But I knewthat Walter Butler would not be long in discovering the tracks of mynaked feet in the shore-sands where I had l
anded while searching formy cliff, so I prepared to leave without further ado, though angrilytempted to make a target of the phantom group below.
So, with a stomach stayed with a mouthful of corn and water, I startedsilently westward, meaning to make a circle, and, hiding my tracks,recross the river to take advantage of their sure pursuit bytravelling on the Fort Pitt trail until again hunted into the forest.
Munching my corn as I plodded on, I still kept a keen lookout behind,though in the forest one can seldom see but a rod or two, andsometimes not even a yard except down the vista of some woodlandstream.
It was useless to attempt to cover my tracks, for I could neitheravoid breaking branches in the tangle, nor keep from leavingfoot-prints on the soft moss which even a Boston schoolmaster mightread a-running. But I could trot along the tops of fallen logs like apartridge, and use every watercourse that wound my way, so breaking mytrail for all save a hound or an Indian. And this I did to check thepursuit which I knew must begin sooner or later.
It began even sooner than I expected, and almost caught me napping,for, resting a moment to scrutinize a broad stretch of barren ground,around which I had just circled in order to keep cover, I saw a mancreeping among the rocks and berry-scrub, doubtless nosing about formy trail. A moment later another man moved on the eastern edge of themountain flank, and at the same time, far up the river, I saw thecanoe floating.
That was enough for me, and I started on a dog-trot down the slope andalong the river-bed, plunging through willows and alders till I cameto a bend from which the naked shoulder of the mountain could not beseen.
Thayendanegea had taught me to do what people thought I would belikely to do, but to accomplish it so craftily that they wouldpresently think I had done something else.
When at length those who pursued me should find my trail on thesouthern border of the open scrub-land, they would have no difficultyin following me down the long incline to the river where I now stood,ankle-deep in icy water. I had halted exactly opposite to the mouth ofa rocky stream, and it was natural that I should ford the rapids hereand continue, on the other bank, up that stream to hide my trail. Theywould expect me to do it, so this I did, and ran up the bed of thestream for a few rods, carelessly leaving a tiny dust line ofcorn-meal on the rocks as though in my headlong flight my sack hadstarted a seam.
Then I turned around and waded down the brook again to the river, outto the shallow rapids, and so, knee-deep, hastened southward again toput the next bend between me and the canoe.
I was making but slow progress, for my sack galled me, the slippery,wet buckskin leggings chafed knee and ankle raw, and my soakedhunting-shirt glued its skirts to my thighs, impeding me at everystride. My drenched moccasins also left wet tracks on the Fort Pitttrail, which I knew the sun could not dry out for hours yet; but I didnot believe that Butler and his crew would come up in time to seethem.
I was mistaken; scarcely half an hour had passed ere their accursedcanoe appeared bobbing down the rapids, paddles flashing in the sun;and I took to the forest again at a lively gait, somewhat disturbed,though my self-confidence permitted no actual anxiety to assail me.
I now played them one of Brant's tricks, which was to change moccasinsfor a brand-new pair of larger size, and soled with ridged bear-hide.I also reversed them, toe pointing to the rear, and they made a finemark on the moss.
Every twenty paces I stooped to brush up the pile of the velvet mossand so obliterate my tracks for the next twenty paces.
In this manner I travelled for three hours without sign of pursuit,and had it not been for my pack I could have jogged on till night. Butmy galled shoulders creaked for mercy, and I struggled out once moreinto the Fort Pitt trail and stood panting and alert, drenched withsweat.
The trail had been trodden within the hour; I saw fresh sign of twodifferent moccasins, and of a coarse boot of foreign style, allpointing southward. The moccasins were like one pair I had in mypack, of Albany make; the wearer of the boots toed in. These things Inoticed quicker than I could relate them, and instinctively I changedmy moccasins for the third time, and ran on, stepping carefully in thetracks of him who wore the Albany moccasins, and keeping a sharp eyeahead.
I had run nearly half a mile, and was beginning to look about for avantage spot to rest on, when a turn in the trail brought me out alongthe river.
I scanned the stream thoroughly, and discovered nothing to balk at,but I could not see the opposite bank very plainly because the forestrose from the water's edge, and all was dusky where the low-archedbranches screened the shore.
Under this a canoe might lie, or might not; there was no means oftelling. I sniffed at the dusky screen of leaves, but had my sniffingfor my trouble, as nothing moved there.
It was clear I could not remain in the Fort Pitt trail with at leasttwo of the Butler crew behind me. Should I take to the tangled forestagain? My shoulders begged me not to, but my senses jogged me to theprudent course. However, at certain times in men's careers, when bodyand mind clamour for different answers, a moment comes, even to themost cautious, when a risk smacks as sweet as a banquet.
One of those moments was coming now; I knew the risk of traversingthat open bit of trail, but the hazard had a winy flavour withal, andbesides it was such a few feet to safety--such a little risk. And Itrotted out on the open trail.
Instantly a shot echoed in the gorge, and the pack on my back jerked.I never made such a jump in all my life before, for I had cleared theopen like a scared fawn, and now stood glued to a tree, peering at theblue cloud of smoke which trailed along the opposite shore.
There it was!--there came their accursed canoe like a live creaturepoking its painted snout out of the leafy screen, and I cocked andprimed my rifle and waited.
There were two men in the canoe; one paddled gingerly, the other hadreloaded his rifle and was now squatting in the bow. But whatastonished and enraged me was that I knew the men, Wraxall the barber,and Toby Tice, perfectly well. They were, moreover, tenants of SirWilliam, living with their families in Johnstown, and their murderoustreachery horrified me.
I had never shot at a man; I raised my rifle and held them on thesights for a moment, but there was no fever of the chase in me now,only a heart-sick horror of taking a neighbour's life.
In a choked and shaky voice I hailed them, warning them back; my voicegave them a start, for I believe they thought me hard hit.
"Go back, you clowns!" I called. "Shame on you, Toby Tice! Shame onyou, Wraxall! What devil's work is this? Are you turned Huron thenwith your knives and hatchets and your Seneca belts? Swing that canoe,I say! Au large! Au large!--or, by God, I'll drill you both with oneball!"
Suddenly Wraxall fired. Through the blue cloud I saw Tice sweep aularge, and I stepped out to the shore and shot a ripping hole throughtheir canoe as it heeled.
Wraxall was reloading desperately; Tice started to send the canoetowards me once more, but suddenly catching sight of the leakingbottom, dropped on his knees and tried to draw the ripped flapstogether.
Behind my tree I tore a cartridge open, rammed in a palmful ofbuckshot, primed, and fired, tearing the whole bow out of their flimsybark craft. The canoe stood up like a post, stern in the air, andWraxall lay floundering, while Tice shrieked and fell sprawling intothe river, head first, like a plunging frog, paddles, poles, and riflefollowing.
They were swimming my way now, but I shouted to them to sheer off, andat rifle point warned them across the river to land where they mightand thank God I had not driven them to the bottom with an ounce ofbuck.
I was still watching them to see they landed safely, and had halfturned to take the trail again, when, almost under my feet, a humanhand shot up above the river-bank and seized my ankle, tripping meflat. The next moment a man leaped up from the shore where he had beencrouching, but as I lay on my back I gave him a violent kick in theface and rolled over out of reach. Before I could grasp my rifle, hishatchet flew, pinning one flap of my hunting-shirt to the ground; andI wrenched the hatchet free a
nd hurled it back at him, so that theflat of the blade smacked his face, and he dropped into the water witha scream.
Shaking all over, I rose and lifted my rifle, instinctively repriming.But the sight of the man in the mud, crawling about, gasping andblowing bloody bubbles, made me sick, and the next moment I turnedtail and ran like a rabbit.
As I sped down the trail, over my shoulder I saw Walter Butler,planted out in the shoals of the river, taking steady aim at me, and Iseized a tree and checked my course as his bullet sang past my face.Then I ran on, setting my teeth and vowing to repay that shot when mylife was my own to risk again.
It was late in the afternoon when I turned once more from the trailand limped into the forest; and I was now close enough to exhaustionto feel for the first time in my life a touch of that desperationwhich makes a fury out of a cornered creature, be it panther or mouse.
For I had not been able to shake off pursuit, double and twist as Imight. They were distant, it is true, but they plodded tirelessly,unerringly. Again and again I saw them on the rocks, on the vast aridreaches of the mountains, heads down to the trail, jogging along withhorrid patience.
Once I doubled on them so close that I could see one of the band withhis face tied up in a rag, doubtless the fellow who had tasted of hisown toothsome hatchet. Walter Butler I could also distinguish, ever inthe lead, rifle trailing. Only one among the others bore a rifle. Ihad certainly upset their canoe to good advantage. But now I began torepent me that I had not shot them in the water when I had the chance;for truly I was in a sorry condition to proceed farther, throughforest or on trail; my limbs at times refused their service, and atwig tripped me when I needs must leap a log.
I fired my first long shot at them as they were entering a ravinebelow me, and I missed, for my hands were unsteady from my labouringbreath. Yet I should have marked a deer where I pleased at that range.
This shot, however, delayed them, and they now advanced more slowlyand cautiously, alert for another ambush. An hour later I gave them asecond shot. My aim was wavering; my bullet only made one man duck hishead.
I was fighting for time now. If I could keep on until dark I had nofear for the morrow. To tell the truth, I had no actual fear then; itseemed so impossible that these Johnstown yokels really meant to takemy life, even if they caught me--this ass of a Toby Tice whom I hadtipped for holding my stirrup more than once. And Wraxall, thered-headed barber sot, who had shaved me in the guard-house! How manytimes had he snatched off his greasy cap to me, as he loafed in taverndoors, sweating malt like a hop-vat!
But the nearness of Walter Butler was a very different affair. Evenwhen I was but a toddling child at Mistress Molly's knee the sight ofWalter Butler ever sent me fearfully hiding behind the first apron Icould snatch at. Year by year my distrust and aversion deepened, untilI had come to look forward serenely to that mortal struggle between uswhich I knew must come. But I had never expected it to come like this.
As I crept once more into the forest my hatred for this man gave menew strength, and I staggered on, searching for a vantage coign whereI might take another shot at the grotesque crew. Up and up I crawled,faintly alarmed at my increasing weakness, for now, when a vinetripped me, I could scarce make out to rise again. In vain I whippedand spurred my lagging strength with stinging memories of all thescores I should wipe out with one clean bullet through Butler's head;it was nigh useless; I could barely move, and how was I to shoot withmy brier-torn hands shaking so I could neither hold them still norclose my swollen fingers on the trigger? I needed rest; an hour wouldhave sufficed to steady the palsy of exhaustion. If only the nightwould come quickly! But there were two hours of daylight yet, two longhours of light in which to track my every step.
I caught a distant glimpse of them far below me, searching the ravineand river-bank. How they had been lured off to the river I know not,but it gave me a brief chance for breath, though not for a shot; and Irested my face on my rifle-stock and closed my eyes.
I had been kneeling behind a granite rock in a bare waste ofblueberry-scrub, close to the edge of the woods; and presently as Iattempted to rise I fell down, and began to claw around like a blindkitten. Stand up I could not, and worst of all, I had littleinclination to attempt it, the bed of rough bushes was so soothing,and the granite rock invited my heavy head. All over me a sweetnumbness tingled; I tried to think, I strove to rouse. In vain I hearda sing-song drowsing in my ears: "They will kill you! They will killyou!" but there was no terror in it. What would it be, I wondered--ahatchet?--a knife at the throat like the deer's coup-de-grace? Maybe ablow with a rifle-stock. What did I care? Sleep was sweet.
Then a quiver swept through me like an icy wind; with a pang Iremembered my mission and the wampum pledges, the boast and the vow toSir William. Darkness crowded me down; my head reeled, yet I roseagain to my knees, swaying and clutching at the rock which I couldbarely see. All around a thick night seemed to hem me in; I gropedthrough a chilly void for my rifle; it was gone. Panic-stricken Istaggered up, drenched with dew, and I saw the moon staring at me overa mountain's ghostly wall.
Slowly I realized that I had slept; that death had passed me where Ilay unconscious in the open moorland. But how far had death gone?--andwould he not return by moonlight, stealthily, casting no shadow? Ay,what was that under the tree there, that shape watching me?--moving,too,--a man!
As I shrank back my heel struck my rifle. In an instant I was downbehind the rock to prime with dry powder, but to my horror I foundflint missing, charge drawn, pan raised, and ramrod stickinghelplessly out of the barrel. The shock stunned me for a moment; thenI snatched at knife and hatchet only to find an empty belt dangling tomy ankles.
In the impulse of fury and despair, I crouched flat with clinchedfists, trembling for a spring; and at the same instant a tall figurerose from the bushes at my elbow, laughing coolly.
"Greeting, friend," he said; "God save our country!"
Speechless and dazed, I turned to face him, but he only leaned quietlyon a long rifle and pinched his chin and chuckled.
"There are some gentlemen yonder looking for you, young man," hesaid. "I sent them south, for somehow I thought you might not belooking for them."
Weakness had dulled my wits, but I found speech presently to ask formy knife and hatchet.
He laid his head on one side and contemplated me in mock admiration.
"Now! Now! Let us go slow, friend," he said. "Let us converse onseveral subjects before you begin bawling for your playthings. In thefirst place your manners need polish. I said to you, 'Greeting,friend; God save our country!' and you make me no polite reply."
Something in the big fellow's impudence and careless good-humourstruck me as familiar. I had heard that voice before, and underpleasant circumstances, it seemed to me; somewhere I had seen himstanding as he was standing now, in his stringy buckskins and hiscoon-skin cap, with the fluffy tail falling like a queue.
"If you please," I said, weakly, "give me my hatchet and knife andreceive my thanks. Come, my good fellow, you detain me, and I have farto travel."
"Well, of all impudence!" he sneered. "Wait a bit, my young cock o'the woods. I don't know you yet, but I mean to ere you go outstrutting o' moonlight nights."
"Will you give me my hatchet?" I asked, sharply, edging towards him.
Before the words left my lips he snatched my rifle from me and steppedback, putting the rock between us.
"Now," he said, grimly, "you come into camp and take supper with me,or I'll knock your head off and drag you in by the heels!"
Aching with fatigue and mortification, I stood there so perfectlyhelpless that the great oaf fell a-laughing again, and, with a shrugof good-humoured contempt, handed me back my rifle as though I were aninfant.
"Don't grind your teeth at me," he chuckled. "Come to the camp, lad. Imean no harm to you. If I did, there's men yonder who'd slit yourpipes for the pleasure, I warrant."
He took a step up the slope, looked around in the moonlightencouragingly, then abruptl
y returned to my side and passed his greatarm around me.
"I'm dog-tired," I said, weakly, making an effort to walk; but myknees had no strength in them, and I must have fallen except for hissupport.
Up, up, up we passed through the foggy moonlight, he almost draggingme, and my feet a-trail behind. However, when we reached the plateau,I made out to stumble along with his aid, though I let him relieve meof my rifle, which he shouldered with his own.
After a minute or two I smelled the camp-fire, but could not see it.Even in the darkest night a fire amid great trees is not visible atany considerable distance.
My big companion, striding along beside me, had been constantlymuttering under his breath, and presently I distinguished the words hewas singing:
--"One shoe off, one shoe on, Diddle diddle dumpling, my son John--"
"I know you," I said, abruptly.
He dropped his song and glanced around at me.
"Oh, you do, eh? Well, I mean to know you, too, so don't worry, youngman."
"I won't," said I, scarcely able to speak.
Presently I saw a single tree in the darkness, all gleaming red, andin a moment we entered a ruddy ring of light, in the centre of whichgreat logs burned and crackled in a little sea of whistling flames.
I was prepared to encounter the other coureur-de-bois, and there hewas, ferret-face peering and sniffing at us as we approached. However,beyond a grunt, he paid me no attention, and presently fell tostirring something in a camp-pot which hung from cross-sticks over aseparate bed of coals.
There was a third figure there, seated at the base of a gigantic pinetree; a little Hebrew man, gathering his knees in his arms and peepingup at me with watery, red-rimmed eyes; Saul Shemuel!--though I was tooweary to bother my head as to how he came there. As I passed him helooked up, but he did not appear to know me, though he came everyspring to Sir William for his peddling license, and sometimes sold uschildren gaffs and ferret-muzzles and gilt chains for pet dogs.
He bade me good-evening in an uncertain voice, and peered up at mecontinually; and although I doubted that even Sir William could haverecognized me now, I feared this Jew.
The big man brought me a bowl of broth and spread a blanket for meclose to the blaze. I do not recollect drinking the broth, but I musthave done so, for shortly a delicious warmth enveloped me within andwithout, and that is the last I remembered that night.