II
All turned now to the duties of the day--Honor to her loom, Polly to herdistaff, and Lydia to her spinning-wheel, for the clothes of the womenwere home-spun, home-woven, home-made. Old Jerome and Dave and the oldermen gathered in one corner of the stockade for a council of war. The boyhad made it plain that the attacking party was at least two days behindthe three Indians from whom he had escaped, so that there was no dangerthat day, and they could wait until night to send messengers to warn thesettlers outside to seek safety within the fort. Meanwhile, Jerome woulddespatch five men with Dave to scout for the three Indians who might benear by in the woods, and the boy, who saw them slip out the rear gateof the fort, at once knew their purpose, shook his head, and waved hishand to say that his late friends were gone back to hurry on the bigwar-party to the attack, now that the whites themselves knew theirdanger. Old Jerome nodded that he understood, and nodded to others hisappreciation of the sense and keenness of the lad, but he let the men gojust the same. From cabin door to cabin door the boy went inturn--peeking in, but showing no wonder, no surprise, and little interestuntil Lydia again smiled at him. At her door he paused longest, and evenwent within and bent his ear to the bee-like hum of the wheel. At theport-holes in the logs he pointed and grunted his understanding andappreciation, as he did when he climbed into a blockhouse and saw howone story overlapped the other and how through an opening in the upperfloor the defenders in the tower might pour a destructive fire onattackers breaking in below. When he came down three boys, brothers tothe three girls, Bud Sanders, Jack Conrad, and Harry Noe, were againbusy with their games. They had been shy with him as he with them, andnow he stood to one side while they, pretending to be unconscious of hispresence, watched with sidelong glances the effect on him of theirprowess. All three threw the tomahawk and shot arrows with great skill,but they did not dent the impassive face of the little stranger.
"Maybe he thinks he can do better," said Bud; "let's let him try it."
And he held forth the tomahawk and motioned toward the post. The ladtook it gravely, gravely reached for the tomahawk of each of the othertwo, and with slow dignity walked several yards farther away from themark. Then he wheeled with such ferocity in his face that the boysshrank aside, clutching with some fear to one another's arms, and beforethey could quite recover, they were gulping down wonder as the threeweapons whistled through the air and were quivering close, side by side,in the post.
"Gee!" they said. Again the lad's face turned impassive as he picked uphis bow and three arrows and slowly walked toward the wall of thestockade so that he was the full width of the fort away. And then threearrows hurtled past them in incredibly swift succession and thudded intothe post, each just above a tomahawk. This time the three onlookers werequite speechless, though their mouths were open wide. Then they rantoward him and had him show just how he held tomahawk and bow and arrow,and all three did much better with the new points he gave them.Wondering then whether they might not teach him something, Jack did astanding broad jump and Bud a running broad jump and Harry a hop, skip,and a jump. The young stranger shook his head but he tried and fellshort in each event and was greatly mortified. Again he shook his headwhen Bud and Jack took backholds and had a wrestling-match, but he triedwith Jack and was thumped hard to the earth. He sprang to his feetlooking angry, but all were laughing, and he laughed too.
"Me big fool," he said; and they showed him how to feint and trip, andonce he came near throwing Bud. At rifle-shooting, too, he was no matchfor the young pioneers, but at last he led them with gestures andunintelligible grunts to the far end of the stockade and indicated afoot-race. The boy ran like one of his own arrows, but he beat Bud onlya few feet, and Bud cried:
"I reckon if _I_ didn't have no clothes on, he couldn't 'a' done it";and on the word Mother Sanders appeared and cried to Bud to bring the"Injun" to her cabin. She had been unearthing clothes for the "littleheathen," and Bud helped to put them on. In a few minutes the ladreappeared in fringed hunting shirt and trousers, wriggling in them mostuncomfortably, for they made him itch, but at the same time wearing themproudly. Mother Sanders approached with a hunting-knife.
"I'm goin' to cut off that topknot so his hair can ketch up," she said,but the boy scowled fearfully, turned, fled, and scaling the stockade asnimbly as a squirrel, halted on top with one leg over the other side.
"He thinks you air goin' to take his scalp," shouted Bud. The three boysjumped up and down in their glee, and even Mother Sanders put her handson her broad hips and laughed with such loud heartiness that many cameto the cabin doors to see what the matter was. It was no use for theboys to point to their own heads and finger their own shocks of hair,for the lad shook his head, and outraged by their laughter kept hisplace in sullen dignity a long while before he could be persuaded tocome down.
On the mighty wilderness the sun sank slowly and old Jerome sat in thewestern tower to watch alone. The silence out there was oppressive andsignificant, for it meant that the boy's theory was right; the threeIndians had gone back for their fellows, and when darkness came the oldman sent runners to the outlying cabins to warn the inmates to takerefuge within the fort. There was no settler that was not accustomed toa soft tapping on the wooden windows that startled him wide awake. Thenthere was the noiseless awakening of the household, noiseless dressingof the children--the mere whisper of "Indians" was enough to keep themquiet--and the noiseless slipping through the wilderness for theoak-picketed stockade. And the gathering-in was none too soon. Thehooting of owls started before dawn. A flaming arrow hissed from thewoods, thudded into the roof of one of the cabins, sputtered feebly on adew-drenched ridge-pole, and went out. Savage war-whoops rent the air,and the battle was on. All day the fight went on. There were feints ofattack in front and rushes from the rear, and there were rushes from allsides. The women loaded rifles and cooked and cared for the wounded.Thrice an Indian reached the wall of the stockade and set a cabin onfire, but no one of the three got back to the woods alive. The strangerboy sat stoically in the centre of the enclosure watching everything,and making no effort to take part, except twice when he saw a giganticIndian brandishing his rifle at the edge of the woods, encouraging hiscompanions behind, and each time he grunted and begged for a gun. AndDave made out that the Indian was the one who had treated the boycruelly and that the lad was after a personal revenge. Late in theafternoon the ammunition began to run low and the muddy discoloration ofthe river showed that the red men had begun to tunnel under the walls ofthe fort. And yet a last sally was made just before sunset. A bodypushed against Dave in the tower and Dave saw the stranger boy at hisside with his bow and arrow. A few minutes later he heard a yell fromthe lad which rang high over the din, and he saw the feathered tip of anarrow shaking in the breast of the big Indian who staggered and fellbehind a bush. Just at that moment there were yells from the woodsbehind--the yells of white men that were answered by joyful yells withinthe fort:
"The Virginians! The Virginians!" And as the rescuers dashed into sighton horse and afoot, Dave saw the lad leap the wall of the stockade anddisappear behind the fleeing Indians.
"Gone back to 'em," he grunted to himself. The gates were thrown open.Old Jerome and his men rushed out, and besieged and rescuers poured alltheir fire after the running Indians, some of whom turned bravely toempty their rifles once more.
"Git in! Git in, quick!" yelled old Joel. He knew another volley wouldcome as soon as the Indians reached the cover of thick woods, and comethe volley did. Three men fell--one the leader of the Virginians, whosehead flopped forward as he entered the gate and was caught in old Joel'sarms. Not another sound came from the woods, but again Dave from thetower saw the cane-brush rustle at the edge of a thicket, saw a handthrust upward with the palm of peace toward the fort, and again thestranger boy emerged--this time with a bloody scalp dangling in his lefthand. Dave sprang down and met him at the gate. The boy shook his bowand arrow proudly, pointed to a crisscross scar on the scalp, and Davemade out from his explanation that onc
e before the lad had tried to killhis tormentor and that the scar was the sign. In the centre of theenclosure the wounded Virginian lay, and when old Jerome stripped theshirt from his breast he shook his head gravely. The wounded man openedhis eyes just in time to see and he smiled.
"I know it," he said faintly, and then his eyes caught the boy with thescalp, were fixed steadily and began to widen.
"Who is that boy?" he asked sharply.
"Never mind now," said old Joel soothingly, "you must keep still!" Theboy's eyes had begun to shift under the scrutiny and he started away.
"Come back here!" commanded the wounded man, and still searching the ladhe said sharply again:
"Who is that boy?" Nor would he have his wound dressed or even take thecup of water handed to him until old Joel briefly told the story, whenhe lay back on the ground and closed his eyes.
Darkness fell. In each tower a watcher kept his eyes strained toward theblack, silent woods. The dying man was laid on a rude bed within onecabin, and old Joel lay on the floor of it close to the door. Thestranger lad refused to sleep indoors and huddled himself in a blanketon the ground in one corner of the stockade. Men, women, and childrenfell to a deep and weary sleep. In the centre the fire burned and therewas no sound on the air but the crackle of its blazing. An hour laterthe boy in the corner threw aside his blanket, and when, a moment later,Lydia Noe, feverish and thirsty, rose from her bed to get a drink ofwater outside her door, she stopped short on the threshold. The lad,stark naked but for his breech-clout and swinging his bloody scalp overhis head, was stamping around the fire--dancing the scalp-dance of thesavage to a low, fierce, guttural song. The boy saw her, saw her face inthe blaze, stricken white with fright and horror, saw her too paralyzedto move and he stopped, staring at her a moment with savage rage, andwent on again. Old Joel's body filled the next doorway. He called outwith a harsh oath, and again the boy stopped. With another oath and athreatening gesture Joel motioned to the corner of the stockade, andwith a flare of defiance in his black eyes the lad stalked slowly andproudly away. From behind him the voice of the wounded man called, andold Joel turned. There was a ghastly smile on the Virginian's pallidface.
"I saw it," he said painfully. "That's--that's my son!"