CHAPTER XVII.
THE LONG CLEARING.
Deerfoot, the young Shawanoe, despite his extraordinary exertions andhis own wonderful woodcraft, had fallen into the hands of the hostileWyandots, and with a grim satire upon the skill which had given theyouth his great fame, Waughtauk, chief of his enemies, had decreedthat his life should be staked upon the result of a race with thefleetest runners of the tribe.
The captive would have welcomed such a contest, could it have beenconducted on anything like equal terms, but he seemed in a pitiablecondition, unable to bear the weight of his body for more than asecond on one foot. Had it been otherwise, Waughtauk never would havemade the conditions what they were.
The promised enjoyment was so eagerly looked for by the warriors thatthe chief decided to gratify them and himself, without delay.
It was now near noon, and the sun shining overhead gave no indicationsof the clouds and snow-fall that came with the close of day. The "LongClearing," of which the chief spoke, was an open space, beginningfifty rods north of the block-house and extending for a third of amile, parallel with the Licking river. It had a width varying from ahundred feet to five times that extent. It was a natural clearing oropening, which, it would seem, offered a much better site for ablock-house than the one selected by Colonel Preston, when he erectedthe building now placed in such danger.
It presented an open space for the distance named, and, before thefounding of the settlement, was often used by Indians for their gamesand athletic contests: no more suitable place could have been foundfor the extraordinary contest decreed by Waughtauk, chief of theWyandots.
As this exhibition was ordered during the time when the siege was tobe maintained, it was impossible that more than a fractional part ofthe warriors could take part in or witness it. Waughtauk selected sixof his men who were to be the actors in the tragedy, he himselfpurposing to be the leader and director.
As the wolf, before destroying the lamb, sought a pretext for hiscruelty, so the chief assumed a certain air of justice in arrangingfor what might be termed a race for life.
The warrior who had struck Deerfoot was given his bow, the youth beingallowed to retain his knife, tomahawk, and quiver. None of theWyandots were permitted to carry their guns, the only weapon of thatkind being in the hands of the chief, who was also magnanimous enoughto give the fugitive a start of some fifty yards.
Deerfoot was too proud to open his lips, when the conditions wereexplained to him. He stood grim and silent, watching the preparationsand noting the exultation which often reached boisterousness.
"Great is Deerfoot, the swiftest runner of the Shawanoes!" said onemockingly; "he is the eagle, and he will leave the Wyandots far out ofsight, as the great bird leaves the smaller ones in his flight throughthe heavens!"
"Deerfoot is the friend of the Yenghese and the Long Knives, who havecome to take away the hunting-grounds of the red man."
"The pale-faces will come to the help of Deerfoot, for who has been abetter friend to them than he?"
These and similar taunts fell upon ears which appeared to hear themnot. Those who uttered the cruel words came close to the youth andpeered into his face, with hideous grimaces, but he stood calm andsilent. He was a shade paler, and there was a strange gleam in hisblack eyes, but he looked beyond his tormentors at Waughtauk, whodeliberately paced off the distance, giving liberal measure, as it isonly justice to record.
When the fifty steps had been taken, Waughtauk stopped, stamped theheel of his moccasin in the earth, and, turning about, beckoned toDeerfoot to approach. The young Shawanoe, as he hobbled painfullyforward, presented a spectacle which ought to have excited the pity ofthe hardest heart; but the Wyandots laughed and were impatient for thecontest, if such it may be called, to open.
Deerfoot limped the greater part of the distance and then stopped torest a moment, seemingly unable to advance another step. Severaltaunting exclamations followed this display of weakness, and,summoning his energies, the youth resumed his labored advance, finallyreached the side of Waughtauk, who concealed, as well as he could, hisimpatience.
"Deerfoot will stand _here_," said he, pointing to the indentation theheel of his moccasin had made in the ground; "when he hears Waughtaukgive forth the war-whoop of the Wyandots, he will teach my warriorshow to run."
The young Shawanoe opened his lips to make answer, but they closedmore tightly than before, and not a word was uttered. Hisself-restraint was perfect.
Waughtauk walked back to the edge of the Long Clearing, where the sixwarriors eagerly awaited the signal for the sport to begin. Despitethe usual stoicism and indifference of their race, the braves were asfrolicsome as so many school-boys. They elbowed and crowded each otherfor their places, and one or two vigorous wrestling bouts occurred,before the chieftain placed them in line.
At last the six Wyandots were drawn up in position, one foot thrownforward, while they swayed restlessly back and forth, inching alongthe advanced foot, like so many runners eager for the slightestadvantage. Each carried his knife and tomahawk at his girdle, but thearms were free. He who claimed the bow of Deerfoot had thrown itaside, now that he was about to run.
Waughtauk looked at his men and then he placed himself in alignment attheir right. He still held his loaded gun, probably as an emblem ofhis authority, and as a notification that he would use it in the eventof any warrior disregarding orders.
The seven now looked out upon the Long Clearing at the fugitive whowas to go through this mockery of a race with the sinewy-limbedWyandots, eager and thirsting for his life.
The pose of Deerfoot was much the same as that of his enemies. Hisleft foot was in advance of the other, while his weight gentlyoscillated back and forth, like the swinging of a long pendulum.Unnoticed by any of the Wyandots, he had edged fully ten feet beyondthe proper starting-point. His face was turned as if looking at theautumnal woods on his right, but as his handsome profile was thrownagainst the sky beyond, his eyes were scrutinizing every action of hisfoes, as they arranged themselves and awaited the signal.
At this juncture it must have occurred to more than one that theShawanoe was balancing himself with remarkable ease for one whosesufferings from a sprained ankle were so acute. If such a thought cameto the Wyandots, they did not lose sight of the fact that the time foran investigation was past.
For a single minute complete quiet prevailed. The river on the leftflowing calmly northward, the solemn autumn woods on the right, thestretch of the Long Clearing, with its irregular contour,--the singlesolitary youth poised as if he were a Grecian athlete,--the sevenswarthy Indians, like so many fierce hounds, impatient for the momentwhen they might spring at the lamb and bury their fangs in itsthroat:--these made a picture striking beyond imagination in itsdetails.
"_Whoop! whoop! whoop!_"
In quick succession the war-cry of the Wyandots rang out on the stillair, and like an electric shock it thrilled through every being whoheard the startling signal.
The ringing shout had scarcely left the lips of Waughtauk, whenDeerfoot made a tremendous leap of nearly a dozen feet, and theinstant he lightly struck the ground he bounded away with a burst ofspeed which astounded the spectators. There was no lameness now--therehad never been the slightest. The young Shawanoe when he saw hiscapture was inevitable, resorted to this strategy with the quicknessof inspiration. The sprained ankle was a fiction--a fiction notessayed with any thought that he would be subjected to such a specialtest, but with the belief that a chance might come in which he couldmake a break for freedom and for life.
A series of fierce shouts went up from the thunderstruck Wyandots, asthey saw the fugitive ricocheting over the grounds, as may be said,like the ball from the throat of a Columbiad.
The halt and the lame who were the first to step into the pool ofSiloam, after the angel had stirred the waters, were no more quicklyhealed than was Deerfoot by the ringing war-cry of the Wyandotchieftain.
A consuming anger like that of the wolf, when the panther robs him of
his prey, must have fired the hearts of the Wyandots, at the momentthey saw the trick played on them by this despised youth. He, a boy instature and years, had pitted his skill, his strategy, his woodcraft,his brains against theirs, and he had won.
The readiness of Deerfoot added several rods to the advance originallygiven, so that a great advantage was thus obtained, and it wasimproved to the utmost.
The wonderful youth ran as never before. His lithe legs doubled underhim with inconceivable quickness, the eye seeing naught but thetwinkling of the beaded moccasins. The still wind cut by his face asthough it was a gale. He was a gladiator stripped for the struggle,and every nerve and muscle was strained to the last tension. He seemeda swallow skimming close to the ground, or a shaft driven from his ownbow, so graceful was his arrowy swiftness.
There were swift runners among the Wyandots, and the seven warriorsincluded their fleetest, who now put forth every exertion of whichthey were capable. The difference in their speed was shown by theirimmediate separation, with rapidly increasing spaces between them; butthe young Shawanoe drew away from them, as a child draws away from thestationary object which frightens it.
Deerfoot saw the half mile sweeping under his feet, as the steel railsglide under the plunging engine, and the single glance he threw overhis shoulder told the glad fact that he had not misjudged his ownmatchless ability as a runner. Muscle and nerve and sinew never didtheir work more splendidly than now, when their existence was stakedon the manner in which that work was to be done. Human ingenuity couldnever construct a piece of mechanism which could do such marvelousservice, as did those limbs of the flying fugitive on that crispautumn day nearly a century ago, in Kentucky.
Although, as we have stated, there were many rapid runners among theWyandots, there was not one who could attain and hold the terrificpace of the Shawanoe, whose victory, it may be said, was assured fromthe beginning. Fired by their fury and chagrin, they made prodigiousexertions to run down the youth, or at least to approach close enoughto hurl their tomahawks; but this was useless, and with anexasperation beyond expression they saw their victim slippingirrecoverably from their grasp.
Suddenly a shot rang out on the frosty air. Waughtauk, the chieftain,and the only one who had a rifle, came to a dead halt and fired pointblank at the vanishing youth, hoping at least to disable him, so hewould fall into their hands. Deerfoot heard the firing of the bullet,as it nipped his cheek, but he did not hasten his pace, because he wasunable to do so, and no need existed. From the first he had done hisbest, and there was no room for an increase in the way of speed.
A third of a mile is soon traversed at such a rate of travel, and in abrief while Deerfoot approached the end of the Long Clearing. Hisswiftness was unabated, but, when he once more glanced around and sawthat the whole seven Indians had given up the pursuit and werestanding at varying distances from each other looking at him, heinstantly slackened his pace.
Coming to a dead halt he faced about and, swinging his arms over hishead, gave utterance to whoops and taunting exclamations.
"Have the Wyandots learned to run? Who is Waughtauk, that a youth ofthe Shawanoes should teach him to walk? Let the Wyandots go back totheir lodges and tell their squaws that Deerfoot has taught themknowledge! Are the Wyandots tired that they must sit down and rest?Shall Deerfoot come back to them and show them what to do, when theirenemies are around them?"
No more stinging taunts than these can be imagined, and the Wyandotsfelt their full force. They were silent, possibly because their tonguecontained no words which could give suitable expression to theirfeelings.
Clearly it was idle to maintain the pursuit any longer, and the sevenWyandots, including Waughtauk the chieftain, stalked back toward theblock-house, for the purpose of pressing the siege with more vigorthan ever.
Up to this point they had in reality accomplished nothing toward thereduction of the place. They had lost several of their warriors, andDeerfoot, as they all agreed, would make all haste to Wild Oaks toprocure help for the beleaguered garrison.
An individual capable of such speed as he, would reach the Ohio beforenightfall; and, under the stress of necessity, the settlers would beat Fort Bridgman before the sun could cross the meridian on themorrow.
Such was the reasoning of Waughtauk, and all of his counsellors agreedwith him. A brief while before they would not have believed itpossible that help could be brought before the following night; butsince the occurrence just described they were prepared to believeDeerfoot capable of doing almost anything.
The precise conversation between the maddened red men, of course, cannever be known to the historian, and it is not desirable that itshould be; but the parties concerned were so interested in the wordsthat they were close to the stockade of the block-house before it wasrecalled that the long valuable bow taken from Deerfoot was left lyingon the ground where the new owner threw it when ready to join in thechase.
This was too valuable a trophy to be lost, and the Wyandot immediatelyturned about and hastened toward the Long Clearing to recover it,while the others passed on to mingle with those who were striving sohard to encompass the destruction of the little party in the garrison.
The Indian who hurried back, it will be remembered, was the one thathad struck Deerfoot when he was a captive. He had been the most cruelin his taunts, and his hatred of the youth seemed more malignant, ifpossible, than that of the others.
He ground his teeth together, as he dropped into a walk, and recalledthe inimitable cleverness with which the young warrior outwitted them.
"Why did we not know the dog spoke with two tongues? Why did we notmake sure he could not run? Why did not some of our warriors lie inthe woods at the end of the Long Clearing to catch him, if he shouldescape us?"
"He is a dog--he is a traitor!" muttered the fierce Wyandot,approaching the spot where he had thrown the bow, "and he shall yetfall by my hand----"
He was about to stoop forward to pick up the weapon, when a slightexclamation caught his ear, and he straightened up like a flash.
Less than twenty feet distant stood Deerfoot the Shawanoe, quietlylooking at him. Both had reached the spot on the same errand, and thusthey met.
The youth had the advantage of detecting the other first, and, as aconsequence, was prepared. In the language of the west, it would havebeen said, under similar circumstances, that Deerfoot "had the drop"on the other Indian.
The latter, as he looked up, saw that the hand of the youth graspedhis tomahawk, which was held so far back of his hip that only aglimpse of its edge could be seen. The arm extended straight down sothat it needed to be thrown upward and backward, before the formidablemissile could be launched.
Fate seemed to favor Deerfoot that day; for not only had he escapedfrom a cruel death, but the being whom he hated above all others, andwith an intensity which only a barbarian can feel, now stood beforehim.
There was no misunderstanding the situation on the part of either. TheWyandot would have resorted to any treachery to slay Deerfoot, and hewas aware that Deerfoot knew it. He had inflicted indignities upon theyoung Shawanoe which nothing less than the grace of heaven willenable the North American Indian to forgive.
The two gazed fixedly at each other without speaking, and for a secondor two neither stirred a muscle. Then, while the Wyandot centered hisburning gaze upon the bronzed face before him, his right hand beganslowly stealing up from his hip to his girdle. It was seeking thehandle of his tomahawk, but, guarded as was the movement, the Shawanoesaw it.
So absolute was Deerfoot's faith in his own prowess and unequalledcelerity that, knowing as he did the meaning of his enemy's action, hepermitted the hand to touch the weapon, before he affected to noticeit.
The instant the Wyandot griped the tough wooden handle, he snatched itforth with surprising quickness and threw his hand back over his headwith the purpose of hurling it at the defiant youth.
But the latter was the quicker. His left hand made one lightning-likesweep, and the tomahawk shot from his gr
asp with the suddenness of thethunderbolt. Although the Wyandot threw his almost at the sameinstant, yet there was just enough difference in time to make one asuccess and the other a failure.
Deerfoot's weapon sped as direct as a rifle-ball, and clove the skullof the Wyandot as though it were card-paper. The tomahawk of thelatter, which was in the act of leaving his hand, was so disarrangedby the shock that it was thrown up in the air and fell at his feet, ashe toppled over backwards, with a shriek which reached Waughtauk andhis warriors, and whose meaning they knew too well.
Deerfoot advanced and recovered his tomahawk, that had done thisterrible execution. Then he picked up his valued bow from the groundand examined it to make sure that it had suffered no injury.
He did not stoop to take the scalp of the dead warrior, who hoped soardently a brief while before to capture his. The Shawanoe had neverscalped a vanquished foe; but when he caught sight of several Wyandotshastening to the spot, he flourished his bow defiantly in the air,gave utterance to several taunting cries, and, turning his back uponthem, plunged into the wilderness with such speed, as to render allthought of pursuit out of the question.
And as he sped like a hound on a trail, the face of Deerfoot theShawanoe was turned toward the settlement of Wild Oaks on the far-awayOhio.