CHAPTER VII
ALONE IN THE WILDERNESS
When Henry looked back a third time and saw that no Wyandot had yet comeinto view, he made another spurt, one in which he taxed his power ofmuscle and lung to the utmost. He maintained his speed for a half mileand then slowed down. He had no doubt that he had increased his leadover them, and now he would use cunning in place of strength and speed.It was a country of springs and brooks, and he looked for one in orderthat he might use this common device of the border--wading in the waterto hide his tracks. But he saw none. Here fortune was not kind, and heran on in the long, easy stride like the gallop of a horse.
He still sought to keep a perfectly straight course toward thesoutheast. It would not permit that deadly half circle to close in, andit would carry him toward his friends and the fleet. He reached rougherground, low hills with many outcroppings of stone, and he leaped lightlyfrom rock to rock. His moccasined feet, for a space, left no traces, andwhen he came to the softer earth again he paused. They would certainlylose the trail at the hills, and it would take them five, perhaps ten,minutes to find it once more.
He leaned against a tree, drawing great breaths and relaxing hismuscles. He permitted everything to give way for a minute or two,knowing that in such manner he would procure the most rest andresiliency. Meanwhile he listened with all the powers of thosewonderful, forest-bred ears of his, but heard nothing save a far, faintcall or two.
After about five minutes he resumed his flight, going at the long, easyfrontier lope, and a little later he came to a great mass of tangled andfallen forest where a hurricane had passed. Fortune that had failed himwith the brook served him with the trees, and he ran lightly along inthe path of the hurricane, leaping from trunk to trunk. He had turnedfor the first time from his direct course, but now he could afford to doso. It would take the shrewdest of the Wyandot warriors some time topick up a trail that was lost for a full quarter of a mile, and he didnot leave the windrow until fully that distance was covered.
He passed some low hills again, and just beyond them he came to a largecreek flowing between fairly high banks. This was better luck than hehad hoped. The waters felt cool and fresh, and, hot from his long run,he drank eagerly. But the creek would serve another and better purpose,the hiding of his trail. It flowed in the very direction in which he wasgoing, and he waded down stream for forty or fifty yards. Then he wentover his head. The creek had suddenly deepened, but he came up promptlyand swam easily with the current.
Swimming rested him in a way. A new set of muscles came into play, andhe swam placidly for two or three hundred yards. Then he turned over onhis back and floated as far again. Now, as he floated, he found time totake thought. He saw that the sun was still shining brilliantlyoverhead, and the forest grew in a dense green wall to the water's edgeon either side.
He had come so far. It seemed that he had made good his escape, but hewas able for the first time to take a survey of his situation. He wasalone in the wilderness and without arms. What a ship is to the sailor,so the rifle was to the borderer. It was his meat and drink, hisdefense, his armor, his truest and trustiest comrade; without it he mustsurely perish, unless some rare chance aided him, as once in a thousandtimes the shipwrecked sailor reaches the lone island.
Henry knew that he was a long distance from the Ohio, and it would bedifficult to locate the fleet. It would have to move slowly, and it mayhave tied up several times for weather.
He floated two or three hundred yards further, and then at a dip in thebank he emerged, the water running in streams from his clothing. Hestood there a minute or two, watching and listening, but nothingalarming came to his eye or ear. Perhaps he had shaken off the Wyandots,but he was far too well versed in forest cunning and patience to take itfor granted. He was about to start again when he felt a little pain inhis side. He remembered now the light impact as if a pebble had struckhim, and he knew that the wound had been caused by a bullet. But noblood was there. It had all been washed away by the waters of the creek.The cold stream, moreover, had been good for the wound.
He lifted his wet clothing and examined his hurt critically. It might beserious. It would certainly weaken him after a few hours, although thebullet had passed through the flesh, and a few hours now were moreprecious to him than weeks later. But his pride and joy in life were notyet diminished. He was free and he would not be re-taken. The countryaround him was as beautiful as any that he had ever seen. The banks ofthe creek were high and rocky, and its waters were very clear. Splendidforests swept away from either side, and on one far horizon showed thefaint line of blue hills. The sun was still shining bright and warm.
He re-entered the forest, continuing his flight toward the southeast,and swung along at a good pace. Exercise restored the warmth to his bodyand also brought with it now and then the little stitch in his side. Hisclothing gradually dried upon him, and he did not cease his long, easytrot until he noticed that the sun was far down in the west. It hadalready taken on the fiery red tint that marks it when it goes, and inthe east gray shadows were coming.
Henry believed that he had shaken off the pursuit for good now, and hesat down upon a log to rest. Then a sudden great weakness came over him.The forest grew dim, the earth seemed to tip up, and there was a ringingsound in his ears. He looked at his hand and saw that it was shaking. Itrequired a great effort of the will to clear his vision and steady theworld about him. But he achieved it, and then he took thought ofhimself.
He knew very well what was the matter. His wound had begun to assertitself, and he knew that he could no longer refuse to listen to itswill.
The sun sank in a sea of red and yellow fire, and the veil of darknesswas drawn over the vast primeval wilderness. Henry welcomed the comingof the dusk. Night is kindly to those who flee. He left the log andwalked slowly toward the horizon, on which he had seen the dim, blueline of the hills. He would be more likely to find there rude shelter ofsome sort.
The reflex from long and strenuous action both physical and mental--noone fights for anything else as he does for his life--had come, and hisbody relaxed. The dizziness returned at times, and he knew that he musthave rest.
He was aware, too, that he needed food, but it was no time to hunt forit. That must be done on the morrow, and intense longing for his rifleassailed him again. It would be more precious to him now than gold ordiamonds.
A melancholy note came lonesomely through the forest and the twilight.It was the cry of the whippoorwill, inexpressibly mournful, and Henrylistened to it a minute or two. He thought at first that it might be asignal cry of the Wyandots, but when it was twice repeated he knew thatit was real. He banished it from his mind and went on.
A gobble came from a tree near by. He caught the bronze gleam of thewild turkeys sitting high on the branches. They may have seen him orheard him, but they did not stir. Something sprang up in the bushes, rana little way and stopped, regarding him with great lustrous eyes. It wasa deer, but it was unafraid. The behavior of deer and turkey was sounusual that a curious idea gripped Henry. They knew that he wasunarmed, and therefore they did not feel the need to run.
He always felt a close kinship with the wild things, and he could notput aside this idea that they knew him as he now was, a helplesswanderer. It humiliated him. He had been a lord of creation, and now hewas the weakest of them all. They could find their food and shelter withease, but only luck would bring him either. He felt discouragementbecause he had suddenly sunk to the lowest place among living things,and that stitch in his side began to grow stronger. It did not come nowat intervals but stayed, and soon he must lie down and rest if he hadnothing more than the shelter of a tree's outspread boughs.
But he came to the hills and, after some hunting, found a rocky alcove,which he half filled with the dead leaves of last year. There he laydown and drew some of the leaves over him. It was wonderfully soothingand peaceful, and the stitch in his side became much easier. As hisnerves resumed their normal state, he grew very hungry. But he wouldhave to endu
re it, and he tried to think of other things.
It was quite dark now, but he heard noises about him. He knew that itwas the night prowlers, and some of them came very near. It was truethat they knew him to be unarmed. In some mysterious way the word hadbeen passed among them that their greatest enemy, man, could do them noharm, and Henry saw bright little eyes looking at him curiously throughthe darkness.
The boy felt deeply his sense of helplessness. Small shadowy formshopped about through the thickets. He fancied that they were rabbits,and they came very near in the most reckless and abandoned fashion. Hewas overwhelmed with shame. That a little rabbit eight inches long andweighing only two or three pounds should defy him who had slain bearsand buffaloes, and who had fought victoriously with the most powerfuland cunning of Indian warriors, was not to be endured. He raised himselfup a little and threw a stone at them. They disappeared with a faintnoise of light, leaping feet, but in a few moments they came back again.If he frightened them it was only for an instant, and it took an effortof his will to prevent an unreasoning anger toward the most timid andinnocent of forest creatures.
The night now was well advanced, but full of dusky beauty. The starswere coming out, bright and confident, and their silvery twinkle lightedup the heavens. Henry looked up at them. They would have been to mostpeople mere meaningless points in the vast, cold void, but they made himneither lonely nor afraid. The feeling of weakness was what troubledhim. He knew that he ought to sleep, but his nerves were not yet in theperfect accord that produces rest.
He resolutely shut his eyes and kept them shut for five minutes. Then heopened them again because he felt a larger presence than that of therabbits. He saw another half circle of bright eyes, but these were muchhigher above the ground, and presently he made out the lean forms, thesharp noses, and the cruel white teeth of wolves. Still he was notafraid. They did not seem to be above four or five in number, and heknew that they would not attack him unless they were a large pack, buthe felt the insult of their presence. He hated wolves. He respected abear and he admired a buffalo, but a wolf, although in his way cunningand skillful beyond compare, did not seem to him to be a noble animal.
Such contempt for him, a hunter and a warrior, who could slay at twohundred yards, given his rifle, must be avenged, and he felt around atthe edge of the hollow until his hand closed upon a stone nearly aslarge as his fist. Then he closed his eyes all but a tiny corner of theright one and lay so still that even a wolf, with all his wolfishknowledge and caution, might think him asleep. By the faint beam oflight that entered the tiny corner of his right eye he saw the wolvesdrawing nearer, and he marked their leader, an inquiring old fellow whostood three or four inches taller than the others, and who was a foot inadvance.
The wolves approached slowly and with many a little pause or withdrawal,but the youth was fully as patient. He had learned his lessons from theforest and its creatures, and on this night nothing was cheaper to himthan time. It was another proof of natural power and of the effect oflong training that he did not move at all for a quarter of an hour. Theold wolf, the leader, who stood high in the wolf tribe, who had won hisposition by genuine wolfish wisdom and prowess, could not tell whetherthis specimen of man was alive or dead. He inclined to the opinion thathe was dead. Certainly he did not move, he could not see a quiver of theeyelash, and he noticed no rising and falling of the chest under thebuckskin hunting shirt. A doubled up hand--the one that enclosed thestone--lay pallid and limp upon the leaves, and it encouraged the wiseold leader to come closer. He had seen a dead warrior in his time, andthat warrior's hand had lain upon the grass in just such a way.
The old leader took a longer and bolder step forward. The dead handflashed up from the leaves, flew back, and then shot forward. Somethingvery hard, that hurt terribly, struck the leader on the head, and,emitting a sharp yelp of pain and anger, he fled away, followed by theothers. The warrior, whom he in all his wisdom had been sure was dead,had played a cruel joke upon him.
Henry Ware laughed joyously, and turned into a more comfortable positionupon the leaves. He was not in his normal frame of mind, or so small anincident would not have caused him so much mirth. But it brought backthe divine spark of courage which so seldom died within him. Unarmed ashe was, he was not without resources, and he had driven off the wolves.He would find a way for other things.
The wind began to blow gently and beneficently, and the murmur of itamong the leaves came to him. He interpreted it instantly as thewilderness voice that, calling to him more than once in his mostdesperate straits, had told him to have faith and hope. He fell asleepto its music and slept soundly all through the night.
He awoke the next morning after the coming of the daylight, and sprangto his feet. The sudden movement caused a slight pain in his side, buthe knew now that the wound was not serious. Had it been so it would havestiffened in the night, and he would now be feverish, but he feltstrong, and his head was clear and cool. Another proof of his healthycondition was the fierce hunger that soon assailed him. A powerful bodywas demanding food, the furnace needed coal, and there was no way justyet to supply it. This was the vital question to him, but he tookwilderness precautions before undertaking to solve it.
He made a little circle, searching the forest with eye and ear, but hefound no sign that the Wyandots were near. He did not believe that theyhad given up the pursuit, but he was quite sure that they had not beenable to find his last trail in the night. When he had satisfied himselfupon this point, he washed his wound carefully in the waters of a brook,and bound upon it a poultice of leaves, the use of which he had learnedamong the Indians. Then he thought little more about it. He was sothoroughly inured to hardship that it would heal quickly.
Now for food, food which he must take with his bare hands. It was notlate enough in the year for the ripening of wild fruits and for nuts,but he had his mind upon blackberries. Therefore he sought openings,knowing that they would not grow in the shade of the great trees, andafter more than an hour's hunting he found a clump of the blackberrybriars, loaded with berries, magnificent, large, black, and fairlycrammed with sweetness.
Henry was fastidious. He had not tasted food for nearly a day, and heached with hunger, but he broke off a number of briars containing thelargest stores of berries, and ate slowly and deliberately. The memoryof that breakfast, its savor and its welcome, lingered with him long.Blackberries are no mean food, as many an American boy has known, butHenry was well aware that he must have something stronger, if he were toremain fit for his great task. But that divine spark of courage whichwas his most precious possession was kindled into a blaze. Food broughtback all his strength, and his veins pulsated with life. Somehow hewould find a way for everything.
He fixed his course once more toward the southeast. The country here wasentirely new to him, much rougher, the hills increasing in height andsteepness, and he inferred that he was approaching a river, sometributary of the Ohio.
When he reached the crest of a hill steeper than the rest, he droppeddown among the bushes as if he had been shot. He had happened to lookback, and he caught a passing glimpse of brown among the green. It wasquick come, quick gone, but he had seen enough to know that it was anIndian following him, undoubtedly one of the pursuing Wyandots, who, bychance, had hit upon his trail.
Had Henry been armed he would have felt no fear. He considered himself,with justice, more than a match for a single warrior, but now he mustrely wholly upon craft, and the odds against him were more than ten toone. He was at the very verge of a steep descent, and he knew that hecould not slip down the crest of the hill and get away without beingseen by the Wyandot, who, he was sure, was aware of his presence.
He lay perfectly still for at least five minutes, watching for thewarrior and at the same time trying to form a plan. He saw only thewaving green bushes, but he knew that he would hear the warrior if heapproached. His trained ear would detect the slightest movement amonggrass or bushes, and he had no doubt that the Wyandot was as still ashe.
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p; Luck had been against Henry because the crest of the hill was bare, soif he undertook to slip away in that direction he would become exposed,but it favored him when it made the thicket dense and tall where he lay.As long as he remained in his present position the Wyandot could not seehim unless he came very close, and he resolved that his enemy shouldmake the first movement.
The infinite test of patience went on. A quarter of an hour, a halfhour, and an hour passed, and still Henry did not stir. If a blade ofgrass or a twig beside him moved it was because the force of the winddid it. While he lay there, he examined the thicket incessantly with hiseyes, but he depended most upon his ears. He listened so intently thathe could hear a lizard scuttling through the grass, or the low drone ofinsects, but he did not hear the warrior.
He looked up once or twice. The heavens were a solid, shimmering blue.Now and then birds, fleet of wing, flashed across its expanse, and ablue jay chattered at intervals in a near tree. The peace that passethunderstanding seemed to brood over the wilderness. There was nothing totell of the tragedy that had just begun its first act in the littlethicket.
After the first hour, Henry moved a little, ever so little, but withoutnoise. He did not intend to get stiff, lying so long in one position,and, as he had done when a prisoner in the lodge, he cautiously flexedhis muscles and took many deep breaths, expanding his chest to theutmost. He must rely now upon bodily strength and dexterity alone, andhe thanked God that Nature had been so kind to him.
He flexed his muscles once more, felt that they were elastic andpowerful, and then he put his ear to the earth. He heard a sound whichwas not the scuttling of a lizard nor the low drone of insects, but onethat he ascribed to the slow creeping of a Wyandot warrior, bent upontaking a life. Henry was glad that it was so. He had won the firstvictory, and that, too, in the quality in which the Indian usuallyexcelled, patience. But this was not enough. He must win also in thesecond test, skill.
The stake was his life, and in such a supreme moment the boy had nochance to think of mercy and kindliness. Nearly all the wildernesscreatures fought for their lives, and he was compelled to do so, too. Henow sought the Wyandot as eagerly as the Wyandot sought him.
He resumed the pursuit, and he was guided by logic as well as by sightand hearing. The Wyandot knew where he had first lain, and he wouldcertainly approach that place. Henry would follow in that direction.
Another dozen feet and he felt that the crisis was at hand. The littlewaving of grass and bushes that marked the passage of the Wyandotsuddenly stopped, and the slight rustling ceased to come. Nervingeverything for a mighty effort, Henry sprang to his feet and rushedforward. The Wyandot, who was just beginning to suspect, uttered a cry,and he, too, sprang up. His rifle leaped to his shoulder and he fired asthe terrible figure sprang toward him. But it was too late to take anysort of aim. The bullet flew wide among the trees, and the next instantHenry was upon him.
The Wyandot dropped his empty rifle and met his foe, shoulder toshoulder and chest to chest. He was a tall warrior with lean flanks andpowerful muscles, and he did not yet expect anything but victory. He wasone of the many Wyandots who had followed him from the village, but healone had found the fugitive, and he alone would take back the scalp. Heclasped Henry close and then sought to free one hand that he might drawhis knife. Henry seized the wrist in his left hand, and almost crushedit in his grasp. Then he sought to bend the Indian back to the earth.
The Wyandot gave forth a single low, gasping sound. Then the two foughtwholly in silence, save for the panting of their chests and theshuffling sound of their feet. The warrior realized that he had caught afoe more powerful than he had dreamed of and also that the foe hadcaught him, but he was still sure of his triumphant return to thevillage with the fugitive scalp. But as they strove, shoulder toshoulder and chest to chest, for full five minutes, he was not so sure,although he yet had visions.
The two writhed over the ground in their great struggle. The warriorendeavored to twist his hand loose, but in the unsuccessful attempt todo so, he dropped the knife to the ground, where it lay glittering inthe grass whenever the sunbeams struck upon its blade. Presently, asthey twisted and strove, it lay seven or eight feet away, entirely outof the reach of either, and then Henry, suddenly releasing the warrior'swrist, clasped him about the shoulders and chest with both arms, makinga supreme effort to throw him to the ground. He almost succeeded, butthis was a warrior of uncommon strength and dexterity, and he recoveredhimself in time. Yet he was so hard pushed that he could make no effortto reach the tomahawk that still hung in his belt, and he put forth hisgreatest effort in order that he might drag his foe from his feet, andthus gain a precious advantage.
The last lizard scuttled away, and the drone of the insects ceased.Henry, as he whirled about, caught one dim glimpse of a blue jay, thesame that had chattered so much in his idle joy, sitting on a bough andstaring at the struggling two.
It was a titanic contest to the blue jay, two monstrous giants fightingto the death. All the other forest people had fled away in terror, butthe empty-headed blue jay, held by the terrible fascination, remained onhis bough, watching with dilated eyes. He saw the great beads of sweatstand out on the face of each, he could hear the muscles strain andcreak, he saw the two fall to the ground, locked fast in each other'sarms, and then turn over and over, first the white face and then the reduppermost, and then the white again.
The blue jay's eyes grew bigger and bigger as he watched a struggle suchas he had never beheld before. They were all one to him. It did notmatter to him whether white or red conquered, but he saw one thing thatthey did not see. As they rolled over and over they had come to the verybrink of the hill, and the far side went down almost straight, a matterof forty or fifty feet. But this made no impression upon him, because hewas only a blue jay with only a blue jay's tiny brain.
The two monstrous giants were now hanging over the edge of theprecipice, and still, in their furious struggles, they did not know it.The blue jay, perceiving in a dim way that something tremendous wasabout to happen in his world, longed to chatter abroad the advance newsof it, but his tongue was paralyzed in his throat, and his eyes were redwith increasing dilation.
The two, still locked fast in each other's arms, went further. Then theyrealized where they were, and there was a simultaneous writhe to getback again. It was too late. The blue jay saw them hang for a moment onthe brink and then go crashing into the void. His paralyzed voice cameback to him, and, chattering wildly with terror, he flew away from theterrible scene.