CHAPTER VIII
THE SHADOW IN THE WATER
Henry Ware and the Wyandot warrior were clasped so tightly in eachother's arms that their hold was not broken as they fell. They whirledover and over, rolling among the short bushes on the steep slope, andthen they dropped a clear fifteen feet or more, striking the hard earthbelow with a sickening impact.
Both lay still a half minute, and then Henry rose unsteadily to hisfeet. Fortune had turned her face toward him and away from the Wyandot.The warrior had been beneath when they struck, and in losing his lifehad saved that of his enemy. Henry had suffered no broken bones, nothingmore than bruises, and he was recovering rapidly from the dizzinesscaused by his fall. But the warrior's neck was broken, and he was stonedead.
Henry, as his eyes cleared and his strength returned, looked down at theIndian, a single glance being sufficient to tell what had happened. Thewarrior could trouble him no more. He shook himself and felt carefullyof his limbs. He had been saved miraculously, and he breathed a littleprayer of thankfulness to the God of the white man, the Manitou of thered man.
He did not like to look at the fallen warrior. He did not blame theWyandot for pursuing him. It was what his religion and training both hadtaught him to do, and Henry was really his enemy. Moreover, he had madea good fight, and the victor respected the vanquished.
It was his first impulse to plunge at once into the forest and hastenaway, but it got no further than an impulse, His was the greatestvictory that one could win. He had not only disposed of his foe; he hadgained much beside.
He climbed back up the hill and took the gun from the bushes where ithad fallen. He had expected a musket, or, at best, a short army riflebought at some far Northern British post, and his joy was great when hefound, instead, a beautiful Kentucky rifle with a long, slender barrel,a silver-mounted piece of the finest make. He handled it with delight,observing its fine points, and he was sure that it had been taken fromsome slain countryman of his.
He recovered the knife, too, and then descended the hill again. He didnot like to touch the dead warrior, but it was no time forsqueamishness, and he took from him a horn, nearly full of powder, and apouch containing at least two hundred bullets to fit the rifle. Helooked for something else which he knew the Indian invariablycarried--flint and steel--and he found it in a pocket of his huntingshirt. He transferred the flint and steel to his own pocket, put thetomahawk in his belt beside the knife, and turned away, rifle onshoulder.
He stood a few moments at the edge of the forest, listening. It seemedto him that he heard a far, faint signal cry and then another in answer,but the sound was so low, not above a whisper of the wind, that he wasnot sure.
Whether a signal cry or not, he cared little. The last half hour had puthim through a wonderful transformation. Life once more flowed high inevery vein never higher. He, an unarmed fugitive whom even the timidrabbits did not fear, he, who had been for a little while the mosthelpless of the forest creatures, had suddenly become the king of themall. He stood up, strong, powerful, the reloaded rifle in his hands, andlooked and listened attentively for the foe, who could come if he chose.His little wound was forgotten. He was a truly formidable figure now,whom the bravest of Indian warriors, even a Wyandot, might shun.
Still hearing and seeing nothing that told of pursuit, he entered theforest and sped on light foot on the journey that always led to thesoutheast. The low rolling hills came again, and they were covereddensely with forest, not an opening anywhere. The foliage, not yettouched with brown, was dark green and thick, forming a cool canopyoverhead. Tiny brooks of clear water wandered through the mass and amongthe tree trunks. Many birds of brilliant plumage flew among the boughsand sang inspiringly to the youth as he passed.
It was the great, cool woods of the north, the woods that Long Jim Harthad once lamented so honestly to his comrades when they were in the farsouth. Henry smiled at the memory. Long Jim had said that in these woodsa man knew his enemies; the Indians did not pretend to be anything else.Jim was right, as he had just proved. The Wyandots had never claimed tobe anything but his enemies, and, although they had treated him well fora time, they had acted thus when the time again came.
Henry smiled once more. He had an overwhelming and just sense oftriumph. He had defeated the Wyandots, the bravest and most skillful ofall the Western tribes. He had slipped through the hundred hands thatsought to hold him, and he was going back to his own, strong and armed.The rifle was certainly a splendid trophy. Long, slender, and silvermounted, he had never seen a finer, and his critical eye assured himthat its quality would be equal to its appearance.
He did not stop running while he examined the rifle, and when he put itback on his shoulder the wind began to blow. Hark! There was the songamong the leaves again, and now it told not merely of hope, but ofvictory achieved and danger passed. Henry was sure that he heard it. Hehad an imaginative mind like all forest-dwellers, like the Indiansthemselves, and he personified everything. The wind was a living,breathing thing.
He stopped at the end of two or three hours. The sun was sailing high inthe heavens, and he had come at last to a little prairie. Game, it waslikely, would be here, and he meant now to have food, not blackberries,but the nutritious flesh that his strong body craved. He could easilysecure it now, and he stroked the beautiful rifle joyously.
Except for the great villages at Chillicothe, Piqua, and a few otherplaces, the Indians shifted their homes often, leaving one region thatthe game might increase in it again, until such time as they wished tocome back, and Henry judged that the country in which he now was hadbeen abandoned for a while. If so, the game should be plentiful and notshy.
The prairie was perhaps a mile in length, and at its far edge two deerwere grazing. It was not difficult to stalk them, and Henry, choosingthe doe, brought her down with an easy shot. He carried the body intothe woods, skinned it, cut off the tenderer portions, and prepared for asolid dinner. With his food now before him, he realized how very hungryhe was. Yet he was fastidious, and, as usual, he insisted upon doing allthings in season, and properly.
He brought forth the Indian's flint and steel--he was very glad now thathe had had the forethought to take them--and after much effort set aboutkindling a fire. Flint and steel are not such easy things to use, and ittook Henry five minutes to light the blaze, but five minutes later hewas broiling tender, juicy slices of deer meat on the end of a twig, andthen eating them one by one. He ate deliberately, but he ate a greatmany, and when he was satisfied he put out the fire. He crushed thecoals into the earth with his heels and covered them with leaves,instinctive caution making him do it. Then he went deep into the forest,and, lying down in a thicket, rested a long time.
He knew that the Indian tribes intended to gather at Tuentahahewaghta(the site of Cincinnati), the place where the waters of the Licking,coming out of the wild Kentucky woods, joined the Ohio, and he believedthat the best thing for him to do was to go to that point. He calculatedthat, despite his long delay at the Wyandot village, he could yet arrivethere ahead of the fleet, and after seeing the Indian mobilization, hecould go back to warn it. Only one thing worried him much now. Had hisfour faithful comrades taken his advice and stayed with the fleet, orwere they now in the forest seeking him? He well knew their temper, andhe feared that they had not remained with the boats after his absencebecame long.
But these comrades of his were resourceful, and he was presently able todismiss the question from his mind. He had acquired with the patience ofthe Indian another of his virtues, an ability to dismiss all worries,sit perfectly still, and be completely happy. This quality may have hadits basis originally in physical content, the satisfaction that came tothe savage when he had eaten all he wished, when no enemy was present,and he could lie at ease on a soft couch. But in Henry it was higher,and was founded chiefly on the knowledge of a deed well done andabsolute confidence in the future, although the physical quality was notlacking.
He felt an immense peace. Nothing was wrong. The day w
as just right,neither too hot nor too cool. The blaze of the brilliant skies and ofthe great golden sun was pleasantly shaded from his eyes by the greenveil of the leaves. Those surely were the finest deer steaks that he hadever eaten! There could not be such another wilderness as this on theface of the earth! And he, Henry Ware, was one of the luckiest of humanbeings!
He lay a full two hours wrapped in content. He did not move arm or leg.Nothing but his long, deep breathing and his bright blue eyes, shaded byhalf-fallen lashes, told that he lived. Every muscle was relaxed. Therewas absolutely no effort, either physical or mental.
Yet the word passed by the forest creatures to one another was entirelydifferent from the word that had been passed the night before. Theslackened human figure that never moved was dangerous, it was once morethe king of the wilderness, and the four-footed kind, after looking onceand fearfully upon it, must steal in terror away.
The wolf felt it. Slinking through the thicket, he measured the greatlength of the recumbent shape, observed the half-opened eye, anddeparted in speed and silence; a yellow puma smelt the human odor,thought at first that the youth was dead, but, after a single look,followed the wolf, his heart quaking within him. A foolish bear, also,shambled into the thicket, but he was not too foolish, after he sawHenry, to shamble quickly away.
When Henry rose he was as thoroughly refreshed and restored as if he hadnever run a gantlet, made a flight of a night and a day, and fought witha Wyandot for his life. The very completeness of it had made him rest asmuch in two hours as another would have rested in six. He resumed hisflight, taking with him venison steaks that he had cooked before he putout his fire, and he did not stop until the night was well advanced andthe stars had sprung out in a dusky sky. Then he chose another densethicket and, lying down in it, was quickly asleep.
He awoke about midnight and saw a faint light shining through the woods.He judged that it was a long distance away, but he resolved to see whatmade it, being sure in advance that it was the glow of an Indian campfire.
He approached cautiously, looked from the crest of a low hill into asnug little valley, and saw that his surmise was true.
About fifty warriors sat or lay around a smouldering fire, and heinferred from their dress and paint that they were Shawnees. Four whosat together were talking earnestly, and he knew them to be chiefs. Itwas impossible to hear what they said, but he believed this to be aparty on the way to the great meeting at the mouth of Licking. It wasevident that he had not escaped too soon, and he withdrew as cautiouslyas he had approached.
An excitable youth would have hastened on in the night at full speed,but Henry knew better and could do better. He returned to his nest inthe thicket and fell asleep again, as if he had seen nothing alarming.But he rose very early in the morning, and after a breakfast on the colddeer meat, made a circle around the Indian camp, and continued hissoutheastern journey at great speed.
He traveled all that day, and he saw that he was well into the enemy'scountry. Indian signs multiplied about him. Here in the soft earth wasthe trace of their moccasins. There they had built a camp fire and theashes were not yet cold. Further on they had killed and dressed a deer.There was little effort at concealment, perhaps, none. This was theirown country, where only the roving white hunter came, and it was hisbusiness, not theirs, to hide. Henry felt the truth of it as he advancedtoward the Ohio. He was compelled to redouble his caution, lest at anymoment he plunge into the very middle of a war band.
He passed more than a half dozen trails of large parties, and he feltsure that, according to arrangement, they were converging on the Ohio,at the point where the Licking emptied the waters and silt of theKentucky woods into the larger stream. Timmendiquas, no doubt, would bethere, and Henry's heart throbbed a little faster at the thought that hewould meet such a splendid foe.
He lay in a thicket about noonday, and saw over a hundred warriors ofthe Ottawas, worshipers of the sun and stars, go by. They were all infull war paint, and he had no doubt that they had come from the farwestern shore of Lake Huron to join the great gathering of the tribes atTuentahahewaghta and to help destroy the fleet and all river posts ifthey could.
That evening, taking the chances that the Indians would or would nothear him, he shot a wild turkey in a tree, traveled two or three milesfurther, built a small fire in the lee of a hill, where he cooked it,then ran in a curve three or four miles further, until he came to athicket of pawpaw bushes, where he ate heartily by a faint moonlight. Hewatched and listened two hours, and then, satisfied that no one hadheard the shot, he went to sleep with the ease and confidence of one whoreposes at home, safe in his bed.
The night was warm. Sleeping in the open was a pleasure to such as HenryWare, and he was not disturbed. He had willed that he should wake beforedaylight, and his senses obeyed the warning. He came back from slumberwhile it was yet dark. But he could feel the coming dawn, and, eatingwhat was left of the turkey, he sped away.
He saw the sun shoot up in a shower of gold, and the blue spread overthe heavens. He saw the green forest come into the light with theturning of the world, and he felt the glory of the great wilderness, buthe did not stop for many hours. The day was warmer than the one before,and when the sun was poised just overhead he began to feel its heat. Hewas thirsty, too, and when he heard a gentle trickling among the busheshe stopped, knowing that a brook or spring was near.
He pressed his way through the dense tangle of undergrowth and enteredthe open, where he stood for a few minutes, cooling his eyes with thesilver sparkle of flowing water and the delicate green tints of thegrass, which grew thickly on the banks of the little stream. He wasmotionless, yet even in repose he seemed to be the highest type ofphysical life and energy, taller than the average man, despite the factthat he was yet but a boy in years, and with a frame all bone and sinew.Blue eyes flashed out of a face turned to the brown of leather by a lifethat knew no roof-tree, and the uncut locks of yellow hair fell downfrom the fur cap that sat lightly upon his head.
Around him the wilderness was blazing with all the hues of spring andsummer, yet untouched by autumn brown. The dense foliage of the forestformed a vast green veil between him and the sun. Some wild peach treesin early bloom shone in cones of pink against the green wall. Shy littleflowers of delicate purple nestled in the grass, and at his feet thewaters of the brook gleamed in the sunshine in alternate ripples ofsilver and gold, while the pebbles shone white on the shallow bottom.
He stood there, straight and strong like a young oak, a figure inharmony with the wilderness and its lonely grandeur. He seemed to fitinto the scene, to share its colors, and to become its own. The look ofcontent in his eyes, like that of a forest creature that has found alair to suit him, made him part of it. His dress, too, matched the flushof color around him. The fur cap upon his head had been dyed the greenof the grass. The darker green of the oak leaves was the tint of hishunting shirt of tanned buckskin, with the long fringe hanging almost tohis knees. It was the tint, too, of the buckskin leggings which roseabove his moccasins of buffalo hide.
But the moccasins and the seams of the leggings were adorned withcountless little Indian beads of red and blue and yellow, giving dashesof new color to the green of his dress, just as the wild flowers andpeach blossoms and the silver and gold of the brook varied the dominantgreen note of the forest. A careless eye would have passed over him, hisfigure making no outline against the wall of forest behind him. It wasthe effect that he sought, to pass through wood and thicket and acrossthe green open, making slight mark for the eye.
Henry was not only a lover of the wilderness and its beauty, but he wasalso a conscious one. He would often stop a moment to drink in the gloryof a specially fine phase of it, and this was such a moment. Far off arange of hills showed a faint blue tracery against the sky of deeperblue. At their foot was a band of silver, the river to which the brookthat splashed before him was hurrying. Everywhere the grass grew richand rank, showing the depth and quality of the soil beneath. A hundredyards away a buffalo g
razed as peacefully as if man had never come, andfarther on a herd of deer raised their heads to sniff the southern wind.
It was pleasant to Henry to gaze upon the stretch of meadow before him.So he stood for a minute or two, looking luxuriously, his rifle restingacross his shoulder, the sun glinting along its long, slender, bluebarrel. Then he knelt down to drink, choosing a place where a current ofthe swift little brook had cut into the bank with a circular sweep, andhad formed a pool of water as clear as the day, a forest mirror.
Henry did not feel the presence of any danger, but he retained all hiscaution as he knelt down to drink, a caution become nature through allthe formative years of practice and necessity. His knees made no noiseas they touched the earth. Not a leaf moved. Not a blade of grassrustled. The rifle remained upon his shoulder, his right hand graspingit around the stock, just below the hammer, the barrel projecting intothe air. Even as he rested his weight upon one elbow and bent his mouthto the water, he was ready for instant action.
The water touched his lips, and was cool and pleasant. He had come far,and was thirsty. He blew the bubbles back and drank, not eagerly nor ina hurry, but sipping it gently, as one who knows tastes rare old wine.Then he raised his head a little and looked at his shadow in the water,as perfect as if a mirror gave back his face. Eyes, mouth, nose, everyfeature was shown. He bent his head, sipping the water a little more,and feeling all its grateful coolness. Then he raised it again and saw ashadow that had appeared beside his own. The mirror of the water gaveback both perfectly.
An extraordinary thrill ran through him but he made no movement. Theblood was leaping wildly in his veins, but his nerves never quivered. Inthe water he could yet see his own shadow as still as the shadow thathad come beside it.
Henry Ware, in that supreme moment, did not know his own thoughts, savethat they were full of bitterness. It hurt him to be trapped so. He hadescaped so much, he had come so far, to be taken thus with ease;although life was full and glorious to him, he could have yielded itwith a better will in fair battle. There, at least, one did not lose hisforest pride. He had gloried in the skill with which he had practicedall the arts of the wilderness, and now he was caught like any beginner!
But while these thoughts were running through his mind he retainedcomplete command of himself, and by no motion, no exclamation, showedhis knowledge that he was not alone. He suppressed his rebelliousnerves, and refused to let them quiver.
The shadow in the water beside his own was distinct. He could see thefeatures, the hair drawn up at the top of the head into a defiantscalp-lock, and the outstretched hand holding the tomahawk. He gazed atthe shadow intently. He believed that he could divine his foe'striumphant thoughts.
The south wind freshened a little, and came to Henry Ware poignant withthe odors of blossom and flower. The brook murmured a quiet song in hisears. The brilliant sunshine flashed alike over grass and water. It wasa beautiful world, and never had he been more loth to leave it. Hewondered how long it would be until the blow fell. He knew that thewarrior, according to the custom of his race, would prolong his triumphand exult a little before he struck.
Given a chance with his rifle, Henry would have asked no other favor.Just that one little gift from fortune! The clutch of his fingers on thestock tightened, and the involuntary motion sent a new thought throughhim. The rifle lay unmoved across his shoulder, its muzzle pointingupward. Before him in the water the shadow still lay, unchanged, besidehis own. He kept his eyes upon it, marking a spot in the center of theforehead, while the hand that grasped the rifle crept up imperceptiblytoward the hammer and the trigger. A half minute passed. The warriorstill lingered over his coming triumph. The boy's brown fingers restedagainst the hammer of the rifle.
Hope had come suddenly, but Henry Ware made no sign. He blew a bubble ortwo in the water, and while he seemed to watch them break, the muzzle ofthe rifle shifted gently, until he was sure that it bore directly uponthe spot in the forehead that he had marked on the shadow in the water.
The last bubble broke, and then Henry seemed to himself to put all hisstrength into the hand and wrist that held the rifle. His forefingergrasped the hammer. It flew back with a sharp click. The next instant,so quickly that time scarcely divided the two movements, he pulled thetrigger and fired.