Chapter 14: In Winter Quarters

The three walked slowly on for a long time, curving about gradually to the region in which Paul and Jim Hart remained hidden. They did not say much, but Shif’less Sol was slowly swelling with an admiration which was bound to find a vent some time or other.

“Henry,” he burst out at last, “this whole scheme o’ yours has been worked in the most beautiful way, an’ that last trick with Braxton Wyatt wuz the finest I ever saw.”

“There were three of us,” said Henry briefly and modestly.

“It’s a great thing to use your brain,” said the shiftless one sagely. “I’m thinkin’ o’ doin’ it hereafter myself.”

Tom Ross laughed deeply and said:

“I’d make a beginning before it wuz too late, ef I wuz you, Sol.”

“How long do you think it will take the Shawnees an’ the Miamis to straighten out that tangle about the great war trail?” asked the shiftless one of Henry.

“Not before snow flies,” replied the youth; “and then there will be so much mutual anger and disgust that they will not be able to get together for months. But we must stop up here, Sol, and watch, and egg on the misunderstanding. Don’t you think so, Tom?”

“Of course!” replied Ross briefly, but with emphasis. “We’ve got to hang on the Injun flanks.”

Late in the afternoon they reached familiar ground, or at least it was so to the sharp eyes of these three, although they had seen it but once. Here they had left Paul and Jim Hart, and they knew that they must be somewhere near. Henry gave forth the whip-poor-will cry, the long, wailing note, inexpressibly plaintive and echoing far through the autumn woods. It was repeated once and twice, and presently came the answering note.

The three walked with confidence toward the point from which the answer had come, and soon they saw Paul and Jim Hart advancing joyously to meet them.

Paul listened with amazement to the story of their wonderful adventure, told in a few brief phrases. Not many words were needed for him. His vivid imagination at once pictured it all, the deadly play of words in the Council House, the ambushing of Braxton Wyatt, and the triumphant result.

“That was diplomacy, statesmanship, Henry,” he said.

“We’re going to stay up here a while longer, Paul,” said Henry. “We think our presence is needed in these parts.”

“I’m willing,” said Paul, wishing to have assurances, “but what about the powder for Marlowe, and what will our people at Wareville think has become of us?”

“As long as we can keep back these tribes, Marlowe will not need the powder, and some of the buffalo hunters have taken word to Wareville that we have come into the North.”

“I purpose,” said Shif’less Sol, “that so long ez we’re goin’ to stay in these parts that we go back to the haunted islan’ in the lake. It’s in the heart o’ the Injun country, but it’s the safest spot within five hundred miles o’ us.”

“I think with Sol,” said Henry. “We can prepare there for winter quarters. In fact, we’ve got a hut already.”

“An’ I won’t have nothin’ to do,” said the shiftless one, “but lay aroun’ an’ hev Jim Hart cook fur me.”

“You’ll hev to be runnin’ through the frozen woods all the time fur game fur me to cook, that’s what you’ll hev to do, Sol Hyde,” retorted Jim Hart.

The idea of going into winter quarters on the island appealed to Paul. He had grown attached to the little hollow in which he and Jim Hart had built the hut, and he thought they could be very snug and warm. So he favored Sol’s proposition with ardor, and about twilight they brought the hidden canoe again from the bushes, paddling boldly across the lake for the island. The place did not now have an uncanny look to Paul. Instead, it bore certain aspects of home, and he forgot all about the mummies in the trees, which were their protection from invasion.

“It’s good to get back again,” he said.

They landed on the island, hid the canoe, and went straight to the hollow, finding everything there absolutely undisturbed.

“We’ll sleep to-night,” said Henry, “and in the morning we’ll plan.”

Paul noticed, when he rose early the next day, that the whole earth was silver with frost, and he felt they were particularly fortunate in having found some sort of shelter. The others shared his satisfaction, and they worked all day, enlarging the hut, and strengthening it against the wind and cold with more bark and brush. At night Henry and Ross took the canoe, went to the mainland, and came back with a deer. The next day Jim Hart and Shif’less Sol were busy drying the venison, and Paul spent his time fishing with considerable success.

Several days passed thus, and they accumulated more meat and more skins. The latter were particularly valuable for warmth. Paul draped them about their hut, arranging them with an artistic eye, while Jim Hart and Shif’less Sol, with a similar satisfaction, watched their larder grow.

“This is the finest winter camp in all the wilderness,” said Shif’less Sol.

“You couldn’t beat it,” said Jim Hart.

These were happy days to Paul. Knowing now that a message had been sent hack to Wareville, he was released from worry over the possible anxiety of his people on his account, and he was living a life brimful of interest. Everyone fell almost unconsciously into his place. Henry Ware, Ross, and Shif’less Sol scouted and hunted far and wide, and Paul and Jim Hart were fishermen, house builders, and, as Paul called it, “decorators.”

The hut in the hollow began to have a cozy look. Henry and Ross brought in three buffalo skins, which Jim promptly tanned, and which Paul then used as wall coverings. Wolfskins, deerskins, and one beautiful panther hide were spread upon the floor. This floor was made mainly of boughs, broken up fine, and dead leaves, but it did not admit water, and the furs and skins were warm. In one corner of the place grew up a store of dried venison and buffalo meat, over which Jim Hart watched jealously.

All of the cooking was done at night, but in the open, in a kind of rude oven that Jim Hart built of loose stones, and never did food taste better in the mouth of a hungry youth than it did in that of Paul. The air was growing much colder. Paul, who was in the habit of taking a dip in the lake every night, found the waters so chill now that he could not stay in long, although the bath was wonderfully invigorating. Whenever the wind blew the dead leaves fell in showers, and Paul knew he would soon be deeply thankful they had the hut as a retreat.

About ten days after their return Henry came back from a scout around the Miami village, and he brought news of interest.

“Braxton Wyatt is still there,” he said, “and he is so mixed up that he does not know just what to do for the present. After saying one thing and then denying himself, he is in the bad graces of both parties of the Miamis. For the same reason he doesn’t dare to go back for a while to the Shawnees, so he is waiting for things to straighten themselves out, which they won’t do for a long time. The Miami belt bearers have not yet returned from the Shawnee village, and then belts will have to go back and forth a dozen times each before either tribe can find out what the other means.”

“An’ if we kin keep ‘em misunderstandin’ each other,” said Shif’less Sol, “they can’t make any attack on the white settlements until away next spring, an’ by that time a lot more white people will arrive from over the mountains. We’ll be at least twice ez strong then.”

“That’s so,” said Henry; “and the greatest work we five can do is to stay here and put as many spokes as we can in the Indian alliance.”

“And I am glad to be here with all of you,” said Paul earnestly. It seemed to him the greatest work in the world, this holding back of the tribes until their intended victim should acquire strength to beat them off, and his eyes shone. Besides the mere physical happiness that he felt, there was a great mental exhilaration, an exaltation, even, and he looked forward to the winter of a warrior and a statesman.

Paul’s body flourished apace in the cold, nipping air and the wild life. There were discomforts, it is true, but he did not think of them. He looked only at the comforts and the joys. He knew that his muscles were growing and hardening, that eye, ear, all the five senses, in truth, were growing keener, and he felt within him a courage that could dare anything.

Henry made another expedition, to discover, if he could, whether the Miamis suspected that the haunted island harbored their foes. They did not ask him what means he used, how he disguised himself anew, or whether he disguised himself at all, but he returned with the news that they had no suspicion. The island was still sacred to the spirits, a place where they dare not land. This was satisfying news to all, and they rested for a while.

Three or four days after Henry’s return a strong wind stripped the last leaves from the trees. All the reds and yellows and browns were gone, and the gusts whistled fiercely among the gray branches. The surface of the lake was broken into cold waves, that chased each other until they died away at the shore.