Chapter 4: The Siege

The whole night passed without event and the day came. Paul saw the light grow deeper and deeper, but nothing stirred in the forest. It stretched before him, a living curve of glowing red and yellow and brown, but it was now like a sea of dangerous depths, and the little cabin was their sole island of safety.

“It’s a good thing we brought the extra rifles with us,” said Henry. “They look like good weapons, and they may save us in case of a rush. Ah, there they come!”

Paul had noticed nothing, but Henry had seen the bushes at the edge of the forest quiver, and then move contrary to the wind. His eye did not rest upon any brown body, but he knew as well as if they had cried out that the warriors were there. How many? That was the question that concerned him most. If a great war party, they might hang on a long time; but if only a small one, he and Paul might beat them off as often as they came. They had four rifles, plenty of ammunition, enough food to last several days, and he thanked God for the providential presence of the rain barrel.

These were but brief passing thoughts, and he never ceased to watch the forest. Still no sign of a face, but now and then the unnatural quiver of the bushes, and above them the sun spinning a fine golden, veil over all the great wilderness.

“Our guests have come, Paul,” said he, “but from safe cover they are inspecting our front yard.”

“And they don’t know yet whether or not they would like to disport themselves on our lawn.”

“That is just it. They have doubts about their welcome.”

“That being so,” said Paul, in the light, jesting spirit that he loved, “I’ll just wait until they knock at our door. Meanwhile I’ll take a drink from that lucky cistern of ours.”

He bent his head into the barrel, and as he drank he felt fresh strength and courage rushing into his veins.

“It was great luck, wasn’t it, to find this barrel?” he said.

“It certainly was,” replied Henry, and his words came from the bottom of his heart. “Now you watch while I take a drink.”

Paul did so, but he noticed nothing unusual in the woods. The faint signs that Henry read with such an unerring eye were hidden from him. But his skill was sufficient to cover all the cleared space. No warrior could pass there unseen by him. Henry rejoined him.

“You watch from one side and I’ll take the other,” he said.

They did so, but the single room of the cabin was so small that they were only a few feet from each other, and could talk together in low tones.

“It will be a trial of patience,” said Henry. “The Indian always has more time than anybody else in the world, and he is willing to make the most of it.”

Paul, too, knew that Shawnees, no matter what their numbers, would not yet risk a headlong attack on the cabin, and now his curiosity as to what they would do was aroused. It was surprise that Henry and he must guard against. What was to be expected? His sense of curiosity was as keenly aroused as his sense of danger.

Over an hour dragged slowly by, minute by minute. The sun blazed brilliantly over the wilderness, and the shut little cabin grew close and hot. No fresh air came except by the loopholes, and it was not enough for coolness. Paul’s forehead grew damp, and his eyes ached from continual watching at the loophole. Curiosity now began to give way to anger. If they were going to do anything, why didn’t they do it? He watched the forest so much and so intently that he began to create images there for himself. A tall stump was distorted into the figure of an Indian warrior, a clump of bushes took the shape of an entire group of Shawnees, and many savage, black eyes looked from the leaves. Paul’s reason told him that he beheld nothing, but his fancy put them there, nevertheless. He saw presently a little jet of smoke, rising like a white feather; he heard a report, and then the sound of a bullet burying itself with a soft sigh in a log of the cabin. He laughed at the futility of it, but Henry said:

“They’re just trying us a little, skirmishing, so to speak. Be careful there, Paul! A chance bullet might catch you in the eye at the loophole.”

More lead came from the forest, and there was a sharp crackle of rifle fire. Bullets thudded into the stout walls of the cabin, and Paul’s soul swelled with derision. His vivid mind pictured himself as safe from the warriors as if they were a thousand miles away. He was attracted suddenly by a slight, gurgling sound, and then a cry of dismay from Henry. He wheeled in alarm. Henry had sprung to the water barrel, the precious contents of which were oozing from a little round hole in the side, about two thirds of the way up. A bullet had entered one of the loopholes and struck the barrel. It was an unfortunate chance, one in a thousand, and had not Henry’s acute ear detected at once the sound of flowing water, it might have proved a terrible loss.

But Henry was rapidly stuffing a piece of buckskin, torn from his hunting shirt, into the little round hole, and he waved Paul back to the wall.

“You stay there and watch, Paul,” he said. “I’ll fix this.”

The buckskin stopped all the flow but a slight drip. Then, with his strong hunting knife, he cut a piece of wood from the bench, whittled it into shape, and drove it tightly into the bullet hole.

“That’s all secure,” he said, with a sigh of relief. “Now I must get it out of range.”

He wheeled it to a point in the cabin at which no chance bullet could reach it, and then resumed the watch with Paul.

“Aren’t you glad, Paul,” said Henry, “that you were not in the place of the water barrel?”

“Yes,” replied Paul lightly, “because a piece of buckskin and a round stick wouldn’t have healed the damage so quickly.”

He spoke lightly because he was still full of confidence. The little cabin was yet an impregnable castle to him. The crackle of rifle fire died, the last plume of white smoke rose over the forest, drifted away, and was lost in the brilliant sunshine. Silence and desolation again held the wilderness.

“Nothing will happen for some hours now,” said Henry cheerfully, “so the best thing that we can do, Paul, is to have dinner.”

“Yes,” said Paul, with his quick fancy. “We can dine sumptuously, venison and pigeon and spring water.”

“And lucky we are to have them,” said Henry.

They ate of the venison and pigeon, and they drank from the barrel. They were not creatures of luxury and ease, and they had no complaint to make. When they finished, Henry said:

“Paul, you ought to take a nap, and then you’ll be fresh for to-night, when things will be happening.”

Paul at first was indignant at the idea that he should go to sleep with the enemy all about them, but Henry soon persuaded him what a wise thing it would be. Besides, the air was all the time growing closer and warmer in the little cabin, and he certainly needed sleep. His head grew heavy and his eyelids drooped. He lay down on the bed, and in a surprisingly quick time was slumbering soundly.

Henry looked at the sleeping lad, and his look was a compound of great friendship and admiration. He knew that Paul was not, like himself, born to the wilderness, and he respected the courage and skill that could triumph nevertheless. But it was only a fleeting look. His eyes turned back to the forest, where he watched lazily; lazily, because he knew with the certainty of divination that they would not attempt anything until dark, and he knew with equal certainty that they would attempt something then.

He awakened Paul in two hours, and took his place on the bench. He had not slept at all the night before, when they were expecting a foe who had not yet come, and he, too, must be fresh when the conflict was at hand.

“When you see shadows in the clearing, wake me, without fail, Paul,” he said.