Chapter 11: The Shiftless One

The next day dawned as brilliant as the one that had gone before, a golden sun clothing the vast green forest in a luminous light. It seemed to Henry that each day, as the spring advanced, deepened the intense emerald glow of the leaves. Down in the valley he caught the sparkle of the brook, as it flowed swiftly away toward a creek, to be carried thence to the Ohio, and on through the Mississippi to the sea.

Further up the opposite slope, five or six hundred yards away, were gathered the Indians around a fire in an opening, eating breakfast. Henry saw Wyatt and Blackstaffe with them, and he counted eighteen figures. As they had already suffered severe losses he concluded that they had received a small reinforcement, since they must have out four or five scouts and spies watching the little fortress.

Evidently they had not been daunted by their repulse of the night before, as they were broiling venison on the ends of sharpened sticks and eating heartily. The two white men finishing their food lay down on the grass and rested lazily. By and by the red members of the band did likewise.

“It’s just as we thought last night,” said Henry, “They will not try to carry us by assault again, but will undertake to starve us out with a long siege. Even if they’ve guessed the meaning of our smoke they don’t know that we have in here running water that runs on forever.”

“Would they care to carry on a long siege?” asked Paul.

“Maybe not, if Wyatt were not there. You know how he hates us all, and he will be continually urging them to attack us. Perhaps Red Eagle and Blackstaffe will now go on and join the main army, leaving Wyatt with a chosen band to take us by siege.”

“‘Pears likely to me,” said Long Jim, who was listening. “It’s easy enough for them to set thar out uv range an’ hold us in here, but they forget one mighty important thing.”

“What’s that, Jim?”

“Shif’less Sol. He’s in the bush, an’ he kin stalk ‘em when he pleases. They don’t know that the warrior killed at the door last night fell afore his bullet, an’ he kin bring down one uv ‘em any time he feels like it. Thar’s a panther in the bushes right by the side uv ‘em an’ they don’t know it. An’ it’s a panther that will bite ‘em, too, an’ git away ev’ry time. Hark to that, will you?”

They heard the distant sound of a rifle shot and saw one of the Indians around the campfire sink over in the grass. The others uttered a terrific yell of rage, and a half-dozen darted away in the bushes.

“I ain’t no prophet, nor the son uv a prophet,” said Long Jim, “but I’ll bet my scalp that in an hour or two they’ll come back without Shif’less Sol.”

“I won’t take your bet,” said Paul. “Six warriors started away in pursuit, and now we’ll see how many return.”

“The first will be back in an hour,” said Long Jim, “‘cause Sol won’t leave no trail a-tall, a-tall. He made shore uv that afore shootin’.”

“I believe you are a prophet, Jim,” said Paul. “Let’s watch together.”

Within the appointed hour two warriors returned, bringing with them nothing that they had not taken away, and sat down in the opening, their attitude that of dejection.

“They never struck no sign of no trail, nowhere, nohow,” said Long Jim, exultantly.

“Too many negatives, Jim,” said Paul, reprovingly.

“Too many what?” exclaimed Long Jim, staring. “I never heard of them things afore!”

“It’s all right anyhow. There comes another warrior, and he too bears no bright blonde scalp, such as adorns the head of our faithful and esteemed comrade, Solomon Hyde.”

“That’s three ‘counted fur, an’ three to come. I know, Paul, that Sol will git away, that they can’t foller him nohow, but I’d like fur them three to come back empty handed right now. It would be awful to lose good old Sol. Uv course he’s always wrong when he argys with me, but I’m still hopin’ some day to teach him somethin’, an’ I don’t want to lose him.”

Paul saw deep anxiety on the face of Long Jim. These two were always in controversy, but they were bound together by all the ties of the border, and the loss of either would be a crushing blow to the other.

Long minutes dragged by and became an hour, and the face of Jim Hart expressed apprehension.

“It’s time fur at least one more to come back,” he said.

“Well, there he is,” said Paul. “Don’t you see him stepping out of those bushes on the east?”

“Has he anything at his belt?” asked Long Jim eagerly.

“Nothing that he doesn’t usually carry. He has no yellow scalp, nor any scalp of any kind. Empty he went away and empty he has returned.”

“So fur, so good. Two more are left out, an’ it’ll now be time fur them to come trampin’ back.”

“Be patient, Jim, be patient.”

“I am, but you must rec’lect, Paul, that thar comin’ back soon means the life uv a man, a man that’s one uv us five, an’ that we could never furgit ef so be the Injuns took him.”

“I’m not forgetting it, Jim, but I’ve every confidence in Shif’less Sol. I don’t believe those warriors could possibly get him.”

Another half-hour dragged away, and Long Jim became more uneasy. He scanned the woods everywhere for the two missing warriors, and, at last, he drew a mighty sigh of relief when a tufted head appeared over the bushes, and a warrior returned to the opening.

“He’s a Shawnee,” said Long Jim. “I marked him when he went away. I kin see that he’s tired an’ I could tell by the bend in his shoulders that he wuz comin’ back with nothin’. He’s set down now, an’ ez he ‘pears to be talkin’ I guess he’s tellin’ the others, to ‘scuse his failure, that it wuzn’t really a man that he wuz follerin’, but jest a ghost or a phantom, or suthin’ uv that kind. Thar ain’t but one left an’ he ought to be in in a few minutes.”

But the few minutes and many more with them slid into the past, without bringing back the last warrior, and once more that look of deep apprehension appeared on the face of Long Jim Hart. The man should have returned long before, and Jim held him to personal accountability for it.

“I didn’t like his looks when he went away,” he complained to Paul. “He wuz a big feller, darker than most uv the others, an’ he wuz painted somethin’ horrible. I guessed by his looks that he wuz the best scout an’ trailer in the band an’ that he would hang on like a wolf. Ugly ez he is his face would look nice to me now, ‘pearin’ in that openin’. He’s done outstayed his leave.”

“I wouldn’t be worried, Jim,” said Paul. “We know what a man Sol is in the woods. No single warrior could bring him down.”

“That’s so. Sol’s terrible smart, but then anybody might be ambushed. I tell you, Paul, that wuz the wickedest lookin’ warrior I ever saw. His eyes wuz plum’ full uv old Satan.”

“Why, Jim, we are too far away for you to have seen anything of that kind.”

“I know that’s so at usual times, but them eyes uv his wuz shinin’ so terrible bright with meanness that I caught thar look like the gleam uv a burnin’ glass. I reckon he wuz the wust savage in all these woods. All but him hev come back more ‘n a half-hour ago, an’ I’m beginnin’ to hev a sort uv creepy feelin’.”

“Hark!” exclaimed Henry, who had been standing almost in the mouth of the opening.

“What is it, Henry? What is it?” exclaimed Long Jim eagerly.

“That strong wind brought the sound of a rifle shot. It was so faint and far away that it was no more than the snapping of a little twig, but it was a rifle shot and no mistake. Sol and that warrior have met.”

“And who fired the bullet? And who received it? That’s what we’d like to know!” said Paul.

Complete silence succeeded the shot. Evidently the Indians around the campfire had not heard it, as they showed no signs of interest, but the four in the mouth of the cavern waited in painful anxiety, their eyes turned toward the point from which the report had come. At last the scalp lock appeared above the bushes and four hearts sank. Then the figure of the warrior came completely into view and four hearts sprang up again. The man’s left arm was held stiffly by his side and he was walking with weakness. Nor did any bright blonde scalp hang from his waist or any other part of his body.

“I knowed it! I knowed it!” exclaimed Long Jim, triumphantly. “He come too close to Sol, an’ got a bullet in his arm. It must hev been a long shot or he must hev been nearly hid, else he would now be layin’ dead in the bushes. But ez it is he’s shorely got enough to last him fur a long time.”

Paul was less vocal, but like the others he shared in the triumph of the shiftless one.

“I’ll admit I was worried for a while,” he said, “but Sol has given us one more proof that he can take care of himself any time and anywhere.”

“And he has also proved to our besiegers,” said Henry, “that every hour they spend there they’re in peril of a bullet from the bush. I think it will give them a most disturbing feeling.”

Henry was right, and he was also right in some of his earlier surmises. Red Eagle and Blackstaffe departed to join the main army, leaving Braxton Wyatt in command of the besieging band which had been reinforced by a half-dozen warriors. Wyatt, animated by wicked passion, was resolved not to leave until he could kill or take those in the little fortress, but he was upset by the certainty that one of the terrible five was outside. He had believed from the first that it was Henry Ware, and, when their best warrior came in shot through the arm, he was sure of it.

The warriors shared his state of mind. Their losses had inflamed them tremendously and all of them were willing to stay and risk everything for eventual triumph. Yet a terror soon fell upon them. The single marksman who roamed the woods sent a bullet singing directly through the camp, and the search for him failed as before. An hour later another who went down to the brook for water was shot through the shoulder. Wyatt saw that in spite of their desire for revenge superstitious fears were developing, and in order to prevent their spread he organized a camp, surrounded by sentinels whom nothing could escape. Then he awaited the night.

Henry and his comrades had heard the second shot and they had seen the man whose shoulder had been pierced by the bullet, run toward the others leaving a red trail behind him, but they were not alarmed this time, as nobody left the camp. Evidently the warriors, stout-hearted though they were, did not care to trail the shiftless one once more, and in the growing dusk, too, when they would be at the mercy of his rifle.

“He’s got ‘em stirred up a lot,” said Henry, “and if they come again he will surely be a host on our side.”

Another attack was made that night, but it did not come until late, halfway between midnight and morning, and, as Henry had suspected, it was not an assault, but an attempt by sharpshooters, hidden in the dark brush, to pick off watchers at the opening. The bullets of the besiegers were fired mostly at random and did nothing but chip stone. The besieged fired at the flash of the rifles and were not sure that they hit an enemy, but believed that they succeeded more than once. Then, as the night before, came the report of the lone rifle in the thicket, and a warrior, throwing up his hands, uttered his death cry, making it apparent to the defenders that the shiftless one was neither idle nor afraid.

Then the Indians withdrew and the primeval silence returned to the valley. The four remained for a while without speaking, watchful, their rifles loaded anew and their fingers on the trigger.

“Sol could come in now,” said Long Jim. “He must know that the way will be clear for a little while.”

“He doesn’t want to come in,” said Henry. “He’s our link with the outside world, and when they attack he can be of more help to us because they don’t know from what point he will strike. The besiegers are also besieged.”

“I’m thinkin’ they won’t attack ag’in fur a long time,” said Long Jim, “an’ that bein’ the case, I’m goin’ to eat some uv my own cookin’, knowin’ that it’s the finest in the world, an’ then go to sleep.”

“All right, Jim,” said Henry, “you deserve both.”

Long Jim was soon asleep, but Henry remained awake until daylight. He considered whether they should not attempt to escape now, join Shif’less Sol, and follow as fast as they could the main Indian army with the cannon. But he decided in the negative. The savages, despite their repulse, would certainly be on watch, and they were still too numerous for a fight in the bush.

Hence they entered upon another day in the cavern, which was beginning to assume some of the aspects of home. It looked cosy, with the supply of venison and bear meat, the pleasant rill of cold water, the dry leaves upon which their blankets were spread for beds, and it was filled with cold fresh air that poured in at the opening. Henry felt once more that they had had luck, and he chafed at nothing but the long delay.

And delay now it was certainly going to be, as Braxton Wyatt refrained from attack, both that day and the next, although he drew his lines so close to them that they had no chance to slip out. But cultivating Indian patience, they kept one man always on guard while the others lay at their ease on their beds of leaves, and, after the fashion of those who had much time, talked of many and various things. On the third day when the siege seemed to have settled down to a test of endurance, the day being clear and sharply bright, the four sat near the door of the fortress. Silent Tom was keeping watch with an eye that never failed, but he was able at the same time to hear what his friends said, and, when he felt the impulse, he joined in with a monosyllable or two.

They were speaking of the main band going south with the cannon for the great attack upon the settlements, a subject to which Henry’s mind returned constantly. Alloway and the chiefs had a start of days, but he was incessantly telling himself that his comrades and he, as soon as they were released from the siege, could overtake them quickly. The cannon which made their great strength also made their march slow.

“Besides,” he said to the others, “they will have to cross many rivers and creeks with them, and every crossing will take trouble and time. As I figure it, they could go four-fifths of the way and we could still overtake them before they reached the settlement.”

“I hope we’ll ruin the cannon fur ‘em,” said Long Jim earnestly, “an’ that at last the settlers will beat ‘em so bad that they’ll never cross the Ohio ag’in. All this fightin’ with ‘em breaks up my plans.”

“What are your plans, Jim?” asked Paul.

“They’re big ones, but thar’s nary one uv ‘em that don’t take in you three here an’ Shif’less Sol that’s outside. I want to git in a boat, an’ go on one uv the rivers into the Ohio an’ then down the Ohio to the Missip, an’ down the Missip to New Or-lee-yuns whar them Spaniards are. I met a feller once who had been thar an’ he said it wuz a whalin’ big town, full uv all kinds uv strange people, an’ hevin’ an’ inquirin’ mind I like to see all kinds uv furriners an’ size ‘em up. Do you reckon, Paul, that New Or-lee-yuns is the biggest city in the world?”

“Oh, no, Jim. There are many much larger cities in the old continents, Europe, Asia and Africa.”

“Them are so fur away that they hardly count nohow. An’ thar’s a lot uv big dead cities, ain’t thar?”

“Certainly. Babylon, that our Bible often speaks of, and Nineveh, and Tyre, and Memphis and Thebes and----”

“Stop, Paul! That’s enough. I reckon I ain’t sorry them old places are dead. It took a heap uv ground fur ‘em to stand on, ground that might be covered with grass an’ bushes an’ trees, all in deep an’ purty green like them out thar. Me bein’ what I am, I always think it’s a pity to ruin a fine forest to put a town in its place.”

“Those cities, I think, were mostly in desert countries with an artificial water supply.”

“Then I don’t want ever to see ‘em or what’s left uv ‘em. People who built cities whar no water an’ trees wuz ought to hev seen ‘em perish. Wouldn’t me an’ Sol look fine trailin’ ‘roun’ among them ruins an’ over them deserts? Not a buff’ler, nor a deer, not a b’ar anywhar, an’ not a fish; ‘cause they ain’t even a good big dew fur a fish to swim in.

“But leavin’ out them old places that’s plum’ rusted away, an’ comin’ back to this here favored land o’ ours, I want, after seein’ everythin’ thar is to be seen in the great city of New Or-lee-yuns, to go straight west with you fellers, an’ Shif’less Sol that’s outside, clean across the great buff’ler plains that we’ve talked about afore.”

“Cross ‘em!” said Silent Tom, speaking for the first time. “You can’t cross ‘em. They go on forever.”