Chapter 15: The Great Culmination

It could almost be said of them, so sensitive were they to sound or even to a noiseless presence, that usually when sleeping they were yet awake, that, like the wild animals living in the same forest, warnings came to them on the wind itself, and that, though the senses were steeped in slumber, the sentinel mind was yet there. But this morning it was not so. They slept, not like forest runners, who breathe danger every hour, both day and night, but like city dwellers, secure against any foe.

It was Silent Tom who awoke first, to find the day advanced, the sun like a gigantic shield of red and gold in the western heavens, and the wind of spring blowing through the green foliage. He shook himself, somewhat like a big, honest dog, and not awakening the others, walked to the edge of their island in the swamp, the firm land not being more than thirty feet across.

But on this oasis the trees grew large and close and no one on the mainland beyond the swamp could have seen human beings there. The swamp was chiefly the result of a low region flooded by heavy spring rains, and in the summer would probably be as dry and firm as the oasis itself. But, for the present, it was what the pioneers called “drowned lands” and was an effective barrier against any ordinary march.

Silent Tom looked toward the north, and saw a coil of smoke against the brilliant blue of the sky. It was very far away, but he was quite sure that it came from the Indian camp, and its location indicated that they had not yet crossed the river. He felt intense satisfaction, but he did not even chuckle in his throat, after the border fashion. He had not been named Silent Tom for nothing. He was the oldest of the five, several years older than Long Jim, who was next in point of age, and he was often called Old Tom Ross, although in reality the “old” in that case was like the “old” that one college boy uses when he calls another “old fellow.”

But if Silent Tom did not talk much he thought and felt a very great deal. The love of the wilderness was keen in him. Elsewhere he would have been like a lion in an iron-barred cage. And, like the rest of the five, he would have sacrificed his life to protect those little settlements of his own kind to the south. It has been said that usually when the five slept they were yet almost awake, but this morning when Silent Tom was awake he was also dreaming. He was dreaming of the great triumph that they had won on the preceding day: Five against a thousand! Rifles against cannon! A triumph not alone of valor but of intellect, of wiles and stratagems, of tactics and management!

He did not possess, in the same great degree, the gift of imagination which illuminated so nobly the minds and souls of Henry and Paul and the shiftless one, but he felt deeply, nevertheless. Matter-of-fact and practical, he recognized, that they had won an extraordinary victory, to attempt which would not even have entered his own mind, and knowing it, he not only gave all credit to those who had conceived it, but admired them yet the more. He was beginning to realize now that the impossible was nearly always the possible.

Life looked very good to Tom Ross that day. It was bright, keen and full of zest. A deeply religious man, in his way, he felt that the forest, the river, and all the unseen spirits of earth and air had worked for them. The birds singing so joyously among the boughs sang not alone for themselves, but also for his four comrades who slept and for him also.

He listened awhile, crossed the swamp on the fallen trees, scouted a little and then came back, quite sure that no warrior was within miles of them, as they were marching in another direction, and then returned to the oasis. The four still slept the sleep of the just and victorious. Then Tom, the cunning, smiled to himself, and came very near to uttering a deep-throated chuckle.

Opening his little knapsack, he took out a cord of fishing line, with a hook, which, with wisdom, he always carried. He tied the line on the end of a stick, and, then going eastward from the oasis, he walked across the fallen or drifted trees until he came to the permanent channel of a creek, into which the flood waters drained. There he dropped his hook, having previously procured bait, worms found under a stone.

Doubtless no hook had ever been sunk in those waters before, and the fish leaped to the bait. In fifteen minutes he had half a dozen fine fellows, which he deftly cleaned with his hunting knife. Then he returned, soft-footed, to the island. The four, as he wished, still slept. After all, he did have imagination and, a feeling for surprise, and the dramatic. Had his comrades awakened then, before his preparations were complete, it would have spoiled his pleasure.

It was a short task for one such as he to use flint and steel, and kindle a fire on the low side of the island, facing toward the east, but yet within the circle of the trees. Dead wood was lying everywhere and it burned rapidly. Then, quickly broiling the fish on sharpened ends of twigs and laying them on green leaves, he went back and awakened the four, who opened their eyes and sat up at the same time.

“What’s the smell that’s ticklin’ my nose?” exclaimed Long Jim.

“Fish,” replied Silent Tom gruffly. “Breakfast’s ready! Come on!”

The four leaped to their feet, and followed the pleasant odor which grew stronger and more savory as they advanced.

“Ain’t cooked like you kin do it,” said Silent Tom to Long Jim, “but I done my best.”

“Kings could do no more,” said the shiftless one, “an’ this is the finest surprise I’ve had in a ‘coon’s age. I wuz gettin’ mighty tired o’ cold vittles. A lazy man like me needs somethin’ hot now an’ then to stir him up, don’t he Jim?”

“Guess he does, an’ so do I,” said Long Jim, reaching hungrily for a fish.

All fell to. The fish were of the finest flavor, and they had been cooked well. Silent Tom said nothing, but he glowed with satisfaction.

“How’d you do it, Tom?” asked Shif’less Sol.

“Line, hook, bait, water, fish,” replied Ross, waving his hand in the direction of the creek.

“Ain’t he the pow’ful talker?” laughed the shiftless one. “When Tom dies an’ goes up to heaven to take his place in them gran’ an’ eternal huntin’ groun’s that we’ve already talked about, the Angel at the gate will ask him his name. ‘Tom Ross,’ he’ll say. ‘Business on earth?’ ‘Hunter an’ scout,’ ‘Ever betrayed a friend?’ ‘Never,’ ‘Then pass right in,’ That’s all old Tom will say, not a word wasted in explanations an’ pologies.”

“It’ll be shorter than that,” said Long Jim.

“How’s that?”

“The Angel will ask him jest one question. He’ll say, ‘Who’s your best friend on earth?’ an’ Tom will answer ‘Long Jim Hart, what’s comin’ on later,’ an’ the Angel will say: ‘That’s enough. Go right in and pick out the best place in Heaven fur yourself an’ your friends who will be here, some day.’”

Silent Tom blushed under the praise which was thoroughly sincere, and begged them, severally, to take another fish. But they had enough, and prepared to travel again, to forge another link in the chain which they were striving so hard to complete.

“What’s the plan, Henry?” asked the shiftless one in his capacity as lieutenant.

“I think we ought to complete that circle around the Indian army, curving to the west and then to the north, until we’re in their rear. Then we can complete the impression that two forces are attacking ‘em, one in front and the other behind. What do you think?”

“I’m hot fur roundin’ out the circle,” replied Shif’less Sol. “I always like to see things finished, an’ I want to make the warriors think a couple o’ hundred white riflemen march where only five really make tracks.”

“Same here,” said Jim Hart, “Suits me ‘cause I’ve got long legs, made out uv steel wire, close wrapped. I see clear that we’ve got to do a power o’ marchin’, more of it than fightin’.”

“I don’t believe any one can think of a better plan,” said Paul, “and yours, Henry, certainly promises well.”

“I’m for it,” said Silent Tom.

“Then we go now,” said Henry.

The smoke that Tom had seen earlier was gone, and the five believed that the Indian army, discovering the absence of their foe, had probably crossed the river.

“Since they’re on the march again,” said Henry, “we can take it slowly and need not exhaust ourselves.”

“Jest dawdle along,” said Shif’less Sol, “an’ let ‘em pass us.

“Yes, that’s it.”

“We’ll keep far enough away to avoid their scouts and hunters,” said Paul.

It was really the hunters against whom they had to keep the most watchful guard, as so numerous a force ate tremendous quantities of game, and, the men seeking it had to spread out to a considerable distance on either flank. But if the hunters came, the five were sure that they would see them first, and they felt little apprehension.

They passed out of the swampy country, and entered the usual rolling region of low hills, clothed in heavy forest, and abounding in game. Here they stopped a while in their task of completing the circle, and waited while the Indian army marched. Henry calculated that it could not go more than a dozen miles a day, since the way had to be cut for the cannon, and even if they remained where they were, the Indian army when night came, would be very little farther south than the five.

“I vote we turn our short stop into a long one,” said Shif’less Sol, “since, ef we went on we’d jest have to come back again. An’ me bein’ a lazy man I’m ag’in any useless work. What do you say, Saplin’?”

“I’m with you, Sol, not ‘cause I’m lazy, which I ain’t, an’ never will be, but cause it ain’t wuth while to go back on our tracks an’ then come forward ag’in. What I do say is this; since Tom Ross is such a good fisher I reckon he might take his hook an’ line an’ go east to the creek, which can’t be fur from here, an’ ketch some more fish jest ez good ez them we had this mornin’. After dark I’ll cook ‘em, takin’ the trouble off his hands.”

All fell in with the suggestion, including Tom himself, and after a while he went away on the errand, returning in due time with plenty of fish as good as the others. This time Long Jim cooked them when night came, in a low place behind the trees, and once more they had warm and delicate food.

When the moon rose in a clear sky, they were able to trace the smoke of the Indian campfire, almost due west of them, as they calculated it would be, and a long distance away. Henry regarded it thoughtfully and Paul knew that his mind was concentrated upon some plan.

“What is it?” he asked at last.

“I think some of us ought to go late tonight and see what chance we have at the guns.”

“You’ll take me with you, Henry?”

“No, Paul. It’ll have to be Shif’less Sol, while the rest of you stand by as a reserve. What call shall we use, the owl or the wolf?”

“Let it be the wolf,” said the shiftless one, “‘cause I feel like a wolf tonight, ready to snap at an’ bite them that’s tryin’ to hurt our people.”

“Sol gits mighty ferocious when thar ain’t anythin’ more terrible than a rabbit close by,” said Long Jim.

“It ain’t that. It’s my knowin’ that you’ll run to my help ef I git into trouble,” said Shif’less Sol.

Paul felt a little disappointment, but it disappeared quickly. He knew that Shif’less Sol was the one who ought to go, and in the high tasks they had set for themselves there were enough dangers for all.

“Then it will be the cry of the wolf,” said Henry. “To most people their yelps are alike, but not to us. You won’t forget the particular kind of howl that Sol and I give forth?”

“Never,” said Long Jim. “Thar ain’t another sech wolf in the woods ez Shif’less Sol.”

A few more brief words and Henry and his comrade were gone, traveling at a swift rate toward the Indian camp. Dark and the forest separated the two from the three, but they could send their signal cries at any time across the intervening space, and communication was not interrupted. They advanced in silence several miles, and then they became very cautious, because they knew that they were within the fringe of scouts and hunters. With so many to feed it was likely that the Indians would hunt by night, especially as the wild turkeys were numerous, and it was easy to obtain them in the dark.

Both Henry and Shif’less Sol saw turkey signs, and their caution increased, when they noticed a dozen dusky figures of large birds on boughs near by, sure proof that the warriors would soon be somewhere in the neighborhood, if they were not so already. They began to stoop now, and use cover all the way, and presently Henry felt that their precautions were well taken, as a faint but distant sound, not native to the forest, came to his ear.

“There, Sol!” he whispered. “Did you hear it? To the right.”

The shiftless one listened a moment or two and replied:

“Yes, I kin make it out.”

“I say it’s the twang of a bowstring, Sol.”

“So do I, Henry.”

“They’re probably shooting the turkeys out of the trees with arrows. Saves noise and their powder and lead, too.”

“Wherein the Injun shows a heap o’ sense, Henry.”

“I can hear more than one bow twanging now, Sol. The turkeys must be plentiful hereabouts, but even with bows and arrows only used against ‘em they’re bound to take alarm soon.”

“Yes, thar go some o’ ‘em gobblin’ now, an’ they’re flyin’ this way.”

They heard the whirr of wings carrying heavy bodies, and frightened turkeys flew directly over their heads. As the Indians might come in pursuit, Henry and Shif’less Sol lay down among the bushes. A shouting broke out near them, and the forest, for a wide space, was filled with the whirring of wings.

“The biggest flock o’ wild turkeys that ever wuz must hev roosted right ‘roun’ us,” said Shif’less Sol, “‘cause I seem to see ‘em by the dozens.”

“More likely fifteen or twenty flocks were scattered about through the woods, and now they have all joined in a common flight.”

“Mebbe so, but whether one flock or twenty j’ined, this is suttinly Turkeyland. An’ did you ever see sech fine turkeys. Look at that king gobbler, Henry, flyin’ right over our heads! He must weigh fifty pounds ef he weighs an ounce, an’ his wattles are a wonder to look at. An’ I kin see him lookin’ right down at me, ez he passes an’ I kin hear him sayin’: ‘I ain’t afeared o’ you, Sol Hyde, even ef you hev got a gun in your hand. I kin fly low over your head, so low that I’ll brush you with my wings, and with my red wattles, which are a wonder to see, an’ you dassn’t fire. I’ve got you where I want you, Sol Hyde. I ain’t afeard o’ anything but Injuns tonight.’”

Shif’less Sol’s words were so lugubrious that Henry was compelled to laugh under his breath. It did look like an injustice of fate, when hunters so keen as they, were compelled to lie quiet, while wild turkeys in hundreds flew over their heads, and although the shiftless one may have exaggerated a little about the king gobbler, Henry saw that many of them were magnificent specimens of their kind. Yet to lie and stir not was the price of life, as they soon saw.

Indians came running through the great grove, discharging arrows at the turkeys, many of which flew low, and the air was filled with the twanging of bow strings. Not a rifle or musket was fired, the warriors seeming to rely wholly upon their ancient weapons for this night hunt. They appeared to be in high good humor, too, as the two crouching scouts heard them laughing and chattering as they picked up the fallen birds, and then sent arrows in search of more.

Shif’less Sol became more and more uneasy. Here was a grand hunt going well forward and he not a part of it. Instead he had to crouch among bushes and flatten himself against the soil like an earthworm, while the twanging of the bows made music, and the eager shouts stirred every vein.

The hunt swept off to the westward. The dusky figures of warriors and turkeys disappeared in the brush, and Henry and Shif’less Sol, ceasing to be earthworms, rose to their knees.

“They didn’t see us,” said the shiftless one, “but it was hard to stay hid.”

“But here we are alive and safe. Now, I think, Sol, we’d better go on straight toward their camp, but keep a lookout at the same time for those fellows, when they come back.”

They could not hear the twang of bowstrings now, but the shouts still came to them, though much softened by the distance. Presently they too died away, and with silence returning to the forest Henry and Shif’less Sol stood upright. They listened only a moment or two, and then advanced directly toward the camp. Crossing the brook they went around a cluster of thorn bushes, and came face to face with two men. Shif’less Sol, quick as a panther, swung his clubbed rifle like lightning and the foremost of the two, a Shawnee warrior, dropped like a log, and Henry, too close for action, seized the other by the throat in his powerful hands.

It was not a great and brawny throat into which those fingers of steel settled, and its owner began to gasp quickly. Then Henry noticed that he held in his grasp not an Indian, but a white man, or rather a boy, a fair English boy, a youthful and open face upon which the forest had not yet set its tan.

He released his grasp slowly. He could not bear the pain and terror in the eyes of the slender English youth, who, though he wore the uniform of a subaltern, seemed so much out of place there in the deep woods. Yet the forester meant to take no needless risk.

“Promise that you will not cry out and I spare you,” he said, his blue eyes looking straight into those of the lad, which returned his gaze with defiance. The steel grasp settled down again.

“Better promise,” said Henry. “It’s your only chance.”

The obstinate look passed out of his eyes, and the lad nodded, as he could not speak. Then Henry took away his hand and said:

“Remember your word.”

The English youth nodded again, gurgled two or three times, and rubbed his throat:

“‘Twas a mighty grip you had upon me. Who are you?”

“The owners of this forest, and we’ve jest been tellin’ you that you’ve no business here on our grounds,” said the shiftless one.

The boy, he was nothing more, stared at them in astonishment. It was obvious to the two forest runners that he had little acquaintance with the woods. His eyes filled with wonder as he gazed upon the two fierce faces, and the two powerful figures, arrayed in buckskin.

“Your forest?” he said.

“Yes,” replied Henry quietly, “and bear in mind that I held your life in my hands. Had you been an Indian you would be dead now.”

“I won’t forget it,” said the youth, who seemed honest enough, “and I’m not going to cry out and bring the warriors down upon you for two very good reasons, because I’ve promised not to do so, and if I did, I know that your comrade there would shoot me down the next instant.”

“I shorely would,” said Shif’less Sol, grimly.

“And now,” said Henry, “what is your name and what are you doing here?”

“My name is Roderick Cawthorne, I’m a subaltern in the British army, and I came over to help put down the rebels, in accordance with my duty to my king and country. All this land is under our rule.”

“Do you think so?” asked Henry. “Do you think that this wilderness, which extends a thousand miles in every direction, is under your rule?”

The young subaltern looked around at the dark forest and shivered a little.

“Technically, yes,” he replied, “but it’s a long way from Eton.”

“What’s Eton?”

“Eton is a school in England, a school for the sons of gentlemen.”

“I see. And would I be considered the son of a gentleman?”

Young Cawthorne looked up at the tanned and powerful face bent over him. He had already noted Henry’s good English, and, feeling the compelling gaze of one who was born to be a master, he replied, sincerely and cheerfully:

“Yes, the son of a gentleman, and a gentleman yourself.”

“An’ I’m a gentleman too,” said Shif’less Sol. “My good rifle says so every time.”

“It was the power of earlier weapons that started the line of gentlemen,” said Cawthorne. “Now what do you two gentlemen propose to do with me?”

“Do you know what would be done with us if things were changed about?” asked Henry, “and we were the prisoners of you and the colonel and the red men with whom you travel?”

“No. What would it be?”

“You’d have the pleasure of standing by and seeing the two of us burned alive at the stake. We wouldn’t be burned quickly. It can be protracted for hours, and it’s often done to our people by your allies.”

The young Englishman paled.

“Surely it can’t be so!” he said.

“But surely it is so!” said the young forester fiercely.

“I’m at your mercy.”

“We ain’t goin’ to burn you now,” said Shif’less Sol. “We can’t afford to set up a big torch in the forest, with our enemies so near.”

Cawthorne shivered.

“Do you still feel,” asked Henry, “that you’re the ruler over the wilderness here, five thousand miles from London?”

“Technically only. At the present time I’m making no boasts.”

“Now, you go back to your colonel and the renegades and the red chiefs and tell them they’ll find no thoroughfare to the white settlements.”

“So, you don’t mean to kill me?”

“No, we don’t do that sort of thing. Since we can’t hold you a prisoner now, we release you. It’s likely that you don’t know your way to your own camp, but your red comrade here will guide you. My friend didn’t break his skull, when he struck him with the butt of his rifle, though it was a shrewd blow. He’s coming to.”

Cawthorne looked down at the reviving savage, and then looked up to thank the foresters, but they were gone. They had vanished so quickly and silently that he had not heard them going. Had it not been for the savage who was now sitting up he would not have believed that it was real.

Henry and the shiftless one had dropped down in the bushes only a little distance away, and, by the moonlight, they saw the look of bewilderment on the face of the young Englishman.

“It don’t hardly look fair to our people that we should let him go,” said the shiftless one.

“But we had to,” Henry whispered back. “It was either kill him or let him go, and neither you nor I, Sol, could kill him. You know that.”

“Yes, I know it.”

“Now, the warrior has all his senses back, though his head is likely to ache for a couple of days. We don’t lose anything by letting them have their lives, Sol. The talk of their encounter with us will grow mightily as they go back to the Indian army. The warrior scarcely caught a glimpse of us, and he’s likely to say that he was struck down by an evil spirit. Cawthorne’s account of his talk with us will not weaken him in his belief. Instead it will make him sure that we’re demons who spared them in order that they might carry a warning to their comrades.”