Chapter 3: The Indian Camp

The position of the great youth was comfortable, as he sat upon his blanket, the curve of the wall fitting into the curve of his back, his rifle resting across his knee, and his figure motionless. He carried in his belt a pistol, the keen hatchet of the border and also a long hunting knife, but it was the rifle upon which he depended mainly, a beautiful piece, with its carved stock and long blue barrel, and in the hands of its owner the deadliest weapon on the border.

Henry, like Tom, did not stir. He was a match for any Indian in impassivity, and every nerve rested while he thus retained complete command over his body. He could see from his position the bushes beyond the opening, and, above them, a broad belt of black sky. He rejoiced again that they had found this cave or rather stone room as they called it.

The dark heavens were full of threat, the air heavy with damp, and low thunder was just beginning to mutter. Tom Ross had read the gorgeous sunset aright. It betokened a storm, and the most hardened hunters and scouts were glad of shelter when the great winds and rains came. The dryness and safety of the room made Henry feel all the more snug and content, in contrast with what was about to happen outside. It seemed to him that Providence had watched over them. Truly they had never known a finer or better place.

His mind traveled again to those old, bygone people of whom Paul had talked, how they lived in caves, and had fought the great animals with stone clubs. But he had a better room in the stone than most of theirs, and the rifle on his knees was far superior to any club that was ever made. His nerves quivered beneath a thrill of pleasure that was both mental and physical. His eyes had learned to cope with the dusk in the room, and he could see his four comrades stretched upon their blankets. All were sleeping soundly and he would let them sleep on of their own accord, because there was no need now to move.

The mutter of the thunder grew a little louder, as if the electricity were coming up on the horizon. And he saw lightning, dim at first and very distant, then growing brighter until it came, keen, hard and brilliant, in flashing strokes. Henry was not awed at all. Within his safe shelter his spirit leaped up to meet it.

The thunder now broke near in a series of fierce crashes, and the lightning was so burning bright that it dazzled his eyes. One bolt struck near with a tremendous shock and the air was driven in violent waves into the very mouth of the cave. Shif’less Sol awoke and sat up.

“A storm!” he said.

“Yes,” replied Henry, “but it can’t reach us here. You might as well go back to sleep, Sol.”

“Bein’ a lazy man who knows how an’ when to be lazy,” said the shiftless one, “I’ll do it.”

In a few minutes he was as sound asleep as ever, while Henry continued to watch the storm. The sky was perfectly black, save when the lightning blazed across it, and the thunder rolled and crashed with extraordinary violence. But he now heard an under note, one that he knew, the swish of the wind. It, too, grew fast and he dimly saw leaves and the branches of trees flying past. It was certainly good to be in the snug stone covert that he had found for himself and his friends!

The lightning became less bright and the thunder began to die. Then the wind came with a mighty sweep and roar and Henry heard the drops of rain, striking on leaf and bough like bullets. He also heard the crash of falling trees, and one was blown down directly in front of the opening, hiding it almost completely. He was not sorry. Some instinct warned him that this too was a lucky chance. The rain came in driven torrents, but it passed the mouth of the cave and they were as dry and comfortable as ever.

The thunder and lightning ceased entirely, by and by, and Henry sat in the dark listening to the rush of the rain, which came now in a strong and steady sweep like the waves of the sea. He listened to it a long time, never moving, and at last he saw a thin shade of gray appear in the eastern sky. Day was near, although it would be dark with the storm. But that need not trouble them. On the other hand it would be to their advantage. The great camp of the Indians would be broken up for a while, and they must long since have sought what shelter they could find. They could not advance for two or three days at least, while the five lay in a splendid covert only two miles from them.

Laggard day came, with a dusky sky, obscured by heavy clouds and the rain still pouring. It was several hours after sunrise before it ceased and the sky began to clear. Then the others awoke and looked out.

“A big storm and I never heard a thing,” said Paul.

“No, Paul,” said the shiftless one, “you didn’t hear it but it came off anyway. You’re a mighty good sleeper, you are, Paul. Put you atween fine white sheets, with a feather bed under your body an’ a silk piller under your head, an’ I reckon you’d sleep a week an’ be happy all the time.”

“I suppose I would. It’s a sound conscience, Sol.”

“I heard somethin’ once,” said Long Jim, “but knowin’ I wuz in the best place in the world I didn’t open my eyes. I jest went to sleep ag’in an’ now, ef thar wuz anythin’ to cook an’ any place to cook it I’d git the finest breakfast any uv you fellers ever et.”

“We know that, Jim,” said Henry, “but we’ll have to stick to the dried venison for the present. You’ll find plenty of drinking water over there by the wall. Do you notice that our river has risen a full inch?”

“So it has,” said Paul. “The rain, of course. Since we’ve had this noble inn I’m not sorry about the storm. It will stop the march of that Indian army.”

“And also hide any trail that we may have left yesterday or last night,” said Henry with satisfaction.

“What do you think we ought to do now, Henry?” asked Shif’less Sol.

“Eat our breakfasts, that is, chew our venison. I don’t believe we can do anything today, and there is no need, since the Indians can’t move. We’ll stay here in hiding, and at night we’ll go out again to explore.”

“A whole day’s rest,” said the shiftless one, with deep approval. “Nothin’ to do but eat an’ sleep, an’ lay back here an’ think. I’m not eddicated like you an’ Henry, Paul, but I kin do a power o’ hard thinkin’. Now, ef Jim tries to think it makes his head ache so bad that he has to quit, but I guess he’s lucky anyway, ‘cause we’re always doin’ his thinkin’ fur him, while he’s takin’ his ease an’ bein’ happy.”

“Ef I had been dependin’ on your thinking’, Shif’less Sol,” said Long Jim, “my scalp would hev been hangin’ from an’ Injun lodge pole long ago.”

“Well, it would look well hangin’ thar. You hev got good thick hair, Long Jim.”

They finished their breakfast, and all of them sat down near the opening. The fallen tree, while it hid the aperture, did not cut off their own view. They were so close to it that they could see well between the boughs and leaves. The rising sun, brilliant and powerful, had now driven away all the clouds. The sky was once more a shining blue, all the brighter because it had been washed and scoured anew by wind and rain. The green of the forest, dripping everywhere with water, looked deeper and more vigorous. Down in the valley they heard the foaming of a brook that had suddenly become a torrent, and which with equal suddenness would return to its usual size.

They remained all day in their retreat, seeing thin threads of smoke three or four times against the blue sky, an indication that the warriors had built their campfires anew, and were trying to dry themselves out. Indians as well as white men suffer from rain and cold and Henry knew that they would be sluggish and careless that night. There was a bare chance that the five might get at the cannon and ruin them in some manner, although they had not yet thought of a way.

It was decided that Henry and Shif’less Sol should make the second expedition, Paul, Tom Ross and Long Jim remaining as a reserve within their stone walls. The two did not disturb the fallen tree at the entrance, but slipped out between the boughs, and walking on dead leaves and fallen brushwood, in order to leave as little trace as possible, reached the valley below. This low area of land was studded for a long distance with new pools of water, which would disappear the next day, and the ground was so soft that they took to the bordering forest in order to escape the mud.

“‘Pears likely to me,” said the shiftless one, “that them Britishers had tents. They wouldn’t go on so long an expedition as this without ‘em. It’s probable then that we’ll find the renegades in or about ‘em.”

“Sounds as if it might be that way,” said Henry. “The site of their camp is not more than a mile distant now, and the tents may be pitched somewhere in the woods.”

“Reckon we’re near, Henry, I smell smoke, and it’s the smoke that comes out of a pipe.”

“I smell it too. It’s straight ahead. It must be one of the officers. We’ll have to be slow and mighty particular. There’s a big moon and all the stars are out.”

The night, as if to atone for the one that had gone before, was particularly brilliant. The dripping woods were luminous with silvery moonlight and the three used every tree and bush as they approached the point from which the tobacco smoke came. The woods were so dense there that they heard the men before they saw them. It was first a hum of voices and then articulated words.

“It seems that these forest expeditions are not to be taken lightly, Wyatt,” said a heavy growling voice.

“No, Colonel Alloway,” Braxton Wyatt replied in smooth tones. “There are no roads in the wilderness. If we want one we’ll have to make it. It’s the cannon that hold us back.”

“The Indians could move fast without them.”

“Yes, sir, but we must have ‘em. We can’t break through the palisades without ‘em.”

“Why, young sir, these red warriors can annihilate anything to be found in Kentucky!”

“They did not do it, sir, when we attacked Wareville last year.”

“Lack of leadership! Lack of leadership!”

“If you’ll pardon me, sir, I don’t think it was. The Indians have to fight in their own way, and the Kentucky riflemen are the best in the world. Why, sir, the things they can do with their rifles are amazing. A musket is like an old-fashioned arquebus compared with their long-barreled weapons. I know one of them--and I must say it, though I hate him--who could kill running deer at two hundred yards, as fast as you could hand him the rifles, never missing a shot.”

“A William Tell of the woods, so to speak!” said the heavy, gruff voice, sounding an incredulous note.

“You’ll believe me, sir, if you meet ‘em,” said Wyatt earnestly. “I don’t love ‘em any more’n you do, much less perhaps, but I’ve learned enough to dread their rifles. I was telling you about the one who is such a terrible marksman, though the others are nearly as good. Last night before the rain one of the Wyandots found the trace of a footstep in the forest. It was a trace, nothing more, and not even an Indian could follow it, but I’ve an idea that it’s the very sharpshooter I was telling you about.”

“And what of it? Why should we care anything for a stray backwoodsman.”

“He’s very dangerous, very dangerous, sir, I repeat, and he’s sure to have four others with him.”

“And who are the dreadful five?” There was a note of irony in the voice.

“The one of whom I spoke is named Henry Ware. There is another, a youth of about his own age, named Paul Cotter. The third is Solomon Hyde, a man of amazing skill and judgment. The other two are Tom Ross, a wonderful scout and hunter, and Long Jim Hart, the fastest runner in the West. It was he who brought relief, when we had the emigrant train trapped. I think that all the five are somewhere near and that we should beware.”

The heavy, gruff voice was lifted again in an ironic laugh, and Henry, creeping a yard or two more, saw through the leaves the whole group. The English officer whom Wyatt had called Alloway, was a man of middle years, heavily built. His confident face and aggressive manner indicated that he was some such man as Braddock, who in spite of every warning by the colonials, walked with blinded eyes into the Indian trap at Fort Duquesne, to have his army and himself slaughtered. But now the English were allied with the scalp-takers.

A half-dozen English officers, younger men, surrounded Colonel Alloway, silent and attentive, while their chief talked with Wyatt. The older renegade, Blackstaffe, was leaning against a tree, his arms folded across his chest, a sneering look upon his face. Henry knew that he thought little of European officers there in the woods, and out of their element.

But the most striking figures in the scene were Yellow Panther, head chief of the Miamis, and Red Eagle, head chief of the Shawnees. They stood erect with arms folded, and they had not spoken either while Alloway and Wyatt talked. They were imposing men, not as tall as the young chief whom Henry had seen distantly, and who was destined to have a great part in his life later on, but they were uncommonly broad of shoulders and chest, and, though elderly they were at the very height of their mental and physical powers.

They were in full war paint, their scalp locks were braided and each had flung about him somewhat in the manner of a Roman toga a magnificent blanket of the finest weave, blue for Yellow Panther, red for Red Eagle.

Wyatt translated to them Alloway’s words, and Red Eagle at length raising his hand said to Wyatt in Shawnee, which all three of the hidden scouts understood perfectly:

“Tell our white ally that his words are not those of wisdom. The Indian when he goes upon the war path does not laugh at his enemy. He knows that he is not fighting with children and he heeds the warnings of those who understand.”

His tones were full of dignity, but Wyatt, when he translated, softened the rebuke. Nevertheless enough of it was left to make the arrogant Colonel start a little, and gaze with some apprehension at the two massive and silent figures, regarding him so steadily. It was likely too that the grim forest, the overwhelming character of the wilderness in which he stood, affected him. Without the Indians he and his men would be lost in that mighty sweep of country.

“Tell the officers of the King, across the great salt water,” continued Red Eagle to Wyatt, “that the word has come to us that if we go and destroy the settlements of the Yengees, lest they grow powerful and help their brethren in the East who are fighting against the King called George, we are to receive great rewards. We use the tomahawk for him as well as for ourselves, and while we listen to Alloway here, Alloway must listen also to us.”

Wyatt veiled his look of satisfaction. He had not fancied the haughty and patronizing manner of Alloway, and he was sure that the Colonel was making too little of the five and their possible proximity. Despite himself, and the young renegade was bold, he felt a shiver of apprehension lest the formidable group were somewhere near in the woods. But he added, speaking in a more persuasive tone to Alloway: