Chapter 17: The Deserted Cabin

When the last soldier had disappeared among the trees, Henry turned to the others. “Well, boys,” he asked, “what are you thinking about?”

“I?” asked Paul. “I’m thinking about a certain place I know, a sort of alcove or hole in a cliff above a lake.”

“An’ me?” said Shif’less Sol. “I’m thinkin’ how fur that alcove runs back, an’ how it could be fitted up with furs an’ made warm fur the winter.”

“Me?” said Tom Ross. “I’m thinkin’ what a snug place that alcove would be when the snow an’ hail were drivin’ down the creek in front of you.”

“An’ ez fur me,” said Long Jim Hart, “I wuz thinkin’ I could run a sort uv flue from the back part uv that alcove out through the front an’ let the smoke pass out. I could cook all right. It wouldn’t be ez good a place fur cookin’ ez the one we hed that time we spent the winter on the island in the lake, but ‘twould serve.”

“It’s strange,” said Henry, “but I’ve been thinking of all the things that all four of you have been thinking about, and, since we are agreed, we are bound to go straight to ‘The Alcove’ and pass the winter there.”

Without another word he led the way, and the others followed. It was apparent to everyone that they must soon find a winter base, because the cold had increased greatly in the last few days. The last leaves had fallen from the trees, and a searching wind howled among the bare branches. Better shelter than blankets would soon be needed.

On their way they passed Oghwaga, a mass of blackened ruins, among which wolves howled, the same spectacle that Wyoming now afforded, although Oghwaga had not been stained by blood.

It was a long journey to “The Alcove,” but they did not hurry, seeing no need of it, although they were warned of the wisdom of their decision by the fact that the cold was increasing. The country in which the lake was situated lay high, and, as all of them were quite sure that the cold was going to be great there, they thought it wise to make preparations against it, which they discussed as they walked in, leisurely fashion through the woods. They spoke, also, of greater things. All felt that they had been drawn into a mightier current than any in which they had swam before. They fully appreciated the importance to the Revolution of this great rearguard struggle, and at present they did not have the remotest idea of returning to Kentucky under any circumstances.

“We’ve got to fight it out with Braxton Wyatt and the Iroquois,” said Henry. “I’ve heard that Braxton is organizing a band of Tories of his own, and that he is likely to be as dangerous as either of the Butlers.”

“Some day we’ll end him for good an’ all,” said Shif’less Sol.

It was four or five days before they reached their alcove, and now all the forest was bare and apparently lifeless. They came down the creek, and found their boat unharmed and untouched still among the foliage at the base of the cliff.

“That’s one thing safe,” said Long Jim, “an’ I guess we’ll find ‘The Alcove’ all right, too.”

“Unless a wild animal has taken up its abode there,” said Paul.

“‘Tain’t likely,” replied Long Jim. “We’ve left the human smell thar, an’ even after all this time it’s likely to drive away any prowlin’ bear or panther that pokes his nose in.”

Long Jim was quite right. Their snug nest, like that of a squirrel in the side of a tree, had not been disturbed. The skins which they had rolled up tightly and placed on the higher shelves of stone were untouched, and several days’ hunting increased the supply. The hunting was singularly easy, and, although the five did not know it, the quantity of game was much greater in that region than it had been for years. It had been swept of human beings by the Iroquois and Tory hordes, and deer, bear, and panther seemed to know instinctively that the woods were once more safe for them.

In their hunting they came upon the ruins of charred houses, and more than once they saw something among the coals that caused them to turn away with a shudder. At every place where man had made a little opening the wilderness was quickly reclaiming its own again. Next year the grass and the foliage would cover up the coals and the hideous relics that lay among them.

They jerked great quantities of venison on the trees on the cliff side, and stored it in “The Alcove.” They also cured some bear meat, and, having added a further lining of skins, they felt prepared for winter. They had also added to the comfort of the place. They had taken the precaution of bringing with them two axes, and with the heads of these they smoothed out more of the rough places on the floor and sides of “The Alcove.” They thought it likely, too, that they would need the axes in other ways later on.

Only once during these arrangements did they pass the trail of Indians, and that was made by a party of about twenty, at least ten miles from “The Alcove.” They seemed to be traveling north, and the five made no investigations. Somewhat later they met a white runner in the forest, and he told them of the terrible massacre of Cherry Valley. Walter Butler, emulating his father’s exploit at Wyoming, had come down with a mixed horde of Iroquois, Tories, British, and Canadians. He had not been wholly successful, but he had slaughtered half a hundred women and children, and was now returning northward with prisoners. Some said, according to the runner, that Thayendanegea had led the Indians on this occasion, but, as the five learned later, he had not come up until the massacre was over. The runner added another piece of information that interested them deeply. Butler had been accompanied to Cherry Valley by a young Tory or renegade named Wyatt, who had distinguished himself by cunning and cruelty. It was said that Wyatt had built up for himself a semi-independent command, and was becoming a great scourge.

“That’s our Braxton,” said Henry. “He is rising to his opportunities. He is likely to become fully the equal of Walter Butler.”

But they could do nothing at present to find Wyatt, and they went somewhat sadly back to “The Alcove.” They had learned also from the runner that Wyatt had a lieutenant, a Tory named Coleman, and this fact increased their belief that Wyatt was undertaking to operate on a large scale.

“We may get a chance at him anyhow,” said Henry. “He and his band may go too far away from the main body of the Indians and Tories, and in that case we can strike a blow if we are watchful.”

Every one of the five, although none of them knew it, received an additional impulse from this news about Braxton Wyatt. He had grown up with them. Loyalty to the king had nothing to do with his becoming a renegade or a Tory; he could not plead lost lands or exile for taking part in such massacres as Wyoming or Cherry Valley, but, long since an ally of the Indians, he was now at the head of a Tory band that murdered and burned from sheer pleasure.

“Some day we’ll get him, as shore as the sun rises an’ sets,” said Shif’less Sol, repeating Henry’s prediction.

But for the present they “holed up,” and now their foresight was justified. To such as they, used to the hardships of forest life, “The Alcove” was a cheery nest. From its door they watched the wild fowl streaming south, pigeons, ducks, and others outlined against the dark, wintry skies. So numerous were these flocks that there was scarcely a time when they did not see one passing toward the warm South.

Shif’less Sol and Paul sat together watching a great flock of wild geese, arrow shaped, and flying at almost incredible speed. A few faint honks came to them, and then the geese grew misty on the horizon. Shif’less Sol followed them with serious eyes.

“Do you ever think, Paul,” he said, “that we human bein’s ain’t so mighty pow’ful ez we think we are. We kin walk on the groun’, an’ by hard learnin’ an’ hard work we kin paddle through the water a little. But jest look at them geese flyin’ a mile high, right over everything, rivers, forests any mountains, makin’ a hundred miles an hour, almost without flappin’ a wing. Then they kin come down on the water an’ float fur hours without bein’ tired, an’ they kin waddle along on the groun’, too. Did you ever hear of any men who had so many ‘complishments? Why, Paul, s’pose you an’ me could grow wings all at once, an’ go through the air a mile a minute fur a month an’ never git tired.”

“We’d certainly see some great sights,” said Paul, “but do you know, Sol, what would be the first thing I’d do if I had the gift of tireless wings?”

“Fly off to them other continents I’ve heard you tell about.”

“No, I’d swoop along over the forests up here until I picked out all the camps of the Indians and Tories. I’d pick out the Butlers and Braxton Wyatt and Coleman, and see what mischief they were planning. Then I’d fly away to the East and look down at all the armies, ours in buff and blue, and the British redcoats. I’d look into the face of our great commander-in-chief. Then I’d fly away back into the West and South, and I’d hover over Wareville. I’d see our own people, every last little one of them. They might take a shot at me, not knowing who I was, but I’d be so high up in the air no bullet could reach me. Then I’d come soaring back here to you fellows.”

“That would shorely be a grand trip, Paul,” said Shif’less Sol, “an’ I wouldn’t mind takin’ it in myself. But fur the present we’d better busy our minds with the warnin’s the wild fowl are givin’ us, though we’re well fixed fur a house already. It’s cu’rus what good homes a handy man kin find in the wilderness.”

The predictions of the wild fowl were true. A few days later heavy clouds rolled up in the southwest, and the five watched them, knowing what they would bring them. They spread to the zenith and then to the other horizon, clothing the whole circle of the earth. The great flakes began to drop down, slowly at first, then faster. Soon all the trees were covered with white, and everything else, too, except the dark surface of the lake, which received the flakes into its bosom as they fell.

It snowed all that day and most of the next, until it lay about two feet on the ground. After that it turned intensely cold, the surface of the snow froze, and ice, nearly a foot thick, covered the lake. It was not possible to travel under such circumstances without artificial help, and now Tom Ross, who had once hunted in the far North, came to their help. He showed them how to make snowshoes, and, although all learned to use them, Henry, with his great strength and peculiar skill, became by far the most expert.

As the snow with its frozen surface lay on the ground for weeks, Henry took many long journeys on the snowshoes. Sometimes be hunted, but oftener his role was that of scout. He cautioned his friends that he might be out-three or four days at a time, and that they need take no alarm about him unless his absence became extremely long. The winter deepened, the snow melted, and another and greater storm came, freezing the surface, again making the snowshoes necessary. Henry decided now to take a scout alone to the northward, and, as the others bad long since grown into the habit of accepting his decisions almost without question, he started at once. He was well equipped with his rifle, double barreled pistol, hatchet, and knife, and he carried in addition a heavy blanket and some jerked venison. He put on his snowshoes at the foot of the cliff, waved a farewell to the four heads thrust from “The Alcove” above, and struck out on the smooth, icy surface of the creek. From this he presently passed into the woods, and for a long time pursued a course almost due north.

It was no vague theory that had drawn Henry forth. In one of his journeyings be had met a hunter who told him of a band of Tories and Indians encamped toward the north, and he had an idea that it was the party led by Braxton Wyatt. Now he meant to see.

His information was very indefinite, and he began to discover signs much earlier than he had expected. Before the end of the first day he saw the traces of other snowshoe runners on the icy snow, and once he came to a place where a deer had been slain and dressed. Then he came to another where the snow had been hollowed out under some pines to make a sleeping place for several men. Clearly he was in the land of the enemy again, and a large and hostile camp might be somewhere near.

Henry felt a thrill of joy when he saw these indications. All the primitive instincts leaped up within him. A child of the forest and of elemental conditions, the warlike instinct was strong within him. He was tired of hunting wild animals, and now there was promise of a’ more dangerous foe. For the purposes that he had in view he was glad that he was alone. The wintry forest, with its two feet of snow covered with ice, contained no terrors for him. He moved on his snowshoes almost like a skater, and with all the dexterity of an Indian of the far North, who is practically born on such shoes.

As he stood upon the brow of a little hill, elevated upon his snowshoes, he was, indeed, a wonderful figure. The added height and the white glare from the ice made him tower like a great giant. He was clad completely in soft, warm deerskin, his hands were gloved in the same material, and the fur cap was drawn tightly about his head and ears. The slender-barreled rifle lay across his shoulder, and the blanket and deer meat made a light package on his back. Only his face was uncovered, and that was rosy with the sharp but bracing cold. But the resolute blue eyes seemed to have grown more resolute in the last six months, and the firm jaw was firmer than ever.

It was a steely blue sky, clear, hard, and cold, fitted to the earth of snow and ice that it inclosed. His eyes traveled the circle of the horizon three times, and at the end of the third circle he made out a dim, dark thread against that sheet of blue steel. It was the light of a camp fire, and that camp fire must belong to an enemy. It was not likely that anybody else would be sending forth such a signal in this wintry wilderness.

Henry judged that the fire was several miles away, and apparently in a small valley hemmed in by hills of moderate height. He made up his mind that the band of Braxton Wyatt was there, and he intended to make a thorough scout about it. He advanced until the smoke line became much thicker and broader, and then he stopped in the densest clump of bushes that he could find. He meant to remain there until darkness came, because, with all foliage gone from the forest, it would be impossible to examine the hostile camp by day. The bushes, despite the lack of leaves, were so dense that they hid him well, and, breaking through the crust of ice, he dug a hole. Then, having taken off his snowshoes and wrapped his blanket about his body, he thrust himself into the hole exactly like a rabbit in its burrow. He laid his shoes on the crust of ice beside him. Of course, if found there by a large party of warriors on snowshoes he would have no chance to flee, but he was willing to take what seemed to him a small risk. The dark would not be long in coming, and it was snug and warm in the hole. As he sat, his head rose just above the surrounding ice, but his rifle barrel rose much higher. He ate a little venison for supper, and the weariness in the ankles that comes from long traveling on snowshoes disappeared.