Erskine Dale—Pioneer

by John Fox

  XXVII

  On the summit of Cumberland Gap Erskine Dale faced Firefly to the eastand looked his last on the forests that swept unbroken back to the riverJames. It was all over for him back there and he turned to the wilderdepths, those endless leagues of shadowy woodlands, that he would neverleave again. Before him was one vast forest. The trees ran frommountain-crest to river-bed, they filled valley and rolling plain, andswept on in sombre and melancholy wastes to the Mississippi. Around himwere birches, pines, hemlocks, and balsam firs. He dropped down intosolemn, mysterious depths filled with oaks, chestnuts, hickories,maples, beeches, walnuts, and gigantic poplars. The sun could notpenetrate the leafy-roofed archway of that desolate world. The tops ofthe mighty trees merged overhead in a mass of tent-like foliage and thespaces between the trunks were choked with underbrush. And he rode onand on through the gray aisles of the forest in a dim light that waslike twilight at high noon.

  At Boonesborough he learned from the old ferryman that, while the warmight be coming to an end in Virginia, it was raging worse than ever inKentucky. There had been bloody Indian forays, bloody white reprisals,fierce private wars, and even then the whole border was in a flame.Forts had been pushed westward even beyond Lexington, and 1782 had beenKentucky's year of blood. Erskine pushed on, and ever grew hishopelessness. The British had drawn all the savages of the Northwestinto the war. As soon as the snow was off the ground the forays hadbegun. Horses were stolen, cabins burned, and women and children werecarried off captive. The pioneers had been confined to their stockadedforts, and only small bands of riflemen sallied out to patrol thecountry. Old Jerome Sanders's fort was deserted. Old Jerome had beenkilled. Twenty-three widows were at Harrodsburg filing the claims ofdead husbands, and among them were Polly Conrad and Honor Sanders. Thepeople were expecting an attack in great force from the Indians led bythe British. At the Blue Licks there had been a successful ambush by theIndians and the whites had lost half their number, among them many bravemen and natural leaders of the settlements. Captain Clark was at themouth of Licking River and about to set out on an expedition and neededmen.

  Erskine, sure of a welcome, joined him and again rode forth with Clarkthrough the northern wilderness, and this time a thousand mountedriflemen followed them. Clark had been stirred at last from his lethargyby the tragedy of the Blue Licks and this expedition was one of reprisaland revenge; and it was to be the last. The time was autumn and the cornwas ripe. The triumphant savages rested in their villages unsuspectingand unafraid, and Clark fell upon them like a whirl-wind. Taken bysurprise, and startled and dismayed by such evidence of the quickrebirth of power in the beaten whites, the Indians of every village fledat their approach, and Clark put the torch not only to cabin and wigwambut to the fields of standing corn. As winter was coming on, this wouldbe a sad blow, as Clark intended, to the savages.

  Erskine had told the big chief of his mother, and every man knew thestory and was on guard that she should come to no harm. A capturedShawnee told them that the Shawnees had got word that the whites werecoming, and their women and old men had fled or were fleeing, all,except in a village he had just left--he paused and pointed toward theeast where a few wisps of smoke were rising. Erskine turned: "Do youknow Kahtoo?"

  "He is in that village."

  Erskine hesitated: "And the white woman--Gray Dove?"

  "She, too, is there."

  "And Early Morn?"

  "Yes," grunted the savage.

  "What does he say?" asked Clark.

  "There is a white woman and her daughter in a village, there," saidErskine, pointing in the direction of the smoke.

  Clark's voice was announcing the fact to his men. Hastily he selectedtwenty. "See that no harm comes to them," he cried, and dashed forward.Erskine in advance saw Black Wolf and a few bucks covering the retreatof some fleeing women. They made a feeble resistance of a volley andthey too turned to flee. A white woman emerged from a tent and withgreat dignity stood, peering with dim eyes. To Clark's amazement Erskinerushed forward and took her in his arms. A moment later Erskine cried:

  "My sister, where is she?"

  The white woman's trembling lips opened, but before she could answer, aharsh, angry voice broke in haughtily, and Erskine turned to see BlackWolf stalking in, a prisoner between two stalwart woodsmen.

  "Early Morn is Black Wolf's squaw. She is gone--" He waved one handtoward the forest.

  The insolence of the savage angered Clark, and not understanding what hesaid, he asked angrily:

  "Who is this fellow?"

  "He is the husband of my half-sister," answered Erskine gravely.

  Clark looked dazed and uncomprehending:

  "And that woman?"

  "My mother," said Erskine gently.

  "Good God!" breathed Clark. He turned quickly and waved the open-mouthedwoodsmen away, and Erskine and his mother were left alone. A feeblevoice called from a tent near by.

  "Old Kahtoo!" said Erskine's mother. "He is dying and he talks ofnothing but you--go to him!" And Erskine went. The old man lay tremblingwith palsy on a buffalo-robe, but the incredible spirit in his wastedbody was still burning in his eyes.

  "My son," said he, "I knew your voice. I said I should not die until Ihad seen you again. It is well ... it is well," he repeated, and wearilyhis eyes closed. And thus Erskine knew it would be.

  XXVIII

  That winter Erskine made his clearing on the land that Dave Yandell hadpicked out for him, and in the centre of it threw up a rude log hut inwhich to house his mother, for his remembrance of her made him believethat she would prefer to live alone. He told his plans to none.

  In the early spring, when he brought his mother home, she said thatBlack Wolf had escaped and gone farther into the wilderness--that EarlyMorn had gone with him. His mother seemed ill and unhappy. Erskine, notknowing that Barbara was on her way to find him, started on ahunting-trip. In a few days Barbara arrived and found his mother unableto leave her bed, and Lydia Noe sitting beside her. Harry had just beenthere to say good-by before going to Virginia.

  To his bewilderment he found Barbara at his mother'sbedside]

  Barbara was dismayed by Erskine's absence and his mother's look ofsuffering and extreme weakness, and the touch of her cold fingers. Therewas no way of reaching her son, she said--he did not know of her illness.Barbara told her of Erskine's giving her his inheritance, and that shehad come to return it. Meanwhile Erskine, haunted by his mother's sadface, had turned homeward. To his bewilderment, he found Barbara at hismother's bedside. A glance at their faces told him that death was near.His mother held out her hand to him while still holding Barbara's. As ina dream, he bent over to kiss her, and with a last effort she joinedtheir hands, clasping both. A great peace transformed her face as sheslowly looked at Barbara and then up at Erskine. With a sigh her headsank lower, and her lovely dimming eyes passed into the final dark.

  Two days later they were married. The woodsmen, old friends ofErskine's, were awed by Barbara's daintiness, and there were none of therude jests they usually flung back and forth. With hearty handshakesthey said good-by and disappeared into the mighty forest. In the silencethat fell, Erskine spoke of the life before them, of its hardships anddangers, and then of the safety and comfort of Virginia. Barbara smiled:

  "You choose the wilderness, and your choice is mine. We will leave thesame choice...." She flushed suddenly and bent her head.

  "To those who come after us," finished Erskine.

  The End.