CHAPTER XVI.
OUT-DOORS ON A DARK NIGHT.
In the meantime Jo Stinger, the veteran frontiersman, had not foundthe "plain sailing" which he anticipated.
It will be remembered that he passed out upon the clearing in front ofthe block-house, because he feared that, if he entered the yardinclosed by the stockade, he would find himself among the Wyandots,who would be quick to detect his identity.
His presence immediately in front of the structure would also drawattention to himself, and he therefore glided away until he was fullya hundred feet distant, when he paused close to the western pickets.
Looking behind him, he could not see the outlines of the buildingwhich he had just left. For the sake of safety Colonel Preston allowedno light burning within the block-house, which itself was like a solidbank of darkness.
"It would be easy enough now for me to make my way to Wild Oaks,"reflected Stinger; "for, when the night is like this, three hundredIndians could not surround the old place close enough to catch any onecrawling through. But it is no use for me to strike out for the Ohionow, for the boys could not get here soon enough to affect the resultone way or the other. Long before that the varmints will wind up thisbus'ness, either by going away, or by cleaning out the whole concern."
Jo Stinger unquestionably was right in this conclusion, but hepossessed a strong faith that Colonel Preston and the rest of them inthe block-house would be able to pull through, if they displayed thevigilance and care which it was easy to display: this faith explainshow it was the frontiersman had ventured upon what was, beyond alldoubt, a most perilous enterprise.
Jo, from some cause or other which he could not explain, suspected theWyandots were collecting near the well, and he began working his wayin that direction.
It was unnecessary to scale the stockade, and he therefore moved alongthe western side, until he reached the angle, when he turned to theright and felt his way parallel with the northern line of pickets.
Up to this time he had not caught sight or sound to show that anIndian was within a mile of him. The fine particles of snow madethemselves manifest only by the icy, needle-like points which touchedhis face and hands, as he groped along. He carried his faithful riflein his left hand, and his right rested on the haft of his longhunting-knife at his waist. His head was thrust forward, while hepeered to the right and left, advancing with as much care as if hewere entering a hostile camp on a moonlight night, when theoverturning of a leaf is enough to awaken a score of sleeping red men.
A moment after passing the corner of the stockade something touchedhis elbow. He knew on the instant that it was one of the Wyandots. Inthe darkness they had come thus close without either suspecting thepresence of the other.
"Hooh! my brother is like Deerfoot, the dog of a Shawanoe."
This was uttered in the Wyandot tongue, and the scout understood thewords, but he did not dare reply. He could not speak well enough todeceive the warrior, who evidently supposed he was one of his ownpeople.
But there was the single exclamation which he could imitate toperfection, and he did so as he drew his knife.
"Hooh!" he responded, moving on without the slightest halt. Theresponse seemed satisfactory to the Wyandot, but could Jo have seenthe actions of the Indian immediately after, he would have feltanything but secure on that point.
The brave stood a minute or so, looking in the direction taken by theother, and then, as if suspicious that all was not what it seemed, hefollowed after the figure which had vanished so quickly.
"I would give a good deal if I but knowed what he meant by speaking ofDeerfoot as he did," said Jo to himself, "but I didn't dare ask him togive the partic'lars. I make no doubt they've catched the Shawanoe andscalped him long ago."
Remembering the openings which he had seen in the stockade before thedarkness became so intense, Jo reached out his right hand and run italong the pickets, so as not to miss them.
He had gone only a little way, when his touch revealed the spot wherea couple had been removed, and there was room for him to force hisbody through.
Jo was of a spare figure, and, with little difficulty, he entered thespace inclosed by the stockade. He now knew his surroundings andbearings, as well as though it were high noon, and began making hisway with great stealth in the direction of the well standing near themiddle of the yard.
While he was doing this, the Wyandot with whom he had exchangedsalutations was stealing after him: it was the old case of the huntergoing to hunt the tiger, and soon finding the tiger was hunting him.
The task of the Wyandot, however, for the time, was a more delicateone than was the white man's, for the dusky pursuer had lost sight ofhis foe (if indeed it can be said he had ever caught a view of him),instantly after the brief salutation between them.
The warrior, when he reached the first opening in the stockade, had nomeans of knowing that the pale-face had passed through. Had therebeen any daylight to aid his vision, he could have learned the truthat once; but if there had been daylight, there could have been no suchnecessity, inasmuch as Jo Stinger would have stayed in theblock-house.
The fact that he could not trace the daring scout with any certainty,did not deprive the Wyandot of the ability to do something for himselfand companions.
When Jo Stinger passed within the stockade, he fixed the direction inwhich lay the well, and then began advancing toward it. The result ofthis venture proved again, how often the most careful preparation isdefeated by some simple obstruction against which a child ought tohave guarded.
"I must be pretty near the spot," thought Jo, when he had gropedvaguely for some distance; "I can't imagine what the varmints can bedoin' here, but they've got some plan on foot which I'm bound----"
At this instant, with a shock which made his hair fairly rise on end,he stepped directly into the well and went down!
The rickety inclosure of slabs, with the crank and windlass, had beenremoved by the Wyandots, so that in case any of the garrison venturedout, under cover of darkness, to get water, they would be unable to doso.
The theft of the curb, bucket, and appliances, shut off the supplyfrom that source as utterly as though it had never existed. And yet,not a single member of the garrison, knowing as they did that theWyandots were carrying out some design, suspected what their realpurpose was.
Providence alone saved Jo Stinger from an ignominious end, for had hegone to the bottom of the well, the Indians could not have failed todiscover it, and they would have carried out their own will concerninghim.
But the life of peril which Jo had led so many years, greatlydeveloped a certain readiness and presence of mind natural to him; butit was probably the instinctive desire to catch himself, which led himon the instant to place the gun in his left hand in a horizontalposition. The diameter of the well was much less than the length ofthe old-fashioned flint-lock rifle; and thus it came about that muzzleand stock caught firmly, and Jo was suspended in the middle of theopening by one hand. Hastily shoving his knife back in his girdle, heseized the barrel with both hands and easily drew himself from hisdangerous position. Then he took out his knife again and indulged inan expression of opinion concerning his performances of the lasttwenty-four hours.
This opinion it is not necessary to place on record: the reader neednot be told that it was the reverse of complimentary, and that itwould have hardly been safe for any one else to repeat the samevigorous comments in the presence of Jo himself.
He was not without gratitude for his delivery from the consequences ofhis own carelessness, but he was exasperated beyond expression by thestupidity which had seemed to brood over the counsels of the garrisonfrom the first and to direct everything done.
While a prey to this gnawing chagrin, he suddenly became aware thatone of the Wyandots was at his elbow again.
"My brother treads like the shadows of the clouds which sweep over theforest: there is no sound, and he glides----"
"This is his style of gliding," interrupted Jo Stinger, who was
in amost dangerous mood, as he bounded like a panther toward him.
The grapple was short and terrific: there was one wild piercing shriekfrom the dusky foeman, and then it was all over. Jo hurried from thespot, for he knew others would be there in a few seconds, and theywould be quick to detect or at least to surmise the truth.
He hastened back over the path by which he had approached the well,passing through the same opening that had admitted him. Then, with aview of avoiding any one who might be using the same route, he moved arod or two away from the stockade, turning the corner nearly as beforeand starting on his return to the block-house.
Jo's belief was that he could accomplish nothing more by stayingoutside the building. He had learned that about the well which heought to have known long before, and the Wyandots had alreadyascertained that one of the garrison, or possibly some friend fromanother point, was on the outside. They would take precaution againsthis entering the block-house, and doubtless would exert themselves todetect and slay him.
He felt therefore that it would not do to delay his return. He did notdo so, and yet, quick as he was, he made the discovery after all thathe was just too late. Approaching the door of the building withextreme caution, it did not take him long to learn that the Wyandotswere there before him.
He withdrew with the same care, and continued stealing some distancefurther in a southern direction, finally halting close to the cabinfrom which the Wyandots had issued when they interfered with theflight of Blossom Brown and Ned Preston across the clearing.
Jo felt the situation was becoming serious. He had not thought ofanything like this, and he had made no arrangement for a system ofsignals to meet the difficulty. Colonel Preston would detect his low,tremulous whistle, by which the scout was accustomed to make known hispresence on the outside and his desire to enter; but there was nomeans of apprising the Colonel of the alarming fact that a number ofIndians were waiting in the darkness to take his place.
Had Jo thought of all this beforehand, there would have been no suchstartling occurrence at the door, as has been described.
He did not believe it probable the Wyandots would emit any signalswhich would deceive Colonel Preston into the belief that it was afriend and not an enemy who was asking admission into the station.
While the pioneer stood aloof in the darkness, debating and askinghimself what was best to do, his keen vision was able to mark theshape of something which puzzled him only for the moment. It was aparallelogram of a faint yellow glow only a short distance in front ofhim.
"That comes from a light in the cabin, where them varmints have beenloafing ever since the rumpus yesterday morning."
Jo was right in this supposition: he had approached the dwelling,wherein were several Wyandots who had a fire burning on the hearth.The yellow reflection showing through one of the side-windows led Joto detect its meaning with scarce a moment's hesitation.
As yet he had succeeded in learning nothing of importance, for no onewould attempt to draw any water from the well during the night, andif the block-house should remain on its foundations until morning,every one of the garrison could see for himself that the supply was nolonger available.
What secret might not the old cabin give up to him? Was it not therethat he should seek the key to the problem which had baffled him thusfar?
These and similar questions Jo Stinger put to himself, as he advancedtoward the structure wherein he was certain to find more than oneWyandot.
As his approach was from the side instead of the front, as it may becalled (by which is meant that part of the cabin which faced theblock-house itself), the red men within had taken no precautionsagainst observation from that direction.
While Jo was yet ten feet from the window, he gained a view of theinterior that showed everything in the room, with whose contour he wasfamiliar. The sight which met his gaze was a most interesting oneindeed.
There were three Indians seated, cross-legged like Turks, on thefloor, smoking their pipes, while they talked earnestly together. Oneof these, from his dress and manner, Jo knew was the chief or leaderof the war party. It was, in fact, Waughtauk who was holding aconsultation with his two lieutenants, if they may be termed such, onthe "conduct of the war."
Jo Stinger had no doubt that such was their occupation, and he wascertain that, if he could overhear their words, he was likely togather the very information he was seeking.
As we have already intimated, he understood the Wyandot tongue, and hewas eager to catch the expressions, especially those which fell fromthe lips of the chief himself.
"The pale-faces will come from the Ohio," were the first words whichStinger was able to hear, and they were uttered by Waughtauk himself;"if we wait until to-morrow, they will be here before nightfall."
This implied rather rapid traveling on the part of the party of rescuefrom Wild Oaks, and it was more than likely that the chief, with aview of adding force to his remarks, exaggerated matters to a certainextent.
"One of the Yenghese is abroad to-night," said the warrior next thechief. As he spoke, he took his pipe from his mouth and used it ingesticulating; "he has slain one of our braves."
"He shall die for his offence, as all the Yenghese shall die," repliedthe chieftain, in a voice so loud that the listener could have caughthis meaning had he been a rod further away. "None of them shall seethe sun rise again. They shall be burned in the block-house, which hasencumbered our hunting-grounds too long."
This threat was only what might have been expected, but Waughtauk thenext minute imparted the very tidings which Jo Stinger sought, and forthe sake of which he had risked so much.
"The wind blows strong; the Great Spirit will soon fan the fire into ablaze, and will carry it from this cabin to the block-house."
There it was!
The whole scheme was laid bare to the scout in the last sentencespoken by the Wyandot chieftain. The wind was setting in strongly fromthe south, that is, from the building in which the three warriorsgathered, directly toward the block-house.
Should the former be fired, the probability was the gale would carrythe sparks to the other and set that in a blaze, in which event therewould be scarcely an earthly hope left for a single one of theinmates.
Jo had heard enough, and his wish now was to get back to his friendswith the least possible delay, that they might make preparationagainst the assault that could not be postponed much longer.
Knowing the superstition of the American Indian, the scout nowresorted to an artifice as daring as it was startling. Although a mantrained in border-warfare, accustomed to the frightful cruelties ofthe aborigines, and knowing the fierce purposes of the Wyandotssurrounding Fort Bridgman, he could not bring himself to the point ofdeliberately shooting down one or more of the conspirators, who, inpoint of fact, were at his mercy.
Many a brave hunter or pioneer, placed in his situation, would haveseized the opportunity to shoot the chieftain himself while sitting inthe cabin, unsuspicious of his danger; but Jo Stinger was not of sucha disposition.
JOE STINGER PUTS IN AN APPEARANCE.]
Raising his long rifle to his shoulder, he pointed it straight atWaughtauk, and then advanced until the muzzle was thrust throughthe window, while he himself stood no more than a foot outside.
At that instant one of the warriors reached down and stirred theblazing sticks of wood burning on the hearth. The flames leapedhigher, filling the room with a warm ruddy glow. A slight noise causedthe three Wyandots to turn their heads toward the open window, whenthey saw a sight which held them spell-bound.
A tall spare man, in the garb of a hunter, stood with his deadly riflepointed straight at them, and the muzzle was not twelve feet distantfrom the head of Waughtauk the chief.
Looking along the barrel, pointing like the finger of fate at theWyandot leader, the bony fingers of the left hand were seen graspingthe dark iron, while the right hand, crooked at the elbow, encompassedthe trigger-guard, and the forefinger was gently pressing the trigger.The hammer clutchi
ng the yellow flint was drawn far back, like the jawof a rattlesnake when about to bury its fangs in its victim, and justbehind that the single open eye of the hunter himself seemed to beagleam with a fire that was likely to ignite the powder in the pan,without the flash of the quartz.
The coonskin cap, the grizzly whiskers, the rough garments werefrosted with tiny snowflakes which glistened and glinted in thefire-light like points of burnished silver. The figure was asmotionless as were the three Wyandots, who could only stare at whatmust have seemed an apparition from the other world. As they gazed,the figure spoke in a slow sepulchral voice--
"Let the Wyandot chieftain and his warriors go back to their squawsand pappooses, for the pale-face is hurrying through the forest toburn his lodges and to make captive his children! The Great Spiritcommands that the Wyandots shall go."
Having uttered these extraordinary words, Jo Stinger took severalsteps backward, without moving a muscle of the upper portion of hisbody, so silently and imperceptibly that he seemed to dissolve in thesurrounding darkness.
The moment after, Waughtauk uttered a cry of such distress that theWyandots in the immediate neighborhood heard it and hurried to him.Stinger was quick to perceive his chance, and hurrying to the door ofthe block-house, he rapped so sharply on it that the listening ColonelPreston hurried down the ladder and approached the entrance.
"Who's there?" asked the commandant, in a guarded voice.
"Me--Jo; it's all right; quick, let me in afore the varmints getback!"
There was no mistaking the voice, and Colonel Preston removed thefastenings with a nervous haste, which did not leave him until hisfriend was inside, and the bars were replaced in their sockets.
He then grasped the hand of Jo and shook it warmly, for the relief ofall over the return of the invaluable scout was beyond expression.They hurriedly went up the ladder, where all, including Mrs. Preston,who declared she could sleep no more that night, listened to thestirring story which Jo had to tell. His auditors fairly held theirbreath when he drew the picture of himself standing at the window ofthe cabin, with his rifle pointed at the Wyandot chief, and commandinghim in the name of the Great Spirit to hasten to protect his ownlodges from the invading white man.
"You gave him such a fright that he may strike his tents and leave,"suggested Colonel Preston.
"No," said Jo; "such things have been done, and Simon Kenton onceplayed the trick so well that he kept a party of Delawares frommassacreing a white family going down the Ohio, but Kenton had a muchbetter show than me."
"It seems to me, Jo, you had everything in your favor," said Megill,who, like all the others, was deeply interested in the narrative ofthe hunter.
"There's just the trouble; the chief and his men were scared out oftheir moccasins for a minute or so, and if it had happened that Ihadn't showed myself afore, and the Wyandots didn't know I wasoutside, the scare might have amounted to something; but when theother warriors come around the chief, and he learns what has tookplace--if he didn't know it all before--he'll see that the whole thingwas a trick, and he will be madder than ever. I think he'll open themusic agin very soon."
"If he fires the cabin," said Colonel Preston, "it will be apt to makeit pretty warm in here, for the wind does come from that direction,and I wish the thing didn't stand quite so near us as it does. But thesides of the block-house are not so dry as the roof, and I hope we canstand more heat from _that_ source than the Wyandots think."
"We have considerable water left," said Jo, "and we must take mightygood care that none of it is wasted."
"Did you find the tomahawk in the door?" asked Ned.
"I felt for it, but it was gone."
The prospects were discussed in low, earnest tones, while every onewas in a fever of expectancy. There was constant peeping through theloopholes, and the occasional whistling and whooping were accepted assignals to open the last decisive attack.
Jo Stinger was moving about in this manner, doing what he could tocheer his friends, when some one caught his elbow.
"Who is it?" he asked, stopping short.
"It is I, Ned Preston," replied the boy; "I want to ask you aquestion."
"Well, younker, what is it?" said the hunter in a kindly manner, andlowering his voice, so that the others could not overhear them.
"I wanted to ask you whether you learned anything about Deerfoot, whenyou were out."
"Nothing partic'lar; I heard his name mentioned by that varmint thatrun against me, after I didn't fall into the well."
"How was it?"
Jo related the incident in which he was compared to the youngShawanoe.
"What do you think about it, Jo?"
"Well, of course none of us knows anything for sartin,--but it's myopinion--since you ax it--that Deerfoot has slid under for good."
"I am afraid so," said Ned Preston faintly. "Poor Deerfoot!"
Ned in the Block-House: A Tale of Early Days in the West Page 16