CHAPTER VII
LOST SISTER
Patsy stood in the doorway of the Davis cabin when I approached to pay myrespects. She was wearing a linsey petticoat and a short gown for anoverskirt. Her mass of wonderful hair was partly confined by a calico cap,and on her feet were my gift moccasins. She believed she was conforming tothe frontier standard of dress, but she was as much out of place as abutterfly at a bear-baiting. Before I could speak she was advancing towardme, her hands on her hips, her head tilted back, and demanding:
"What do you say now about the influence of trade and the trader?"
She did not ask that she might learn my opinion; she firmly believed therewas but one thing I could say. She was in an exultant mood and happy toparade her triumph. Of course she was proud of her father and was viewinghim as the deliverer of the settlement. Without waiting for me to answershe excitedly continued:
"And your long rifle! And the rifles of all these other men! What goodwould they have done? They spoke night before last, and the Indians keptup their attack. Then my father spoke and the Indians have gone! JohnWard, who was out scouting when the Indians attacked, says they greatlyoutnumbered us and were led by Black Hoof, one of their greatest chiefs.He says they would have captured or killed us if not for my father. Now,Mr. Rifleman, what do you think about the influence of an honest trader?"
I would not have shaken her pride in her father even had thataccomplishment been possible. To convince her--which was notpossible--that her father's success was no success at all, that BlackHoof's behavior was simply an Indian trick to lull us into a foolish senseof security, would mean to alienate even her friendship, let alone killingall chance of her ever reciprocating my love.
While not deeply experienced with women, my instinct early taught me thatmy sex is most unwise in proving to a woman that she is wrong. She willhold such procedure to be the man's greatest fault. It is far better tolet her discover her own errors, and even then pretend you still cling toher first reasoning, thereby permitting her to convince you that she waswrong.
On the other hand there was, I sensed, a peril in the situation, a perilto Howard's Creek, that made my seeming acquiescence in her opinion verydistasteful to me. I had no proof of my suspicions except my knowledge ofIndian nature and my familiarity with frontier history. A red man can becapable of great and lasting friendships. But to judge him, when he is atwar, by the standards of the white race is worse than foolish.
Cornstalk, according to his blood, was a great man. Under certainconditions I would trust him with my life as implicitly as I would trustany white man. Under certain conditions I would repose this same trust inhim although he was at war with my race. But when placed among thecombatants opposing him, I knew there was no subterfuge even that greatwarrior would not use to attain success.
So I said nothing of my doubts, nothing of my vague suspicions concerningJohn Ward. I felt a strong antipathy toward the fellow, and I realizedthis dislike might prejudice me to a degree not warranted by the facts. Toput it mildly, his status puzzled me. If he were an escaped prisoner thenhe had committed one of the gravest sins in the red man's entirecategory.
To be taken into the tribe, to be adopted after his white blood had beenwashed out by solemn ceremony, and then to run away, meant the stake andhorrible preliminary tortures should he be recaptured. As a prize such arunaway would be more eagerly sought than any settler. And yet the fellowwas back on the fringe of imminent danger and ranging the woodsunconcernedly. His captivity must have taught him that every war-partywould be instructed to bring him in alive if possible.
"What's the matter with you, Basdel?" demanded the girl sharply as sheturned and walked by my side toward the Davis cabin. "You act queer. Doyou begrudge giving my father his due? Aren't you thankful he was here tostop the attack?"
"If he were here alone, yes. But I am terribly worried because you arehere, Patsy."
"But that's doubting my father's influence!" she rebuked, her eyeslighting war-signals.
"When one has loved, one stops reasoning," I quickly defended. "I can notbear to see even a shadow of a chance of harm come to you."
"That was said very pretty," she smiled, her gaze all softness.
Then with calm pride she unfastened several strings of white wampum fromaround her slender waist and holding them up simply said:
"My father's belts."
Among the strings was a strip some seven or eight rows in width and twohundred beads long. It was pictographic and showed a man leading apack-horse along a white road to a wigwam. The figures, like the road,were worked in white beads, the background being dark for contrast.
Refastening them about her waist, she said:
"There is no danger for me here so long as I wear my father's belts. Thereare none of the Ohio Indians who would refuse to accept them and respectthem. When they see the Pack-Horse-Man walking along the white road totheir villages they will lift that belt up very high."
"When one sees you, there should be no need of belts," I ventured.
She smiled graciously and lightly patted my fringed sleeve, and ignoringmy fervid declaration, she gently reminded:
"Even if I had no belts I am no better than any of the other women on thecreek. Don't think for a moment I would hide behind my father's tradewampum. The belts must protect all of us, or none of us. But there is nomore danger for me than there is for them even if I threw the belts away.Not so much; because I am Ericus Dale's daughter. Basdel, it makes meunhappy to fear that when we leave here the danger may return to thesepeople. I carry my safety with me. I wish I could leave it for them. Iwish a general and lasting peace could be made."
"God knows I wish the same," I cried. "As for being no better than theseother women, I agree to that." And she became suddenly thoughtful. "Injudging from a Howard's Creek standpoint you are not so good in many ways.Rather, I should say, not so valuable."
"You measure a woman's value as you do your guns and horses," shemurmured.
Her calmness was rather ominous, and I feared I had bungled. Yet mymeaning should have been transparent even to a child. To make sure she hadnot misconstrued me I explained:
"You know what I mean, no matter how I appear to measure you. In making anew country a woman on the edge of things must have certain qualities thatthe town woman does not possess, does not need to possess. It's because ofthese qualities that the new country becomes possible as a place to livein; then the town woman develops. Two hundred miles east are conditionsthat resulted from the rugged qualities of the first women on the firstfrontier.
"Those first women helped to make it safe for their children's children.Now it's behind the frontier and women of your kind live there. In otherwords"--I was growing a trifle desperate, for her gaze, while persistent,was rather blank--"you don't fit in out here. I doubt if you know how torun bullets or load a gun or throw an ax. I'm sure you'd find it verydisagreeable to go barefooted. It isn't your place. Your values shine whenyou are back in town. That's why I'm sorry you're here."
"I haven't shot a rifle, but I could learn," she quietly remarked.
"I believe that," I heartily agreed. "But could you take an ax and standbetween a drove of children and what you believed to be a band of Indiansabout to break from cover and begin their work of killing? I saw the WidowMcCabe do that. I saw the little Moulton woman, armed with an ax, run tomeet the attack."
"It's hardly sensible to ask if I could have done this or that. Who knowswhat I could have done? I shall never have to deal with what is past. Andthere was a time, I suppose, when all these women were new to thefrontier. At least I should be allowed time to learn certain things beforeyou apply your measuring-rod, sir!"
"That's right," I admitted. "I was rather unjust, but the fact remainsthat just now you are out of place and not used to this life and itsdangers."
"I feel very cross at you. You pass over my father's great work for thesettlement with scarcely a word. You complain because I am here and lookdifferent from Mrs. Davis. I c
an't help my looks."
"You are adorable. Already see the havoc you've wrought among theunmarried men. Observe how many times each finds an errand that takes himby this cabin door. How slow they are to scout the woods and seek signs.No; you can't help your looks, and it results there are few men who canresist loving you. There's not a youngster in this settlement who's not upto his neck in love with you already. And there's not one of them who doesnot realize that you would be the poorest mate he could pick so long as hemust live on the border."
"I'm glad to hear just what you believe about me," she muttered. "Butyou're bewildering. It seems I'm a rare prize for any man and a mostuncomfortable burden."
"Oh, dash it all, Patsy! You understand that what I've said applies toHoward's Creek. If we were standing two hundred miles due east I shouldsay directly the opposite."
Of course she understood my true meaning, and of course in her heart sheagreed with it. She was town-bred and therefore was intended for the town.Yet so strangely stubborn and eccentric is a woman's reasoning that shecan feel resentment toward a man because he has brains enough tocomprehend the same simple truth that she comprehends.
Had there been no danger from the Indians I could have scored a bull's-eyewith her by baldly declaring her to be the most valuable asset thefrontier ever had received; and she would have dimpled and smiled and butfaintly demurred, knowing I was a rock-ribbed liar for asserting it, andyet liking me the more for the ridiculous exaggeration. That is one reasonwhy it is more sensible and much more satisfactory to quarrel with a manthan a woman.
With the tenacity which her sex displays when believing a male is tryingto avoid some issue, she coldly reminded:
"Talk, talk, but not a word yet as to what my father did two nights ago."
"It was one of the most splendid exhibitions of faith and moral courage Iever witnessed."
Her gaze grew kindly again and she halted and stared up into my eyes,flushed with pleasure, and waited to hear more encomiums.
"I never before saw one man rush out and confront a war-party. Then hisgoing out alone last night and prowling about through the dark forest!That was magnificent. Your father is one of the bravest men I ever saw."
She rubbed a pink finger against her nose and tilted her head and weighedmy words thoughtfully. Obviously I had omitted something; for with alittle frown worrying her fair forehead she began:
"But--but there's something else you haven't said. What about hisinfluence over the Indians? You thought him foolish to take me over themountains. You now admit you were foolish to think that?"
She was waiting for me to complete my confessional. If the element ofdanger had been absent how gladly I would have lied to her! How quickly Iwould have won her approval by proclaiming myself the greatest dolt inVirginia and her father the wisest man in the world! But to accede toeverything she said and believed would be an endorsement of her presenceon the creek. I had had no idea of ousting myself from her good graceswhen I went to find her that morning. Now the test had come, and herwelfare was involved; to be true to her as well as to myself I was forcedto say:
"I still think it was most dangerous for you to come here. I believe yourfather acted very unwisely, no matter how much be believes in hisinfluence over the Indians. And I would thank God if you were back inWilliamsburg."
Her hands dropped to her side. The smiling eyes grew hard.
"Go on!" she curtly commanded.
"I've damned myself in your opinion already. Isn't that enough? Don't makeme pay double for being honest."
"Honest?" she jeered. "You've deliberately dodged my question. I asked youwhat you thought of my father's power with the Indians. You rant about hiswickedness in bringing me here. For the last time I ask you to answer myquestion and finish your list of my father's faults."
As if to make more steep the precipice down which from her esteem I wasabout to plunge there came the voice of her father, loudly addressing thesettlers.
"You people ought to wake up," he was saying. "Was it your rifles, or wasit trade that stopped an attack on these cabins night before last? Whenwill you learn that you can not stop Indian wars until you've killed everyIndian this side the mountains? Has there ever been a time when you oryour fathers could stop their raids with rifles? Well, you've seen oneraid stopped by the influence of trade."
As he paused for breath the girl quietly said:
"Now, answer me."
And I blurted out:
"I don't have any idea that Black Hoof and his warriors will hesitate asecond in sacking Howard's Creek because of anything your father has saidor could say. I honestly believe the Shawnees are playing a game, thatthey are hoping the settlers are silly enough to think themselves safe. Iam convinced that once Black Hoof believes the settlers are in that frameof mind he will return and strike just as venomously as the Shawneesstruck in the old French War and in Pontiac's War, after feasting with thewhites and making them believe the red man was their friend."
She straightened and drew a deep breath, and in a low voice said:
"At last you've answered me. Now go!"
I withdrew from the cabin and from the group of men. Dale's heavy voicewas doubly hateful in my ears. The settlement was a small place. Patsy haddismissed me, and there was scarcely room for me without my presencegiving her annoyance. I went to the cabin where I had left my fewbelongings and filled my powder-horn and shot-pouch. I renewed my stock offlints and added to my roll of buckskins, not forgetting a fresh supply of"whangs" for sewing my moccasins. While thus engaged Uncle Dick came inand began sharpening his knife at the fireplace.
"Why do that?" I morosely asked. "You are safe from Indian attacks now thetrader has told the Shawnees you are under his protection."
He leered at me cunningly and ran his thumb along the edge of the knifeand muttered:
"If some o' th' varmints will only git within strikin'-distance! They sureran away night before last, but how far did they go? Dale seems to have apert amount o' authority over 'em; but how long's he goin' to stay here?He can't go trapezin' up 'n' down these valleys and keep men 'n' womenfrom bein' killed by jest hangin' some white wampum on 'em."
"What do the men think?"
"Them that has famblies are hopin' th' critters won't come back. Youngermen want to git a crack at 'em. Two nights ago th' younkers thought Dalewas mighty strong medicine. A night or two of sleep leaves 'em 'lowin' th'creek may be safe s'long as he sticks here. Some t'others spit it rightout that Black Hoof is playin' one o' his Injun games. If that pert youngpetticoat wa'n't here mebbe we could git some o' th' young men out intoth' woods for to do some real scoutin'.
"If my eyes was right I'd go. As it is, th' young folks keep runnin' acircle round th' settlement, lickety-larrup, an' their minds is on th'gal, an' they wouldn't see a buf'lo if one crossed their path. Then theyhustle back an' say as how they ain't seen nothin'. I 'low some o' th'older men will have to scout."
"I'm going out. I'll find the Indians' trail and follow it," I told him.
"That'll be neighborly of you. If they chase you back an' git withinstickin'-distance I'll soon have their in'ards out to dry."
I decided to leave my horse, as the travel would take me through roughplaces. Shouldering my rifle, I struck for the western side of theclearing. Dale had disappeared, gone into the Davis cabin, I assumed, asJohn Ward was lying on the ground near the door. I hadn't seen much ofWard for two days. Davis and Moulton were drawing leather through a tantrough, and I turned aside to speak with them. They noticed I was fittedout for a scout and their faces lighted a bit.
"Ward's been out ag'in and says the reds went north toward Tygart'sValley. He follered 'em quite some considerable. If you can find any newsigns an' can fetch us word----"
"That's what I'm going out for, Davis. How do you feel about the doings ofnight before last?"
He scratched his chin and after a bit of hesitation answered:
"Wife's cousin is a mighty smart man. Powerful smart. I 'low he knows aheap 'bout
Injuns. Been with 'em so much. But we're sorter uneasy. More soto-day than we was yesterday. This waiting to see what'll happen is mostas bad, if not worse, than to have a fight an' have it over with. Once aparcel of Injuns strikes, it either cleans us out or is licked an' don'twant no more for a long time. Still Dale has a master lot of power amongthe Injuns. But we'll be glad to know you're out looking for freshfooting. Their trail oughter be easy to foller, as there was a smartnumber of 'em had hosses."
"I'll find the trail easy enough, and I'll satisfy myself they are stillmaking toward the Ohio or have swung back," I assured him. "While I'm gonekeep the young men in the woods and post sentinels. Don't get careless.Don't let the children wander from the cabins. I'm free to tell you,Davis, that I don't believe for a second that you've seen the last ofBlack Hoof and his men. Have all those living in the outlying cabins usethe fort to-night."
After reaching the woods, I turned and looked back. Dale was standing inthe doorway with one hand resting on the shoulder of John Ward. Ward wastalking to Patsy, whose dainty figure could not be disguised by the coarselinsey gown.
The man Ward must have lost some of his taciturnity, for the girl waslaughing gaily at whatever he was saying. I observed that Dale was stillfeeling very important in his role of protector, for as he stepped fromthe doorway he walked with a swagger. Well, God give that he was right andthat the menace had passed from Howard's Creek.
I found the trail where it turned back toward Tygart's Valley, even asJohn Ward had reported, and followed it up the Greenbriar. The countryhere was very fertile on both sides of the river and would make rich farmsshould the danger from the Indians ever permit it to be settled. Fartherback from the river on each hand the country was broken and mountainousand afforded excellent hiding-places for large bodies of Indians, as onlyrattlesnakes, copperheads, wolves and wildcats lived there.
My mood was equal to overdaring, and all because of Patsy Dale. When thesun swung into its western arc I halted where a large number of warriorshad broken their fast. I ate some food and pushed on. After two miles oftravel I came to a branching of the trail. Two of the band had turned offto the northeast. My interest instantly shifted from the main trail to thesmaller one, for I assumed the two were scouting some particularneighborhood, and that by following it I would learn the object of theirattention and be enabled to give warning.
That done, the footing would lead me back to the main band. The signs werefew and barely sufficient to allow me to keep up the pursuit. It was notuntil I came to a spring, the overflow of which had made muck of theground, that I was afforded an opportunity to inspect the two sets oftracks. One set was made by moccasins almost as small as those I had givento Patricia Dale.
But why a squaw on a war-path? It was very puzzling. From the amount ofmoisture already seeped into the tracks I estimated the two of them hadstood there within thirty minutes. My pursuit became more cautious. Notmore than twenty rods from the spring I came to a trail swinging in fromthe east, as shown by a broken vine and a bent bush.
The newcomer had moved carelessly and had fallen in behind the twoIndians. I stuck to the trail until the diminished sunlight warned me itwould soon be too dark to continue. Then I caught a whiff of burning woodand in ten minutes I was reconnoitering a tiny glade.
My first glance took in a small fire; my second glance dwelt upon a scenethat sent me into the open on the jump. An Indian sat at the foot of awalnut-tree, his legs crossed and his empty hands hanging over his knees.At one side crouched a squaw, her long hair falling on each side of herface and hiding her profile. In a direct line between me and the warriorstood Shelby Cousin, his rifle bearing on the warrior.
My step caused him to turn, expecting to behold another native. The man onthe ground made no attempt to take advantage of the interruption; and inthe next second Cousin's long double-barrel rifle was again aiming at thepainted chest.
"Don't go for to try any sp'ilin' o' my game," warned Cousin withoutlooking at me.
"They're scouts from a big band of Shawnees now making toward Tygart'sValley," I informed him. "Can't we learn something from them?"
"I'm going to kill this one now. The squaw can go. Crabtree would snuffher out, but I ain't reached the p'int where I can do that yet."
"You coward!" cried the squaw in excellent English.
Cousin darted a puzzled glance at her. His victim seemed to be indifferentto his fate; nor did the woman offer to interfere.
"She's a white woman!" I cried. For a sunbeam straggled through the growthand rested on the long hair and revealed it to be fine and brown and neverto be mistaken for the coarse black locks of an Indian.
"White?" faltered Cousin, lowering his rifle. "Watch that devil, Morris!"
I dropped on a log with my rifle across my knees. Cousin strode to thewoman and caught her by the shoulder and pulled her to her feet. For along minute the two stared.
"Shelby?"
The words dropped from her lips in a sibilous crescendo as her blood droveher to a display of emotion.
Cousin's hands slowly advanced and pushed back the long locks. He advancedhis face close to hers, and I knew his slight form was trembling. Then hestaggered back and jerkily brought his arm across his eyes.
"God! It's my sister!" I heard him mutter.
I leaped to my feet, crying out for him to be a man. He remainedmotionless with his arm across his face, helpless to defend himself. Iturned to the woman. Whatever light had shone in her eyes when memoryforced his name from her lips had departed.
Her face was cold and immobile as she met my wild gaze. There was a streakof yellow paint running from the bridge of her nose to the parting of herbrown hair. Her skin was as dark as any Shawnee's, but her eyes held theblue of the cornflower.
I tried to discover points of resemblance between her and the boy andsucceeded only when she turned her head in profile; then they were verymuch alike. He lowered his arm to look over it, and she watched himwithout changing her expression.
With a hoarse cry he straightened and answering the impulse in his heart,sprang toward her, his arms outstretched to enfold her. She gave ground,not hastily as though wishing to avoid his embrace, but with a sinuoustwist of her lithe body, and she repulsed him by raising her hand. Hestared at her stupidly, and mumbled:
"You remember me. You called my name. You know I am your brother. You knowwe lived on Keeney's Knob. You remember the creek----"
"I remember," she quietly interrupted. "A very long time ago. Very long. Iam a Shawnee now. My heart is red."
Her words stunned him for a bit, then he managed to gasp out, "Who is thisman?" And he glared at the warrior seated at the foot of the tree.
"My husband."
The boy's mouth popped open, but without uttering a sound he stooped andgrabbed for his rifle. I placed my foot on it and seized his arm andpleaded with him to regain his senses before he took any action. Duringall this the warrior remained as passive as the tree-roots against whichhe half-reclined.
After a brief hysterical outburst Cousin stood erect and ceased strugglingwith me. And all the time his sister had watched us speculatively, hergaze as cold and impersonal as though she had been looking at a rock. Itwas very hideous. It was one of those damnable situations which must endat once, and to which there can be no end. For the boy to kill hissister's husband was an awful thing to contemplate.
I pulled the lad back and softly whispered:
"You can't do it. The blood would always be between you two. She haschanged. She believes she is red. Take her aside and talk with her. If shewill go with you make for the mountains and get her to the settlements."
"An' him?"
"I will wait an hour. If you two do not return before an hour--Well, hewill not bother you."
At first he did not seem to understand; then he seized my free hand andgripped it tightly. Taking his rifle, he approached the girl and took herby the arm.
"Come," he gently told her. "We must talk, you and I. I have hunted foryou for years."
She was suspicious of us two, but she did not resist him.
"Wait," she said.
She glided to the savage and leaned over him and said something. Then shewas back to her brother, and the two disappeared into the woods.
I drew a line on the savage and in Shawnee demanded:
"Throw me the knife she gave you."
Glaring at me sullenly, he flipped the knife toward the fire and resumedhis attitude of abstraction. I had never killed an unarmed Indian. I hadnever shot one in cold blood. The office of executioner did not appeal,but repulsive as it was it would not do for the boy to kill his savagebrother-in-law. Lost Sister and the savage were man and wife, even ifmarried according to the Indian custom.
Nor would it do for a woman of Virginia to be redeemed to civilizationwith a red husband roaming at large. No. The fellow must die, and I hadthe nasty work to do. The glade was thickening with shadows, but thesunlight still marked the top of an elm and made glorious the zenith. Whenthe light died from the heavens I would assassinate the man.
This would give him a scant hour, but a dozen or fifteen minutes of lifecould make small difference. Then again, once the dusk filled the glade myimpassive victim would become alert and up to some of his devilish tricks.He did not change his position except as he turned his head to gazefixedly at the western forest wall. One could imagine him to be ignorantof my presence.
"Where does Black Hoof lead his warriors?" I asked him.
Without deflecting his gaze he answered:
"Back to their homes on the Scioto."
"The white trader, the Pack-Horse-Man, spoke words that drive them back?"
It was either a trick of the dying light, or else I detected an almostimperceptible twitching of the grim lips. After a short pause he said:
"The Shawnees are not driven. They will pick up the end of the peace-belt.They will not drop it on the ground again. Tah-gah-jute (Logan) does notwish for war. He has taken ten scalps for every one taken from his peopleat Baker's house. He has covered the dead. The Pack-Horse-Man spoke wisewords."
"This white woman? You know she must go back to her people."
Again the faint twitching of the lips. When he spoke it was to say:
"She can go where she will or where she is made to go. If she is taken tothe white settlements she will run away and go back to the Scioto. Herpeople are red. After the French War, after Pontiac's War, it was thesame. White prisoners were returned to the white people. Many of themescaped and came back to us."
His voice was calm and positive and my confidence in the girl'swillingness to return to civilization was shaken. She had been as stolidas her red mate in my presence, but I had believed that nature wouldconquer her ten years' of savagery once she was alone with her brother.
The light had left the top of the elm and the fleecy clouds overhead wereno longer dazzling because of their borrowed splendor. I cocked my rifle.The savage folded his arms as he caught the sound, but his gaze toward thewest never wavered. To nerve myself into shooting the fellow in cold bloodI made myself think of the girl's terrible fate, and was succeedingrapidly when a light step sounded behind me and her low voice was saying:
"My brother is at the spring. You will find him there."
I rose and dropped the rifle into the hollow of my left arm and stared ather incredulously. It had happened before, the rebellion of whiteprisoners at quitting their captors. Yet the girl's refusal wasastounding.
"You would not go with him?"
"I am here. I go to my people," she answered. "He is waiting for you. Thesquaws would laugh at him. He is very weak."
With an oath I whirled toward the Indian. Had he made a move or had hereflected her disdain with a smile, his white-red wife surely would havebeen a widow on the spot. But he had not shifted his position. To allappearances he was not even interested in his wife's return. And she toonow ignored me, and busied herself in gathering up their few belongingsand slinging them on her back. Then she went to him, and in disgust andrage I left them and sped through the darkening woods to the spring whereI had first seen the imprints of her tiny moccasins.
Cousin was there, seated and his head bowed on his chest, a waiting victimfor the first Indian scout who might happen along.
I dragged him to his feet and harshly said:
"Come! We must go. Your white sister is dead. Your search is ended. Yoursister died in the raid on Keeney's Knob."
"My little sister," he whispered.
He went with me passively enough, and he did not speak until we had struckinto the main trail of the Shawnees. Then he asked:
"You did not kill him?"
"No."
"It's best that way. There're 'nough others. They'll pay for it."
I abandoned my plan of following the war-party farther and was onlyanxious to get my companion back to the protection of Howard's Creek. Wefollowed the back-trail for a few miles and then were forced by the nightto make a camp. I opened my supply of smoked meat and found a spring. Idid not dare to risk a fire. But he would not eat. Only once did he speakthat night, and that was to say:
"I must keep clear o' the settlements. If I don't I'll do as Ike Crabtreedoes, kill in sight o' the cabins."
In the morning he ate some of my food; not as if he were hungry, but as ifforcing himself to a disagreeable task. He seemed to be perfectly willingto go on with me, but he did not speak of the girl again.
When we drew near the creek he began to look about him. He at oncerecognized the surroundings and made a heroic effort to control himself.When we swung into the clearing there was nothing in his appearance todenote the terrible experience he had passed through.
Now that we were back I was beset by a fear, that the sight of Patricia inall her loveliness would be an overwhelming shock to his poor brain. Itwas with great relief that I got him to the Moulton cabin without hisglimpsing Patsy.
"You can tell 'em if you want to. S'pose they'll l'arn it some time," hesaid to me as we reached the door and met Mrs. Moulton and her littlegirl. With that he passed inside and seated himself in a corner and bowedhis head.
I drew Mrs. Moulton aside and briefly explained his great sorrow. Withrich sympathy she stole into the cabin and began mothering him, pattinghis shoulders and stroking the long hair back from his wan face.
My own affairs became of small importance when measured beside thistragedy. I had no trepidation now in facing Patricia. I walked boldly tothe Davis cabin and thrust my head in the door. Only Davis and his wifewere there.
"Where are the Dales?" I bruskly asked.
"Gone," grunted Davis in disgust.
"Gone back home?" I eagerly asked.
"What do you think!" babbled Mrs. Davis. "Cousin Ericus has took that galdown toward the Clinch. He 'lows now he's goin' to keep the Injuns out ofthat valley--"
"Good God! Why did you let them go?"
Davis snorted angrily, and exclaimed:
"Let 'em go! How ye goin' to stop her? 'Twas she that was bound to bemovin' on. Just made her daddy go."
"When did they start?"
"Right after you lit out. Seems 's if th' gal couldn't git shut o' thiscreek quick 'nough."
I ran from the cabin to get my horse and start in immediate pursuit. Bythe time I reached the animal, well rested during my absence, I becamemore reasonable. After all Black Hoof was traveling north. There would besmall chance of another band raiding down the Clinch for some time atleast. I needed rest. Night travel would advance me but slowly. I wouldstart early in the morning.
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