The Little Red Foot

by Robert W. Chambers

  CHAPTER VII

  BEFORE THE STORM

  Johnny Silver had ridden my mare to Varick's to be shod, the eveningprevious, and was to remain the night and return by noon to Fonda'sBush.

  It was the first sunny May day of the year, murmurous with bees, and asweet, warm smell from woods and cleared lands.

  Already bluebirds were drifting from stump to stump, and robins, whichhad arrived in April before the snow melted, chirped in the furrows oflast autumn's plowing.

  Also were flying those frail little grass-green moths, earliestharbingers of vernal weather, so that observing folk, versed in thepretty signals which nature displays to acquaint us of her designs,might safely prophesy soft skies.

  I was standing in my glebe just after sunrise, gazing across my greatcleared field--I had but one then, all else being woods--and I wasthinking about my crops, how that here should be sown buckwheat to breakand mellow last year's sod; and here I should plant corn and Indiansquashes, and yonder, God willing, potatoes and beans.

  And I remember, now, that I presently fell to whistling the air of "TheLittle Red Foot," while I considered my future harvest; and was evenplanning to hire of Andrew Bowman his fine span of white oxen for myspring plowing; when, of a sudden, through the May woods there grew uponthe air a trembling sound, distant and sad. Now it sounded louder as thebreeze stirred; now fainter when it shifted, so that a mournful echoonly throbbed in my ears.

  It was the sound of the iron bell ringing on the new Block House atMayfield.

  The carelessly whistled tune died upon my lips; my heart almost ceasedfor a moment, then violently beat the alarm.

  I ran to a hemlock stump in the field, where my loaded rifle rested, andtook it up and looked at the priming powder, finding it dry and bright.

  A strange stillness had fallen upon the forest; there was no sound savethat creeping and melancholy quaver of the bell. The birds had becomequiet; the breeze, too, died away; and it was as though each huge treestood listening, and that no leaf dared stir.

  As a dark cloud gliding between earth and sun quenches the sky's calmbrightness, so the bell's tolling seemed to transform the scene about meto a sunless waste, through which the dread sound surged in waves, likethe complaint of trees before a storm.

  Standing where my potatoes had been hoed the year before, I listened amoment longer to the dreary mourning of the bell, my eyes roving alongthe edges of the forest which, like a high, green rampart, enclosed mycleared land on every side.

  Then I turned and went swiftly to my house, snatched blanket from bed,spread it on the puncheon floor, laid upon it a sack of new bullets, anew canister of powder, a heap of buckskin scraps for wadding, a bag ofsalt, another of parched corn, a dozen strips of smoked venison.

  Separately on the blanket beside these I placed two pair of woollenhose, two pair of new ankle moccasins, an extra pair of deer-skinleggins, two cotton shirts, a hunting shirt of doe-skin, and a fishingline and hooks. These things I rolled within my blanket, making ofeverything a strapped pack.

  Then I pulled on my District Militia regimentals, which same was ahunting shirt of tow-cloth, spatter-dashes of the same, and a felt hat,cocked.

  Across the breast of my tow-cloth hunting-shirt I slung a bullet-pouch,a powder-horn and a leather haversack; seized my light hatchet and hungit to my belt, hoisted the blanket pack to my shoulders and strapped itthere; and, picking up rifle and hunting knife, I passed swiftly out ofthe house, fastening the heavy oaken door behind me and wonderingwhether I should ever return to open it again.

  The trodden forest trail, wide enough for a team to pass, lay straightbefore me due west, through heavy woods, to Andrew Bowman's farm.

  When I came into the cleared land, I perceived Mrs. Bowman washingclothing in a spring near the door of her log house, and the washa-bleaching in the early sun. When she saw me she called to me acrossthe clearing:

  "Have you news for me, John Drogue?"

  "None," said I. "Where is your man, Martha?"

  "Gone away to Stoner's with pack and rifle. He is but just departed. Isit only a drill call, or are the Indians out at the Lower Castle?"

  "I know nothing," said I. "Are you alone in the house?"

  "A young kinswoman, Penelope Grant, servant to old Douw Fonda, arrivedlate last night with my man from Caughnawaga, and is still asleep in theloft."

  As she spoke a girl, clothed only in her shift, came to the open door ofthe log house. Her naked feet were snow-white; her hair, yellow asOctober-corn, seemed very thick and tangled.

  She stood blinking as though dazzled, the glory of the rising sun in herface; then the tolling of the tocsin swam to her sleepy ears, and shestarted like a wild thing when a shot is fired very far away.

  And, "What is that sound?" she exclaimed, staring about her; and I hadnever seen a woman's eyes so brown under such yellow hair.

  She stepped out into the fresh grass and stood in the dew listening, nowgazing at the woods, now at Martha Bowman, and now upon me.

  Speech came to me with an odd sort of anger. I said to Mrs. Bowman, whostood gaping in the sunshine:

  "Where are your wits? Take that child into the house and bar yourshutters and draw water for your tubs. And keep your door bolted untilsome of the militia can return from Stoner's."

  "Oh, my God," said she, and fell to snatching her wash from the bushesand grass.

  At that, the girl Penelope turned and looked at me. And I thought shewas badly frightened until she spoke.

  "Young soldier," said she, "do you know if Sir John has fled?"

  "I know nothing," said I, "and am like to learn less if you women do notinstantly go in and bar your house."

  "Are the Mohawks out?" she asked.

  "Have I not said I do not know?"

  "Yes, sir.... But I should have escort by the shortest route toCayadutta----"

  "You talk like a child," said I, sharply. "And you seem scarcely more,"I added, turning away. But I lingered still to see them safely bolted inbefore I departed.

  "Soldier," she began timidly; but I interrupted:

  "Go fill your tubs against fire-arrows," said I. "Why do you loiter?"

  "Because I have great need to return to Caughnawaga. Will you guide methe shortest way by the woods?"

  "Do you not hear that bell?" I demanded angrily.

  "Yes, sir, I hear it. But I should go to Cayadutta----"

  "And I should answer that militia call," said I impatiently. "Go in andlock the house, I tell you!"

  Mrs. Bowman, her arms full of wet linen, ran into the house. The girl,Penelope, gazed at the woods.

  "I am servant to a very old man," she said, twisting her linked fingers."I can not abandon him! I can not let him remain all alone at CayaduttaLodge. Will you take me to him?"

  "And if I were free of duty," said I, "I would not take you or any otherwoman into those accursed woods!"

  "Why not, sir?"

  "Because I do not yet comprehend what that bell is telling me. And if itmeans that there is a painted war-party out between the Sacandaga andthe Mohawk, I shall not take you to Caughnawaga when I return fromStoner's, and that's flat!"

  "I am not afraid to go," said she. But I think I saw her shudder; andher face seemed very still and white. Then Mrs. Bowman ran out of thehouse and caught the girl by her homespun shift.

  "Come indoors!" she cried shrilly, "or will you have us all pulling wararrows out of our bodies while you stand blinking at the woods andgossiping with Jack Drogue?"

  The girl shook herself free, and asked me again to take her to CayaduttaLodge.

  But I had no more time to argue, and I flung my rifle to my shoulder andstarted out across the cleared land.

  Once I looked back. And I saw her still standing there, the rising sunbright on her tangled hair, and her naked feet shining like silver inthe dew-wet grass.

  By a spring path I hastened to the house of John Putman, and found himalready gone and his family drawing water and fastening shutters.

 
His wife, Deborah, called to me saying that the Salisburys should bewarned, and I told her that I had already spoken to the Bowmans.

  "Your labour for your pains, John Drogue!" cried she. "The Bowmans areKing's people and need fear neither Tory nor Indian!"

  "It is unjust to say so, Deborah," I retorted warmly. "Dries Bowman isalready on his way to answer the militia call!"

  "Watch him!" she said, slamming the shutters; and fell to scolding herchildren, who, poor things, were striving at the well with drippingbucket too heavy for their strength.

  So I drew the water they might need if, indeed, it should prove truethat Little Abe's Mohawks at the Lower Castle had painted themselves andwere broken loose; and then I ran back along the spring path to theSalisbury's, and found them already well bolted in, and their man goneto Stoner's with rifle and pack.

  And now comes Johnny Silver, who had ridden my mare from Varick's, buthad no news, all being tranquil along Frenchman's Creek, and nobody ableto say what the Block House bell was telling us.

  "Did you stable Kaya?" I asked.

  "Oui, mon garce! I have bolt her in tight!"

  "Good heavens," said I, "she can not remain bolted in to starve if I amsent on to Canada! Get you forward to Stoner's house and say that Idelay only to fetch my horse!"

  The stout little French trapper flung his piece to his shoulder andbroke into a dog-trot toward the west.

  "Follow quickly, Sieur Jean!" he called gaily. "By gar, I have smellIroquois war paint since ver' long time already, and now I smell himstrong as old dog fox!"

  I turned and started back through the woods as swiftly as I couldstride.

  As I came in sight of my log house, I was astounded to see my mare outand saddled, and a woman setting foot to stirrup. As I sprang out of theedge of the woods and ran toward her, she wheeled Kaya, and I saw thatit was the Caughnawaga wench in _my_ saddle and upon _my_ horse--heryellow hair twisted up and shining like a Turk's gold turban above herbloodless face.

  "What do you mean!" I cried in a fury. "Dismount instantly from thatmare! Do you hear me?"

  "I must ride to Caughnawaga!" she called out, and struck my mare withboth heels so that the horse bounded away beyond my reach.

  Exasperated, I knew not what to do, for I could not hope to overtake themad wench afoot; and so could only shout after her.

  However, she drew bridle and looked back; but I dared not advance fromwhere I stood, lest she gallop out of hearing at the first step.

  "This is madness!" I called to her across the field. "You do not knowwhy that bell is ringing at Mayfield. A week since the Mohawks weretalking to one another with fires on all these hills! There may be awar party in yonder woods! There may be more than one betwixt here andCaughnawaga!"

  "I cannot desert Mr. Fonda at such a time," said she with that same paleand frightened obstinacy I had encountered at Bowman's.

  "Do you wish to steal my horse!" I demanded.

  "No, sir.... It is not meant so. If some one would guide me afoot Iwould be glad to return to you your horse."

  "Oh. And if not, then you mean to ride there in spite o' the devil. Isthat the situation?"

  "Yes, sir."

  Had it been any man I would have put a bullet in him; and could haveeasily marked him where I pleased. Never had I been in colder rage;never had I felt so helpless. And every moment I was afeard the crazygirl would ride on.

  "Will you parley?" I shouted.

  "Parley?" she repeated. "How so, young soldier?"

  "In this manner, then: I engage my honour not to seize your bridle ortouch you or my horse if you will sit still till I come up with you."

  She sat looking at me across the fallow field in silence.

  "I shall not use violence," said I. "I shall try only to find some wayto serve you, and yet to do my own duty, too."

  "Soldier," she replied in a troubled voice, "is this the very truth youspeak?"

  "Have I not engaged my honour?" I retorted sharply.

  She made no reply, but she did not stir as I advanced, though her browneyes watched my every step.

  When I stood at her stirrup she looked down at me intently, and I sawshe was younger even than I had thought, and was made more like asmooth, slim boy than a woman.

  "You are Penelope Grant, of Caughnawaga," I said.

  "Yes, sir."

  "Do you know who I am?"

  "No, sir."

  I named myself, saying with a smile that none of my name had ever brokenfaith in word or deed.

  "Now," I continued, "that bell calls me to duty as surely as drum ortrumpet ever summoned soldier since there were wars on earth. I must goto Stoner's; I can not guide you to Caughnawaga through the woods ortake you thither by road or trail. And yet, if I do not, you mean totake my horse."

  "I must."

  "And risk a Mohawk war party on the way?"

  "I--must."

  "That is very brave," said I, curbing my impatience, "but not wise.There are others of his kin to care for old Douw Fonda if war has trulycome upon us here in Tryon County."

  "Soldier," said she in her still voice, which I once thought had beenmade strange by fear, but now knew otherwise--"my honour, too, isengaged. Mr. Fonda, whom I serve, has made of me more than a servant. Heuses me as a daughter; offers to adopt me; trusts his age and feeblenessto me; looks to me for every need, every ministration....

  "Soldier, I came to Dries Bowman's last night with his consent, and gavehim my word to return within a week. I came to Fonda's Bush because Mr.Fonda desired me to visit the only family in America with whom I havethe slightest tie of kinship--the Bowmans.

  "But if war has come to us here in County Tryon, then instantly my dutyis to this brave old gentleman who lives all alone in his house atCaughnawaga, and nobody except servants and black slaves to protect himif danger comes to the door."

  What the girl said touched me; nor could I discern in her anything ofthe coquetry which Nick Stoner's story of her knitting and her ring ofgallants had pictured for me.

  Surely here was no rustic coquette to be flattered and courted andbedeviled by her betters--no country suck-thumb to sit a-giggling at herknitting, surfeited with honeyed words that meant destruction;--no wenchto hang her head and twiddle apron while some pup of quality whisperedin her ear temptations.

  I said: "This is the better way. Listen. Ride my mare to Mayfield by thehighway. If you learn there that the Lower Castle Indians have paintedfor war, there is no hope of winning through to Cayadutta Lodge. And ofwhat use to Mr. Fonda would be a dead girl?"

  "That is true," she whispered.

  "Very well. And if the Mohawks are loose along the river, then you shallremain at the Block House until it becomes possible to go on. There isno other way. Do you understand?"

  "Yes, sir."

  "Do you engage to do this thing? And to place my horse in safety at theMayfield fort?"

  "Yes, sir."

  "Then," said I, "in my turn I promise to send aid to you at Mayfield, orcome myself and take you to Cayadutta Lodge as soon as that provespossible. And I promise more; I shall endeavour to get word through toMr. Fonda concerning your situation."

  She thanked me in that odd, still voice of hers. Her eyes had the starrylook of a child's--or of unshed tears.

  "My mare will carry two," said I cheerfully. "Let me mount behind youand set you on the Mayfield road."

  She made no reply. I mounted behind her, took the bridle from herchilled fingers, and spoke to Kaya very gaily. And so we rode across mysunlit glebe and across the sugar-bush, where the moist trail, full offerns, stretched away toward Mayfield as straight as the bee flies.

  I do not know whether it was because the wench was now fulfilling herduty, as she deemed it, and therefore had become contented in a measure,but when I dismounted she took the bridle with a glance that seemed nearto a faint smile. But maybe it was her mouth that I thought fashioned inpleasant lines.

  "Will you remember, soldier?" she asked, looking down at me from thesaddle. "I s
hall wait some news of you at the Mayfield fort."

  "I shall not let you remain there long abandoned," said I cheerily. "Bekind to Kaya. She has a tender mouth and an ear more sensitive still toa harsh word."

  The girl laid a hand flat on my mare's neck and looked at me, the shycaress in her gesture and in her eyes.

  Both were meant for my horse; and a quick kindness for this Scotch girlcame into my heart.

  "Take shelter at the Mayfield fort," said I, "and be very certain Ishall not forget you. You may gallop all the way on this soft wood-road.Will you care for Kaya at the fort when she is unsaddled?"

  A smile suddenly curved her lips.

  "Yes, John Drogue," she answered, looking me in the eyes. And the nextmoment she was off at a gallop, her yellow hair loosened with the firstbound of the horse, and flying all about her face and shoulders now,like sunshine flashing across windblown golden-rod.

  Then, in her saddle, the girl turned and looked back at me, and sat so,still galloping, until she was out of sight.

  And, as I stood there alone in the woodland road, I began to understandwhat Nick Stoner meant when he called this Scotch girl a disturber ofmen's minds and a mistress--all unconscious, perhaps--of a very deadlyart.