Fear in the Forest

by Cateau De Leeuw

  “Harmar couldn’t do it,” growled Timothy behind them. “Nor St. Clair, neither. Worst defeat we ever had was when St. Clair tried it. Why could Anthony Wayne do it when they couldn’t? Tell me that!”

  “Because he’s a better gen’l.”

  “Can’t tell me he’s a good gen’l! Runs his men ragged, he does. Marches ‘em all over creation, makes ‘em swim rivers or drown—and he don’t care, neither, if they do drown—has ‘em tearin’ all over the parade ground, trailin’ their guns and yellin’ like a bunch o’ Indians themselves. What kind of army does he think he’s got? Nothin’ that’ll stand up agin the Indians when the time comes, I can tell you!”

  “The only way to fight Indians is to do what they do, only better!” Amos cried indignantly. “That’s why Gen’l Wayne is teachin’ his men to be good marksmen and woods fighters. And they won’t be scairt of Indian whoops and hollers, neither, because they’ll be makin’ so much noise themselves they won’t hear the Indians. It’s just common sense, that’s all.”

  “Well, the men don’t think so. I used to hear many of them talkin’ about him in the taverns at Cincinnati, whenever they could git away from Hobson’s Choice. ‘Old Toney,’ they called him, or even ‘Toney Lumpkin,’ which is worse. Can’t tell me a gen’l what’s called ‘Toney Lumpkin’ by his very own men can be any good.”

  Amos snorted, but had no chance to carry the argument further. One of his horses broke loose at that point and had to be chased and cornered and brought back to the string he and Daniel were in charge of. Once the runaway was tied into place again, Amos would have said more, but by that time the boys were farther back in the line, too far from Timothy.

  When they stopped that noon to rest and eat, they had covered quite some distance. “We’ll make it to Fort St. Clair today, easy,” Ben said with satisfaction. “The forts were laid out so’s they’d be just a day’s journey apart for the supply trains. Washington, Hamilton, St. Clair, and Jefferson. Greeneville’s only a few miles farther.”

  “A good thing they were laid out like that, too,” Josiah said, “for if there’s one thing an Indian wants to lay his hands on—always takin’ into account that scalps come first with ‘em—it’s a hoss. And a hoss that’s carryin’ flour or meat, or arms or ammunition is as good as treasure to ‘em.”

  Daniel shrank inwardly. The idea was never too far from his mind that there might be Indians lurking nearby, watching and waiting for the chance to ambush and kill. Now it was brought into startling focus by learning that their favorite quarry was a pack-horse train. His head jerked involuntarily to one side, and he stared into the woods along the road. But pride made him jerk it back again almost as quickly.

  “Pa’s made this trip many a time,” Amos said the moment Josiah had finished speaking. Daniel knew his friend had seen his movement of fear, and flushed with shame. “But he’s never laid eyes on any Indians except once or twice when a party of ‘em come to one of the forts. And they were peace parties—or said they were.”

  Simon said suddenly, “My folks was from Kentucky. They lost so many neighbors, kilt by the Indians, that they crossed the Ohio.”

  “Whatever for?” Henry asked. “Ohio was settled later, so there was more risk.”

  “I dunno.” Simon smiled his foolish smile, and tucked his chin in a little. “I reckon they didn’t want to go back to Virginny, and they didn’t want to go west account of the Spanish, so they went north.”

  Daniel thought suddenly, Everyone who has come to the Northwest Territory has come for a reason. His own father had come because of a restlessness after he had lost his wife. Simon’s people had headed right into the Indian country because their neighbors had been killed off by the Indians! The Worders had come because Mr. Worder was land-hungry and could not afford to buy a big enough farm in the east. The Greggs—

  “Why did your folks come out here to settle?” he asked Amos.

  “I reckon we’re the movin’ kind,” Amos answered with a chuckle. “Pa’s folks a couple generations back went from New England to Jersey. And Pa’s father went from Jersey to Pennsylvania. Pa felt it was gettin’ too settled there, I think, so he packed us up and moved on here. He says he don’t like crowdin’, but I think it’s just an itch to keep movin’, myself.”

  Daniel frowned a little. His own instinct was to find a safe place and stay there. He said, “But there’s all that work each time. Findin’ a good place, with water and good soil, and clearin’ the land, and buildin’ a house and sheds and all. Seems to me, he’d ha’ been a rich man if he and his folks had stayed put in the first place.”

  Amos laughed outright. “Not if you’d heard my grandfather tell the stories his pa told about the soil in New England! Too barren to raise anythin’ but rocks, he used to say. And even those wasn’t respectable big rocks, but just middle-sized ones that broke his plow if he left ‘em lie, and broke his back if he tried to carry ‘em off’n the field.”

  Daniel laughed too, a little. But he meant what he had said. The idea of perpetually going on to new, and supposedly better, lands left him uninterested. Maybe he had no sense of adventure, he thought, but at any rate he could see how impractical it was to put so much labor into creating a new farm, only to leave it in a generation and start all over again somewhere else.

  The air was close when they got to Fort St. Clair, and Daniel would have liked to rest in the shade of a massive oak near the pickets. They had made good time that day despite the heat and the extra distance, for the men had pushed their horses toward the end, wanting to make their encampment and get things settled for the night while it was still light.

  There was no chance to rest; there was too much to do. When they unloaded the animals, Josiah saw that several of them had their backs and sides rubbed sore from the loads they carried. Without hesitation, he rounded on Timothy with an angry bellow.

  “You! You’re no more a pack-horse man than a ring-tailed rabbit! I thought so when you was hired, and now I’m sure of it. Why, Dan’l here is a sight handier with animals than you are! These are your critters, and don’t try to crawfish out’n it by saying they ain’t. If you’d taken a little more pains in the loadin’ of ‘em, this wouldn’t have happened. Now, get out of my sight afore I do you a harm.”

  Timothy shambled away, his little pig-eyes narrowed, his neck red and swelling with repressed fury. The glance he darted at Daniel was not reassuring, and the boy thought, Now he’s a-goin’ to have it in for me because of what Mr. Gregg said.

  Daniel and Amos helped with the treating of the sore horses. They cleaned the raw places with water from one of the clear springs, while a knot of soldiers stood and watched them. Then they rubbed on a heavy salve that Josiah fetched from his personal bundle.

  “I doubt they’ll be fit for the next trip up,” Amos sighed. “Though we travel light on the way back, sores like these won’t be well in three-four days’ time.”

  “It’s a shame to treat beasts so.” Daniel was indignant.

  “This is bad enough,” Josiah said with a shake of his head, “but you should see some of the animals I’ve seen. There’s been such a call for supplies for the Legion that some men have been loadin’ kegs of powder and flour and lumber on the poor critters without so much as a blanket to take the rubbin’. Those hosses are ruined for fair in one trip.”

  One of the soldiers spoke. “Wagon hosses, too,” he said “Some of the wagon trains come through with the critters half dead. Just a few days ago, when Colonel Strong come through with a wagon train and a convoy of dragoons, they was pretty winded.”

  “Winded?” Josiah asked with an upward glance as he bent over one of the ponies.

  “Aye. His spies got sight of a big force of Indians—two-three hunnerd of ‘em—so the whole train come a-peltin’ into the fort for safety. The more spies the colonel sent out, the more Indians they found. He sent off for orders afore he would go on again.”

  Daniel pressed hard upon the flank of the horse he was salving s
o that the trembling of his hand would not be seen. Indians! Here! And only a few days ago.

  “Lose any men?” Josiah asked.

  “Naw, not that time. But there’s Indians all around. And, of course, the farther north you go, the more Indians.”

  Josiah straightened, and slapped the pony on the rump. “Tether these nearby, Ben,” he said to his second-in-command. “Don’t want them roamin’ afield tonight.” He wiped his hands on some dry grass. “We’ll have to git in some fresh meat,” he said. “Ma sent along enough food for this noon, and we’ll still have some johnnycake left, but somebody ought to do a little huntin’.” His gaze rested speculatively on Daniel, and Daniel tried to make himself as small as possible.

  “I’ll go,” Simon volunteered.

  “No, you went last time. It’s best we take turns, I think. Amos, it’s your turn. Think you can find us something to eat?” his father asked with a twinkle.

  “I’ll take care of your hosses,” Daniel said quickly to his friend.

  “Oh, I won’t go until we’ve made camp for the night. It’s still early,” Amos said. “I thought mebbe you’d like to go along with me.”

  Daniel knew what Amos was trying to do, and his heart lifted. If he went with Amos, he wouldn’t be sent alone later. It would be easier to venture into the woods with another. He said, at once, “Sure. But I have no gun.”

  “Pa’ll lend you one.”

  So that was settled. Henry agreed to hobble their horses, once they had unloaded, and Daniel set out, experiencing alternate shivers of fear and excitement. He would have liked hunting if he had not been so afraid of the Indians. He was a good shot, too.

  He cast only one longing glance backward at the snug fort, thinking enviously of those who shared its shelter, but he had little time for regrets. Amos, walking through the woods like an Indian, toe first on rock and heel first on grass, was expecting him to be on the alert.

  It was Amos who first saw the pheasants. He stopped abruptly and Daniel almost bumped into him. They had agreed before setting out that if they came upon more than one piece of game at a time, Amos was to take the one on the left, and Daniel the one on the right. Their guns spoke almost in unison, and the pheasants were theirs.

  Amos caught them up and tucked them into the front of his voluminous hunting shirt. “I could wish they came a mite larger,” he chuckled. “About buffalo size would suit me fine.”

  “You’d never be able to carry them then,” Daniel grinned. “I hope you ain’t expectin’ anything very big so near the fort—game must be pretty well shot up around a place like this.”

  “Oh, I don’t know,” Amos retorted with a toss of his head. “Like as not the men at the fort ain’t allowed to go out huntin’—leastways not in small parties. So there ought to be plenty game left.”

  Leastways not in small parties....Daniel knew why. It was too dangerous. There were too many Indians about. Yet here he was, with only Amos for company, in the deep woods that grew only a few hundred feet beyond the fort. All his old fear rushed back upon him, and he would have liked to turn tail and run.

  Perhaps Amos sensed this. Perhaps he, too, was eager to finish the hunt. At any rate, not five minutes later, he suddenly reached out to tug at Daniel’s sleeve. “Now, there’s a likely place for a bear to hide,” he said, scarcely bothering to keep his voice down or his footsteps soft as he strode ahead. He pointed to a huge sycamore tree, many feet in circumference, which was hollowed out at the base. The hole was as wide as a door, Daniel thought, and almost as high.

  The words had no sooner left Amos’ lips than a great black shape came lumbering out of the hole. Amos sped off to the left and climbed a tree with astonishing speed. Daniel, in his hurry to find a tree of his own to climb, dropped his gun.

  Safe for a moment in the lower branches, he called to Amos, “He’ll be comin’ up after us! Bears can climb!”

  “I know that, want-wit!” Amos retorted, aiming carefully. He pulled the trigger, and the shot sounded loud in Daniel’s ears. He fully expected to see the bear fall in a heap, but the great creature only shook itself as if a bee had stung it, and made purposefully for Amos’ tree.

  Daniel shinnied down his own tree and darted forward to retrieve his gun. The bear did not seem to notice him at all. It advanced on Amos’ tree with deliberation while Amos, far above him, worked frantically to reload. Daniel braced himself, drew a careful bead upon the bear, and fired.

  This time the bear advanced another two steps, then suddenly, as if it had been pole-axed, dropped to the ground and lay perfectly still.

  “D’you think its playin’ ‘possum?” Amos called out. “Watch out it don’t raise up and grab you!”

  But Daniel knew with complete certainty that his shot had hit a vital spot. He went forward and boldly poked at the bear with his gun barrel. It did not stir.

  “Wait till the others hear about this!” Amos, breathless from his quick descent from the tree, came racing over to where Daniel stood. “They’ll never believe that we got one so close to the fort—and such a big one. That you got one,” he amended quickly, “for it was you that shot him.”

  Daniel said, “But I couldn’t have shot him if you hadn’t held him till I got my gun. I was a fool to drop it in the first place.”

  The boys set about skinning the bear, or as much of it as they would be able to carry back to the camp. A quick glance upward told them that there might still be light enough for some of the others to come into the woods and retrieve the rest of the animal.

  “Um-m, bear stew,” Amos said, “and a good fat bear, too. Ma’s partial to bear oil. I only wish I could save her some of this critter’s fat.” Suddenly he looked over at Daniel, his face puzzled. “You were mighty cool when this bear took after us,” he commented. “‘Cept for droppin’ your gun, which could happen to anybody. And the way you went after him, without nothin’ in your hands! Why, I thought you—” He broke off, and colored with embarrassment.

  “I’m only afeared of Indians,” Daniel said. Now that the bear had been killed, he remembered that he was alone in the slowly darkening woods, except for Amos. Amos, and who knew how many Indians. Indians were always lurking about Anthony Wayne’s forts, people said. There might be one behind any of the distant trees. Or more than one. After all, there had been a number of shots to draw their attention.

  He struggled bravely with his fear, and this time was sure that he kept it from showing on his face. That, at least, was achievement.

  CHAPTER FIVE

  That night Daniel found it hard to sleep. He turned from side to side, unable to find a comfortable position on the hard ground. For the first time since joining the pack-horse troop he thought with something like longing of his cornhusk pallet at the Worders’ homestead.

  The campfire had burned to embers when he saw Timothy rise from his place nearby. Instinctively, remembering the man’s threatening glance, Daniel tensed in expectation of attack. But Timothy walked noiselessly around him, skirting the sleepers with the same care, and disappeared into the woods where the horses were hobbled.

  Daniel half rose to go after him, but the thought of the dark woods held him back. Although Indians seldom attacked in the middle of the night, preferring the hush just before dawn, his mind peopled the forest with hundreds of Miamis and Shawnees.

  And then he remembered the horses. Was Timothy the sort who would vent his spleen on helpless animals? Would he injure more of the pack-horses in some devious way? Without stopping to think further, Daniel rose to his feet with caution and slipped silently after the bulky figure ahead of him.

  Once his eyes had adjusted to the gloom of the forest, he did not find it too difficult to follow Timothy who made no effort to be quiet when he was hidden from his comrades. But Daniel still held his breath and moved quickly from tree to tree.

  The woods thinned suddenly to a natural glade and Daniel, his breath caught in a gasp, came to a halt. Ahead of him Timothy was walking forward confidently to gre
et another man. In the dimness and at this distance, Daniel could not tell whether it was a white man or an Indian, and at the thought that it might be the latter he began to tremble. There was a roaring in his ears as he fought his panic. Now he must be completely silent, he knew, for if it was an Indian, his life was surely forfeit. His hand sought the pewter button inside his shirt and touched it for comfort.

  The two men talked together briefly and something passed between them, but Daniel could not see what it was. He was glad when the other man turned away at the conclusion of their talk and disappeared into the woods beyond. That gave Daniel the chance to edge around the tree which concealed him, so that Timothy would not see him. They returned to the campfire, Daniel always a good distance behind Timothy as before.

  But now, when Timothy had once more lain down beside the others, Daniel faced a real problem. How could he return unnoticed? Not only by the others, but especially by Timothy. If Timothy were to suspect that Daniel had seen him at his rendezvous, and if that rendezvous was what Daniel thought it was, there was real trouble ahead.

  Daniel paused at the edge of the forest. Had Timothy seen his empty place at the campfire? What could he do that would seem natural and unsuspicious? Suddenly he remembered that the injured horses were tethered nearby for the night, not roaming as freely as the others in the train. He headed toward them.

  He made no effort to be quiet when he returned to the campfire. Josiah roused to a sitting position at once, his rifle in the crook of his arm. “Who is it?” he called out.

  “It’s me—Dan’l,” came in a sleepy voice. “I just wanted”—he yawned hugely—“just wanted to see how the hosses were gettin’ on.” He rubbed some of the salve from his fingers onto the grass ostentatiously. Another yawn. “Sorry I woke you up.”