Far Past the Frontier

by Braden, James A

  Throughout, the boys found Captain Bowen’s assistance of the greatest value. He went to town with them and helped them make their purchases, which he took into his own home, as a central point of assembling, the articles bought for the expedition, and helped to pack them in the handiest and most compact manner; and many a thing of value and use which he paid for with his own money, found its way at his hands into the outfit the lads were getting together.

  The route of the journey Captain Bowen also aided the boys in planning, and his knowledge of the country stood them in excellent stead. He prepared maps for them—home-made affairs it is true, and not absolutely accurate, but yet worth much to those who planned to cross a thinly settled country to the wilderness beyond. It was by the way of Braddock’s road that he advised the boys to go, following for the most part the course Gen. Putnam’s party had taken after leaving Hartford in 1788. This party had made the trip in three months, including a long wait while boats were built in which to float down the Ohio river.

  Captain Bowen figured that Ree and John could make better time and reach Fort Pitt (Pittsburg) before November first. There they could probably secure passage down the river without difficulty. In many other ways the genial old man lent his aid, and the boys never went to him that they did not find him brimming over with ideas for their benefit.

  The news that Ree and John were going to the Ohio wilderness, and alone—soon spread through the surrounding country. Men who hitherto had scarcely noticed them, now came up to shake hands and advise the lads as to this or that, whenever they chanced to meet them. Others shook their heads gloomily and lost no opportunity to throw cold water on the project. The young people of the community talked more of Ree Kingdom and John Jerome going west than of anything else. There were envious ones who predicted that the boys would return a great deal faster than they went, or that they would not live to return at all. There were those of better dispositions, however, who, while recognizing the peril of the proposed venture, hoped and promised for the chums, all success.

  It was with one of the former that John had an encounter which was talked about for weeks afterward. Jason Hard, the cobbler, a stocky Englishman, thirty years old perhaps, had been making slighting remarks about both John and Ree and their plans in the presence of a small company of men who were at the tavern awaiting the coming of the stage. As John approached the inn someone said:

  “Now here’s young Jerome himself, just say to his face what you were saying behind his back, Jason Hard!”

  “I was sayin’ that if his father wasn’t shiftless, the young ’un wouldn’t need to be leavin’ ’ome, an’ I say it again,” ejaculated the cobbler, with arms akimbo, standing directly in front of John in an insolent manner.

  “Look here! Take that back, you son of a Tory; my father has worked too hard to help his son get a start in life, for me to stand by and hear such talk! I say, take it back!” John bristled up like a porcupine.

  The insolent Englishman sprang toward him as though to strike him, paused a moment, then suddenly let fly a blow straight for the boy’s jaw. Most luckily John dodged in time, then with the agility of a cat he jumped toward the fellow and planted one fist just below his ear and the other squarely on his chin tumbling him to the ground.

  Captain Bowen, who drove up just in time to see the encounter, was tickled amazingly. Others enjoyed the exhibition almost as much, and gave a cheer for the boy, while the badly bruised cobbler stood by rubbing his head, as though he wondered what had occurred.

  Captain Bowen cautioned John against being too prone to take offense, especially as he would soon have Indians to deal with, but he secretly rejoiced in the lad’s spunk. The Captain drove out of his way to take John home in his light wagon, while he was thus advising him.

  The day of their separation was drawing quickly nearer, and John was spending as much time with his parents, brothers and sisters as he conveniently could. Often they urged him to abandon his preparations, but as it was with Return Kingdom that he was going, neither the father nor mother was willing to say he must not go. Both felt that he would be in good hands and in good company.

  And Mrs. Catesby and Mary more than once, also, sought to dissuade Ree from emigrating. It was kind of them and their words of sympathy did Ree good, but he smiled at their fears and promised that he would return to assist in welcoming them home from the city, if they should be returning when Mary’s education was completed.

  How often Ree had cause to remember these promises so light-heartedly made, and the comforts he was leaving behind, within a few short months—when days of danger and sleepless nights of peril came!

  There was so much to be done that time passed quickly. The Sunday preceding the Monday morning on which they were to start, Ree and John went to church together, and heard the good old preacher make special reference to them in his prayer—that God would guide and protect the young wayfarers and that they would not forget His mercy and wisdom. Every eye in the church was turned toward the boys, embarrassing them more than a little and making them wish they were safely started and well away from their excellent but altogether too curious friends.

  Ree went home to dinner with John, and on his way to the Catesby farm in the evening he went across the fields to the quiet church-yard. Under the clear, cold stars he sat beside a grassy mound and for an hour was quiet as the grave itself. Many tender memories crept through his heart and in his thoughts was an unspoken prayer. Thus he took leave of the spot to him most sacred—his angel mother’s grave.

  To his surprise Ree found Mrs. Catesby and Mary waiting for him in the combined sitting-room and kitchen, when he entered the house.

  “As you will be leaving so very early, sir, we thought to say good-bye to you to-night,” said Mary with feigned solemnity. And a little later she said as they were talking, “I do hope you will be as good as your name and will bring your scalp safely home with you when you do ‘return’.”

  Ree laughed and promised he would do so, but he blushed, and seeing which, Mary Catesby did the same, and looked her very prettiest.

  “We shall think of you often, Return, and maybe you will be able sometimes to send us a letter. We shall be glad to hear from you, and oh, my boy, be careful—careful in all things,” Mrs. Catesby said.

  There were more teasing words from Mary, and more advice and real tears, from Mrs. Catesby and her daughter, too, before the final good-byes were said at last.

  * * *

  The late September sun spread a soft, warm haze over old Connecticut. A great, two-wheeled, canvas-covered cart lumbered slowly along the country road. Walking beside the one large horse which drew the vehicle, was Return Kingdom, his battered beaver hat on the back of his head, a smile of buoyant hope upon his lips. Sitting on a chest, his feet hanging over the front of the wagon box, his back against a bundle of blankets which made a fine cushion, was John Jerome. Joy in living and satisfaction with himself and all mankind were written in every line of his face. It was eight o’clock of a Monday morning. Two hours earlier the long journey toward the unknown Northwest had begun.

  “Why, ye’r in a terrible hurry, youngsters! Thought I’d never ketch ye!”

  It was Captain Bowen who called out, driving his spirited team alongside of the emigrant wagon as he did so.

  “After ye’d gone, it come to me all of a sudden that ye’d stand a chance of meetin’ an old friend of mine. He is an Iroquois Injun of the Mohawk tribe an’ his name is High Horse. General Putnam gave him this knife fer doin’ some thin’ or other one time, an’ High Horse gave it to me ’cause I shared powder an’ bullets with him when he was out, an’ durin’ the war at that. Seems t’ me naow, tew, that I pulled him through some sick spell or somethin’. Any haow he give me the knife. If ye see him tell him ye know me. I heerd that he was livin’ up some crick emptyin’ into the Ohio.”

  Almost before the boys could thank the Captain he had turned and was gone, having thrown a long-bladed knife with a curiously carved ivor
y handle—a relic of some Dutch trader perhaps—to Ree.

  “I say! Maybe ye didn’t hear as haow Jim Huson was able to git about t’day! Ye’ll be hungry enough fer news I was thinkin’, before ye air back agin!”

  John waved his old cap and Ree shouted their thanks again, but if Captain Bowen heard he gave no heed; at least he did not look back.

  At noon a halt was made at the roadside, close to a running brook, while the horse was fed and watered and the boys ate their lunch. They would not have exchanged places with a prince, now that they felt themselves fairly launched upon their long-talked-of enterprise. Their hopes were unblemished by any unhappy circumstance and the fine weather was as a tonic to their already lively spirits. They carefully examined their goods and wagon to see that all was in proper order before starting on, resolving to be attentive to every detail and let no mishap come to them through carelessness. On the road, too, they exercised care, remembering that a steady gait and not too fast, was necessary. And so the first day of their journey was passed most pleasantly.

  For the novelty of it the boys camped out the first night, beneath a clump of beech trees, and no two young men ever more fully enjoyed a campfire’s cheerful blaze.

  Another and another day passed. It was in the afternoon of the fourth day of the journey that John stopped whistling “Yankee Doodle” to inquire of his companion who was taking his turn riding on the box:

  “Ree, do you know much about this Eagle tavern where we are to stop to-night? I just happened to remember a story that was told in war time, that the house was haunted.”

  “Haunted by Redcoat spies, I guess,” Ree answered. “The whole kit of them there at that time were the worst kind of Tories at heart, I have heard folks say, and Captain Bowen said something about it, too, you remember? But I guess they are all right now—got on the right side of the fence after the war was over.”

  “I don’t mind Indians or wild animals—fact is, I’m just hankering to kill a bear, but I don’t want anything to do with spooks or witches or anything of that sort,” returned John. “I’ll keep my eyes wide open for ghosts and robbers if we stay at the Eagle, at any rate.”

  “There is probably more reason to be afraid of bed-bugs,” laughed Ree. “I don’t believe the Eagle is so very bad a place or Captain Bowen would not have marked it as a stopping place. There was a man robbed and murdered there, it is true; but that was years ago, and needn’t worry us.”

  So with talk of their journey and the progress they hoped to make in view of the necessity of reaching the wilderness before winter set in severely, the lads whiled away the time. It was nearly sundown when, passing through a woods which skirted both sides of the road, they found the Eagle tavern in view.

  “See any spooks about?” asked Ree with a smile.

  “No,” said John quite seriously, “but I did see a mighty wicked looking man peeking out of the window of the barn across the road from the tavern there, just now. He seemed to be wanting to find out who we were and what sort of an outfit we had, without being seen by us. Without joking, Ree, I tell you I don’t like it!”

  * * *

  CHAPTER IV.

  The Man Under the Bed.

  The Eagle tavern was a long, low structure and stood close beside the highway, on the opposite side of which was the weather-beaten log and frame barn to which John had referred. Near the tavern was a well and an old-fashioned sweep towering above it. At the roadside there was a moss-covered log trough at which horses were watered. An air of loneliness, such as is noticed about old, deserted houses, whose door-yards have grown up to rank weeds and briars, hung over the tavern, and the deep shadows cast by the setting sun heightened this effect. Little wonder is it that a feeling of depression came over the young travelers as they approached.

  No other houses were near the tavern and guests were evidently few. The road which passed it was not a main thoroughfare, and no stage-coach made the Eagle a regular stopping-place. It may have been a handsome; much-frequented place at one time, but those days had long since departed.

  Up to the watering-trough Ree drove, however, and unreined the horse, that it might drink.

  “It does look kind of creepy around here,” he remarked in an undertone; “but put on a bold front, John, we are going to stay, just to prove to ourselves that we are not afraid.”

  “I would a great deal rather camp out,” John frankly confessed, “but you are the captain, Ree. I can stand it if you can.”

  A skulking fellow of about thirty years, none the handsomer for having lost nearly all his front teeth, came to help put up their horse when the boys had made their wants known inside the tavern. No unusual thing occurred, however, and the young travelers had shaken off the gloomy feelings which the lonely place inspired by the time their supper was ready. As they were by themselves at the table, a man whom Ree had not seen before approached and took a chair nearby, tilting back against the wall and calmly surveying them.

  John kicked Ree’s shins under the table. It was not, perhaps, a polite way of imparting the information that this was the fellow he had seen peering out of the barn, but Ree understood perfectly.

  Having eyed the boys for a minute or two, the stranger said, in a gruff, indifferent tone:

  “Good evenin’.”

  “Good evening, sir,” spoke Ree, and John’s voice repeated the words like an echo.

  “Traveled far?” growled the stranger.

  “Far enough for one day,” Ree answered, little inclined to engage in conversation with the man, for the fellow’s appearance was far from favorable. The sneaking glance of his eyes, his unshaved face and uncouth dress, half civilized, half barbarian, gave him an air of lawlessness, though except for these things he might have been considered handsome.

  For a minute the stranger did not speak, and John suppressed a laugh as he saw with what cool unconcern Ree returned the fellow’s stare whenever he looked at them.

  “Don’t show off your smartness, bub,” sharply spoke the man at last, as he fully comprehended that Ree had purposely given him an evasive answer, “I asked a civil enough question.”

  “And got a civil answer,” Ree quickly replied.

  “I see you are emigrating,” the stranger went on, trying to make his coarse voice sound friendly. “I just had in mind puttin’ a flea in your ear. Because it is the wrong time of year to be goin’ west, in the first place, and the woods are full of Indians and the roads alive with cutthroats, in the second place. If I was you young shavers I’d sell out and wait a year or two, or till next spring anyhow, before goin’ any further. I s’pose you have a lot of goods in your cart; goin’ to do some tradin’ with the Mingoes, maybe.”

  John pricked up his ears at this reference to the nature of their cart’s contents, but waited for Ree to speak. This the latter did at once, respectfully but firmly.

  “We are much obliged for your advice and the interest you take in us, but we expect to be able to take care of ourselves both on the road and in the woods. Aren’t you the man we saw in the barn as we were coming up?”

  The question was an experimental thrust. Ree wished to learn whether the fellow would give a reason for having spied upon them. The man looked at him searchingly before replying.

  “I never clapped eyes on you till you come into this room,” he coolly said, however. “What do you take me for? I was only goin’ to tell you that I know a man that will buy your outfit if you want to sell!”

  “Which we do not,” said Ree with moderate emphasis.

  “You would find a little ready money mighty handy; I don’t s’pose you have any too much,” the stranger replied with assumed carelessness.

  “Say; tell us what you are trying to get at, will you!” John spoke up, with a show of spirit.

  “Hold your horses, sonny!” the fellow growled. “You are almost too big for your breeches!”

  “Well what do you take us for! Maybe you have some more questions to ask!” John exclaimed, and Ree smiled to see h
ow heated he had become.

  The stranger relapsed into silence, and presently arose and strolled away.

  Having finished their supper, the boys went into the general sitting-room of the tavern, a long room in one end of which there was a bar, and sat down by themselves to talk. As their conversation flagged, Ree drew from his belt beneath his coat, the ivory handled knife Captain Bowen had been at such pains to give them. In an idle, listless way he began stropping the blade on his boot-leg.

  A tall, lank man of fifty, with a thin, sharp face and nose, whom the lads had noticed sitting opposite them, reading a pamphlet of some kind, came nearer and seemed to take an unusual interest in the sharpening of the knife. His keen eyes watched every movement the blade made. Coming close up, he quietly said:

  “If that ar ain’t Cap. Bowen’s knife over to Bruceville, he hes the mate to it! His’n is the only knife I ever see with a handle like that.”

  “Do you know Captain Bowen?” asked Ree, and as the man said he did, and told them who he was, both lads held out their hands which the newcomer shook cordially. It was like meeting someone from home; for the lanky individual was a peddler who had often visited at Captain Bowen’s house and knew many of their friends.

  As they talked further the peddler said, sinking his voice to an undertone, “I want yeow youngsters to hev some advice; it won’t cost ye nothin’, an’ it may save ye a heap of trouble. There’s a bad ’un stayin’ at this old tavern, an’ he’s likely to want yeow boys to pay fer his rum. Naow, he won’t ask ye fer money, but be all-fired keerful that he don’t git it from ye anyhow. Jes sleep with one eye open, an’ hev a hick’ry club handy t’ yer bed.”

  Ree told the peddler of their conversation with the stranger at the table, and as he described the fellow, their new friend said:

  “He ar the one, an’ him an’ the hos’ler here are bad ’uns.”