CHAPTER II
IN THE RIVER
Paul, while not the equal of Henry in the woods, was a strong and enduringyouth. His muscles were like wire, and there were few better runners westof the mountains. Although the weight of the second rifle might tell aftera while, he did not yet feel it, and with springy step he sped afterHenry, leaving the choice of course and all that pertained to it to hiscomrade. After a while they heard a second cry--a wailing note--and Henryraised his head a little.
"They've come to the two who fell," he said.
But after the single lament, the warriors were silent, and Paul heardnothing more in the woods but their own light footsteps and his own longbreathing. Little birds flitted through the boughs of the trees, and nowand then a hare hopped up and ran from their path. The silence becameterrible, full of omens and presages, like the stillness before comingthunder.
"It means something," said Henry; "I think we've stumbled into a regularnest of those Shawnees, and they're likely to be all about us."
As if confirming his words, the far, faint note came from their right, andthen, in reply, from their left. Henry stopped so quickly that Paul almostran into him.
"I was afraid it would be that way," he said. "They're certainly allaround us except in front, and maybe there, too."
Visions of the torture rose before Paul again.
"What are we to do?" he said.
"We must hide."
"Hide I Why, they could find us in the forest, as I would find a man in anopen field."
"I don't mean hide here," said Henry; "the river is just ahead, and Ithink that if we reach it in time we can find a place. Come, Paul, we mustrun as we never ran before."
The two boys sped with long, swift bounds through the forest as only thosewho run for their lives can run. Now the voices of the pursuit becamefrequent, and began to multiply. Henry, with his instinctive skill in theforest, read their meaning. The pursuers were sure of triumph. But Henryshut his lips tightly, and resolved that he and Paul should yet eludethem.
"The river is not more than a half mile ahead," he said. "Come, Paul,faster! A little faster, if you can!"
Paul obeyed, and the two, bending their heads lower, sped on withastonishing speed. Trees and bushes slid behind them. Before them appeareda blue streak, that broadened swiftly and became a river.
"We must not let them see us," said Henry. "Bend as low as you can, and beas quiet as you can!"
Paul obeyed, and in a few more minutes they were at the river's edge.
"Fasten your bullets and powder around your neck," said Henry, "and keepthe rifle on your shoulder."
Paul did so, following Henry's quick example, and the two stepped into thewater, which soon reached to their waists. Henry had been along this riverbefore, and at this crisis in the lives of his comrade and himself heremembered. Dense woods lined both banks of the stream, which was narrowhere for miles, and a year or two before a hurricane had cut down thetrees as a reaper mows the wheat. The surface of the water was coveredwith fallen trunks and boughs, and for a half mile at least they hadbecome matted together like a great raft, out of which grass and weedsalready were growing. But Paul did not know it, and suddenly he stopped.
"Why, what has become of the river?" he exclaimed, pointing ahead.
The stream seemed to stop against a bank of logs and foliage.
Henry laughed softly.
"It is the great natural raft," he said. "There is where we are to hide."
He hastened his steps, wading as rapidly as he could, and Paul kept by hisside. He comprehended Henry's plan, their last and desperate chance. In afew moments more they were at the great raft, and in the bank, amid adense, almost impenetrable mass of foliage, they hid their rifles andammunition. Henry uttered a deep sigh as he did it.
"I hate like everything to leave them," he said, "but if we come to closequarters with any of those fellows, we must trust to our knives andhatchets."
Then he turned reluctantly away. It was not a deep river, nowhere abovetheir necks, and he pushed a way amid the trees and foliage that werepacked upon the surface, Paul, as usual, following closely. Now and thenhe dived under a big log, and came up on the other side, his head wellhidden among upthrust boughs and among the weeds and grass that had grownin the soil formed by the silt of the river. And Paul always carefullyimitated him.
When they were about thirty yards into the mass Paul felt Henry's hand onhis shoulder. "Look back, Paul," was whispered in his ear, "but be surenot to move a single bough." Paul slowly and cautiously turned his head,and saw a sight that made him quiver.
Running swiftly, savage warriors were coming into view on either bank ofthe river--tall men, dark with paint, and, as he well knew, hot with thedesire to take life.
"I thank God that this place is here!" breathed Paul.
"Yes, it was just made for us," said Henry, and he laughed ever so little."Come, Paul, we must get farther into it. But be sure you don't shake anyboughs."
They waded on, only their heads above the current, and these always hiddenby the interlacing trunks and branches. A great shout, fierce withtriumph, rose behind them.
"They've found where our trail entered the water, and they think they'vegot us," whispered Henry. "Now, be still, Paul; we'll hide here."
They pushed themselves into a mass of debris, where logs and boughs, sweptby the current, formed a little arch over the stream. There they stood upto their chins in water, with their heads covered by the arch. Throughthe slits between the trunks and boughs they could see their pursuers.
It was a numerous band--thirty or forty men--and they divided now intoseveral parties. Some ran along the banks of the stream and others sprangfrom log to log over the raft, searching everywhere, with keen, black eyestrained to note every movement of the wilderness.
Paul felt Henry's hand again on his shoulder, but neither boy spoke. Bothfelt as if they were in a little cage, with the fiercest of all wildanimals around it and reaching long paws through the bars at them. Eachsank a little deeper into the water, barely leaving room to breathe, andwatched their enemies still searching, searching everywhere. They heardthe patter of moccasins on the logs, and now and then they saw brown,muscular legs passing by. Two warriors stopped within ten feet of them andexchanged comment. Henry, who understood their language, knew that theywere puzzled and angry. But Paul, without knowing a word that they said,understood, too. His imagination supplied the place of knowledge. Theywere full of wrath because they had lost the trail of the two whom theyhad regarded as certainly theirs, and to seek them in the vast maze oflogs and brush was like looking for one dead leaf among the millions.
The two warriors stood still for a full minute, and then moved on out ofsight. Paul drew a deep breath of relief, like a sigh, and Henry's handwas pressed once more upon his shoulder.
"Not a sound yet, not a sound, Paul!" he whispered ever so softly. "Theywill hunt here a long time."
More warriors, treading on the logs, showed that his caution was notmisplaced. They poked now and then in the water, amid the great mass ofdebris, and one stood on a log so near to the two lads that they couldhave reached out and touched his moccasined feet. But their covert was tooclose to be suspected, and soon the man passed on.
Presently all of them were out of sight; but Henry, a true son of cautionand the wilderness, would not yet let Paul stir.
"They will come back this way," he said. "We risk nothing by waiting, andwe may save much."
Paul made no protest, but he was growing cold. The chill from the water ofthe river was creeping into his veins, and he longed for the dry land anda chance to stir about. Yet he clenched his teeth and resolved to endure.He would not move until Henry gave the word.
He saw what a wise precaution it was, when, a half hour later, seven oreight warriors came walking back on the logs, and thrust with sticks intothe little patches of open water between them. Henry and Paul crouchedcloser in their covert, and the warriors stalked back and forth, stillsearchi
ng.
Henry knew that the Shawnees, failing to find a place beyond the debriswhere the fugitives had emerged upon the bank, would believe that theymight be hidden under the logs, and would not give up the hunt there. Ifthey should happen to find the rifles and ammunition, they would certainlybe confirmed in the conclusion, but so far they had not found them. Henry,looking between the logs, saw them pass near the place of concealment, butthey did not stop, and were soon near the other bank. It would havebitterly hurt his pride if they had found the rifles, even had he and Paulescaped.
An hour more they waited, and then the last warrior was out of sight, goneup the river.
"I think we may crawl out now," whispered Henry; "but we've still got tobe mighty careful about it."
Pad took a step and fell over in the water. His legs were stiff with thewet and cold; but Henry dragged him up, and before trying it again hestretched first one leg and then the other, many times.
"We must make our way back through the logs and brush to the rifles,"whispered Henry, "and then take to the woods once more."
"I think I've lived in a river long enough to last me the rest of mylife," Paul said.
Henry laughed. He, too, was stiff and cold; but, a born woodsman, he nowdismissed their long hiding in the water as only an incident. The tworeached the precious rifles and ammunition, drew them forth fromconcealment, and stepped upon the bank, rivulets pouring from theirclothing, and even their hair.
"I think we'd better go back on our own trail now," said Henry. "The warparty has passed on, and is still looking for us far ahead."
"We've got to dry ourselves, and somehow or other get that powder toMarlowe," said Paul.
"That's so," said Henry. "We came to do it, and we will do it."
He spoke with quiet emphasis, but Paul knew that he meant to perform whathe had set out to do, come what might, and Paul was willing to go with himthrough anything. Neither would abandon the great task of helping to saveKentucky. But they were still in a most serious position. They had beenmany hours in water which was not now warmed by summer heat, and they werebound to feel the effect of it soon in every bone. Henry glanced up atthe heavens. It was far past noon, and the golden sun was gliding down thewestern arch.
"I think," said Henry, "that it would be best for us to walk, as fast aswe can on the back track, and then try to dry out our clothing a little."
He started at once, and Paul walked swiftly by his side. The rivulets thatran from their clothing decreased to tiny streams, and then only dropsfell. The sinking sun shot sheaves of brilliant beams upon them, and soonPaul felt a grateful warmth, driving for the time the chill from hisbones. He swung his arms as he walked, as much as the rifles would allow,and nearly every muscle in his frame felt the touch of vigorous exercise.His clothing dried rapidly.
Two hours and three hours passed, and they heard no more the cries of thewarriors calling to each other. Silence again hung over the wilderness.Rabbits sprang up from the thickets. A deer, frightened by the sound ofthe boys' footsteps, held up his head, listened a moment, and then fledaway among the trees. Henry took his presence as a sign that no otherhuman being had passed that way in the last hour.
The sun sank, the twilight came and died, and darkness clothed thewilderness. Then Henry stopped.
"Paul," he said, "I've got some venison in my knapsack, but you and Iought to have a fire. While our clothes are drying outside they are stillwet inside and we can't afford to have a chill, or be so stiff that wecan't run. You know we may have another run or two yet."
"But do we dare make a fire?" asked Paul.
"I think so. I can hide the blaze, and the night is so dark that the smokewon't show."
He plunged deeper into the thickets, and came to a rocky place, full ofgullies and cavelike hollows. It was so dark that Paul could see only hisdim form ahead. Presently their course led downward, and Henry stopped inone of the sheltered depressions.
"Now we'll make our fire," he said.
It was pitchy black where they stood. The walls of the hollow rose farabove their heads, and its crest was lined on every side with giant treesand dense undergrowth.
The two boys dragged up dead leaves and brushwood, and Henry patientlyignited the heap with his flint and steel. A tiny blaze arose, but he didnot permit it to grow into a flame. Heavier logs were placed upon the top,and the fire only burned beneath, amid the small boughs. Smoke arose, butit was lost in the black heavens. The fire, thus confined, burnedfiercely and rapidly within its narrow limits, and a fine bed of coalssoon formed. It was time! The night had come on cold, and the chillreturned to Paul's veins. Before the fire was lighted he had begun toshiver, but when the deep bed of coals was formed, he sat before it andbasked in the grateful and glowing heat.
"I think we'd better take off our clothing and dry it," said Henry, andboth promptly did so. They hung part of their garments before the fire, ona stick thrust in the ground, until they were dry, and then, putting themon again, replaced them with the remainder, to dry in their turn.Meanwhile they ate of the venison that Henry carried in his knapsack, andfelt very happy. It was a wonderful experience for Paul. This was comfortand safety. They were only a pin point in the wilderness, but for thepresent the stony hollow fenced them about, and the hidden fire gave forthwarmth and pleasure.
"Do you think you could sleep, Paul?" asked Henry, when they had put onagain the last of the dried clothing.
Paul laughed.
"Could I sleep?" he said. "Would a hungry wolf eat? Will water run downhill? I don't think I could do anything else just now."
"Then try it," said Henry. "After a while I'll wake you up for yourwatch, and take a turn at it myself."
Paul said not another word, but sank back on the grass and leaves, withhis feet to the great bed of coals. He saw their glow for a moment or two,then his eyelids shut down, and he was wafted away on a magic carpet to adreamless region of happy peace. Henry's eyes, grown used to the dark,looked at him for a moment or two, and then the larger boy smiled. Paul,his faithful comrade, filled a great place in his heart--they liked eachother all the better because they were so unlike--and he was silently, butnone the less devoutly thankful that he had come.
Henry was warm and dry, and as he tested his muscles he found them suppleand strong. Now he took precautions, thinking he had let the fire burn aslong as was safe. He scattered the coals with a stick, and then softlycrushed out each under the stout heel of his moccasin. With the minutepatience that he had learned from his forest life, he persisted in histask until not a single spark was left anywhere. Then he sat down inTurkish fashion, with his rifle lying across his lap and the other riflesnear, listening, always listening, with the wonderful ear that noted everysound of the forest, and piercing the thickets with eyes whose keennessthose of no savage could surpass. He knew that they were in the dangerzone, that the Shawnees were on a great man-hunt, and regarded the twoboys as stilt within their net, although they could not yet put theirhands upon them. That was why he listened and watched so closely, and thatwas why he would break his word to Paul and not waken him, keeping thenightlong vigil himself.
The night advanced, the darkness shredded away a little before a halfmoon, and Henry was very glad that he had put out the last remnant of thefire. Yet the trees still enclosed the hollow like a black wall, and hedid not think a foe had one chance in a thousand of finding them therewhile the night lasted. But he never ceased to watch--a silent, powerfulfigure, with the rifle lying across his lap, ready to be used at amoment's notice. His stillness was something marvelous. Even had it beenlight, an ordinary observer would not have seen him move a hair's breadth.He was a part of the silent wilderness.
Midnight, and then the long hours. Faint noises arose in the thickets, betthe ear of the gray statue was alive, and he knew. The rabbits werehopping about, at play, perhaps, in the moonlight; a deer was passing;perhaps a panther stirred somewhere; but these were things that neither henor Paul feared; it was only man that they dreaded. After a whil
e afaint, clear note rose, far to the east, and to it came three replies likeit, and also far away. Henry laughed low. They were the familiar signals,but he and Paul were well hidden, and they would escape through the linesbefore morning. They might easily go back to Wareville, too, but he wasresolved not to abandon either the horses or the powder. The powder wasneeded at Marlowe, and it would be a bitter humiliation not to take itthere.
Two hours more passed, and then Henry heard the signals again, but nowcloser. By chance, perhaps, the Shawnees had formed their ring about theright place, and it was time to act. Paul had slept well and was rested,so Henry leaned over and shook him. Paul opened his eyes, and any questionthat he might have wished to ask was cut short at his lips by Henry's low,but commanding,
"Caution! Caution!"
"It is far after midnight, and we must move, Paul," said Henry. "They mayhave blundered on our trail before it was dark, and they are still lookingfor us. I think they are coming this way."
Paul understood in a moment, but he asked no question; if Henry said so,it was true, it did not matter how he knew. He rose, imitating Henry,taking his two rifles, and they stole silently away from the little covethat had been so full of comfort for both.
"We'll go toward the south now," said Henry, "and on your life, Paul,don't stumble!"
Paul knew the worth of this advice, and he was woodsman enough to avoidtripping on the vines and bushes, despite the darkness. One mile droppedbehind them, then two, then three, and Henry suddenly put his hand uponthe shoulder of Paul, who, understanding the signal, sank down at oncebeside his comrade.
The bushes were thick there, but Paul soon saw the danger, of whichHenry's ear had already warned him. A dozen warriors marched in a silentfile through the undergrowth. Well for the two that they were somedistance away, and that the bushes grew thick and long! And well for them,too, that it was night! The warriors looked keenly on every side as theypassed, apparently seeking out the last little leaf and twig; but, acuteas were their eyes, they did not see the boys in the bushes. And perhapsit was well for some of them that they did not find what they sought, asthe wilderness furnished no more formidable antagonist than Henry Ware,and Paul Cotter, too, was both brave and skillful.
But the warriors passed, and the black wilderness hid them. Henry watcheda little bush that one had brushed against, swinging in the moonlightwith short jerks that became shorter until it grew quite still again. Buthe did not yet go. He and Paul knew that they must not move for manyminutes. A warrior might turn on his track, see their risen forms, andwith his cry bring the whole band back again. They yet lay motionless andstill, while the moonlight filtered through the leaves and the silence ofthe forest endured. Henry rose at last, and led the way again.
"They are certainly beating up the woods for us," said he, "and I thinkthat party will stumble right upon the little hollow where we rested. Itwas well we moved."
They increased their southward pace, and when it was scarcely two hours tothe dawn Henry said:
"I know of a good place in which to rest, and a still better place inwhich to fight if they should find us."
"Where?"
"Holt's lone cabin. It's less than half a mile from here. I've had it inmind."
Paul did not know what he meant by Holt's lone cabin, but he was alwayswilling to trust Henry without questions. His imagination, flowering atonce into splendor, depicted it as some kind of an impregnable fortress.
"Come, we mustn't lose time!" said Henry, and he suddenly increased hisspeed, running so fast that Paul had much to do to keep pace with him.Paul looked up, and he saw why Henry hastened. The black curtain wasrolled back a little in the east, and a splendid bar of gray appeared justat the horizon's edge. As Paul looked, it broadened and turned to silver,and then gold. Paul thought it a very phantasy of fate that the coming ofday, which is like life, should bring such terrors.
They reached a clearing--a high, stony piece of ground--and in its centerPaul saw a little old log cabin, with a heavy open door that sagged onrude wooden hinges.
"Come," said Henry, and they crossed the clearing to the cabin, pushingopen the door. Paul looked around at the narrow place, and the protectingwalls gave him much comfort. Evidently it had been abandoned in greathaste. In one corner lay a tiny moccasin that had been a baby's shoe, andno one had disturbed it. On a hook on the wall hung a woman's apron, andtwo or three rude domestic utensils lay on the floor. The sight had Itspathos for Paul, but he was glad that the Holts had gone in time. He wasglad, too, that they had left their house behind that he and Henry mightuse it when they needed it most, because he began to be conscious now ofa great weakness, both of body and spirit.
Hooks and a stout wooden bar still remained, and as Henry closed the doorand dropped the bar into place, he exclaimed exultantly:
"They may get us, Paul, but they'll pay a full price before they do it."
"I'd rather they wouldn't get us at all," said Paul.
Nevertheless his imagination, leaping back to the other extreme, made thelone cabin the great fortress that he wished. And a fortress it was inmore senses than one. Built of heavy logs, securely chinked, the singlewindow and the single door closed with heavy oaken shutters, no bulletcould reach them there. Paul sat down on a puncheon bench, and breathedlaboriously, but joyously. Then he looked with inquiry at Henry.
"It was built by a man named Holt," said Henry. "He was either a greatfool or a very brave man to come out here and settle alone. But a monthago, after the Indian wars began, he either became wiser or less brave,and he went into Marlowe with his family, leaving the place just as itis."
"He left in time," said Paul.
The Forest Runners: A Story of the Great War Trail in Early Kentucky Page 2