The Forest Runners: A Story of the Great War Trail in Early Kentucky

by Joseph A. Altsheler

  CHAPTER IV

  THE SIEGE

  The whole night passed without event and the day came. Paul saw the lightgrow deeper and deeper, but nothing stirred in the forest. It stretchedbefore him, a living curve of glowing red and yellow and brown, but it wasnow like a sea of dangerous depths, and the little cabin was their soleisland of safety.

  "It's a good thing we brought the extra rifles with us," said Henry. "Theylook like good weapons, and they may save us in case of a rush. Ah, therethey come!"

  Paul had noticed nothing, but Henry had seen the bushes at the edge of theforest quiver, and then move contrary to the wind. His eye did not restupon any brown body, but he knew as well as if they had cried out that thewarriors were there. How many? That was the question that concerned himmost. If a great war party, they might hang on a long time; but if only asmall one, he and Paul might beat them off as often as they came. Theyhad four rifles, plenty of ammunition, enough food to last several days,and he thanked God for the providential presence of the rain barrel.

  These were but brief passing thoughts, and he never ceased to watch theforest. Still no sign of a face, but now and then the unnatural quiver ofthe bushes, and above them the sun spinning a fine golden, veil over allthe great wilderness.

  "Our guests have come, Paul," said he, "but from safe cover they areinspecting our front yard."

  "And they don't know yet whether or not they would like to disportthemselves on our lawn."

  "That is just it. They have doubts about their welcome."

  "That being so," said Paul, in the light, jesting spirit that he loved,"I'll just wait until they knock at our door. Meanwhile I'll take a drinkfrom that lucky cistern of ours."

  He bent his head into the barrel, and as he drank he felt fresh strengthand courage rushing into his veins.

  "It was great luck, wasn't it, to find this barrel?" he said.

  "It certainly was," replied Henry, and his words came from the bottom ofhis heart. "Now you watch while I take a drink."

  Paul did so, but he noticed nothing unusual in the woods. The faint signsthat Henry read with such an unerring eye were hidden from him. But hisskill was sufficient to cover all the cleared space. No warrior could passthere unseen by him. Henry rejoined him.

  "You watch from one side and I'll take the other," he said.

  They did so, but the single room of the cabin was so small that they wereonly a few feet from each other, and could talk together in low tones.

  "It will be a trial of patience," said Henry. "The Indian always has moretime than anybody else in the world, and he is willing to make the most ofit."

  Paul, too, knew that Shawnees, no matter what their numbers, would not yetrisk a headlong attack on the cabin, and now his curiosity as to what theywould do was aroused. It was surprise that Henry and he must guardagainst. What was to be expected? His sense of curiosity was as keenlyaroused as his sense of danger.

  Over an hour dragged slowly by, minute by minute. The sun blazedbrilliantly over the wilderness, and the shut little cabin grew close andhot. No fresh air came except by the loopholes, and it was not enough forcoolness. Paul's forehead grew damp, and his eyes ached from continualwatching at the loophole. Curiosity now began to give way to anger. Ifthey were going to do anything, why didn't they do it? He watched theforest so much and so intently that he began to create images there forhimself. A tall stump was distorted into the figure of an Indian warrior,a clump of bushes took the shape of an entire group of Shawnees, and manysavage, black eyes looked from the leaves. Paul's reason told him that hebeheld nothing, but his fancy put them there, nevertheless. He sawpresently a little jet of smoke, rising like a white feather; he heard areport, and then the sound of a bullet burying itself with a soft sigh ina log of the cabin. He laughed at the futility of it, but Henry said:

  "They're just trying us a little--skirmishing, so to speak. Be carefulthere, Paul! A chance bullet might catch you in the eye at the loophole."

  More lead came from the forest, and there was a sharp crackle of riflefire. Bullets thudded into the stout walls of the cabin, and Paul's soulswelled with derision. His vivid mind pictured himself as safe from thewarriors as if they were a thousand miles away. He was attracted suddenlyby a slight, gurgling sound, and then a cry of dismay from Henry. Hewheeled in alarm. Henry had sprung to the water barrel, the preciouscontents of which were oozing from a little round hole in the side, abouttwo thirds of the way up. A bullet had entered one of the loopholes andstruck the barrel. It was an unfortunate chance, one in a thousand, andhad not Henry's acute ear detected at once the sound of flowing water, itmight have proved a terrible loss.

  But Henry was rapidly stuffing a piece of buckskin, torn from his huntingshirt, into the little round hole, and he waved Paul back to the wall.

  "You stay there and watch, Paul," he said. "I'll fix this."

  The buckskin stopped all the flow but a slight drip. Then, with his stronghunting knife, he cut a piece of wood from the bench, whittled it intoshape, and drove it tightly into the bullet hole.

  "That's all secure," he said, with a sigh of relief. "Now I must get itout of range."

  He wheeled it to a point in the cabin at which no chance bullet couldreach it, and then resumed the watch with Paul.

  "Aren't you glad, Paul," said Henry, "that you were not in the place ofthe water barrel?"

  "Yes," replied Paul lightly, "because a piece of buckskin and a roundstick wouldn't have healed the damage so quickly."

  He spoke lightly because he was still full of confidence. The little cabinwas yet an impregnable castle to him. The crackle of rifle fire died, thelast plume of white smoke rose over the forest, drifted away, and was lostin the brilliant sunshine. Silence and desolation again held thewilderness.

  "Nothing will happen for some hours now," said Henry cheerfully, "so thebest thing that we can do, Paul, is to have dinner."

  "Yes," said Paul, with his quick fancy. "We can dine sumptuously--venisonand pigeon and spring water."

  "And lucky we are to have them," said Henry.

  They ate of the venison and pigeon, and they drank from the barrel. Theywere not creatures of luxury and ease, and they had no complaint to make.When they finished, Henry said:

  "Paul, you ought to take a nap, and then you'll be fresh for to-night,when things will be happening."

  Paul at first was indignant at the idea that he should go to sleep withthe enemy all about them, but Henry soon persuaded him what a wise thingit would be. Besides, the air was all the time growing closer and warmerin the little cabin, and he certainly needed sleep. His head grew heavyand his eyelids drooped. He lay down on the bed, and in a surprisinglyquick time was slumbering soundly.

  Henry looked at the sleeping lad, and his look was a compound of greatfriendship and admiration. He knew that Paul was not, like himself, bornto the wilderness, and he respected the courage and skill that couldtriumph nevertheless. But it was only a fleeting look. His eyes turnedback to the forest, where he watched lazily; lazily, because he knew withthe certainty of divination that they would not attempt anything untildark, and he knew with equal certainty that they would attempt somethingthen.

  He awakened Paul in two hours, and took his place on the bench. He had notslept at all the night before, when they were expecting a foe who had notyet come, and he, too, must be fresh when the conflict was at hand.

  "When you see shadows in the clearing, wake me, without fail, Paul," hesaid.

  Then he closed his eyes, and like Paul slept almost at once. Neither theweary waiting nor the danger could upset his nerves so much that sleepwould not come, and his slumber was dreamless.

  The afternoon waned. Paul, peeping from the loophole, saw the sun, redlike fire, seeking its bed in the west, but the shadows were not yet overthe clearing. Refreshed by his sleep, and his nerves steadied, he nolonger saw imaginary figures in the wilderness. It was just a wall of redand yellow and brown, and it was hard to believe that men seeking hislife lay there. By and by the e
ast began to turn gray, and over theclearing fell the long shadows of coming twilight. Then Paul awakenedHenry, and the two watched together.

  The shadows lengthened and deepened, a light wind arose and moaned amongthe oaks and beeches, a heavy, dark veil was drawn across the sky, and theforest melted into a black blur. Now Henry looked with all his eyes andlistened with all his ears, because he knew that what the warriors wanted,the covering veil of the night, had come.

  It was a very thick and black night, too, and that was against him andPaul, as the objects in the clearing were hidden almost as well now asanything in the forest. Hence he trusted more to ear than to eye. But hecould yet hear nothing, save the wind stirring the leaves and the grass.Inside the little cabin it grew dark, too, but their trained eyes,becoming used to the gloom, were able to see each other well enough forall the needs of the defense.

  Time passed slowly on, and to Paul every moment was tense and vivid. Thedarkness was far more suggestive of danger than the day had been. He tookhis eyes now and then from the loophole, for a moment, to glance atHenry's face, and about the third or fourth time he saw a sudden lightleap into the eyes of his comrade. The next instant Henry thrust hisrifle into the loophole and, taking quick aim, fired.

  A long, quavering cry arose, and after that came a silence that lay verystill and deadly upon Paul's soul. Henry had seen in the shadow a deepershadow quiver, and he had fired instantly but with deadly aim. Paul,looking through the loophole on his own side of the cabin, could seenothing for a little space, but presently arose a patter of feet, and manyforms darted through the dusk toward the cabin. He quickly fired onerifle, and then the other, but whether his bullets hit he could not tell.Then heavy forms thudded against the log walls of the hut, and through theloophole he heard deep breathing.

  "They've gained the side of the cabin," said Henry, "and we can't reach'em with our rifles now."

  "I did my best, Henry," said Paul ruefully. Conflict did not appeal tohim, but the wilderness left no choice.

  "Of course, Paul," said Henry, with every appearance of cheerfulness,"it's not your fault. In such darkness as this they were bound to getthere. But they are not inside yet by a long sight. Be sure you don't getin front of any of the loopholes."

  There came a heavy push at the door, but neither it nor the bar showed theslightest sign of giving way. Henry laughed low.

  "They can't get enough warriors against that door to push it in," he said.

  The two boys rapidly reloaded the empty rifles, and now each crouchedagainst the wall, where no chance bullet through a loophole could reachhim. An eye unused to the darkness could have seen nothing there. Theirfigures were blended against the logs, and they did not speak, but each,listening intently, could hear what was going on outside. Paul's fancy, asusual, added to the reality. He heard men moving cautiously, softfootfalls going pit-a-pat, pit-a-pat around the cabin, and it seemed tohim a stray word of advice or caution now and then.

  The silence was broken suddenly by a blaze of fire that seemed to comethrough the wall, a report that roared like a cannon in the cabin. A spurtof smoke entered at one of the holes, and a bullet burled itself in theopposite wall. A savage had boldly thrust the muzzle of his rifle into aloophole and fired.

  "Be still, Paul," whispered Henry. "They can't hit us, and they arewasting their ammunition."

  A second shot was tried by the besiegers, but the result was only theroaring, echoing report, the smoke and the flame, and the bullet thatfound a vain target of wood. But to Paul, with an imagination fed bystories of mighty battles, it was like a cannonade. Great guns weretrained upon Henry and himself. A thin, fine smoke from the two shots hadentered the cabin, and it floated about, tickling his nostrils, andadding, with its savor, to the fever that began to rise in his blood. Hedropped to his knees, and was creeping, rifle ready, toward one of theloopholes, eager with the desire to fire back, when Henry's strong handfell upon his shoulder.

  "I understand what you want, Paul," he whispered. "I, too, feel it, but itpays us to wait. Let 'em waste their lead."

  Paul stopped, ashamed of himself, and his blood grew cooler. He was notone to wish anybody's life, and again his mind rebelled at the necessityof conflict.

  "Thank you, Henry," he said, and resumed his place by the wall.

  No more shots were fired. The warriors could not know whether or not theirbullets had hit a human mark, and Henry inferred that they would wait awhile, crouched against the cabin. He reckoned that when they did movethey would attack the door, and he noiselessly made an additional prop forit with the heavy wooden bench. But the faint sound of footsteps suddenlyceased, and Henry, listening intently, could hear nothing save the risingwind. He looked through one of the loopholes, but he could not seeanything of the savages. Either they were still crouching against thewall, or had slipped back to the forest. But he saw enough to tell himthat the night was growing cloudy, and that the air was damp.

  Presently rain fell in a slow drizzle, but Henry still watched at theloophole, and soon he caught a glimpse of two parallel rows of men bearingsomething heavy, and approaching the cabin. They had secured a tree trunk,and would batter down the door; but they must come within range, and Henrysmiled to himself. Then he beckoned to Paul to come to his side.

  "Bring me your two rifles," he whispered. "This is the only place fromwhich we can reach them now, and I want you to pass me the loaded guns asfast as I can fire them."

  Paul came and stood ready, although his mind rebelled once more at theneed to shoot. Henry looked again, and saw the brown files approaching. Hethrust the muzzle of the rifle through the hole and fired at a row ofbrown legs, and then, with only a second between, he discharged anotherbullet at the same target. Cries of pain and rage arose, there was a thudas the heavy log was dropped to the ground, and Henry had time to send athird shot after the fleeing warriors as they ran for the forest.

  "They won't try that again," said Henry. "They cannot approach the doorwithout coming within range of the loophole, and they'll rest a while nowto think up some new trick."

  "What will be the end of it?" asked Paul.

  "Nobody can say," replied the great youth calmly. "Indians don't stick toa thing as white men do; they may get tired and go away after a while, butnot yet, and it's for you and me, Paul, to watch and fight."

  A certain fierce resolve showed in his tone, and Paul knew that Henry felthimself a match for anything.

  "Better eat and drink a little more, Paul," said Henry. "Take the half ofa pigeon. We'll need all our strength."

  Paul thought the advice good, and followed it. Then came another period ofthat terrible waiting.