CHAPTER IV
THE SEVEN HERALDS
Henry, late the next night, was near the Wyandot village, watching italone. They had decided to divide their work as the border watch. Partof them would sleep in the covert, while the others would scout aboutthe village. That night it was the turn of Shif'less Sol and himself,but they had separated in order to see more. The shiftless one was nowon the other side of the town, perhaps a mile away.
Henry was in a thick clump of bushes that lay to the north of the houseand tepees. Dogs might stray that way or they might not. If they did, arifle shot would silence the first that gave tongue, and he knew thatalone he was too swift in flight to be overtaken by any Indian force.
Although past midnight the heavens were a fine silky blue, shot with amyriad of stars, and a full rich moon hanging low. Henry, lying almostflat upon his stomach, with his rifle by his side, was able to see farinto the village. He noted that, despite the lateness of the hour, fireswere burning there, and that warriors, carrying torches, were passingabout. This was unusual. It was always characteristic of his mind notonly to see, but to ask where, when and, above all, why? Now he wasrepeatedly asking why of himself, but while asking he never failed toobserve the slightest movement in the village.
Presently he saw Timmendiquas walk from a large lodge and stop by one ofthe fires. Standing in the rays of the moon, light from above andfirelight from his side falling upon him the figure of the chief waslike that of some legendary Titan who had fought with the gods. A redblanket hung over his shoulder, and a single red feather rose aloft inthe defiant scalp lock.
Henry saw the renegade, Simon Girty, approach, and talk with the chieffor a few moments, but he was much too far away to hear what they said.Then six warriors, one of them, by his dress, a sub-chief, came from thelodges and stood before Timmendiquas, where they were joined, an instantlater, by the renegade Blackstaffe. The chief took from beneath hisblanket four magnificent belts of wampum, two of which he handed to thesub-chief and two to the renegade. Timmendiquas said a few words toevery one of them, and, instantly leaving the village they travelednorthward at the swift running walk of the Indian. They passed nearHenry in single file, the sub-chief at the head and Blackstaffe in therear, and he noticed then that they carried supplies as if for a longjourney. Their faces were turned toward the Northwest.
Timmendiquas and Girty stood for a moment, watching the men, then turnedback and were lost among the lodges. But Henry rose from his covert and,hidden among the bushes, came to a rapid conclusion. He knew thesignificance of wampum belts and he could guess why these seven men haddeparted so swiftly. They were heralds of war. They were on their way tothe far northwest tribes, in order that they might bring them to thegathering of the savage clans for the invasion of Kentucky.
Henry felt a powerful impulse, an impulse that speedily became aconviction. Every delay and every reduction of force was a help to thewhite men and white women and children down below the Ohio. A week oftime, or the difference of twenty warriors might be their salvation. Hemust turn back the messengers, and he must do it with his single hand.How he longed for the help of the brave and resourceful Shif'less Sol.But he was a mile away, somewhere in the dark woods and Henry could notdelay. The seven heralds were speeding toward the Northwest, at a pacethat would soon take them far beyond his reach, unless he followed atonce.
Dropping his rifle in the hollow of his arm he swung in behind them. Onecould not pick up a trail in dense woods at night, but he had observedtheir general direction, and he followed them so swiftly that within ahalf hour he saw them, still traveling in Indian file, the chief asbefore at the head of the line and Blackstaffe at the rear. The moon hadnow faded a little, and the light over the forest turned from silver togray. Many of the stars had withdrawn, but on sped the ghostlyprocession of seven. No, not of seven only, but of eight, because behindthem at a distance of two hundred yards always followed a youth of greatbuild, and of wilderness instinct and powers that none of them couldequal.
Chaska, the sub-chief, the Shawnee who led, was an eager and zealousman, filled with hatred of the white people who had invaded the huntinggrounds of his race. He was anxious to bring as many warriors as hecould to their mighty gathering, even if he had to travel as far as thefarthest and greatest of the Great Lakes. Moreover he was swift of foot,and he did not spare himself or the others that night. He led themthrough bushes and weeds and grass and across the little brooks. Alwaysthe others followed, and no sound whatever came from the file of sevenwhich was really the file of eight.
The seven heralds traveled all night and all of the next day, alwaysthrough forest, and at no time was the eighth figure in the file morethan four hundred yards behind them.
The Indian, through centuries of forest life, had gifts of insight andof physical faculties amounting to a sixth sense, yet the keenest amongthem never suspected, for an instant, that they were eight and notseven. At noon they sat down in the dry grass of a tiny prairie and atedried deer meat. Henry, in the edge of the woods a quarter of a mileaway, also ate dried deer meat. When the seven finished their food andresumed the march the eighth at the same time finished his food andresumed the march. Nothing told the seven that the eighth was there, novoice of the wood, no whisper from Manitou.
The stop had not lasted more than half an hour and the journey led onthrough great forests, broken only by tiny prairies. Game aboundedeverywhere, and Henry judged that the Indians, according to the customamong some of the more advanced tribes, had not hunted over it forseveral seasons, in order that it might have plenty when they cameagain. Ten or a dozen buffaloes were grazing on nearly every littleprairie, splendid deer were in the open and in the woods, but the sevenand also the eighth stopped for none of these, although they would havebeen sorely tempted at any other time.
Their speed was undiminished throughout the afternoon, but Henry knewthat they must camp that night. They could not go on forever, and hecould secure, too, the rest that he needed. It might also give him thechance to do what he wished to do. At least he would have time to plan.
In the late afternoon the character of the day changed. The sun set in amackerel sky. A soft wind came moaning out of the Southwest, and dropsof rain were borne on its edge. Darkness shut down close and heavy. Nomoon and no stars came out. The rain fell gently, softly, almost as ifit were ashamed, and the voice of the wind was humble and low.
Chaska, Blackstaffe and their men stopped under the interlacing boughsof two giant oaks, and began to collect firewood. Henry, who had beenable to come much nearer in the dark, knew then that they would remainthere a long time, probably all night, and he was ready to prepare forhis own rest. But he did not do anything until the seven had finishedtheir task.
He kept at a safe distance, shifting his position from time to time,until the Indians had gathered all the firewood they needed and weresitting in a group around the heap. Chaska used the flint and steel andHenry saw the fire at last blaze up. The seven warmed their food overthe fire and then sat around it in a close and silent circle, with theirblankets drawn over their bodies, and their rifles covered up in theirlaps. Sitting thus, Blackstaffe looked like the others and no one wouldhave known him from an Indian.
Henry had with him, carried usually in a small pack on his back, twoblankets, light in weight but of closely woven fiber, shedding rain, andvery warm. He crouched in a dense growth of bushes, three or fourhundred yards from the Indian fire. Then he put one blanket on theground, sat upon it, after the Indian fashion, and put the other blanketover his head and shoulders, just as the warriors had done. He lockedhis hands across his knees, while the barrel of the rifle which restedbetween his legs protruded over his shoulder and against the blanket.Some of the stronger and heavier bushes behind him supported his weight.He felt perfectly comfortable, and he knew that he would remain so,unless the rain increased greatly, and of that there was no sign.
Henry, though powerful by nature, and inured to great exertions, wastired. The seven, including the
eighth, had been traveling at a greatpace for more than twenty hours. While the Indians ate their food,warmed over the fire, he ate his cold from his pocket. Then the greatfigure began to relax. His back rested easily against the bushes. Thetenseness and strain were gone from his nerves and muscles. He had notfelt so comfortable, so much at peace in a long time, and yet not threehundred yards away burned a fire around which sat seven men, any one ofwhom would gladly have taken his life.
The clouds moved continually across the sky, blotting out the moon andevery star. The soft, light rain fell without ceasing and its faintdrip, drip in the woods was musical. It took the last particle of strainand anxiety from Henry's mind and muscles. This voice of the rain waslike the voice of his dreams which sometimes sang to him out of theleaves. He would triumph in his present task. He was bound to do so,although he did not yet know the way.
He watched the fire with sleepy eyes. He saw it sink lower and lower. Hesaw the seven figures sitting around it become dim and then dimmer,until they seemed to merge into one solid circle.
As long as he looked at them he did not see a single figure move, and heknew that they were asleep. He knew that he too would soon be sleepingand he was willing. But he was resolved not to do so until the darknesswas complete, that is, not until the fire had gone entirely out. Hewatched it until it seemed only a single spark in the night. Then itwinked and was gone. At the same time the darkness blotted out the ringof seven figures.
Henry's eyelids drooped and closed. He raised them weakly once or twice,but the delicate voice of the light rain in the forest was so soothingthat they stayed down, after the second attempt, and he floatedpeacefully to unknown shores, hidden as safely as if he were a thousandmiles from the seven seated and silent figures.
He awoke about midnight and found himself a little stiff from hiscrouching position, but dry and rested. The rain was still falling ingentle, persistent fashion. He rolled up the blanket that had lainunder him but kept the other around his shoulders. All was dark wherethe fire and the ring of seven had been, but he knew instinctively thatthey were there, bent forward with the blankets about their heads andshoulders.
He stole forward until he could see them. He was right. Not one in thecircle was missing and not one had moved. Then he passed around them,and, picking his way in the darkness, went ahead. He had a plan, vaguesomewhat, but one which he might use, if the ground developed as hethought it would. He had noticed that, despite inequalities, the generaltrend of the earth was downward. The brooks also ran northward, and hebelieved that a river lay across their path not far ahead.
Now he prayed that the rain would cease and that the clouds would goaway so that he might see, and his prayers were answered. A titanic handdragged all the clouds off to the eastward, and dim grayish light cameonce more over the dripping forest. He saw forty or fifty yards ahead,and he advanced much faster. The ground continued to drop down, and hisbelief came true. At a point four or five miles north of the Indian camphe reached a narrow but deep river that he could cross only by swimming.But it was likely a ford could be found near and he looked swiftly forit.
He went a mile down the stream, without finding shallow water, and, thencoming back, discovered the ford only a hundred yards above his originalpoint of departure. The water here ran over rocks, and, for a space often or fifteen yards, it was not more than four feet deep. The Indiansundoubtedly knew of this ford, and here they would attempt to cross.
He waded to the other side, rolled up the second blanket, crouchedbehind rocks among dense bushes, ate more cold food, and waited. Hisrifle lay across his knees, and, at all times, he watched the woods onthe far shore. He was the hunter now, the hunter of men, the mostdangerous figure in the forest, all of his wonderful five senses attunedto the utmost.
The darkness faded away, as the dawn came up, silver and then gold.Golden light poured down in a torrent on river, forest and hills. Everyleaf and stem sprang out clear and sharp in the yellow blaze. Thewaiting youth never stirred. From his covert in the thicket behind therocks he saw everything. He saw a bush stir, when there was no wind, andthen he saw the face of the Indian chief Chaska, appear beside the bush.After him came the remainder of the seven and they advanced toward theford.
Henry raised his rifle and aimed at Chaska. He picked a spot on thebroad and naked chest, where he could make his bullet strike withabsolute certainty. Then he lowered it. He could not fire thus upon anunsuspecting enemy, although he knew that Chaska would have no suchscruples about him. Pursing his lips he uttered a loud sharp whistle, awhistle full of warning and menace.
The seven sprang back among the bushes. The eighth on the other side ofthe river lay quite still for a little while. Then a sudden puff of windblew aside some of the bushes and disclosed a portion of his cap. Chaskawho was the farthest forward of the seven saw the cap and fired. TheIndian is not usually a good marksman, and his bullet cut the bushes,but Henry, who now had no scruples, was a sharpshooter beyond compare.Chaska had raised up a little to take aim, and, before the smoke fromhis own weapon rose, the rifle on the other side of the river cracked.Chaska threw up his hands and died as he would have wished to die, onthe field of battle, and with his face to the foe. The others shrankfarther back among the bushes, daunted by the deadly shot, and thehidden foe who held the ford.
Henry reloaded quietly, and then lay very close among the bushes. Notonly did he watch the forest on the other shore, but all his senses werekeenly alert. For a distance of a full half mile none of the Indianscould cross the river unseen by him, but, in case they went farther andmade the passage he relied upon his ears to warn him of their approach.
For a time nothing stirred. Boughs, bushes and leaves were motionlessand the gold on the surface of the river grew deeper under the risingsun. Blackstaffe, after the fall of Chaska, was now commander of theseven heralds, who were but six, and at his word the Indians too werelying close, for the soul of Blackstaffe, the renegade, was disturbed.The bullet that had slain Chaska had come from the rifle of asharpshooter. Chaska had exposed himself for only an instant and yet hehad been slain. Blackstaffe knew that few could fire with such swift anddeadly aim, but, before this, he had come into unpleasantly closecontact with some who could. His mind leaped at once to the conclusionthat the famous five were in front of him, and he was much afraid.
An hour passed. The beauty of the morning deepened. The river flowed, anuntarnished sheet, now of silver, now of gold as the light fell. Henrycrept some distance to the right, and then an equal distance to left. Hecould not hear the movement of any enemy in front of him, and hebelieved that they were all yet in the bushes on the other side of theriver. He returned to his old position and the duel of patience went on.His eyes finally fixed themselves upon a large bush, the leaves of whichwere moving. He took the pistol from his belt, cocked it, and put itupon the rock in front of him. Then he slowly pushed forward the muzzleof his long and beautiful Kentucky rifle.
It was certainly a duel to the death. No other name described it, andhundreds of such have been fought and forgotten in the great forests ofNorth America. The Indian behind the bush was crafty and cunning, one ofthe most skillful among the Shawnees. He had marked the spot where anenemy lay, and was rising a little higher for a better look.
Henry had marked him, too, or rather the movement that was the precursorof his coming, and when the Shawnee rose in the bush he raised a littleand fired. There was a terrific yell, a figure leaped up convulsively,and then falling, disappeared. Five shots were fired at Henry, or ratherat the flame from his rifle, but he merely sank back a little, snatchedup the pistol, and sent a second bullet, striking a brown figure whichretreated with a cry to the woods. The remainder, Blackstaffe firstamong them, also sprang to cover.
The renegade and the four remaining Indians, one of whom was severelywounded, conferred as they lay among the trees. Blackstaffe was nocoward, yet his heart was as water within him. He was absolutely surenow that the terrible five were before them. Two shots had been fired,but the
others were only waiting their chance. His own force was butfive now, only four of whom were effective. He was outnumbered, and hedid not know what to do. The Indians would want to carry out theimportant orders of Timmendiquas, but there was the river, and they didnot dare to attempt the crossing.
Henry, in his old position, awaited the result with serene confidence.The seven heralds were now but five, really four, and not only thestars, but the sun, the day, time, circumstance and everything wereworking for him. He had reloaded his weapons, and he was quite sure nowthat Blackstaffe and the Indians would stay together. None of them norany two of them would dare to go far upstream or down stream, cross andattempt to stalk him. Nevertheless he did not relax his vigilance. Hewas as much the hunter as ever. Every sense was keenly alert, and thatsuperior sense or instinct, which may be the essence and flower of thefive was most alert of all.
The duel of patience, which was but a phase of the duel of death, wasresumed. On went the sun up the great concave arch of the heavens,pouring its beams upon the beautiful earth, but on either side of theriver nothing stirred. The nerves of Blackstaffe, the renegade, were thefirst to yield to the strain. He began to believe that the five had goneaway, and, creeping forward to see, he incautiously exposed one hand. Itwas only for an instant, but a bullet from the other side of the rivercut a furrow all the way across the back of the hand, stinging andburning as if a red hot bar had been laid upon it.
Blackstaffe dropped almost flat upon the ground, and looked at his handfrom which the blood was oozing. He knew that it was not hurt seriously,but the wound stung horribly and tears of mingled pain and mortificationrose to his eyes. He suggested to the warriors that they go back, butthey shook their heads. They feared the wrath of Timmendiquas and thescorn of their comrades. So Blackstaffe waited, but he was without hope.He had been miserably trapped by his belief that the five had gone. Theywere there, always watching, deadlier sharpshooters than ever.
It was noon now, and a Wyandot, the most zealous of the remainingIndians, lying flat on his stomach, crept almost to the water's edge,where he lay among the grass and reeds. Yet he never crept back again.He stirred the grass and weeds too much, and a bullet, fired bycalculation of his movements, and not by any sight of his figure, slewhim where he lay.
Then a great and terrible fear seized upon the Indians as well asBlackstaffe. Such deadly shooting as this was beyond theircomprehension. The bullets from the rifles of the unseen marksmen wereguided by the hand of Manitou. The Great Spirit had turned his face awayfrom them, and helping their wounded comrade, they fled southward asfast as they could. Blackstaffe, his blazed hand burning like fire, wentwith them gladly.
In that journey of twenty hours' northward the seven heralds hadtraveled far from the Wyandot village and it was equally as far back toit. Going northward they had zeal and energy to drive them on, and goingsouthward they had terror and superstition to drive them back. Theyreturned as fast as they had gone, and all the time they felt that thesame mysterious and deadly enemy was behind them. Once a bullet, cuttingthe leaves near them, hastened their footsteps. The renegade wished toabandon the wounded man, but the Indians, more humane, would not allowit.
Henry could have reduced the number of the heralds still further, buthis mind rebelled at useless bloodshed and he was satisfied to letterror and superstition do their work. He followed them until they werein sight of the village, guessing the surprise and consternation thattheir news would cause. Then he turned aside to find his comrades in thecovert and to tell them what he had done. They admired, but they werenot surprised, knowing him so well.
Meanwhile they waited.
The Border Watch: A Story of the Great Chief's Last Stand Page 6