The Frontier Angel: A Romance of Kentucky Rangers' Life

It was thus that the mysterious Frontier Angel was regarded by those who held communication with her; it was no wonder that Dingle felt some trepidation, and he hastened down, unbarred the massive gate, and saw her standing beside him.

"What news have you to-night?" he asked.

"I have much news; but why have you remained at home so long?"

"I've no reason, I s'pose."

"Then hasten to the woods again, for there is much for you to see."

"Won't you tell me the fuss?"

"I know not it all, but the Shawnees and Wyandots are making great preparations for taking the war-path."

"Is their idee to come hyerabouts?"

"I cannot tell; it may be, and it may be not."

"Whar' am they kickin' up this muss?"

"At Piqua."

"Yas; wal, I'll pay them a visit. Anything more?"

"That is all. I will now depart."

Dingle unbarred the gate, allowed her to pass out, and after securing it, made his way back to the block-house again. As he passed out on the platform, Jenkins demanded:

"Who is that you was talking with?"

"A gal that comes down to see me once in a while."

"An Injin?"

"A half-breed – splendid critter."

"Jerusalem! she looked purty. What in the name of all that's human made she shoot that arrer at me?"

"To kill yer, in course."

"To kill me! What did she want to kill me for? I'm sure I never done her any harm."

"She thought you'd jist come out to show yerself and try and cut me out. It made her all-fired mad."

"Did you tell her about it."

"Yas; but I can't tell you what she said. I'm goin' in to sleep now. Don't whistle so loud, nor slap your hoofs down so, nor git to talkin' how mean Dick Dingle is, or he might come out and make you shut up."

With these words, the ranger opened the door of the block-house and entered, leaving Jenkins completely dumbfounded at what he had said.

"By George! how did he know what I said? I'll bet that infernal Injin gal is down there yet, and waiting for a chance to shoot. I'll kill her, if she tries it, just as sure as I live. She'll wish she never knowed anything of Pete Jenkins."

But no attempt was made upon the sentinel's life, and when the morning dawned, the forest and river wore their usual appearance.

In the morning. Dingle imparted the message of the Frontier Angel to the commander of the post, and offered to visit the Piqua village and ascertain the meaning of their movements.

"If she says there is mischief afoot, you may depend that there is. Yes, Dingle, you had better go. Take who you please, find out what you can, and get back as soon as possible."

The visit of this strange being was only a night or two after the interview between Abbot and Peterson, so that the latter had not yet started upon his hunt after the renegade McGable. Upon consulting with Dingle, it was argued between them that, as there was no need of hurrying in such a matter, they would defer their expedition until after their return from Piqua. The safety of the settlement was paramount to all other considerations. Besides, it was very probable that the renegade was in the village named, and they were just as likely to accomplish the object of both their journeys at the same time. The two rangers held a long consultation, and the conclusion they came to took all by surprise. It was that Peterson should visit the Shawnee town in Paint Creek valley, while Dingle, in company with the redoubtable Jenkins, would reconnoiter Piqua. There was wisdom in this plan certainly, but many thought it singular that the two should separate, when they had never been known to do such a thing before when in service.

The Shawnees were the great enemy of the whites, and to them may be traced nearly all of the long and bloody wars on the frontier. They were a vindictive, revengeful, "restless people, delighting in wars." Their very name, as has been remarked, was a word of terror or of execration to the early settlers among the canebrakes of Kentucky or upon the rich bottoms of Ohio.

When this country was discovered, the Shawnees occupied the southern part of Georgia and Florida. Here they, at last, became so obnoxious to the other Indians by their continual murders and robberies, that a combination of the most powerful tribes – the Choctaws, Cherokees, and Creeks, was effected, and perpetual, unceasing war was declared against them. Finding the country too hot to hold them, the Shawnees emigrated north, settling on the Ohio and its tributaries. The Wyandots welcomed them, and they increased to a mighty and powerful nation, retaining their characteristic traits. From the commencement of the old French war, in 1755, down to the final struggle between Tecumseh and the whites, nearly sixty years after, they were continually engaged in some murderous foray, interrupted only by a dozen years of quiet, succeeding the treaty of Wayne.

Like all large Indian nations, the Shawnees were subdivided into tribes, and these subdivided into families. The names of but four of these tribes are now known: The Piqua, Kiskapocoke, Chillicothe, and Mequachake. Piqua, in the Indian tongue, means a man rising from the ashes, and there is a tradition among them, that it was thus this division originated.

They had a large village at the head of Massie's Creek, a short distance north of where Xenia now stands, and another named Piqua, on Mad River, a few miles below Springfield. Their principal headquarters were in the valley of Paint creek and Sciota river.

The simple preparations of the scouts were made, and it was agreed they should start in a few hours upon their perilous journey.

CHAPTER VII.

THE PURSUIT OF KNOWLEDGE UNDER DIFFICULTIES

Peterson's destination being the Sciota valley, he left the settlement and proceeded eastward, up the Ohio, until the mouth of the Sciota was reached, when he prosecuted his journey in a northerly direction, making it all on foot. Leaving him to continue his duty, we will follow the fortunes of the other two.

Dingle had two reasons for taking Jenkins with him. The first was for his own good, and the second was for his own – that is the ranger's – amusement. He counted on little difficulty in ascertaining all that he wished, and believed that his companion would be so tractable in his hands that little trouble need be apprehended from his erratic disposition. His plan was to proceed westward, following the course of the Ohio, until the mouth of the Little Miami was reached, up which he would proceed in a canoe. As he had often visited the same town, he took occasion, when upon one of his expeditions, to "borrow" an Indian canoe, as he expressed it, and concealing it at the mouth of this river, to be used for the purpose named.

"Confound it! what did you want to take me along for?" demanded Jenkins, spitefully, after they were fairly in the wood.

"Why, to scout around, and obsarve the pecooliarities of the Shawnees," replied Dingle.

"Yes, s'pose so! darned if I don't shoot every one I see!"

"Good! give us your paw on that, Jenkins, you're some, after all."

"After all what?" demanded the wrathful man, not at all relishing the eagerness with which the ranger took his threat.

"After all the dodgin' and sneakin' you've done when the reds war around."

"See here now!" exclaimed Jenkins, stepping in front of and confronting the ranger. "I want to know what you mean by that? That's a reflection upon my courage which I never intend to permit."

Dingle, concluding it best not to offend him at present, answered, "I meant the time you fell down so flat when the Frontier Angel fired her arrer at you."

"Do you know what made me do it, sir?"

"Oh! yes – I mind me now, you had a fit just then."

"Well, sir, don't let me hear anything more about that then; I have explained all about them fits, and you must remember."

"Wal, never mind, Jenkins, it won't do to git them now, coz why, if you do, when you come to again, you'll find you've cotched another kind of fits – wal, you will, ole feller."

"Do you s'pose, Dick, they'll watch us close?" asked Jenkins, in a tone so changed from his braggadocio style to that of earnest inquiry, that Dingle could not conceal a smile.

"Mighty clus, you'll find out. Howsumever, ef you tend to your business and mind what I tell you, you'll come out all right, I guess."

"My gracious! I wish we was only on our way back. I don't like Injins no way you can fix it."

"I don't neither, so let's pike ahead and hold in for a while."

The journey continued in silence. They were on the Ohio side of the river, having crossed it at the commencement of their expedition. Late in the afternoon they were obliged to swim a small stream that put in from the Ohio. This was accomplished easily, as both were excellent swimmers, Jenkins fully equal to the ranger. On the shore of this they halted, spent a few moments in eating a portion of the food they had brought with them. By this time darkness had settled over the forest, but the moon was quite strong, and they kept on for several hours. At the end of that time they reached a solitary block-house, standing on a clearing, where it was the intention to shortly commence a settlement. There was a small force stationed there by the governor of the territory some months previous. The sentinel was on the look-out and detected the approach of Dingle as soon as the latter became aware of the block-house. He was instantly challenged, but a word set the matter right, and in a moment one of the force descended, unbarred the gate, and joyfully welcomed him in. Lew Whetzel, to whom we have before referred, was in the block-house, and the meeting between him and Dingle was cordial on both sides. There were eight soldiers besides, all adepts in Indian warfare. The commander produced his cups, poured out whisky, and none, save Jenkins, needed an invitation to drink. The latter was a perfect novice, and with wondering eyes followed the motions and actions of Dingle. The consequence was, before any one suspected it, he commenced nodding, and shortly dropped upon the floor. One of the men rolled him into the corner, where he slept until morning.

Dingle, Whetzel, and several others kept up the conversation all through the night. They drank enough to make each communicative, and related stories and anecdotes almost without end. Lew Whetzel gave that incident in his experience to which we have before alluded. At its conclusion, he sprang to his feet with a regular Shawnee yell.

"And here is Lew Whetzel! ready for a bear-fight, Indian hug, or a hair raise."

As he uttered these words, he gave Jenkins a kick that thoroughly awakened him.

"Gracious alive! what's the matter?" exclaimed the latter, starting to his feet.

"Day has broke, and it's time to be trampin'," said Dingle.

"Yas," added Whetzel; "and I must go up the river to see the boys."

The appearance of this Lewis Whetzel was most extraordinary. He was below the medium height, with a square massive breast, very broad shoulders, and arms as powerful as piston-rods. His face was nearly as dark as an Indian's, and marked with the small-pox. His eyes were of the fiercest blackness imaginable, and there were few who could stand their terrible glance when angry. It is said that he never allowed his hair to be cut. At any rate, at the time mentioned, it was so long, that when allowed to flow unrestrained, it reached down below his knees.

Dingle and Jenkins passed outside, and after a hasty good-by, plunged resolutely into the forest. The ranger led the advance, in his usual cautious manner, proceeding rapidly, and yet so stealthily that their approach could not have been heard a dozen feet distant, excepting now and then, when Jenkins caught his foot in some vine, and tumbled with a suppressed exclamation upon his hands and knees, or forgot himself so much as to undertake to commence a conversation.

The journey was continued without incident worthy of note until nightfall. Not an Indian or white man was encountered through the day. Just at dusk, they reached a river, which, as Dingle informed Jenkins, was the Little Miami.

"My gracious! has that got to be swam, too?" asked the latter, in astonishment.

"No! we'll row over, I guess."

"Row over? how can we do that?"

"Don't ax too many questions and you'll see."

With this, Dingle proceeded some distance upstream, and then halted before a large, tangled mass of undergrowth. Here he stooped down, and pulled out a small birchen canoe, almost as light as paper. An Indian's paddle lay beside it, which he instructed Jenkins to bring forth. As he dropped the boat in the river, it danced as uneasily and buoyantly as an eggshell.

"Where under the sun did you get that thing?" asked Jenkins.

"That belongs to the Frontier Angel. It's the one we used to go sparking in when we was young."

"Pshaw, Dick, you're joking," replied Jenkins, incredulously.

"I should think you knowed enough of me to know that I never joke when I'm scouting it. Jest jump in while I give it a shove."

Now if any of our readers have ever seen a small Indian canoe, they will detect at once the mischievous object of Dingle in asking his companion to "jump into" this one. It is an impossibility for a person who does not understand them, to spring in without going overboard. It is precisely similar to putting on a pair of skates for the first time. Unless you have tried it before, and know how to do it, you are sure to be deceived. But Jenkins had no suspicions, judging from the last remark of Dingle that he was perfectly serious.

So he made a spring, struck the thing near the bow, and it shot like a bolt backward into the shore, and he disappeared with a loud splash beneath the surface of the water.

"Blast that boat! what made it do that?" he spluttered, scrambling into shore again.

"You're a smart one!" remarked Dingle, without changing a muscle of his face. "I'd 'vise you to practice a little at gettin' in a boat, when you've got time. I s'pose I'll have to hold it for you, this time."

And so he did, seizing it by the stern, and holding it firmly while Jenkins carefully deposited himself in the front part. Dingle then stepped in, seated himself near the middle, and dipping his paddle in the water, shot rapidly toward the opposite bank.

It was now quite dark, and by keeping near the center of the stream, he felt secure from observation from either shore. An hour or two, he sped swiftly forward, encountering no suspicious object, and exchanging not a syllable with his companion. After a time, the moon arose; and, as it slowly rolled above the wilderness, it shed such a flood of light as to make it extremely dangerous to continue as heretofore. The tall forest trees towered upon both sides, throwing a wall of shadow far out into the stream. Dingle ran his canoe in under protection of these, upon the left bank, and dipped his oars more deeply and silently, commanding Jenkins not to utter a syllable.

Dingle paddled hour after hour, until toward midnight, he touched the bank, sprung out, and exchanged places with Jenkins, who took his turn at the paddle. At first he made several feints, nearly upsetting the canoe, but, in a short time, he became quite an expert, and did his duty without a murmur. Another exchange, another long pull, and the ranger ran his canoe again into shore, pulling it up and concealing it on the bank. Day was dawning, and they had reached that point where it was necessary to take to the forest again, and strike across toward Mad river.

In doing this, our friends were compelled to pass the Indian village mentioned as being a short distance below where Xenia now stands. This being a smaller and less important one than Piqua, Dingle concluded to visit it upon his return. The river, at the point where they disembarked, made a bend to the eastward; so that, by taking a direct northwest course toward Mad river, it was not even necessary to make a detour to avoid it.

They had now progressed so far upon their journey, that Dingle knew they could reach Piqua long before night. Accordingly, he crawled into a dense mass of undergrowth, followed by Jenkins, who carefully restored the bushes behind him to their upright position, so as to remove all signs of their trail. Here they both lay down and slept soundly.

Dingle possessed that power, which is so singular and yet so easily acquired, of waking at the precise moment he wished. About noon he opened his eyes, arose to the sitting position, gave Jenkins a kick, and ordered him to make ready to start. After a hearty meal upon the last of the venison they had brought with them, they emerged from their resting-place, and once more resumed their journey.

As they gradually approached the neighborhood of the Indian settlement, Dingle became more and more cautious in his movements, until Jenkins was in a perfect tremor of apprehension.

"Don't fall behind!" admonished the ranger, unmercifully.

"My gracious, I won't! Every time you stop, I bump against you. I've mashed my nose already."

"Never mind; we're gettin' nigher every minute."

"I know we are, and that's what troubles me so much. If we were only going the other way, I wouldn't mind it so much."

Several times they came upon Indian trails, some of which were so fresh that Dingle made several detours, painfully tedious to Jenkins, who every minute was getting into a feverish state. Before dark, they ascended a sort of ridge, which seemed the boundary of a valley on the left. Jenkins followed his guide so closely, that he hardly took his eyes off of him, much less did he know where he was going. He saw they were ascending a rising ground, and that, after about an hour's labor, he came to a halt.

"Take a look down there!" whispered Dingle, parting the bushes in front of him. Jenkins followed the direction of his finger, and saw, spread out before him, in the valley below, the entire Indian village.

"My gracious! don't that look funny!" he exclaimed.

"It don't strike me as rather funny, when you understand what they're making all that fuss for."

"Not for us, you don't mean."

"Yes, for us."

"Let's be gettin' out of here, then."

"No, I don't mean for us here, but for the settlement – the block-house."

"Oh! I thought you meant they were coming here."

It was evident to any eye, that the savages below them were making preparations for some hostile expedition. Dingle judged it was against their own village from what the Frontier Angel had said. Most of the warriors were collected upon a large open space near one end of the village. Here several of their orators —stump speakers is a better term – were constantly haranguing them. The excited gesticulation, the bobbing of the head, and now and then a word could be heard by our two friends in concealment. The men were arrayed in the gaudy hideousness of war-paint, and to all appearances hugely delighted with the oratory that greeted their ears. Men were continually arriving and departing, sometimes nearly a score passing into the wood, and then reappearing in a short time again. Every second several shouts or yells pierced the air. The whole village was in commotion, and Dingle could as well have departed at once with the information that the Shawnees were again taking the war-path, and the settlement was most probably the object of their fury. But he determined to know more before he went back.

As it was getting darker, and the shrubbery and undergrowth were so dense as to afford a sure concealment in spite of the moon, which rose at a late hour, he felt no hesitation at making a much nearer approach.

In a short time they were within a hundred yards of the upper end. Here they both nestled down, and waited some time before making a further movement.

"Keep powerful quiet, while I look around!" admonished Dingle, crouching down and commencing to move off in the darkness.

"Here, hold on a minute," whispered Jenkins, eagerly catching the skirt of his hunting-dress; "how long are you going to be gone?"

"I don't know – sh!"

The footsteps of some one were now heard, breaking through the bushes. Dingle and Jenkins bent low, and in a moment discerned, looming up against the light in the village, the dark form of an Indian.

"By gracious! he's coming right onto us. Where's my gun?"

"Shut up, or I'll break it over your head," replied Dingle.

The hunter loosened his knife in his belt, for an encounter seemed unavoidable. The Indian came right straight ahead, in a line toward them; but when within ten feet, unconsciously to himself perhaps, he turned to the left and passed on, thus escaping a collision and his own doom at the same time.

"Now don't stir from hyer till I come back," whispered Dingle, again.

"Just wait a minute, Dick; I want to ask a question or two."

"Spit them out, quick then!"

"How long are you going to be gone?"

"P'r'aps an hour or two."

"What must I do all that time?"

"Why, lay still – don't budge an inch, 'cept you want to lose your ha'r."

"Oh! I don't want to lose it. S'pose the Injins come poking round here, what's to be done then?"

"Keep docile, and like as not they won't see you; but if they does, why, jump up, give 'em a lunge with your knife, and put to the woods. You can run fast 'nough to give 'em the slip. In course, you'll have to make some tall dodgin' to do it, but I guess you are able."

"I'll try it, Dick, though I'd much rather you'd stay."

"I can't – so don't bother me agin."

With this, Dingle moved away as silently as a snake, and disappeared instantly. He made his way toward the opposite side of the village. It was not his intention to proceed thus far at first, but circumstances compelled him. It seemed impossible to gain the view he wished. At every point, some obstruction presented itself. The Indians, too, were so continually passing through the wood, that discovery sometimes appeared inevitable. They made their appearance so suddenly, that they were not seen until almost upon him, and then it was only by the most labored caution that they could be avoided. Several times, indeed, had it come to that point, that he clutched his knife, and stooped to spring; but kind fortune still screened him.

Dingle had been absent about a couple of hours, and had reached a spot from which he believed he could obtain all the information he wished, when he was startled by the report of a rifle, and a series of yells from the quarter in which he had left Jenkins! He heard the rush of feet through the bushes and the signals of alarm all about him.

"That cussed fool has got himself into a fix, I'll swear!" muttered the ranger retreating several yards, so as to be concealed by the wood, and hurrying around toward the spot in which he had left him. He reached it in a few minutes, but all signs of commotion had ceased. An extraordinary stillness reigned over the village. He signaled for Jenkins, but no answer was returned. He found, at last, the precise spot in which he had left him. But he was gone, most certainly.

"Yas, the fool's in a fix, sure. Sarved him right. He'll larn sunkthin' afore he gets back to the settlement again."

CHAPTER VIII.

A MAN IN TROUBLE

Dingle waited in the wood until morning, searching and signaling for Jenkins, but without success. He hoped at first that he had made his escape; but he was compelled, after carefully watching the village for a long time, to the belief that he had been captured. In fact, it was a certainty with the ranger. He understood the actions of the Shawnees well enough to be satisfied upon that point.

"Now, Dingle, what's to be done?" queried the ranger meditatively. "He's in their claws – that's a sure case, and it don't look right for you to leave him thar. But jest hold on a minute. The great moral question is this: which ar' to be saved – him or the whole settlements? Ef I stay h'yer, pokin' round for him, like as not, I'll get cotched myself – no, I won't either, for Dick Dingle don't get that thing done to him. The reds ar' goin' on a ha'r raise, that's sure; and they'll leave Jenkins till they come back afore they roast him. Consequently, he'll have time to look round and git acquainted with his friends, and p'r'aps make a bargain to let him off on a visit. No, Dingle, you must make tracks fur home powerful fast."

This decision arrived at, the ranger lost no time in putting it into execution. He knew he could not get much start of his enemies; and, although they would be armed at the settlement, yet it was imperatively necessary they should have more definite knowledge of the intended assault. Slinging his rifle over his shoulder, he turned his face to the south and plunged into the forest.