Ned in the Block-House: A Tale of Early Days in the West

Raising his long rifle to his shoulder, he pointed it straight at Waughtauk, and then advanced until the muzzle was thrust through the window, while he himself stood no more than a foot outside.

At that instant one of the warriors reached down and stirred the blazing sticks of wood burning on the hearth. The flames leaped higher, filling the room with a warm ruddy glow. A slight noise caused the three Wyandots to turn their heads toward the open window, when they saw a sight which held them spell-bound.

A tall spare man, in the garb of a hunter, stood with his deadly rifle pointed straight at them, and the muzzle was not twelve feet distant from the head of Waughtauk the chief.

Looking along the barrel, pointing like the finger of fate at the Wyandot leader, the bony fingers of the left hand were seen grasping the dark iron, while the right hand, crooked at the elbow, encompassed the trigger-guard, and the forefinger was gently pressing the trigger. The hammer clutching the yellow flint was drawn far back, like the jaw of a rattlesnake when about to bury its fangs in its victim, and just behind that the single open eye of the hunter himself seemed to be agleam with a fire that was likely to ignite the powder in the pan, without the flash of the quartz.

The coonskin cap, the grizzly whiskers, the rough garments were frosted with tiny snowflakes which glistened and glinted in the fire-light like points of burnished silver. The figure was as motionless as were the three Wyandots, who could only stare at what must have seemed an apparition from the other world. As they gazed, the figure spoke in a slow sepulchral voice —

"Let the Wyandot chieftain and his warriors go back to their squaws and pappooses, for the pale-face is hurrying through the forest to burn his lodges and to make captive his children! The Great Spirit commands that the Wyandots shall go."

Having uttered these extraordinary words, Jo Stinger took several steps backward, without moving a muscle of the upper portion of his body, so silently and imperceptibly that he seemed to dissolve in the surrounding darkness.

The moment after, Waughtauk uttered a cry of such distress that the Wyandots in the immediate neighborhood heard it and hurried to him. Stinger was quick to perceive his chance, and hurrying to the door of the block-house, he rapped so sharply on it that the listening Colonel Preston hurried down the ladder and approached the entrance.

"Who's there?" asked the commandant, in a guarded voice.

"Me – Jo; it's all right; quick, let me in afore the varmints get back!"

There was no mistaking the voice, and Colonel Preston removed the fastenings with a nervous haste, which did not leave him until his friend was inside, and the bars were replaced in their sockets.

He then grasped the hand of Jo and shook it warmly, for the relief of all over the return of the invaluable scout was beyond expression. They hurriedly went up the ladder, where all, including Mrs. Preston, who declared she could sleep no more that night, listened to the stirring story which Jo had to tell. His auditors fairly held their breath when he drew the picture of himself standing at the window of the cabin, with his rifle pointed at the Wyandot chief, and commanding him in the name of the Great Spirit to hasten to protect his own lodges from the invading white man.

"You gave him such a fright that he may strike his tents and leave," suggested Colonel Preston.

"No," said Jo; "such things have been done, and Simon Kenton once played the trick so well that he kept a party of Delawares from massacreing a white family going down the Ohio, but Kenton had a much better show than me."

"It seems to me, Jo, you had everything in your favor," said Megill, who, like all the others, was deeply interested in the narrative of the hunter.

"There's just the trouble; the chief and his men were scared out of their moccasins for a minute or so, and if it had happened that I hadn't showed myself afore, and the Wyandots didn't know I was outside, the scare might have amounted to something; but when the other warriors come around the chief, and he learns what has took place – if he didn't know it all before – he'll see that the whole thing was a trick, and he will be madder than ever. I think he'll open the music agin very soon."

"If he fires the cabin," said Colonel Preston, "it will be apt to make it pretty warm in here, for the wind does come from that direction, and I wish the thing didn't stand quite so near us as it does. But the sides of the block-house are not so dry as the roof, and I hope we can stand more heat from that source than the Wyandots think."

"We have considerable water left," said Jo, "and we must take mighty good care that none of it is wasted."

"Did you find the tomahawk in the door?" asked Ned.

"I felt for it, but it was gone."

The prospects were discussed in low, earnest tones, while every one was in a fever of expectancy. There was constant peeping through the loopholes, and the occasional whistling and whooping were accepted as signals to open the last decisive attack.

Jo Stinger was moving about in this manner, doing what he could to cheer his friends, when some one caught his elbow.

"Who is it?" he asked, stopping short.

"It is I, Ned Preston," replied the boy; "I want to ask you a question."

"Well, younker, what is it?" said the hunter in a kindly manner, and lowering his voice, so that the others could not overhear them.

"I wanted to ask you whether you learned anything about Deerfoot, when you were out."

"Nothing partic'lar; I heard his name mentioned by that varmint that run against me, after I didn't fall into the well."

"How was it?"

Jo related the incident in which he was compared to the young Shawanoe.

"What do you think about it, Jo?"

"Well, of course none of us knows anything for sartin, – but it's my opinion – since you ax it – that Deerfoot has slid under for good."

"I am afraid so," said Ned Preston faintly. "Poor Deerfoot!"

CHAPTER XVII

THE LONG CLEARING

Deerfoot, the young Shawanoe, despite his extraordinary exertions and his own wonderful woodcraft, had fallen into the hands of the hostile Wyandots, and with a grim satire upon the skill which had given the youth his great fame, Waughtauk, chief of his enemies, had decreed that his life should be staked upon the result of a race with the fleetest runners of the tribe.

The captive would have welcomed such a contest, could it have been conducted on anything like equal terms, but he seemed in a pitiable condition, unable to bear the weight of his body for more than a second on one foot. Had it been otherwise, Waughtauk never would have made the conditions what they were.

The promised enjoyment was so eagerly looked for by the warriors that the chief decided to gratify them and himself, without delay.

It was now near noon, and the sun shining overhead gave no indications of the clouds and snow-fall that came with the close of day. The "Long Clearing," of which the chief spoke, was an open space, beginning fifty rods north of the block-house and extending for a third of a mile, parallel with the Licking river. It had a width varying from a hundred feet to five times that extent. It was a natural clearing or opening, which, it would seem, offered a much better site for a block-house than the one selected by Colonel Preston, when he erected the building now placed in such danger.

It presented an open space for the distance named, and, before the founding of the settlement, was often used by Indians for their games and athletic contests: no more suitable place could have been found for the extraordinary contest decreed by Waughtauk, chief of the Wyandots.

As this exhibition was ordered during the time when the siege was to be maintained, it was impossible that more than a fractional part of the warriors could take part in or witness it. Waughtauk selected six of his men who were to be the actors in the tragedy, he himself purposing to be the leader and director.

As the wolf, before destroying the lamb, sought a pretext for his cruelty, so the chief assumed a certain air of justice in arranging for what might be termed a race for life.

The warrior who had struck Deerfoot was given his bow, the youth being allowed to retain his knife, tomahawk, and quiver. None of the Wyandots were permitted to carry their guns, the only weapon of that kind being in the hands of the chief, who was also magnanimous enough to give the fugitive a start of some fifty yards.

Deerfoot was too proud to open his lips, when the conditions were explained to him. He stood grim and silent, watching the preparations and noting the exultation which often reached boisterousness.

"Great is Deerfoot, the swiftest runner of the Shawanoes!" said one mockingly; "he is the eagle, and he will leave the Wyandots far out of sight, as the great bird leaves the smaller ones in his flight through the heavens!"

"Deerfoot is the friend of the Yenghese and the Long Knives, who have come to take away the hunting-grounds of the red man."

"The pale-faces will come to the help of Deerfoot, for who has been a better friend to them than he?"

These and similar taunts fell upon ears which appeared to hear them not. Those who uttered the cruel words came close to the youth and peered into his face, with hideous grimaces, but he stood calm and silent. He was a shade paler, and there was a strange gleam in his black eyes, but he looked beyond his tormentors at Waughtauk, who deliberately paced off the distance, giving liberal measure, as it is only justice to record.

When the fifty steps had been taken, Waughtauk stopped, stamped the heel of his moccasin in the earth, and, turning about, beckoned to Deerfoot to approach. The young Shawanoe, as he hobbled painfully forward, presented a spectacle which ought to have excited the pity of the hardest heart; but the Wyandots laughed and were impatient for the contest, if such it may be called, to open.

Deerfoot limped the greater part of the distance and then stopped to rest a moment, seemingly unable to advance another step. Several taunting exclamations followed this display of weakness, and, summoning his energies, the youth resumed his labored advance, finally reached the side of Waughtauk, who concealed, as well as he could, his impatience.

"Deerfoot will stand here," said he, pointing to the indentation the heel of his moccasin had made in the ground; "when he hears Waughtauk give forth the war-whoop of the Wyandots, he will teach my warriors how to run."

The young Shawanoe opened his lips to make answer, but they closed more tightly than before, and not a word was uttered. His self-restraint was perfect.

Waughtauk walked back to the edge of the Long Clearing, where the six warriors eagerly awaited the signal for the sport to begin. Despite the usual stoicism and indifference of their race, the braves were as frolicsome as so many school-boys. They elbowed and crowded each other for their places, and one or two vigorous wrestling bouts occurred, before the chieftain placed them in line.

At last the six Wyandots were drawn up in position, one foot thrown forward, while they swayed restlessly back and forth, inching along the advanced foot, like so many runners eager for the slightest advantage. Each carried his knife and tomahawk at his girdle, but the arms were free. He who claimed the bow of Deerfoot had thrown it aside, now that he was about to run.

Waughtauk looked at his men and then he placed himself in alignment at their right. He still held his loaded gun, probably as an emblem of his authority, and as a notification that he would use it in the event of any warrior disregarding orders.

The seven now looked out upon the Long Clearing at the fugitive who was to go through this mockery of a race with the sinewy-limbed Wyandots, eager and thirsting for his life.

The pose of Deerfoot was much the same as that of his enemies. His left foot was in advance of the other, while his weight gently oscillated back and forth, like the swinging of a long pendulum. Unnoticed by any of the Wyandots, he had edged fully ten feet beyond the proper starting-point. His face was turned as if looking at the autumnal woods on his right, but as his handsome profile was thrown against the sky beyond, his eyes were scrutinizing every action of his foes, as they arranged themselves and awaited the signal.

At this juncture it must have occurred to more than one that the Shawanoe was balancing himself with remarkable ease for one whose sufferings from a sprained ankle were so acute. If such a thought came to the Wyandots, they did not lose sight of the fact that the time for an investigation was past.

For a single minute complete quiet prevailed. The river on the left flowing calmly northward, the solemn autumn woods on the right, the stretch of the Long Clearing, with its irregular contour, – the single solitary youth poised as if he were a Grecian athlete, – the seven swarthy Indians, like so many fierce hounds, impatient for the moment when they might spring at the lamb and bury their fangs in its throat: – these made a picture striking beyond imagination in its details.

"Whoop! whoop! whoop!"

In quick succession the war-cry of the Wyandots rang out on the still air, and like an electric shock it thrilled through every being who heard the startling signal.

The ringing shout had scarcely left the lips of Waughtauk, when Deerfoot made a tremendous leap of nearly a dozen feet, and the instant he lightly struck the ground he bounded away with a burst of speed which astounded the spectators. There was no lameness now – there had never been the slightest. The young Shawanoe when he saw his capture was inevitable, resorted to this strategy with the quickness of inspiration. The sprained ankle was a fiction – a fiction not essayed with any thought that he would be subjected to such a special test, but with the belief that a chance might come in which he could make a break for freedom and for life.

A series of fierce shouts went up from the thunderstruck Wyandots, as they saw the fugitive ricocheting over the grounds, as may be said, like the ball from the throat of a Columbiad.

The halt and the lame who were the first to step into the pool of Siloam, after the angel had stirred the waters, were no more quickly healed than was Deerfoot by the ringing war-cry of the Wyandot chieftain.

A consuming anger like that of the wolf, when the panther robs him of his prey, must have fired the hearts of the Wyandots, at the moment they saw the trick played on them by this despised youth. He, a boy in stature and years, had pitted his skill, his strategy, his woodcraft, his brains against theirs, and he had won.

The readiness of Deerfoot added several rods to the advance originally given, so that a great advantage was thus obtained, and it was improved to the utmost.

The wonderful youth ran as never before. His lithe legs doubled under him with inconceivable quickness, the eye seeing naught but the twinkling of the beaded moccasins. The still wind cut by his face as though it was a gale. He was a gladiator stripped for the struggle, and every nerve and muscle was strained to the last tension. He seemed a swallow skimming close to the ground, or a shaft driven from his own bow, so graceful was his arrowy swiftness.

There were swift runners among the Wyandots, and the seven warriors included their fleetest, who now put forth every exertion of which they were capable. The difference in their speed was shown by their immediate separation, with rapidly increasing spaces between them; but the young Shawanoe drew away from them, as a child draws away from the stationary object which frightens it.

Deerfoot saw the half mile sweeping under his feet, as the steel rails glide under the plunging engine, and the single glance he threw over his shoulder told the glad fact that he had not misjudged his own matchless ability as a runner. Muscle and nerve and sinew never did their work more splendidly than now, when their existence was staked on the manner in which that work was to be done. Human ingenuity could never construct a piece of mechanism which could do such marvelous service, as did those limbs of the flying fugitive on that crisp autumn day nearly a century ago, in Kentucky.

Although, as we have stated, there were many rapid runners among the Wyandots, there was not one who could attain and hold the terrific pace of the Shawanoe, whose victory, it may be said, was assured from the beginning. Fired by their fury and chagrin, they made prodigious exertions to run down the youth, or at least to approach close enough to hurl their tomahawks; but this was useless, and with an exasperation beyond expression they saw their victim slipping irrecoverably from their grasp.

Suddenly a shot rang out on the frosty air. Waughtauk, the chieftain, and the only one who had a rifle, came to a dead halt and fired point blank at the vanishing youth, hoping at least to disable him, so he would fall into their hands. Deerfoot heard the firing of the bullet, as it nipped his cheek, but he did not hasten his pace, because he was unable to do so, and no need existed. From the first he had done his best, and there was no room for an increase in the way of speed.

A third of a mile is soon traversed at such a rate of travel, and in a brief while Deerfoot approached the end of the Long Clearing. His swiftness was unabated, but, when he once more glanced around and saw that the whole seven Indians had given up the pursuit and were standing at varying distances from each other looking at him, he instantly slackened his pace.

Coming to a dead halt he faced about and, swinging his arms over his head, gave utterance to whoops and taunting exclamations.

"Have the Wyandots learned to run? Who is Waughtauk, that a youth of the Shawanoes should teach him to walk? Let the Wyandots go back to their lodges and tell their squaws that Deerfoot has taught them knowledge! Are the Wyandots tired that they must sit down and rest? Shall Deerfoot come back to them and show them what to do, when their enemies are around them?"

No more stinging taunts than these can be imagined, and the Wyandots felt their full force. They were silent, possibly because their tongue contained no words which could give suitable expression to their feelings.

Clearly it was idle to maintain the pursuit any longer, and the seven Wyandots, including Waughtauk the chieftain, stalked back toward the block-house, for the purpose of pressing the siege with more vigor than ever.

Up to this point they had in reality accomplished nothing toward the reduction of the place. They had lost several of their warriors, and Deerfoot, as they all agreed, would make all haste to Wild Oaks to procure help for the beleaguered garrison.

An individual capable of such speed as he, would reach the Ohio before nightfall; and, under the stress of necessity, the settlers would be at Fort Bridgman before the sun could cross the meridian on the morrow.

Such was the reasoning of Waughtauk, and all of his counsellors agreed with him. A brief while before they would not have believed it possible that help could be brought before the following night; but since the occurrence just described they were prepared to believe Deerfoot capable of doing almost anything.

The precise conversation between the maddened red men, of course, can never be known to the historian, and it is not desirable that it should be; but the parties concerned were so interested in the words that they were close to the stockade of the block-house before it was recalled that the long valuable bow taken from Deerfoot was left lying on the ground where the new owner threw it when ready to join in the chase.

This was too valuable a trophy to be lost, and the Wyandot immediately turned about and hastened toward the Long Clearing to recover it, while the others passed on to mingle with those who were striving so hard to encompass the destruction of the little party in the garrison.

The Indian who hurried back, it will be remembered, was the one that had struck Deerfoot when he was a captive. He had been the most cruel in his taunts, and his hatred of the youth seemed more malignant, if possible, than that of the others.

He ground his teeth together, as he dropped into a walk, and recalled the inimitable cleverness with which the young warrior outwitted them.

"Why did we not know the dog spoke with two tongues? Why did we not make sure he could not run? Why did not some of our warriors lie in the woods at the end of the Long Clearing to catch him, if he should escape us?"

"He is a dog – he is a traitor!" muttered the fierce Wyandot, approaching the spot where he had thrown the bow, "and he shall yet fall by my hand – "

He was about to stoop forward to pick up the weapon, when a slight exclamation caught his ear, and he straightened up like a flash.

Less than twenty feet distant stood Deerfoot the Shawanoe, quietly looking at him. Both had reached the spot on the same errand, and thus they met.

The youth had the advantage of detecting the other first, and, as a consequence, was prepared. In the language of the west, it would have been said, under similar circumstances, that Deerfoot "had the drop" on the other Indian.

The latter, as he looked up, saw that the hand of the youth grasped his tomahawk, which was held so far back of his hip that only a glimpse of its edge could be seen. The arm extended straight down so that it needed to be thrown upward and backward, before the formidable missile could be launched.

Fate seemed to favor Deerfoot that day; for not only had he escaped from a cruel death, but the being whom he hated above all others, and with an intensity which only a barbarian can feel, now stood before him.

There was no misunderstanding the situation on the part of either. The Wyandot would have resorted to any treachery to slay Deerfoot, and he was aware that Deerfoot knew it. He had inflicted indignities upon the young Shawanoe which nothing less than the grace of heaven will enable the North American Indian to forgive.

The two gazed fixedly at each other without speaking, and for a second or two neither stirred a muscle. Then, while the Wyandot centered his burning gaze upon the bronzed face before him, his right hand began slowly stealing up from his hip to his girdle. It was seeking the handle of his tomahawk, but, guarded as was the movement, the Shawanoe saw it.

So absolute was Deerfoot's faith in his own prowess and unequalled celerity that, knowing as he did the meaning of his enemy's action, he permitted the hand to touch the weapon, before he affected to notice it.

The instant the Wyandot griped the tough wooden handle, he snatched it forth with surprising quickness and threw his hand back over his head with the purpose of hurling it at the defiant youth.

But the latter was the quicker. His left hand made one lightning-like sweep, and the tomahawk shot from his grasp with the suddenness of the thunderbolt. Although the Wyandot threw his almost at the same instant, yet there was just enough difference in time to make one a success and the other a failure.

Deerfoot's weapon sped as direct as a rifle-ball, and clove the skull of the Wyandot as though it were card-paper. The tomahawk of the latter, which was in the act of leaving his hand, was so disarranged by the shock that it was thrown up in the air and fell at his feet, as he toppled over backwards, with a shriek which reached Waughtauk and his warriors, and whose meaning they knew too well.

Deerfoot advanced and recovered his tomahawk, that had done this terrible execution. Then he picked up his valued bow from the ground and examined it to make sure that it had suffered no injury.

He did not stoop to take the scalp of the dead warrior, who hoped so ardently a brief while before to capture his. The Shawanoe had never scalped a vanquished foe; but when he caught sight of several Wyandots hastening to the spot, he flourished his bow defiantly in the air, gave utterance to several taunting cries, and, turning his back upon them, plunged into the wilderness with such speed, as to render all thought of pursuit out of the question.

And as he sped like a hound on a trail, the face of Deerfoot the Shawanoe was turned toward the settlement of Wild Oaks on the far-away Ohio.