The Keepers of the Trail: A Story of the Great Woods

"I done done it, Henry!" he exulted. "I done done it!"

He held up the hind quarter of a bear that had been cooked to a turn over a bed of coals.

"I haven't tasted it yet," he said, "but jest smell it! Did sech an odor ever afore tickle your nose? Did your mouth ever afore water so much? Here, Henry, fall on!"

He took out his knife, cut off a big piece and handed it to Henry, who began to eat eagerly. Then the shiftless one fell to in like fashion.

"How did you manage it?" he asked.

The shiftless one grinned.

"Didn't I tell you that the sudden darkness wuz a sign favorin' me?" he said. "Paul is always tellin' about them old Greeks an' Romans not goin' into battle till they had talked with the omens, mostly the insides o' cows an' sheep. I believe in signs too. Mine wuz a lot better, an' it worked. I found that they hed jest finished roastin' the bear on the coals, after hevin' dressed him an' cut him into four quarters. 'Pears that most o' 'em hed gone deeper into the woods to look fur somethin'. I come close up in the bushes, an' began a terrible snarlin' an' yelpin' like a hull pack o' wolves. The three that wuz left, the cooks, took torches from the fire, an' run in after me. But I hed flew like lightnin' 'roun' to the other side, jumped in, grabbed up one o' the quarters by the leg, an' wuz away afore they could fairly see what had happened, an' who had made it happen. Then they set up one yell, which I guess you heard, but I kept on flyin' through the woods to the north, curved about, came over the mud flats whar no trail kin last a minute, an' here I am with our bear, or ez much of it ez we want o' him."

"You've done a great deed, Sol. I didn't think you could go through with it, but you have, and this bear is mighty fine."

"He wuz ourn, an' I wuz bound to hev a part o' him."

"We'll put the rest in our knapsacks and there ought to be enough for two days more. It relieves us of a great anxiety, because we couldn't go without food, and we really needed it badly."

"I'm feelin' like two men already. I wonder what the boys are doin' up thar in the holler? A-layin' 'roun' on the stone floor, I s'pose, eatin', drinkin' cold water, an' hevin' a good time."

"But remember their anxiety about us."

"I do. They shorely must hev worried a lot, seein' that we've been gone so long a time. Them are three fine fellers, Henry, Paul with all his learnin' an' his quiet ways, an' Long Jim, with whom I like so pow'ful well to argy an' who likes so pow'ful well to argy with me, ez good a feller ez ever breathed, an' Tom Ross, who don't talk none, givin' all his time to me, but who knows such a tremenjeous lot. We've got to git back to 'em soon, Henry."

Henry agreed with him, and then, having eaten heartily they took turn and turn in sleeping. Their clothing had dried on them, but their blankets had escaped a wetting entirely, and they were able to make themselves comfortable.

In the morning Henry saw that the larger column of smoke was gone, but that the smaller remained, and the fact aroused his curiosity.

"What do you make of it?" he asked Shif'less Sol.

"I draws from it the opinion that the main band with the cannon hez started off into the south, but that part o' the warriors hev stayed behind fur some purpose or other."

"My opinion, too. But why has the big force gone and the small one remained?"

"I can't say. It's too much fur me."

Henry had an idea, but hoping that he was mistaken he did not utter it just then.

"If the big band has started south again," he said, "and the absence of the column of smoke indicates it, then all the Indians in this part of the forest have been drawn off. They've long since lost us, and they wouldn't linger here in the hope of running across us by chance, when the great expedition was already on its way."

"That's sound argument, an' so we'll leave our islan' an' make fur the boys."

They picked a path across the mud flats, recrossed the creek and entered the deep forest, where the two felt as if they had come back to their true home. The wonderful breeze, fresh with a thousand odors of spring in the wilderness, was blowing. It did not come across mud flats, but it came through a thousand miles of dark green foliage, the leaves rippling like the waters of the sea.

"The woods fur me," said Shif'less Sol, speaking in a whisper, with instinctive caution. "I like 'em, even when they're full o' warriors lookin' fur my scalp."

The forest here was very dense, and also was heavy with undergrowth which suited their purpose, as they would be able to approach the hollow, unseen and unheard. Henry still did not like the presence of the smaller column of smoke, and when he reached the crest of their first hill he saw that it was yet rising.

"You had a sign last night, and it was a good one," he said to Shif'less Sol, "but I see one now, and I think it is a bad one."

"We'll go on an' find it."

They approached the hollow rapidly, the forest everywhere being extremely dense, but when they were within less than a mile of it both stopped short and looked at each other.

"You heard it?" said Henry.

"Yes, I heard it."

"It wasn't much louder than the dropping of an acorn, but it was a rifle shot."

"O' course it wuz a rifle shot. Neither you nor I could be mistook about that."

"And you noticed where it came from?"

"Straight from the place where Paul and Tom and Long Jim Hart are."

"Which may mean that their presence has been discovered and that they are besieged."

"That's the way I look at it."

"And we must make a rescue."

"That's true, an' we've got to be so mighty keerful about it that we ain't took an' scalped and burned by the savages, afore we've had a single chance at makin' a rescue."

The thought in the minds of the two was the same. They were sure now from the absence of the larger smoke column that the main force had gone south, but that the smaller had remained to take their comrades, whose presence, by some chance, they had discovered. They lay closely hidden for a while, and they heard the report of a second shot, followed by a mere shred of sound which they took to be an Indian yell, although they were not sure.

"Ef the boys are besieged, an' we think they are," said the shiftless one, "they kin hold out quite a while even without our help. So I think, Henry, we'd better go an' see whether the main camp has broke up an' the cannon gone south. It won't be so hard to find out that, an' then we kin tell better what we want to do."

"You're right, of course," replied Henry. "We'll have to leave our comrades for the time and go to the big camp."

They curved again toward the south and west, keeping to the thickest part of the forest and using every possible device to hide their trail, knowing its full necessity, as the day was brilliant and one, unless under cover, could be seen from afar. Game started up in their path and Henry took it as new proof that the main body of the Indians had gone. Deer, scared away by the hunters, were so plentiful that they would return soon after the danger for them departed. Nevertheless both he and the shiftless one were apprehensive of wandering warriors who might see them from some covert, and their progress, of necessity, was slow.

They came to several grassy openings, in one of which the buffalo were feeding, but Henry and his comrade always passed around such exposed places, even at the cost of greatly lengthening their journey. At one point they heard a slight sound in the forest, and being uncertain whether it was made by an enemy they remained crouched in the thicket at least a half-hour. Then they heard another faint report in the north and their keen ears told them it came from a point near the rocky hollow.

"I can't make anything of it," whispered Henry, "except that the boys are besieged as we feared. I've tried to believe that the shots were fired by Indians at game, but I can't force my belief. The reports all come from the same place, and they mean exactly what we wish they didn't mean."

"But they mean too," said the shiftless one, courageously, "that so long as we hear 'em the boys are holdin' out. The warriors wouldn't be shootin' off their guns fur nothin'."

"That's true. Now, we haven't heard that sound again. It must have been made by a wildcat or a wolf or something of the kind. So let's press on."

The great curve through the forest took them late in the afternoon to the site of the big camp. They were sure, long before they reached it that it had been abandoned. They approached very carefully through the dense woods, and they heard no sound whatever. It was true that a little smoke floated about among the dense leaves, but both were certain that it came from dying fires, abandoned many hours ago.

"You don't hear anything, do you?" asked Henry.

"Not a sound."

"Then they're gone."

Rising from the undergrowth they boldly entered the camp, where perhaps a thousand warriors had danced and sung and feasted and slept for days. Now the last man was gone, but they had left ample trace of their presence. In the wide open space lay the charred coals of many fires, and everywhere were heaps of bones of buffalo, bear, dear and wild turkey. Feathers and an occasional paint box were scattered about.

"The feast before the fight," said the shiftless one. "I've a good appetite myself, but it won't hold a candle to that of a hungry warrior."

A low snarling and a pattering of many feet came from the surrounding forest.

"The wolves," said Henry. "They've been here to glean, and they ran away at our approach."

"An' they'll be back the moment we leave."

"Like as not, but we don't care. Here are the wheel tracks, Sol, and there is the road they've cut through the forest. A blind boy could follow the trail of the cannon, and do you know, Sol, I'm bothered terribly."

"Yes, I know, Henry. We've got to turn back, an' save the boys while them warriors, with the English an' the cannon, are goin' on into the south to attack our people."

"And time is often the most precious of all things."

"So it is, Henry."

Henry sat down on one of the logs and cupped his chin in his hands. The problem presented to him was a terrible one, and he was thinking with all his powers of concentration. Should he and Shif'less Sol follow and continue his efforts to destroy the cannon, or return and help their comrades who might be besieged for a week, or even longer? But it was likely that Paul, Long Jim and Silent Tom, with all their resources of skill and courage, would hold out. In the face of a defence such as they could make it would be almost impossible to force the cleft in the cliff, and they had some food and of course unlimited water.

They could be left to themselves, while Shif'less Sol and he hurried on the trail of the Indian army and made their great attempt. Shif'less Sol watched him, as he sat, his chin sunk in his hand, the deep eyes very thoughtful. Presently both looked at the column of smoke not more than a mile away that marked the presence of the smaller camp, the one that had remained and which was undoubtedly conducting the siege. As they looked they heard once more the faint report of a shot, or its echo coming down the wind. Henry stood up, and there was no longer a look of doubt in his eyes.

"Sol," he said, "those three have been with us in a thousand dangers, haven't they?"

"Nigher ten thousand, Henry."

"And they never left us to look out for ourselves?"

"Never, Henry."

"And they never would do it, either."

"Never. Warriors, an' fires, an' floods, an' earthquakes all together couldn't make 'em do it."

"Nor can they make us. We've got to go back and rescue our comrades, Sol, and then we'll try to overtake their army and destroy the cannon."

"I thought you'd decide that way, Henry. No, I knowed you'd do it."

"Now, we've got to bear back toward the left, and then approach the cliff."

"An' on our way find out jest what the warriors attackin' it are up to."

They began a new trail, and with the utmost exercise of skill and caution undertook to reach their comrades.

CHAPTER IX

THE KEEPERS OF THE CLEFT

Henry and the shiftless one had not gone far, before they were deeply grateful that the undergrowth was so dense. They distinctly heard three shots and twice the war whoop. A small gully, so thickly covered with vines and bushes, that it was almost like a subterranean channel, allowed them to go much nearer. There lying hidden until twilight, they distinctly heard scattered firing, war whoops and then a long piercing shout which had in it the quality of the white man's voice. Shif'less Sol laughed low, but with intense pleasure.

"I can't hear his words," he said, "but I'd know that yell in a million. It's Long Jim's ez shore ez shootin'. It's so pow'ful loud 'cause it's drawed up from a long distance, an' when it does come free it comes a-poppin'. It's Jim tellin' them warriors what he thinks of 'em. He's tellin' 'em what scalawags they are, an' how their fathers an' mothers an' grandfathers an' grandmothers afore 'em wuz ez bad or wuss. He's tellin' 'em they're squaws painted up to look like men, an' ez he talks Shawnee an' Miami they're hoppin' mad."

Henry even could not refrain from laughing. It was Long Jim's voice beyond a doubt, and his note of triumph showed that he and his comrades were safe—so far. Evidently he was in great fettle. His words shot forth in a stream and Henry knew that the savages were writhing in anger at his taunts. The report of a rifle came suddenly and echoed through the darkening forest. When the last echo died there was a moment of silence, and then to their welcome ears came the voice of Long Jim again, pouring forth a stream of taunt and invective with undiminished speed and power.

"Ain't he the great one?" whispered Shif'less Sol, admiringly. "Didn't I tell you that voice o' his was so strong 'cause it come up so fur. An' did you ever hear him do better? Thar ain't a word in the hull Shawnee an' Miami languages that he hasn't used on 'em an' a sprinkling o' Wyandot an' Delaware too. They're so mad I kin see 'em bitin' their lips an' t'arin' at thar scalp locks. Good old Jim, give it to 'em!"

The voice went on a quarter of an hour with amazing force and speed. Then it ceased abruptly and silence and darkness together came over the woods. Henry and his comrade debated as they lay in the little gully. Should they try to get in to their comrades? Or should they try to get their comrades out? Either would be a most difficult task, but as the night deepened, and they talked they came to a decision.

"It has to be me," said Henry.

"I s'pose so," said Sol, regretfully. "You're the likeliest hand at it, but you always take the most dangerous part. It's nothin' fur me to lay 'roun' here in the night till you fellers come."

Henry's smile was invisible in the dusk.

"Of course, Sol," he said, "you run no risk. I read once in a book, that our teacher had at Wareville, about an outdoor amusement they called a lawn festival. That's what you're going to have, a lawn festival. While I'm gone you'll walk about here and pick flowers for bouquets. If any savage warrior wanting your scalp should come along he'd change his mind at once, and help you make your bouquet."

"Stop your foolishness, Henry. You know it ain't no hard job fur me to hang 'bout in the woods an' keep out o' danger."

"Yes, but you may have a lot to do when you hear the signals. Keep as close as you reasonably can, Sol, and if we come out and give the howl of the wolf you answer, according to our custom, and we'll know which way to run."

"All right, Henry. I won't be sleepin'. Thar they are shootin' ag'in, but not doin' any yellin'. So they haven't hit anythin'. Good-bye, an' rec'lect that I'll be waitin' here."

Strong hands clasped in the darkness and Henry slipped away on his perilous mission, reaching without event the valley that the cliff overlooked. Then he used all the caution and skill that the superman of the forest possessed, creeping closer and closer and ever closer, until he could see, despite the darkness, the painted forms of Miami and Shawnee warriors in the thickets, all looking up at the point where the crevice in the cliff was practically hidden by the foliage. It was an average night, quiet and dark up there, but Henry knew that three pairs of good eyes in the coign of the crevice were watching everything that went on below.

He crouched lower and lower, until he blended with earth and thicket and still watched. He saw one of the warriors raise his rifle and fire at the hidden mark. Then he heard two impacts of the bullet, first as it struck upon stone, and then as glancing, it fell among the leaves. Out of the mouth of the fissure came a great booming voice, speaking Shawnee and ridiculing their lack of skill with the rifle.

The voice said that if they did not improve in their firing he would come outside, sit in the best moonlight he could find, and let them take turns at him as a target. He would even mark off spots on his chest and offer prizes to any one who might hit them, but he knew very well that none of them would ever succeed. If he had a six-year-old boy who should do as badly as they were doing he would take him away and whip him with willow switches.

Henry, lying close in his covert, laughed inwardly. Long Jim was in good form. Upon occasion he had a wonderful command of language, and the present occasion was better than any other that Henry could remember. Events, chief of which was a successful defense, had inspired in him a wonderful flow of language. His great sonorous voice again pealed out wrath, defiance and contempt.

"Oh, you dogs! sons uv dogs! an' grandsons uv dogs!" he shouted. "Why don't you come an' take us? Here we are, only a few, jest settin' an' waitin' fur you! An' thar are twenty or more uv you! Oh, you Shawnees an' Miamis, an' Wyandots, why are you waitin' down thar when jest a few uv us are up here, ready to give you welcome? I don't think you're re'lly warriors. You're jest old squaws painted up to look like 'em, an' the real fightin' men uv your tribe are at home, asleep in the lodges, afraid to face the bullets uv the white men, while they send thar old women here to make a noise!"

Henry laughed again that soundless laugh behind his teeth. He read everything as plainly as if it had been written in a book before him. Nobody in the stony hollow had been hurt, else Long Jim's voice would not have been so exultant. They were confident, too, that they could hold the narrow opening indefinitely, else he would not have sent forth such intolerable taunts. He made his position a little easier and again laughed deep in his throat and with unction. He had never known Long Jim to be in finer form. Shif'less Sol was the acknowledged orator of the five, but tonight the cloak of inspiration was spread over the shoulders of Long Jim Hart.

"Why don't you come into our little house?" he shouted. "It's a nice place, a warm place, an' the rain can't git at you here. Won't you walk into our parlor, ez the spider said to the fly! It's a good place, better than any wigwam you've got, nice an' warm, with a roof that the rain can't get through, an' plenty of cool runnin' water! An' ef you want our scalps you'd never find grander heads uv ha'r. They're the finest an' longest an' thickest that ever grew on the head uv man. They're jest waitin' to be took. Any warrior who took one uv 'em would be made a chief right away. Why don't you come on an' git 'em? It can't be that you're afraid, you Shawnees and Miamis an' Delawares an' Wyandots. Here's our gyarden, jest waitin' fur you, the door open an' full uv good things. Why don't you come on? Ef I had a dog an' told him to run after a b'ar cub an' he wouldn't run I'd kill him fur a coward!"

Henry heard a roar of rage from the thickets, and once more he laughed behind his teeth. Long Jim Hart was still in his grandest form, and although many Indian chiefs were great orators, masters of taunt and satire, Long Jim, inspired that night, was the equal of their best. The gift of tongues had come to him.

"I heard a noise down thar in the holler!" he shouted. "Wuz it made by warriors, men? No! it wuz dogs barkin' an' crows cawin' an' wolves whinin' an' rabbits squeakin'. Sech ez them would never come up ag'in a white man's rifle. I hear the wind blowin' too, but it don't bring me no sound 'cept that uv dogs barkin', low-down curs that would run away from a chipmunk with their tails atween their legs. I'm gittin' mighty tired now uv waitin' fur them that called theirselves warriors, but are nothin' but old squaws in war paint. Ef I don't hear from 'em ag'in soon I'll go to sleep an' leave here my little boy, ten years old, to meet 'em with a switch ez they come up."

There was another roar of rage from the brush, and Henry said under his breath:

"Well done, Long Jim! Well done, twice and again!"

Long Jim now softened his voice and began to beg.

"Why don't you come up here, you red Indian fellers?" he cried. "All my friends, knowin' thar is no danger, hev gone to sleep, leavin' me to welcome the guests, when they stan' afore our door. I'm waitin'! I've been waitin' a long time, an' ef you don't come soon I'll hev to go to sleep leavin' you outside our door."

The Indians were always susceptible to oratory and now another shout of rage came from them. The taunts of Long Jim were too much, and a dozen dusky forms sprang from the undergrowth and rushed up the slope. There was a puff of smoke from the cleft in the cliff and the foremost warrior fell, shot squarely through the forehead. A second puff and a second warrior was gone to a land where the hunting is always good. Before such accurate shooting with only the moonlight to aid, the other warriors shrank back appalled, and quickly hid themselves in the undergrowth.

"Good boys! Good boys!" exclaimed Henry under his breath. "Splendid shooting! They're bold warriors who will now face the Keepers of the Pass."

All the warriors save the two who had been slain were hidden in the dense thicket or behind stony outcroppings, and again the tremendous voice of Long Jim floated on waves of air above them.

"Why don't you keep comin'?" he shouted. "I invited you to come an' you started, but you've stopped! Everythin' is waitin' fur you, all the gaudy Roman couches that my friend Paul has told me about, an' the gushin' fountains, an' the wreaths uv rose leaves to wrap aroun' your necks, an' the roses droppin' from the ceilin' on the table loaded with ven'son, an' turkey, an' wild pigeons, an' rabbits an' more other kinds uv game than I kin tell you about in a night. Why don't you come on an' take the big places you're invited to at our banquet, you miserable, low-down, sneakin', wrinkled old squaws!"

A wild yell of rage came once more from the bushes, and again Henry laughed deep in his throat. He knew how the taunt stung the Indians, and Long Jim's eloquence, the dam now having been taken down, flooded on.

"Here, you red-skinned barbarians!" he shouted. "Come into our house an' we'll teach you how to live! The tables are all set an' the couches are beside 'em. The hummin' birds' tongues are done to a turn an' the best singers an' dancers are all on hand to entertain you!"

Henry knew that Jim's patter had come from Paul's stories of the old Romans, and now he was applying it with gusto to the wild scene lost in the vast green wilderness. But he was sure that the Indians would not return to a headlong charge. The little fortress in stone was practically impregnable to frontal attack and they would resort instead to cunning and subterfuge.

"Ain't you comin'!" thundered the voice of Long Jim. "I hev done give you an invite to the banquet an' you stop an' hang 'roun' thar in the woods, whar I can't see you. Five minutes more an' the invites are all withdrawed. Then the eatin' an' the singin' an' the playin' will all go on without you, an' ef you are found hangin' 'roun' our door I'll hev the dogs to chase you away."

No answer came from the woods, but Henry knew how the hearts of the warriors were consumed with rage. Those whom they wished to take were so near and so few and yet they held an almost invincible fortress. Rage stabbed at the Indian heart.

Long Jim continued his taunts for some time, speaking both Shawnee and Miami, and also a little Wyandot and Delaware. His vocabulary acquired a sudden richness and depth. He called them names that implied every manner of cowardice and meanness. Their ancestors had been buzzards feeding on offal, they themselves were mangy, crippled and deformed, and, when the few that were left alive by the white men returned home, they would be set to work cooking, and caring for the lodges. When they died they would return to the base forms of their ancestors. They would be snakes and toads and turtles, and the animals that walked on four legs and looked straight before them would laugh at them whenever they saw them.