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

by Edward Sylvester Ellis

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  THE TELL-TALE ARROW.]

  _BOY PIONEER SERIES._

  NED IN THE BLOCK-HOUSE.

  A TALE OF EARLY DAYS IN THE WEST.

  BY EDWARD S. ELLIS,

  AUTHOR OF "FIRE, SNOW AND WATER," "PERSEVERANCE PARKER," "A YOUNG HERO," "SWEPT AWAY," ETC., ETC.

  PHILADELPHIA: HENRY T. COATES & CO.

  "_Mr. Ellis's works are favorites and deserve to be. He shows varietyand originality in his characters; and his Indians are human beingsand not fancy pieces._"--_NORTH AMERICAN REVIEW._

  COPYRIGHT, 1883, BY PORTER & COATES.

  CONTENTS.

  CHAPTER I. PAGE IN THE FOREST 5

  CHAPTER II. THE BOY PIONEER--DEERFOOT, THE SHAWANOE 18

  CHAPTER III. OLD FRIENDS 32

  CHAPTER IV. THROUGH THE TRACKLESS FOREST--THE CAUSE 46

  CHAPTER V. "SHUT OUT" 60

  CHAPTER VI. THE BLOCK-HOUSE 73

  CHAPTER VII. THE MESSAGE 87

  CHAPTER VIII. OPENING COMMUNICATION 101

  CHAPTER IX. WITHIN THE BLOCK-HOUSE 126

  CHAPTER X. FLAMING MESSENGERS 140

  CHAPTER XI. IN GREAT PERIL 154

  CHAPTER XII. "BIRDS OF THE NIGHT" 168

  CHAPTER XIII. SHADOWY VISITORS 182

  CHAPTER XIV. A MISHAP AND A SENTENCE 196

  CHAPTER XV. AN UNEXPECTED VISITOR 212

  CHAPTER XVI. OUT-DOORS ON A DARK NIGHT 226

  CHAPTER XVII. THE LONG CLEARING 247

  CHAPTER XVIII. THE FIERY ENEMY 265

  CHAPTER XIX. THE TUG OF WAR 282

  CHAPTER XX. THE SOUTH WIND 298

  CHAPTER XXI. CONCLUSION 312

  NED IN THE BLOCK-HOUSE.

  CHAPTER I.

  IN THE FOREST.

  "Now you've got him, Ned!"

  "Sh! keep quiet!"

  The boy who was addressed as Ned was kneeling behind a fallen oak, ina Kentucky forest, carefully sighting at a noble buck that stood inthe middle of a natural clearing or opening, with head upraised andantlers thrown back, as though he scented danger, and was searchingfor the point whence it threatened.

  The splendid animal was no more than a hundred yards distant, so thatno better target could have been offered. He was facing the youth, whoaimed at the point above his fore legs, which opened the path to theheart of the creature.

  The lad, who was sighting so carefully, was Ned Preston, and hiscompanion was a colored boy with the unique name of WildblossomBrown. There was not a week's difference in their ages, each havingbeen born four years before the immortal Declaration of Independence.As the date on which we introduce him to the reader was the autumn of1788, the years of the two may be calculated without trouble.

  Ned Preston, as he drew bead on the deer, was as certain of bringinghim down as he was of "barking" the gray squirrel, when it chirped itsmimic defiance from the topmost limbs of the gnarled oak or branchingsycamore.

  Wildblossom, or "Blossom," as he was invariably called, was anxiousthat his young master should not miss, for the chilly autumn day wasdrawing to a close, and they had eaten nothing since morning. Theywere eager to reach the block-house, known as Fort Bridgman, andscarcely allowed themselves any halt for many hours; but night wasclosing in, and they must soon go into camp; food was therefore asindispensable as fire.

  The deliberation of Ned Preston led Blossom to fear the game wouldbound away before the trigger was pulled. When, therefore, the Africansaw the long brown barrel pointed for several seconds at the animal,he became impatient, and uttered the words given above.

  The next moment there was a flash, and the buck made a prodigiousbound, dashed straight toward the fallen tree behind which the boyswere crouching, and fell within fifty feet of them.

  "Dar's our supper suah's yo' born!" shouted the delighted negro,making a strong effort to leap over the prostrate oak so as to reachthe game ahead of his companion. He would have succeeded if the oakhad lain somewhat nearer the ground. As it was, he landed on his headand shoulders, and rolled over; but he was unharmed, and scrambling tohis feet, ran to the deer.

  Ned Preston was but a brief distance behind him, trailing his longrifle, walking rapidly, and very much puzzled over what was certainlyan extraordinary occurrence; for although he had aimed at the buck,pulled the trigger, and the game had fallen, yet the astonishing factremained, that Ned had not fired his gun.

  Blossom Brown in his excitement did not notice that there was noreport of the weapon--that, in short, the flint-lock (percussion gunsbeing unknown at that day) had "flashed in the pan." When he saw thefrantic leap and fall of the animal, he supposed, as a matter ofcourse, it had been killed by the bullet of his young master; and ifthe latter had not stopped to examine his piece, he might havebelieved the same, so exactly did the wounding of the game accord withthe useless click of the lock and flash of the powder.

  "I didn't shoot that buck," called out Ned, as he ran up behindBlossom; "my gun wasn't fired at all."

  "Dat hasn't got nuffin to do with it," was the sturdy response ofBlossom, who was bent on having his meal without any unnecessarydelay; "you p'inted de gun at him, and he drapped; dat'ssufficacious."

  "But _I_ didn't kill him," insisted Ned, more determined on solvingthe mystery than he was on procuring supper.

  "I tell you dat you did--no, you didn't!"

  At that instant Blossom, who had drawn his hunting-knife, stooped overto apply it to the throat of the buck, when he gave an unexpectedflirt of his head, bringing his antlers against the boy with suchviolence that he was thrown backward several feet. When Blossom foundhimself going, he made his last remark, inasmuch as the deer just thenproved he was alive in a most emphatic manner.

  But it was the last expiring effort, and the negro approached himagain, knowing that all danger was past.

  "De way ob it was dis way," he added, turning partly around so as toface his friend, who was examining his rifle as he poured powder fromhis horn into the pan; "you p'inted dat gun ob yours at de buck, andas he war lookin' dis way he seed you frough de bushes, and he knowedit war no use; so he jes' made a jump into de air, and come downpretty near dead, so as to sabe you de expense ob firin' off depowder, which aint very plenty in Kentucky."

  This explanation seemed to satisfy the one who made it, but not hislistener, who knew that the game was brought to earth by some oneelse.


  And yet he was sure he had not heard the report of any other gun atthe moment the animal seemed to have received its death-wound, so thatit would seem some other cause must have ended its career.

  While Blossom was working with his knife, Ned caught sight ofsomething which gave him a suspicion of the true cause. The game layon its side, and that which arrested the eye of the youthful pioneerwas the feather of an Indian arrow.

  "Turn him over," said Ned; and the lad, wondering why he told him todo so, complied.

  The truth was then made known. From the side of the buck protruded afew inches of the shaft of an Indian arrow, to which the eagle'sfeather was attached. The flinty head had been driven clean throughthe heart and some distance beyond, so that the sharp point must havebeen near the surface on the other side.

  The deer scarcely ever is known to fall instantly, no matter how it isshot; so that, with such a formidable weapon dividing the very seat oflife, it still ran several rods before falling.

  When Blossom saw the arrow his appetite vanished. He stooped over,staring at it a moment, and then suddenly straightened up andexclaimed:

  "Let's run; dis aint any place for fellers like us!"

  And, without waiting for the advice of his young master, the negro ladcaught up his gun and made a dash for the prostrate tree from which hehad rushed when the buck first fell.

  Ned Preston was frightened beyond expression, for that which he haddiscovered was proof positive that one red man at least was close athand; and when the American Indian was encountered in the Kentucky orOhio forest, in the year of our Lord 1788, it was wise to consider himthe most dangerous kind of an enemy.

  Ned had poured the powder in his priming-pan and shaken it into thetube before he caught sight of the arrow, for he had been instructed,from the first day he carried a gun, that, after discharging thepiece, he must not stir from his steps until it was reloaded and readyfor use again.

  The moment he understood what killed the buck he looked around for theIndian who did it. He could easily tell the direction whence themissile came, from the position of the game when struck; but thepenetrating eye of the lad could detect nothing when he turned hisgaze toward that, nor indeed toward any other point.

  This did not surprise him, for the nature of the Indian leads him tobe secretive in all he does; and many a time has his most destructivework been done without the sufferer catching a glimpse of him.

  The conclusion of Ned was that a party of warriors were in theimmediate neighborhood, and that, as an inevitable certainty, he andBlossom were at their mercy. If they chose to send in a shower ofarrows, or fire the guns which some of them were likely to own,nothing could save the two lads.

  If they chose to rush forward and take the boys captives, it wasbeyond the power of the youths to escape; in fact, as Ned looked atit, the two were already as good as prisoners, and the Indians wereonly keeping in the background for a brief while, for the sake ofamusing themselves, as a cat sometimes plays with a mouse beforecrunching it in her jaws.

  The situation was an alarming one in every sense, but Ned Prestonshowed a courage that his life on the frontier had taught him was theonly wise course in such a trying time. He stooped over the carcase ofthe deer, and carefully cutting a choice slice from it, turned aboutand walked deliberately back to where Blossom was awaiting him, behindthe oak.

  Ned's desire to break into a run and plunge off into the woods wasalmost uncontrollable, and the sensation of expecting every minute anIndian arrow driven into his back, while resolutely keeping down to aslow and dignified walk, was beyond description.

  Blossom Brown, who had started away in such haste, so dreaded somesuch shot that he threw himself behind the tree, where he lay still.He was strongly led to this course by his affection for his youngmaster, whom he could not desert even for his own benefit.

  "Whar am de Injines?" asked Blossom, in a husky whisper, as his friendwalked around the root of the oak and joined him.

  "They can't be far off," was the answer of Ned, "and there isn't anyuse of trying to run away from them. There must be a war party, andwhen they are ready they will come and take us. So let's kindle a fireand cook the meat."

  This was an amazing proposition to make, but it was acted upon atonce, extraordinary as it may seem. Blossom was very nervous whilegathering wood and giving what assistance he could. He continuallyglanced around him, and peeped furtively over the trunk, wondering whythe red men did not come forward and take them prisoners.

  The youths were so accustomed to camping out that it was an easymatter to prepare their evening meal. They would have preferred thevenison not quite so fresh, but they were glad enough to get it as itwas; and when they sprinkled some of the salt and pepper, alwayscarried with them, on the crisp, juicy steak, it was as toothsome andluscious as a couple of hungry hunters could wish.

  True, the circumstances under which the meal was eaten were notconducive to enjoyment, for no person can be expected to feelunrestrained happiness when surrounded by a party of treacherous redmen, who are likely to send in a shower of arrows, or a volley ofbullets, just as you are raising a piece of meat to your mouth.

  And yet, despite all that, Ned Preston and Blossom Brown masticatedand swallowed the last morsel of the liberal piece taken from the buckslain by the Indian arrow.

  The bleak, blustery autumn day was drawing to a close, when the boysarose to their feet, uncertain what was the best to do in theextraordinary situation.

  The sky had been overcast during the afternoon, though there were noindications of an immediate storm. The wind blew strongly at times,with a dull, moaning sound, through the trees, from which the leavesrustled downward in showers. Now and then a few flakes of snow driftedon the air for some minutes before fluttering to the ground.Everything betokened the coming of winter, and, though it was theroyal season for game, yet there was something so impressive in theautumn forest, now that the seasons were sinking into decay and death,that Ned Preston, sturdy and practical though he was, could not avoida feeling of sadness when he set out from his home for the BlockHouse, thirty miles away.

  "Ned, what am de use ob loafin' round here?" asked Blossom a minuteafter they rose from their supper. "If dem Injines don't want to comeforrard and speak to us, what's de use ob waiting for 'em?"

  There was some wisdom in this question, and it was one that hadpresented itself to Ned while thoughtfully eating his venison steak.

  Was it not possible that the warrior who fired the fatal arrowbelieved the boys belonged to a large party of white hunters andscouts, and had withdrawn long before? Was there not a chance ofgetting away by a sudden dash?

  Night was not far off, and if they could keep out of the hands of thered men until then there was good ground for hoping they would eludethem altogether.

  Nothing was to be gained by discussing or thinking over the matter,and Ned acted at once.

  "Follow me," he whispered to Blossom, "and don't make any noise."

  The young hunter, trailing his rifle, stooped forward as far as hecould without impeding the power to walk, and then ran directly fromthe tree, and back over the path that had brought them to theclearing.

  Blossom was at his heels, traveling quite rapidly; but glancing behindhim so often, he stumbled more than once. The negro had quickeyesight, and once when he turned his head he saw something flutter inthe forest behind him; then there was what seemed to be the flittingshadow of a bird's wing as it shot by with the speed of a bullet.

  But at the same instant a faint whizz caught his ear, and some objectwhisked past his cheek and over the shoulder of the crouching NedPreston. The African had scarcely time to know that such a thing hadtaken place when he heard a quick thud, and there it was!

  From the solid trunk of a massive maple projected an arrow, whose headwas buried in the bark; the shaft, with the eagle's feather, stilltremulous from the force with which it had been driven from the bow.

  The same Indian who had brought down the buck had sent a secondmissile over th
e heads of the fugitives, and so close indeed that thetwo might well pause and ask themselves whether it was worth theirwhile to run from such an unerring archer, who had the power to bringthem down with as much certainty as though he fired the rifle ofDaniel Boone or Simon Kenton.

  But neither Ned Preston nor Blossom Brown was the one to stand stillwhen he had the opportunity of fleeing from danger. They scarcelyhalted, therefore, for one glance at the significant missile, whenthey made a slight turn to the left, and plunged into the woods withall the speed they could command.