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

by Edward Sylvester Ellis

  CHAPTER VIII.

  OPENING COMMUNICATION.

  Ned Preston read the note to Deerfoot, the Shawanoe, speaking slowlyand distinctly each word, while the young Indian listened with anexpression of intense interest and pleasure.

  "If the Colonel sees that, then will he read those words you havespoken to me?"

  "They will be the same."

  "Then he shall see them."

  As the young warrior spoke, he extended his hand for the missive,which was given him. He deftly drew an arrow from his quiver and begantying the letter to the missile, doing it with much care, for the taskhe was about to essay seemed an almost impossible one.

  "We are a hundred yards from the block-house," said Ned Preston; "itis a long shot for the bow and arrow."

  "Would my brother like to use his gun?" asked Deerfoot with hisshadowy smile, his question being intended to remind his friend ofthe superiority of the primitive weapon over the rifle, at least insuch an emergency as the present.

  "The gun is of no use just now," said Preston, "and I mistrust thatyour bow will not serve you as well as you think."

  "You shall see," was the comment of the owner, who gave his fullattention to the task before him. He used a shred of deer-sinew andfastened the letter directly behind the iron barb. That done, thefaithful bow was carefully strung, and then the youth bent himself tothe work.

  His intention was to send the arrow, if possible, through the narrowwindow to the left of the front door of the block-house. This had noglass, nor screen, but as it was no more than eight inches wide,although three times as high, and as the shaft was weighted with aforeign substance, likely to affect its accuracy of flight, some ideaof the difficulty of the feat may be gained.

  Furthermore, it was necessary that the shot should be fired secretly.Deerfoot had no opportunity of standing out on the open ground, wherehis limbs would be unimpeded, but he must aim from behind the bank,so that no vigilant Wyandot would detect him.

  He set to work, standing below the bank and pointing between anintervening bush or two, making sure, however, that an unobstructedpath was open for his arrow. The missile was pointed at an elevationof fully forty-five degrees; and, with one eye closed, he slowly drewback the string until the head touched the right hand, which graspedthe middle of the bow.

  It was held thus ten seconds, during which the athlete was as rigidand motionless as if moulded in iron, while his eye rested on thenarrow slit-like window cut in the solid logs, all of a hundred yardsaway.

  Ned Preston kept his gaze fixed on the Indian, who at that momentformed a picture worthy of the finest artist that ever touched brushto canvas.

  Suddenly there was a faint twang, the bow straightened out likelightning, and the arrowy messenger started on its path weighted withthe all-important message.

  Preston instantly glanced at the block-house, centering his eye on thestraight opening, but with scarcely a hope that Deerfoot couldsucceed in what would certainly be a marvelous exploit.

  As the arrow was speeding directly away from the lads, it wasimpossible to distinguish its course through the air, though it couldhave been seen easily, had they been stationed at right angles to itsline of flight.

  The Shawanoe, having discharged the weapon, immediately lowered it,and then peered forward to learn the result of his shot.

  But Preston had scarcely time to fix his gaze on the distant window,when he saw something like the flutter of a shadow--so tospeak--directly in the opening itself. It came and went with thequickness of a flash, and he could not define it.

  But where was the arrow?

  It vanished from sight the instant it left the bowstring, and Ned hadnot seen it since. It should have struck somewhere in a very fewseconds, but had the head buried itself in the ground between theriver and the block-house, the eagle-feather would have been visible.Had it fallen on the roof, its sharp point would have held the shaftmotionless.

  "You must have sent it over the block-house," said Ned, turning toDeerfoot; "and in that case----"

  He stopped, for the same shadowy smile on the handsome face of theyoung Shawanoe told the truth: the arrow had gone directly through thewindow, and the curious fluttering shadow which caught the eye ofPreston was the missile with its message.

  "That is the most wonderful shot I ever saw!" exclaimed Ned in a burstof admiration; "if I could use the bow as you do, I never would toucha gun. But, Deerfoot, is there not danger that some of the Wyandotssaw the arrow in its flight?"

  "If they were looking across the clearing, they saw it perhaps; butDeerfoot hopes they did not."

  "Suppose you had missed the window,--that the arrow had struck theroof, or the ground, or the logs at the side of the opening, it wouldhave buried its head and stayed in plain sight, would it not?"

  "Yes, and the Wyandots would be certain to see it."

  "And would soon know where it came from?"

  "Nothing could have prevented."

  "My gracious!" exclaimed Ned; "you ran a great risk."

  "We did; there was no way to prevent it."

  Ned was almost speechless, when he realized how much had depended onthe success of the shot of the Shawanoe: in fact, had he known all, henever would have consented that the task should have been attempted.

  Had the arrow gone a few inches to the right or left, or had it fallenshort, or flown too high, the Wyandots would have swooped down on thearcher and his friends, before they could have left the spot.

  Ned Preston regarded the shot as amazing as the mythical one made byWilliam Tell; and, but for the urgency of the danger, would have givenfurther expression to his admiration. Deerfoot himself was somewhatuneasy, and, for several minutes, glanced right and left, and throughthe undergrowth for signs of danger; but nothing appeared, and itlooked as though a piece of extremely good fortune had attended theremarkable exploit.

  Such being the case, Preston now devoted his attention to the window,from which he expected to see the hand of his uncle, Colonel Preston,waving in friendly signal for them to make the desperate run acrossthe clearing.

  While he was thus employed, the keener vision of the Shawanoe wasroaming over the open space, each side of the stockade, the woodsbeyond, and especially did he scrutinize the two deserted cabins thatstood to the right.

  The visual search had not continued long, when it was rewarded by theunwelcome discovery that in the building nearest him were severalWyandots, who had probably spent the night there. He saw their headsand shoulders, as they passed the windows where they were beyond sightof the garrison, but were in plain view of the Shawanoe.

  This cabin was much nearer the block-house than were the boys, fromwhich the daring nature of the project will be understood. Deerfootwas hopeful before this that the houses were clear of Wyandots, inwhich event his friends would have had a much better prospect ofsuccess.

  As it was, it all depended on how complete the surprise could be madefor the red men. If they failed to note the running youths until theblock-house was nearly reached, they would be too late to head themoff, except by a shot from their guns, and this risk could not beavoided under any circumstances.

  "_There it is!_"

  It was Ned Preston who uttered the exclamation in such excitement thathis voice was dangerously high.

  "Sh! not so loud!" whispered Deerfoot, scrutinizing the window throughwhich he sent his arrow a few minutes before.

  Ned Preston was right: the hand of a person was thrust through theopening and waved several times. It swayed back and forth, and up anddown, with much deliberation, as though the owner was fearful it wouldnot be observed by his friends along the river bank.

  More than that, Deerfoot was sure he saw the face of the one whosignalled them, though the distance was such that nothing like arecognition took place.

  After withdrawing his hand, it was put forth again, and the motion wasrepeated. Colonel Preston evidently meant that, if any mistake wasmade, it should not be his fault.

  Ned Preston now carefully aw
akened Blossom Brown and explained whathad been done and what was contemplated.

  "You have got to run as you never ran before," said his master, "andwhen you have once started, there is no turning back."

  "What would I want to turn back for?" was the wondering question ofthe African.

  "You might think it better to stay where we are, and it may be that itis; but after the Wyandots learn we are here, it is run or die withus."

  "My brother speaks the truth," said Deerfoot, who was looking acrossthe clearing at the nearest cabin: "there are red men there, and theywill try and hinder you from reaching your friends."

  There was no reason to hope the prospect would improve by waiting, andit was decided to start at once. Deerfoot, it was understood, was toremain where he was and to make no attempt for the present to enterthe block-house. It was expected that, after Blossom and Ned weresafely within the building, the guide would hasten to Wild Oaks andbring assistance to the beleaguered garrison.

  When the boys were ready, the Shawanoe impressed one fact upon them:they were not to cease running for an instant, unless stopped beyondall power to overcome, but, fixing their eyes on the door of theblock-house, strain every nerve to reach the goal.

  Each lad was to carry his loaded gun in his right hand, but not to useit, unless forced to do so: if Colonel Preston should delay admittingthem, they would be lost; but there was no cause to fear such amiscarriage.

  The boys stealthily moved forward and up the bank, and, pausing nearthe margin, awaited the word from the Shawanoe. The perilous point, inthe eye of the latter, was the cabin where he knew the Wyandots to be,and he watched it closely for several minutes. Nothing was to be seenof them just then, and he said in a low voice--

  "Go!"

  On the instant, Ned Preston and Blossom Brown bounded across theclearing in the direction of the block-house: it was a straight run ofa hundred yards over a level piece of land, on which only a few stumpsremained to show that it was once covered by the forest.

  The African, it need not be said, strained every nerve and fibre ofhis being to reach the goal. His heavy, lumbering build made him lessfleet than Preston, who could have drawn away from the beginning; buthe could not desert his companion in such extremity and he timed hisspeed, so as to keep just ahead of Blossom, and thus urge him to hisutmost.

  Crouching under the shelter of the river bank, Deerfoot watched therun for life with the intensest interest. He grasped his strong bowwith his right hand, while one of his arrows was held in the left,ready to use on the instant it might become necessary for the safetyof either of the fugitives.

  Those who knew Deerfoot best, said he was reluctant to employ hismarvelous skill on any person, and would not do so as long as it wassafe to refrain; but it would have required only a single glance athis glittering eye and compressed lips, to understand that heconsidered the emergency was now at hand.

  It so happened that the fugitives had gone no more than ten yards ontheir swift run, when the Wyandots in the cabin discovered them andmade known the fact in the most alarming manner.

  First several whoops broke the stillness within the building, and thentwo sharp reports followed. The Wyandots had fired, but their aim wasso hurried that, as it seemed to Deerfoot, neither of the fugitiveswas harmed. At least they continued their flight with unabated speed.

  But the efforts of the Wyandots to check the boys was not to end withthe simple discharge of their rifles. The two that had used theirpieces, sprang from the front windows of the cabin and dashedquartering across the clearing, with the intent to head off theyouths, before they could reach the block-house.

  This brought both in range of the terrible bow of Deerfoot who placedthe arrow in position; but it was his intention to hold the weaponuntil it should become imperatively necessary to use it, for it willbe seen that, if he took part in the singular contest, it would besuch a complete unveiling of his true character that his usefulness tothe whites would be almost destroyed.

  Besides, each boy carried a loaded rifle which he knew how to use, andit was not to be supposed that either would allow himself to betomahawked or taken prisoner without resistance.

  The Wyandots who ran forth in the effort to throw themselves acrossthe path of the fugitives, were as daring warriors as ever mingled inthe fierce fight with settlers or those of their own race. They hademptied their guns in the futile effort to bring down the boys, and,throwing the weapons aside, they now sprang forward with theresolution to make them prisoners, despite the risk to themselves, forthey must have known that the garrison would endeavor to protect theirfriends, and they could not help suspecting that there was one or morealong the river bank, who were likely to take part in the singularstruggle.

  Be that as it may, the red men ran straight from the deserted cabinacross the path of the boys, who found themselves confronted by thebrawny redskins, before they had gone half the distance to thebuilding.

  "Let's sneak 'round ahind de block-house and climb ober de fence andhide," said Blossom, when he saw the gauntlet he had to run.

  "Straight for the door!" commanded Preston: "that is our only chance!"

  But the youth had scarcely spoken the words, when he saw that acollision with the Wyandots was inevitable: they were between themand the fort, and there was no possible way of flanking them.

  The superior fleetness of Ned held him slightly in advance of hiscompanion. The former ran until close to the Wyandots, when he turnedto the left. The warriors immediately leaped forward so that they werestill directly in front of the fugitives.

  "It must be done!" exclaimed Ned, coming to an instant halt, raisinghis rifle and aiming at the nearest Indian, who was in the very act ofpoising himself to throw his tomahawk.

  Everything passed so swiftly that the spectators could scarcely followthe movements. At the moment Ned drew his gun to position, he caughtthe flash of the implement as it circled with lightning quickness overthe bronzed skull of his enemy.

  Young Preston knew what was coming. Pausing only long enough to catchthe gleam of the warrior's eyes, over the sights of his rifle, hepressed the trigger.

  The Indian aimed at the head of the youth and drove the tomahawk withprodigious force and unerring accuracy; but the blade of theimplement glanced against the barrel of the rifle, sending out astreak of flame, and, with a tremendous rebound or ricochet, shot bythe shoulder of the lad, touching the ground fifty feet away, androlling over and over several times, before it lay still. When it leftthe hand of the warrior, it was with a force that would have cloventhe skull of the lad, as though it were cardboard.

  The throw and miss were remarkable, but, by a striking coincidence,the rifle of Ned Preston was discharged at the second the two weaponscollided. The violent shock to the gun turned it aside, and the ballburied itself harmlessly in the ground, far to the right of thecrouching Wyandot.

  The latter saw by what a hair's-breadth he had escaped, and snatchinghis hunting-knife from the belt at his waist, he bounded toward theyouth, who, nothing daunted, recoiled a single step, and, grasping hisweapon by its barrel, awaited the attack.

  All this took place in a few seconds, during which the other Wyandot,feeling that the dark-faced fugitive was his own, watched theextraordinary conflict, with an interest as intense as that of theother spectators further away.

  Had the encounter between young Preston and the sinewy Wyandot beenpermitted to go on, there could have been but one result; butDeerfoot, who was holding his breath, with his eyes riveted on thecombatants, now drew his arrow to its head and aimed at the assailingwarrior.

  Although the distance between him and his target was no more than halfway across the clearing, yet the feat was immeasurably more difficultthan that of sending the letter through the narrow window; for,unfortunately, Ned Preston and the Wyandot were standing so nearly ina line that the young Shawanoe could only see the head and shouldersof the powerful savage a few feet beyond.

  Beside this, the two were likely to change their respective posi
tionsany instant: they might do so indeed after the launching of the arrow,which would not only miss the red man at whom it was pointed, but wasliable to strike the boy himself.

  Even Deerfoot doubted his own success and he therefore aimed with thegreater care and caution, slowly drawing back the shaft, and withnerves like iron, looked steadily along the reed and at the tableaufar beyond.

  But before the fingers let go the string, the necessity for doing sovanished. The incidents which we have undertaken to describe, passedwith such swiftness that it would have been hard for a spectator tofollow each phase, few as they were; but it need not be said thatevery man within the block-house was watching the extraordinary sceneon the clearing with an interest as intense, as absorbing andbreathless, as that of Deerfoot himself.

  Colonel Preston was standing by the door, with one hand on thecumbersome latch, ready to draw it inward the instant the boys reachedthe proper point; while Jo Stinger, Jim Turner and Sam Megill heldtheir rifles ready to use, the very second it should become necessary.

  There was such bewildering rapidity in the events narrated, that thespectators within the block-house did not comprehend the extreme perilof young Preston, until they saw the Wyandot advancing on him with hisdrawn knife.

  "Boys," said Jo Stinger, "it's the opinion of the undersigned thatthis is a good time of day to fire off a gun."

  "Quick!" called out Colonel Preston from below, as he peeped throughthe door; "shoot that Indian!"

  "That's just what is contemplated," replied Stinger, whose rifle wasalready thrust through a loophole, while he was looking along thegleaming barrel.

  But, to the consternation of the veteran, the moment he drew bead onthe warrior, he discovered he stood in such exact line with youngPreston that it was impossible to shoot the red man without theabsolute certainty of striking the lad directly beyond.

  "I've got to wait," called out Jo, by way of explaining his inaction,"until they shift their positions."

  Had the vengeful Wyandot comprehended the vast advantage he gained byholding the youth directly in front, he would have continued to do so;but it was almost impossible that he should have been subtle enough tomake such a discovery.

  Meanwhile, Ned Preston, daring, resolute and defiant, grasped thebarrel of his rifle, and with one foot thrown forward, and with thestock of his gun flung back in the position, and with the pose of askilled batsman awaiting the pitching of a ball, braced himself forthe assault.

  The Indian, powerful, active and alert, bent his knees and backslightly, like a panther gathering for a leap, and glared in the faceof the youthful David, who so calmly confronted the fierce Goliath.

  It was a trying position for the boy, who looked dauntlessly into thehideous countenance daubed with ochre and paint. It was probably thetruth that the Wyandot was testing the power of his eye, as therattle-snake does with the bird. If such were the case, the resultcould not have been gratifying to the warrior.

  All at once, without removing his eyes from those of Ned, the Indiandeftly extended his left foot slightly forward and a brief distance toone side. Then he gradually shifted the weight of his body over uponit, until he had transferred himself nearly a foot out of alignment.

  Deerfoot the Shawanoe instantly detected this, and pointed his arrowwith full confidence; Jo Stinger was equally on the alert, and hiskeen gray eye glanced along the barrel with more certainty; but, notunnaturally perhaps, the two marksmen, from opposite standpoints,understood the peculiar maneuvering which the Wyandot had begun: heintended to circle slowly around the boy, who stood on the defensive,watching for an opening, which he would seize with the quickness oflightning.

  If such should prove the fact, the spectators had but a short while towait: and such did prove to be the fact.

  Once more the Wyandot moved his left foot, almost as far as the limbpermitted, and held it motionless, with the toe resting on the ground.All the time his black eyes were fixed with burning intensity on theyouth, and his right hand grasped the haft of the knife, as though hewould crush it to nothingness.

  Ned Preston suspected the purpose of his assailant and he instantlyturned, so as to face him, who had not such an easy task as might havebeen supposed.

  For a full minute, the left leg of the Wyandot remained extended, withnothing but the toe of the foot daintily touching, as though he meantto draw a line upon the earth with it. Then his weight gracefullyglided over upon the limb, the gleaming eyes never once shifting fromthe pale face of the boy pioneer.

  Scarcely was this movement--slight as it was--completed, when theoppressive stillness was broken by the explosive report of a rifle, ablue puff of smoke curled upward from one of the loopholes of theblock-house, and those who were looking at the Wyandot, saw himsuddenly throw his hands above his head, walk rapidly and uncertainlybackward several steps, and then, with a faint cry, fall, with limbsoutstretched, stone-dead.

  The second warrior became so absorbed in the scene that he fixed hisgaze on the two, paying no heed to the African, who, he must havebelieved, was at his mercy, when he chose to give his attention tohim.

  With a shrewdness hardly to be expected, the servant was quick to seethat another's extremity was his opportunity.

  "Nobody aint tinkin' 'bout Wildblossom Brown jes' now," was the beliefof the lad, "which shows dat it am a good time to tink 'bout hisself."

  He immediately began what may be called a flank movement around thethree parties, who took no notice of him, although Deerfoot and theonlookers in the block-house observed the prudent action of the lad.They were greatly relieved, inasmuch as he could not offer theslightest help by staying behind.

  Thus it came to pass that, at the moment the rifle was fired from theblock-house, Blossom was well on his way toward it, and his subsequentaction was like that of a runner who awaited the report as a signal.At the very instant it broke the stillness, he made a burst of speedand ran with might and main straight for shelter. The start that hisown foresight had secured, placed him so far in advance of his enemiesthat his safety was virtually obtained.

  "Open dat door!" he shouted in a voice that must have been heard ahalf mile away; "open her wide, or I'll smash her in!"

  He plunged across the clearing like a steam-engine, and the door wasdrawn inward, while he was twenty paces distant, so that everythingwas in his favor.

  Without checking himself in the least he "took a header" through theentrance and went clean across the lower floor and against theopposite side of the room, with a force that shook the entirebuilding.

  "My gracious, Blossom, it was a narrow escape!" exclaimed the Colonel,alluding to the flight of the lad from the warrior who had marked himfor his own.

  "Yes," said Blossom; "I like to have knocked my brains out agin deoder side de ole fort."

  "I'm more afraid the block-house has been injured than I am that youhave suffered; but you are safe now, and I can only hope that Ned maybe equally fortunate."

  The address and courage displayed by the surviving Wyandot aroused theadmiration of the garrison, for it far surpassed their expectation.

  The very instant the first red man was struck, and while he wasstaggering backwards, Ned Preston started with might and main for thesheltering block-house: he was thus quick to adopt the only coursethat offered safety, for the other warrior still held his knife andtomahawk at command, and was more alert, cunning and brave than theone that had fallen.

  Young Preston's promptness gained him considerable start, but he wasno more than fairly under way, when the other made for him with thespeed of a deer. Ned was fleet for his years, but he was no match forthe pursuing warrior, who gained rapidly.

  The amazing daring of this pursuit can scarcely be explained: theWyandot was straining every nerve to overtake the fugitive, who wasstriving with equal desperation to reach the block-house before him.The red man held his formidable tomahawk in his right hand, and wasrunning straight toward the building from which the shot was fired,and from which he must have known others were certain to
come. It wasprecisely as if a single soldier should deliberately charge upon amasked battery, of whose precise location he was well aware.

  As may be supposed, the Wyandot had not run half the interveningdistance, when another blue puff, floating aside from the loophole,accompanied the report of a rifle. Jim Turner had fired at theapproaching Wyandot, but he did it so hastily that he missed himaltogether.

  NED MAKES A NARROW ESCAPE.]

  "Is there no way of stopping him?" muttered Sam Megill, hurriedlybringing his gun to bear and discharging it; but, astonishing as itmay seem, he missed also.

  Jo Stinger was hastily reloading his piece, determined that the daringred man should not escape him, when Ned Preston dashed through thedoor and was safe.

  As the Colonel quickly shut and fastened the entrance, a heavy thudwas heard. The Wyandot had hurled his tomahawk with such prodigiousforce at the vanishing fugitive that the blade was buried half way toits head, and the handle projecting outward, would have required apower like that of King Arthur to draw it forth.