by James Otis
CHAPTER IV.
PAUL SAMPSON.
When we were inside the cabin once more, with the door and windowsbarred and the man and lad whom we had rescued eating ravenously fromthe store of food my mother set before them, there was in my mind thethought that I had good reason to be proud of the part I had so latelyplayed.
Simon Kenton and I had killed, or driven off, a band of fourteensavages, and surely my portion of the work had not been slight. Itseemed to me then, as now, that I did my full share in the business. Itis true, except for the fact of our having taken the brutes by surprise,and come upon them in such fashion they had no means of knowing but thatwe outnumbered them three or four to one, the matter might have come toa different ending; but it was much to our credit that we had been ableto surprise those wretches who seldom made an attack unless it can bebegun in like manner.
I repeat I was feeling proud of our work, more particularly when Ilooked at our guests, realizing that but for Simon Kenton and myselfthey would at that very moment be suffering all the tortures the paintedwolves could inflict, and I glanced at the young scout, thinking to readin his face thoughts akin to mine.
In this I was mistaken. Despite what was very nearly a fact--that theIndians had been put to flight--he was standing by the loophole of thedoor keeping careful watch, and, so far as could be told by theexpression on his face, it might have been us white men who were worstedin the encounter.
I failed to see in his bearing anything to betoken that he had butlately faced death in its most horrible form in order to make an effortat saving the lives of strangers, and from that moment I looked up tothe young man much as if he had been of a superior race from any I hadpreviously seen.
It is not to be supposed that I stood idly by dwelling upon suchthoughts as are here set down in words, while, for aught we knew, thebrutes might be gathering in greater force than before.
I was not so wholly given over to vanity as all that would indicate; butmoved here or there looking after our defense in such manner as seemedto me proper, my mind busy all the while, and the vainglorious thoughtsdying away as I observed Kenton.
Then, when the young scout had advised that I remain at the further endof the cabin, keeping watch from the loophole in the shutter, I turnedmy attention to those whom we had saved from the stake.
They were father and son, as I learned from the conversation the elderwas holding with my mother, who ministered to their wants at the table.Horace Sampson was the man's name, and he called the lad Paul.
The two had come from Maryland to locate a homestead, and the onlywonder in my mind was that the savages had not taken them captivesbefore they got so far into the wilderness; for neither of them knew asmuch regarding woodcraft as had I on my tenth birthday.
They had believed it would be possible for them to frighten the Indiansby a mere show of weapons, and could not be persuaded by those who hadbeen on the frontier, that it was but little less than suicide toventure in this section of the country alone.
For three weeks they had traveled here and there searching for alikely-looking location, and not until the day previous had the savagesshown themselves.
Then that which might have been expected happened in a twinkling, andbefore either the father or the son had an idea any danger threatened,they were disarmed, and bound within view of our cabin, as I haverelated.
Even after having been so near a terrible death, Mr. Sampson believed itmight be possible to retrace his steps in safety; but my mother criedout so loudly against any such foolhardy venture, and painted thedangers of the frontier in such vivid colors, that the ignorant manfinally came to believe it was hardly safe to trust himself alone amidstfoes whose methods of warfare were so entirely a secret to him.
Simon Kenton must have been listening to the conversation even as I hadbeen doing, for he said when mother had ceased her warning:
"The only safe path for you is that which leads to Corn Island. Thereyou will find a goodly company, and I doubt not that before many dayshave passed you will meet with some who propose to journey on yourroad."
"But how may we provide for ourselves on this island of which youspeak?" the man asked helplessly, and the question in itself wassufficient to prove his ignorance.
"There will be no lack of helping hands," Simon Kenton replied with asmile. "On the frontier men do not count the value of food and ashelter, as do those who live in town."
Then, as if to show he was pig-headed as well as ignorant, Mr. Sampsonargued that he was not willing to accept charity from strangers; that itwould be demeaning himself to receive anything for which he was unableto pay.
"You must do that, or take the chances of providin' sport for thepainted snakes, as you were like to do a short time ago," Kenton repliedcurtly, and I understood by the tone that he was losing patience becauseof the man's stubbornness.
Having thus spoken the young scout turned once more to stand guard atthe loophole, and Paul, the lad, his meal ended, came timidly towardwhere I was stationed.
He appeared to be a boy after my own heart, entirely different inmanners and speech from his father, and I decided at once that we shouldbe firm friends so long as he might remain on the frontier.
I could well understand that he was burning with a desire to askquestions, and did not hesitate to give him encouragement to begin.
He was eager to know how long I had lived in the wilderness; how often Ihad fought against the savages, and such like simple questions, all ofwhich I answered until he was come to an end.
Then I asked about his home in Maryland; of his journey to the OhioRiver, and, finally, how he felt while bound to the stake.
"The fear in my heart was so great that I did not fully have my senses,"he replied with a shudder. "Not until the fires were kindled and thedancing had begun did I dream that those beasts would put us to death. Iwas like one in a dream until the first shot was fired, and a savagedropped dead almost at my feet."
"We didn't open fire any too soon," I said with perhaps a tinge of pridein my tone because I had played my part well, as it seemed to me.
"In another instant the Indian's knife would have been in my body!" hecried. "I could tell by the fierce gleam in his eyes that he counted ontaking my life."
"The murdering brutes do not kill their prisoners so quickly or easily.He would have prolonged your life to its utmost limit, in order that youmight suffer the more."
Then I told him of my father's cruel death; of what we had found to tellthe horrible story, and before I had finished the tears were runningdown his cheeks.
Simon Kenton must have been listening to our conversation, for he calledsharply, when Paul was almost overcome with grief:
"You lads had best get what sleep you can before daylight, for as soonas the sun rises, if it so be the red wolves have drawn off, we must setout for Corn Island."
I understood that he was not well pleased because I had frightened thelad who was so lately come from the bustling world, and it shamed mebecause of giving him, who was so brave, an opportunity for reproof.
My mother spread out the skins near the fireplace, where I had been inthe custom of sleeping, and Paul dutifully laid himself down, while hisfather remained at the table evidently in a brown study.
It was not in my mind to allow Simon Kenton to perform all the labor,and I said stoutly, yet at the same time feeling that my eyes weregrowing heavy:
"I count on doing my share of the watching this night. It is not rightthat I should sleep while you remain awake."
"I should not trust you to stand guard alone, and there is no goodreason why both of us remain on duty. Take your sleep now, that you maybe the better fitted for a long day's tramp."
He spoke in such a commanding tone that I could do no less than obey,and when my mother clambered up the ladder to her bed in the loft I laydown by Paul's side, closing my eyes in slumber almost as soon as mybody was stretched out at full length.
The day had dawned when a cry from Simon Kenton brought
me to my feet inalarm, believing the savages were upon us; but he quieted my fears as hesaid with a laugh:
"I had a notion of findin' out how long you need to get your eyes openwide. If we two are to join Major Clarke, we should be well acquainted."
"I am not such an idiot as to sleep after being summoned," I repliedjust a trifle testily, for it seemed much as if he was making sport ofme. "I may not be as well up in woodcraft as are you; but I'm noidler."
"Now you are takin' me too seriously," he replied with another laughwhich disarmed me of anger. "It was high time you made ready for thetramp, an' I'm pleased to see you so quick at a call. He who finds ithard to shake the sleep from his eyes should remain in towns where heneed not hold a rifle ever at hand in order to save his life. Look atyonder would-be settler," he added in a whisper, and I glanced in thedirection of his outstretched finger, where was Mr. Sampson, yawning andstretching as if struggling to gather his senses. "Is it strange thepainted brutes captured such as he with but little difficulty?"
Paul was no such sluggard. He had risen at the same time I did, and nowstood near the door on the alert for whatever might come his way.
I could hear my mother moving about in the loft, and knew she would soonbe down to cook breakfast, after which, as I understood the plan, wewere to begin the journey.
"Have the savages left us?" I asked of the young scout.
"Ay, so it seems, though I'm not overly eager to believe it withoutbetter proof than that we've heard nothin' from 'em since you went tosleep. Stand you here ready for anything that may turn up, an' I'll havea look round."
He unbarred the door as he spoke, and when he had stolen softly out Istood guard in his place, with Paul close by my side.
Not until the morning meal had been cooked and was spread on the tabledid Simon Kenton return, and the news which he brought gave me a senseof deepest relief.
"The dose we gave 'em last night was enough," he said, leaning his rifleagainst the side of the hut as he took a seat at the table withoutwaiting for an invitation. "Now is the time for us to start, for there'sno knowin' how soon the brutes may take it into their ugly heads to comeback."
"Are we to leave all our belongings here?" I asked, looking around atthe scanty store of furniture, the greater portion of which my fatherhad made.
"Better them than your hair," Simon Kenton replied. "If the snakes comethis way again they'll make short work of the cabin an' all that's init, whether you be here to make a show of defendin' it or not. In casethey stay away, the stuff will be safe where it is, if we take care tokeep out the wild beasts."
There was a look of pain on my mother's face which I knew had beencaused by the thought of leaving behind her scanty goods; but she gaveno words to her sorrow, joining with the young scout in the conversationconcerning the day's tramp.
When the meal had been eaten, and mother tidied up the cabin a bit, wewent out into the sunlight, closing door and window shutter behind us,as if counting on returning before nightfall.
Simon Kenton took the lead, and then was begun the long march which didnot end until late in the night.
We made few halts, and then only for a few moments at a time. We ate aswe walked, forcing our way through the dense underbrush, and ever on thealert against danger.
Mr. Sampson more than once insisted that the pace was killing him; hedeclared, when the day was half spent, that it would be impossible forhim to walk half a mile farther; but when Kenton quietly suggested thathe might halt wheresoever he chose, and follow our trail the nextmorning, he came to the conclusion that perhaps he might keep his feet ashort time longer.
Paul was as cheery a companion as one could desire. Although he wasfoot-sore and weary, as I knew full well, not a word of complaint camefrom his lips, and before the day was ended I knew Simon Kenton hadbegun to love the lad even as I already did, for he whispered once whenwe were well in advance of the others:
"That boy is worth a dozen such men as his father. He has got truepluck, an' I'll warrant you wouldn't hear him whine even when he'dfallen in his tracks worn out."
There is no reason why I need say how my mother bore her share of thefatigue. She was a brave, true woman, and when any task, however great,was to be done, went at it with a will and in silence, or with cheerywords.
When, at a late hour in the evening, we were come opposite Corn Island,and had found one of Major Clarke's force who was willing to ferry usacross the river, I was more astounded than words can express, for itwas as if I had suddenly emerged from the wilderness to find myself in apopulous town.
No less than twenty families had come down with the volunteers, and wereencamped together, nearby where the men had their quarters. Countingmen, women and children, there could not have been less than fourhundred and fifty people, three times as many as I had ever before seenin one place.
The greater portion of this gathering was asleep; but I could well fancywhat bustle and confusion there must be when all were moving about, andthe mere idea bewildered me.
Simon Kenton led us directly to the hut set apart for the use of MajorClarke, and there introduced us to the commander of the expedition, whobid us welcome in such a hearty fashion that even Mr. Sampson must haveforgotten what he had said about "accepting charity."
Mother was taken in charge by some of the women, and we four, meaningSimon Kenton, the Sampsons, father and son, and myself, were given theuse of a lean-to made of brush--not a substantial shelter; but to me,who had well-nigh come to an end of my endurance, it was most inviting.
Even Kenton himself felt the effects of the long tramp; and we indulgedin no conversation that night, each member of the party falling asleepas soon as he was on the ground.
Paul and I were early abroad next morning. To him there was no noveltyin such a throng, for he told me solemnly that he had seen in Marylandmany more people bent on merrymaking than could be found on Corn Island,and I was forced to believe the lad, although it hardly seemed possible.
As I have said, there were no less than twenty families who had comedown with the major's force to find homes in the wilderness, and,learning in some way, I know not how, that I was the son of a settler,many of them gathered around to learn how we had fared on our clearing.
There was more than one pale face among the women and younger childrenwhen I told of my father's death, and I dare say but few would haveremained to build homes nearabout the Ohio River if it had been possiblefor them to get back to the settlement they had just left.
Mr. Sampson appeared like a different man now that he was with a throngof people. He no longer seemed to think it necessary he should returnto Maryland, where a wife and two children awaited his coming; butdeclared that he would join his fortunes with those who counted onbuilding up a village on the frontier.
Paul kept close by my side as I talked with the men concerning theexpedition on which Major Clarke was to lead them, and when, late onthat first day in camp, I told him of my intention to join the force asa volunteer, he declared that nothing would please him better than to bemy comrade.
"If my father is willing, I shall go," he said quietly; but in a tonewhich told me that he was one with a will of his own, and not likely tobe led by the nose against his own desire or inclination.
At the first opportunity I sought out Simon Kenton to tell him of Paul'splans, and the young scout said heartily:
"I like the lad, and will be glad to have him with us, although for atime he may cost us some trouble."
"He is quick to learn, I fancy, and by observing those around him, willsoon be able to get about in a proper fashion," I replied confidently,whereupon the scout surprised me by saying:
"There will be none save you an' me for him to see."
"What then will have become of all this gathering?" I asked inastonishment.
"They will be far behind us, lad. Was it in your mind that I would marchin line like a soldier?"
"What else can you do?"
"Remain in advance to make certain no danger th
reatens. You and I willact as scouts; I reckon there may be others, but I have been hired toconduct all this party, first to the British outpost at Kaskaskia, andthen to Cahokia."
"You alone?" I cried, overwhelmed to learn that this young fellow was ofso much importance in the eyes of a soldier like Major Clarke.
"Not alone, for I count on takin' one Louis Nelson with me, an' he hasit in mind that Paul Sampson will make the third."
"But I am far too ignorant to share such an important duty!"
"The lad who is willin' to face a gang of painted wolves such asbesieged your cabin, and to do so almost single-handed, gives promise ofbein' a comrade to my likin'. We'll lead the men, Louis, an' I dareventure to say there'll be no ambush we shan't scent out before themurderin' redskins succeed in doing any mischief."
"And are you willing to take Paul Sampson?" I asked, still in a maze ofbewilderment.
"Aye, that I am, an' venture to say he'll turn out to be your equalafter a little experience."
I could hardly contain myself for joy at the thought that mine was to bea man's work; but ran off at full speed to make my mother acquaintedwith what I believed was rare good fortune.
She, kind soul, was saddened because such an opportunity had presenteditself to me, and although she spoke not a word against the enterprise,I understood what was in her heart, and said quickly, even though itcost me a pang to utter the words:
"You are not pleased, mother, and I had thought it would make you gladbecause Simon Kenton had so much of faith in me. I will tell him Icannot go, and you may forget I have spoken of it."
The tears were very near her eyelids as she drew me closer and saidsoftly, hardly daring to trust her voice:
"I would not keep you, my son, even though the parting give me greatpain. On the frontier boys must speedily learn to be men, and it may bebest for you to go. Perhaps we will join these settlers who intend tobuild up a town nearby, when you come back covered with glory."
"Now you are making sport of me, mother," I replied reproachfully."There is no glory to be gained in fighting savages."
"To my mind you gained very much, Louis, when you ventured your life tosave Mr. Sampson and Paul."
I was at a loss to understand exactly what she meant, nor did I try veryhard, for the look of pain was gone from her face, and I wanted torepeat the good news to Paul.
I found him on the shore of the island, gazing across the water as if hesaw in the muddy stream some wonderful vision, and instead of beingsurprised or elated when I told what proud position we were to occupy inthe expedition, he said with a sigh:
"It is enough if I am to be with you, Louis."
"And your father? Will he give his consent?"
"He is laying plans for the new settlement which is to be made, and whenI told him it would give me pleasure to go with you and Simon Kenton,he said he had other things of which to think."
"Does that mean you are free to go?"
"Now that he has companions there will be no thought of me. We will go,Louis; but do you think we will come back?"
The question almost frightened me. I had thought only of being a scoutfor such a brave party as was here encamped, and had given no heed tothe possible danger which awaited us, until reminded of it by Paul'swords.
