Wild Western Scenes

by J. B. Jones

  CHAPTER VIII.

  Night--Sagacity of the hounds--Reflection--The sneaking savages--Joe'sdisaster--The approach of the foe under the snow--The silent watch.

  The night was beautiful. The moon sailed through a cloudless sky, andthe north wind, which had whistled loudly among the branches of thetrees in the valley at the close of day, was hushed, and a perfectcalm pervaded the scene.

  "What're you leaving your post for?" asked Sneak, as Joe suddenlyabandoned his watch on the west side of the inclosure, and trippedacross to Roughgrove.

  "Mr. Roughgrove--Mr. Roughgrove," said Joe, in a low tone.

  "Well, what do you want with me?" responded the old ferryman.

  "I wanted to tell you that your two oarsmen are forgotten, and to askyou if we hadn't better call to them to come up here, where they'll beout of danger?"

  "They are _not_ forgotten," said Roughgrove; "I sent them over theriver to procure assistance, if possible."

  "Thank you. I'm glad they're out of danger. I couldn't rest till Ifound out something about them," said Joe, retiring; but instead ofresuming his watch, he slipped into the house.

  "He's at his old tricks agin," said Sneak, when he observed himstealthily enter the door. "Come out, I say!" he continued, in a loudvoice.

  "What is the matter?" interrogated Glenn, from his station on thenorth.

  "Why, that feller's crept into the house agin," replied Sneak.

  "Well, but he's come out again," said Joe, reappearing, and walkingreluctantly to his loophole.

  "What did you go in for?" demanded Glenn.

  "I just wanted to tell Miss Mary that the two oarsmen that helped usto bury Posin were gone over the river, and were safe."

  "Did she ask for this information?" inquired Glenn.

  "No, not exactly," responded Joe; "but I thought if I was uneasy aboutthe young men myself, that she, being more delicate than a man, mustbe considerably distressed."

  "A mere subterfuge! See that you do not leave your post in future,under any circumstances, without permission to do so."

  "I won't," replied Joe, peering through his loophole.

  Matters remained quiet for a great length of time, and Glenn began tohope that even Boone had been mistaken. But Boone himself had nodoubts upon the subject. Yet he seemed far more affable and cheerfulthan he did before the plan of resistance was formed in his mind.Occasionally he would walk round from post to post, and after scanningthe aspect without, direct the sentinels to observe closely certainpoints, trees or bushes, where he thought the enemy might first beseen. He never hinted once that there was a possibility of escaping anattack, and the little party felt that the only alternative was towatch with diligence and act with vigor and resolution when assailed.

  "Do you think they are now in this immediate neighbourhood?" inquiredGlenn.

  "They are not far off, I imagine," replied Boone; and calling thehounds from the stable, he continued, "I can show you in which quarterthey are." The hounds well understood their old master. At his biddingthey snuffed the air, and whining in a peculiar manner, with theirheads turned towards the west, the vicinity of the savages was notonly made manifest, but their location positively pointed out.

  "I was not aware, before, of the inestimable value of your gift," saidGlenn, gazing at the hounds, and completely convinced that theirconduct was an unerring indication of the presence of the foe.

  "Eh! Ringwood!" exclaimed Boone, observing that his favorite hound nowpointed his nose in a northern direction and uttered a low growl."Indeed!" he continued, "they have got in motion since we have beenobserving the hounds. I was not mistaken. Even while we were speakingthey divided their strength. One party is even now moving round to theeast, and at a given signal the other will attack us on the west,precisely as I predicted. See! Ringwood turns gradually."

  "And you think the greatest danger is to be apprehended from those onthe east?" said Glenn.

  "Yes," said Boone, "for the others cannot approach near enough to domuch injury without exposing themselves to great peril."

  "But how can you ascertain that they will cut a passage under thesnow, and the precise direction in which they will come?"

  "Because," said Boone, "we are situated near the cliff on the east, tothe summit of which they can climb, without being exposed to our fire,and thence it is likewise the shortest distance they can find to cut apassage to us under the snow. Mark Ringwood!" he continued, as thehound having made a semicircle from the point first noticed, became atlength stationary, and crouching down on the earth, (where the snowhad been cleared away at Boone's post,) growled more angrily thanbefore, but so low he could not have been heard twenty paces distant.

  "This is strange--very strange," said Glenn.

  A sound resembling the cry of an owl was heard in the direction of thecliff. It was answered on the west apparently by the shrill howl of awolf.

  "The signal!" said Boone. "Now let us be on the alert," he continued,"and I think we will surprise _them_, both on and under the snow. Letno one fire without first consulting me, even should they venturewithin the range of your guns."

  The party resumed their respective stations, and once more not a soundof any description was heard for a considerable length of time.Roughgrove was at the side of Boone, and the other three men wereposted as before described. The hounds had been sent back to theirlair in the stable. Not a motion, animate or inanimate, save theoccasional shooting of the stars in the begemmed firmament, could beobserved.

  While Glenn rested upon his gun, attracted ever and anon by thetwinkling host above, a throng of unwonted memories crowded upon him.He thought of his guileless youth; the uncontaminated days ofenjoyment ere he had mingled with the designing and heartlessassociates who strove to entice him from the path of virtue; of thehopes of budding manhood; of ambitious schemes to win a name by greatand honourable deeds; of parents, kindred, home; of _her_, who hadbeen the angel of all his dreams of paradise below: and then hecontemplated his present condition, and notwithstanding his resolutionwas unabated, yet in spite of all his struggles, a tear bedewed hischeek. He felt that his fate was hard, but he _knew_ that his coursewas proper, and he resolved to fulfil his vow. But with his sadness,gloomy forebodings, and deep and unusual thoughts obtruded. In thescene of death and carnage that was about to ensue, it occurred to himmore than once that it might be his lot to fall. This was a painfulthought. He was brave in conflict, and would not have hesitated torush reckless into the midst of danger; but he was calm now, and thethought of death was appalling. He would have preferred to die on anobler field, if he were to fall in battle. He did not wish to die inhis _youth_, to be cut off, without accomplishing the many ends he hadso often meditated, and without reaping a few of the sweets of life asthe reward of his voluntary sacrifice. He also desired to appear oncemore in the busy and detracting world, to vindicate the character thatmight have been unjustly aspersed, to reward the true friendship ofthose whose confidence had never been shaken, and to rebuke, perhapsforgive, the enemies who had recklessly pursued him. But another, andyet a more stirring and important thought obtruded upon hisreflections. It was one he had never seriously considered before, andit now operated upon him with irresistible power. It was a thought ofthings _beyond_ the grave. The stillness of midnight, the millionstars above him, the blue eternal expanse through which they weredistributed--the repose of the invisible winds, that late had howledaround him--the never-ceasing flow of the ice-bound stream before him,and the continual change of hill and valley--now desolate, and clothedin frosty vestments, and anon with verdure and variegatedbeauty--constrained him to acknowledge in the secret portals of hisbreast that there was a great, ever-existing Creator. He then calledto mind the many impressive lessons of a pious mother, which he hadsubsequently disregarded. He remembered the things she had read to himin the book of books--the words of prayer she taught him to utterevery eve, ere he closed his eyes in slumber--and he _now_ repeatedthat humble petition with all the fervency of a chastened spirit. Hefe
lt truly convinced of the fallacy of setting the heart and theaffections altogether on the things of this world, where mortals areonly permitted to abide but a brief space; and a hearty repentance ofpast errors, and a firm resolve to obey the requisitions of theOmnipotent in future, were in that hour conceived and engravenindelibly upon his heart.

  "Mr. Boone--Mr. Boone--Mr. Boone!" cried Joe, softly.

  "Dod! don't make sich a fuss," said Sneak.

  "Be silent," whispered Boone, gliding to Joe, and gazing out on thesnow, where he beheld about twenty savages standing erect andmotionless, not eighty paces distant.

  "I came within an ace of shooting," said Joe, "before I thought ofwhat you had said. I pulled the trigger with all my might before Iremembered that you said I musn't shoot till you told me, but as goodluck would have it, my musket wasn't cocked." Boone went to each ofthe other loopholes, and after scrutinizing every side very closely,he directed Sneak and Glenn to abandon their posts and join him atJoe's stand, for the purpose of discharging a deadly volley at theunsuspecting foe.

  "Does it not seem cruel to spill blood in this manner?" whisperedGlenn, when he viewed the statue-like forms of the unconsciousIndians.

  "Had you witnessed the barbarous deeds that _I_ have seen _them_perform--had you beheld the innocent babe ruthlessly butchered--yourchildren--your friends maimed, tomahawked, scalped, _burned_ beforeyour eyes--could you know the hellish horrors they are _now_meditating--you would not entertain much pity for them," said Boone,in a low tone, evidently moved by terrible memories, the precisenature of which the one addressed could not understand. But Glenn'sscruples vanished, and as a matter of necessity he determined tosubmit without reserve to the guidance of his experienced friend.

  "I should like to know how them yaller rascals got up here so closewithout being eyed sooner," said Sneak to Joe.

  "That's what's been puzzling me, ever since I first saw them," saidJoe, in scarce audible tones.

  "Split me if you havn't been asleep," said Sneak.

  "No indeed I havn't," said Joe. "I'll declare," he continued, lookingout, "I never should have thought of _that_. I see now, well enough,how they got there without my seeing them. They've got a great bigball of snow, half as high as a man's head, and they've been rollingit all the time, and creeping along behind it. They're all standingbefore it now, and just as I looked one moved his leg, and then I sawwhat it was. This beats the old boy himself. It's a mercy they didn'tcome all the way and shoot me in the eye!"

  "Hush!" said Boone. "They must have heard something, or supposed theydid, or else your neglect would have been fatal to you ere this. Theyare now waiting to ascertain whether they were mistaken or not. Movenot, and speak no more, until I order you."

  "I won't," said Joe, still gazing at the erect dark forms.

  "See how many there is--can't you count 'em?" said Sneak, in awhisper, leaning against Joe, and slyly taking a cartridge from hisbelt, slipped it in the muzzle of the musket which was standingagainst the palisade.

  "What're you doing with my gun?" asked Joe, in a very low tone, as hehappened to turn his head and see Sneak take his hand away from themuzzle of the musket.

  "Nothing--I was only feeling the size of the bore. It's big enough tokick down a cow."

  "What are you tittering about? you think it's a going to kick meagain, but you're mistaken--it ain't got two loads in this time."

  "Didn't Mr. Boone jest tell you to keep quiet?" said Sneak.

  "Don't you speak--then I won't," responded Joe.

  The moon had not yet reached the meridian, and the dark shadow of thehouse reaching to the palisade on the west, prevented the Indians fromobserving the movements of the whites through the many slightapertures in the inclosure, but through which the besieged party couldeasily observe them.

  After a long pause, during which neither party had uttered a word orbetrayed animation by the least movement, Glenn felt the weight of ahand laid gently on his shoulder, and turning beheld Mary at his side.Without a motion of the lips, she placed in his hand some bullets shehad moulded, and then passing on to the other men, gave each a likequantity.

  "Retire, now, my lass," said Boone; and when she returned to thehouse, he continued, addressing Glenn--"If they do not move one way orthe other very soon, we will give them a broadside where they are."

  "And we could do execution at this distance," observed Glenn.

  "I'd be dead sure to kill one, I know I would," said Sneak.

  "Let me see if I could take aim," said Joe, deliberately pointing hismusket through the loophole. The musket had inadvertently been cocked,and left in that condition, and no sooner did Joe's finger gentlypress upon the trigger, than it went off, making an astounding report,and veiling the whole party in an immense cloud of smoke.

  "Who did that?" cried Boone, stamping with vexation.

  "Was that you, Joe?" demanded Glenn.

  Joe made no answer.

  "Oh, dod! my mouth's smashed all to pieces!" said Sneak, crawling upfrom a prostrate position, caused by the rebound of the musket, for hewas looking over Joe's shoulder when the gun went off.

  "Where's Joe?" inquired Glenn, pushing Sneak aside.

  "He's dead, I guess--I believe the gun's busted," said Sneak.

  "Now, sir! why did you fire?" cried Glenn, somewhat passionately,stumbling against Joe, and seizing him by the collar. No answer wasmade, for poor Joe's neck was limber enough, and he quite insensible.

  "He's dead in yearnest, jest as I told you," said Sneak; "for that gunkicked him on the shoulder hard enough to kill a cow--and the hindside of his head struck my tooth hard enough to've kilt a horse. He'sbroke one of my upper fore-teeth smack in two."

  "Every man to his post!" exclaimed Boone, as a shower of arrowsrattled about the premises.

  Sneak now occupied Joe's station, and the first glance in thedirection of the savages sufficed to determine him how to act. Perhapsno one ever discharged a rifle more rapidly than he did. And a briskand well-directed fire was kept up for some length of time, likewise,by the rest of the besieged.

  It was, perhaps, a fortunate thing that Joe _did_ fire without orders,and without any intention of doing so himself. It seemed that thesavages had been meditating a desperate rush upon the fort,notwithstanding Boone's prediction; for no sooner did Joe fire, thanthey hastily retreated a short distance, scattering in everydirection, and, without a moment's consultation, again appeared,advancing rapidly from every quarter. It was evident that this planhad been preconcerted among them; and had all fired, instead of Joeonly, they might easily have scaled the palisade before the guns couldhave been reloaded. Neither had the besiegers been aware of thestrength of the garrison. But they were soon made to understand thatthey had more than Glenn and his man to contend against. Thedischarges followed in such quick succession that they paused, whenbut a moment more would have placed them within the inclosure. Butseveral of them being wounded, and Boone and Glenn still doingexecution with their pistols, the discomfited enemy made a precipitateretreat. An occasional flight of arrows continued to assail thebesieged, but they came from a great distance, for the Indians werenot long in scampering beyond the range of the loopholes.

  When Glenn could no longer see any of the dark forms of the enemy, heturned round to contemplate the sad condition of Joe. Joe was sittingup, with his hands locked round his knees.

  "Well, split me in two!" cried Sneak, staring at his companion.

  "What's the matter, Sneak?" asked Joe, with much simplicity.

  "That's a purty question for _you_ to ask, after there for dead thishalf-hour almost"

  "Have the Indians been here?" asked Joe, staring round wildly.

  "Hain't you heard us shooting?"

  "My goodness," cried Joe, springing up. "Oh! am I wounded? say!" hecontinued, evincing the most lively alarm.

  "Well, if this don't beat every thing that ever I saw in all my life,I wish I may be shot!" said Sneak.

  "What is it?" asked Joe, his senses yet wandering.

>   "Jest feel the back of your head," said Sneak. Joe put his hand to theplace indicated, and winced under the pain of the touch. He thenlooked at his hand, and beholding a quantity of clotted blood upon it,fell down suddenly on the snow.

  "What's the matter now?" asked Glenn, who had seen his man sitting up,and came swiftly to him when he fell.

  "I'm a dead man!" said Joe, mournfully.

  "That's a lie!" said Sneak.

  "What ails you, Joe?" asked Glenn, his tone much softened.

  "I'm dying--oh! I'm shot through the head!"

  "Don't believe him, Mr. Glenn--I'll be smashed if its any thing but mytooth," said Sneak.

  "Oh--I'm dying!" continued Joe, pressing his hand against his head,while the pain and loss of blood actually produced a faintness, andhis voice became very weak.

  "Are you really much hurt?" continued Glenn, stooping down, andfeeling his pulse.

  "It's all over!" muttered Joe. "I'm going fast. Sancte Petre!--Paternoster, qui es in coelis, sanctificeter nomen tuum; adveniat regnumtu--"

  Here Joe's voice failed, and, falling into a syncope, Glenn and Sneaklifted him up and carried him into the house.

  "Is he shot?" exclaimed Mary, instantly producing some lint andbandages which she had prepared in anticipation of such an event.

  "I fear he has received a serious hurt," said Glenn, aiding Mary, whohad proceeded at once to bind up the wound.

  "I'll be split if he's shot!" said Sneak, going out and returning tohis post. Glenn did likewise when he saw the first indications ofreturning consciousness in his man; and Mary was left alone to restoreand nurse poor Joe. But he could not have been in better hands.

  "I should like to know something about them curious words the fellerwas speaking when he keeled over," said Sneak, as he looked out at thenow quiet scene from the loophole, and mused over the events of thenight. "I begin to believe that the feller's a going to die. I don'tbelieve any man could talk so, if he wasn't dying."

  "Have you seen any of them lately?" inquired Boone, coming to Sneak'spost and running his eye along the horizon through the loophole.

  "Not a one," replied Sneak, "except that feller laying out yander bythe snowball."

  "He's dead," said Boone, "and he is the only one that we are sure ofhaving killed to-night. But many are wounded."

  "And smash me if Joe didn't kill that one when his musket went offbefore he was ready," said Sneak.

  "Yes, I saw him fall when Joe fired; and that accident was, after all,a fortunate thing for us," continued Boone.

  "But I'm sorry for poor Joe," said Sneak.

  "Pshaw!" said Boone; "he'll be well again, in an hour."

  "No, he's a gone chicken."

  "Why do you think so?"

  "Didn't he say so himself? and didn't he gabble out a whole parcel ofpurgatory talk? He's as sure gone as a stuck pig, I tell you,"continued Sneak.

  "He will eat as hearty a breakfast to-morrow morning as ever he did inhis life," said Boone. "But let us attend to the business in hand. Ihardly think we will be annoyed any more from this quarter, unlessyonder dead Indian was a chief, and then it is more than probable theywill try to steal him away. However, you may remain here. I, alone,can manage the others."

  "Which others?" inquired Sneak.

  "Those under the snow," replied Boone; "they are now within twentypaces of the palisade."

  "You don't say so?" said Sneak, cocking his gun.

  "I have been listening to them cutting through the snow a long while,and it will be a half hour yet before I spring the mine," said Boone.

  "I hope it will kill 'em all!" said Sneak.

  "Watch close, and perhaps _you_ will kill one yet from this loophole,"said Boone, returning to his post, where the slow-match was exposedthrough the palisade near the ground; and Roughgrove stood by, holdinga pistol, charged with powder only, in readiness to fire the trainwhen Boone should give the word of command.

  Boone applied his ear to a crevice between the timbers near the earth,where the snow had been cleared away. After remaining in this positiona few moments, he beckoned Glenn to him.

  "Place your ear against this crevice," said Boone.

  "It is not the Indians I hear, certainly!" remarked Glenn. The soundsresembled the ticking of a large clock, differing only in theirgreater rapidity than the strokes of seconds.

  "Most certainly it is nothing else," replied Boone.

  "But how do they produce such singular sounds? Is it the trampling offeet?" continued Glenn.

  "It is the sound of many tomahawks cutting a passage," replied Boone.

  "But what disposition do they make of the snow, when it is cut loose."

  "A portion of them dig, while the rest convey the loose snow out andcast it down the cliff."

  While the above conversation was going on, a colloquy of a differentnature transpired within the house. Joe, after recovering from hissecond temporary insensibility, had sunk into a gentle doze, whichlasted many minutes. Mary had bathed his face repeatedly with sundryrestoratives, and likewise administered a cordial that she had broughtfrom her father's house, which seemed to have a most astonishingsomniferous effect. When the contents of the bottle were exhausted,she sat silently by, watching Joe's apparent slumber, and feltrejoiced that her patient promised a speedy recovery. Once, after shehad been gazing at the fawn, (that had been suffered to occupy a placenear the wall, where it was now coiled up and sleeping,) on turningher eyes towards the face of Joe, she imagined for a moment that shesaw him close his eyelids quickly. But calling him softly andreceiving no answer, she concluded it was a mere fancy, and againresigned herself to her lonely watch. When she had been sitting thussome minutes, watching him patiently, she observed his eyes openslowly, and quickly smack to again, when he found that she was lookingat him. But a moment after, conscious that his wakefulness wasdiscovered, he opened them boldly, and found himself possessed of afull recollection of all the incidents of the night up to hisdisaster.

  "Have they whipt all the Indians away that were standing out on thesnow, Miss Mary?"

  "Yes, long ago--and none have been seen, but the one you killed, forsome time," she replied, encouragingly.

  "Did I kill one sure enough?" asked Joe, while his eyes sparkledexceedingly.

  "Yes, indeed," replied she; "and I heard Mr. Boone say he was glad ithappened, and that the accident was, after all, a fortunate thing forus."

  "_Accident_!" iterated Joe; "who says it was an accident?"

  "Wasn't it an accident?" asked the simple girl.

  "No, indeed!" replied Joe. "But," he continued, "have they blown upthe other Indians yet?"

  "Not yet--but I heard them say they would do it very soon. They can beheard digging under the snow now, very plainly," said Mary.

  "Indeed!" said Joe, with no little terror depicted in his face. "Iwish you'd go and ask Mr. Boone if he thinks you'll be entirely safe,if you please, Miss Mary," said Joe beseechingly.

  "I will," responded Mary, rising to depart.

  "And if they ask how I am," continued Joe, "please say I am a greatdeal better, but too weak yet to go out."

  Mary did his bidding; and when she returned, what was her astonishmentto find her patient running briskly across the room from the cupboard,with a whole roasted prairie-hen in one hand, or at least the body ofit, while he tore away the breast with his teeth, and some half dozencrackers in the other! In vain did he attempt to conceal them underthe covering of his bed, into which he jumped as quickly as possible.Guilt was manifest in his averted look, his trembling hand, and hisgreasy mouth! Mary gazed in silent wonder. Joe cowered under herglance a few moments, until the irresistible flavour of the fowlovercame him, and then his jaws were again set in motion.

  "I fear that eating will injure you," remarked Mary, at length.

  "Never fear," replied Joe. "When a sick person has a good appetite,it's a sure sign he's getting better."

  "If you think so you can eat as much as you please," said Mary; "andyou needn't hide any thi
ng from me."

  Joe felt a degree of shame in being so palpably detected, but hisappetite soon got the better of his scruples, and he gratified thedemands of his stomach without reserve.

  "But what did Mr. Boone say?" asked he, peeping out.

  "He says he thinks there is no danger. But the Indians are now withina few feet of the palisade, and the explosion is about to take place."