CHAPTER XXIII
WHAT THE DEAD ASHES OF A FIRE TOLD
"PULL hard, Sandy; father wants to land at that spot where the bigcrooked tree hangs over the water. Pat has told him that it was therehe spent the night a year ago, when he was here spying out the land andlearning what the Frenchmen were doing in the trapping line. And healso says it is the finest place for our new home he knows about."
While saying all this Bob was himself throwing his strength upon thesweep he and his younger brother were managing, while some of themen rested, or frolicked with their children inside the cabin of theflatboat.
They were afloat on the Mississippi, and had been descending themighty stream most of the day. To cross it with only a clumsy flatboatwas next to impossible. It would have been exceedingly dangerous tohave risked the diverse currents that lay in wait for the incautiousvoyager, far out from shore.
Some of the men had even proposed that they try to make one of theislands that they had passed, and where it would seem they mightbe free from an attack on the part of the Indians; but to this Mr.Armstrong would not agree.
"Look back, friends," he had said when this bold scheme was proposed,"and try to imagine what would have become of us and our families, hadwe been on such an island when the flood came. It was bad enough onthe main land, watching our cabins being undermined, and carried off;but how much worse had we been watching the waters slowly but surelycovering the very land on which all we loved stood, with the ragingtorrent on every side, and no means of reaching the shore? For my part,after what I have passed through, nothing can tempt me to leave thisfirm foundation. True, the Indians and French trappers may get at usthe easier; but we know where we are, and in the other case we wouldnot."
And his words were of such a nature that even those who had beenloudest in exploiting the benefits to be obtained by resorting to anisland, changed their minds, and would have none of it.
The boat was brought in without a great amount of trouble, for theyhad been keeping only a short distance away from the bank whileallowing themselves to be carried along at the will of the strongcurrent.
Pat was, as always, the first to spring ashore. While the rest werebusy securing the boat, the trapper was circling around up the bank,looking for recent signs of enemies near the spot.
He had claimed it was a well-known stopping-place for all those passingup or down-stream. Boats loaded with French trappers might possiblycome along at some time or other; but already time was bringing abouta change in the relations of the colonists and the sons of France; andif, as seemed very likely, a break did occur between King George andhis American colonies, the French would be found taking the part of thelatter.
Indeed, Mr. Armstrong had taken this into consideration when arrangingto carry his family into the heart of the country controlled andclaimed by the French. He expected to have some little trouble withthem at first; but, after a little time, they would hear great newsfrom the sea-coast that would lift the scales from their eyes, theserough and daring trappers, so that they would hold out their hands tomake peace with the newcomers, as common allies against England.
"How does this suit you, Sandy?" asked Bob, when they, too, hadclambered over the side of the boat, and stood on the bank.
"It is a fine place for a camp, and for a cabin, too," replied theother, looking about him with kindling eyes. "Plenty of big trees tocut down, or leave standing, just as we think best; and it looks asif there ought to be a heap of rich furs to be taken along that ridgeback yonder, and the valley that must lie further on. Yes, I like thisplace. It is even better than what I could see, whenever I shut myeyes, and tried to picture our new homestead by the Mississippi."
They looked out upon the great river, where rested the bones of thediscoverer, De Soto, and the copper plates he had sunk beneath itswaters when he claimed the whole region for his royal master; and tearscame into the eyes of Sandy, whose emotions were easily stirred.
"Higher up there, and a little way back, we would build our cabins,I think," Bob went on to remark, in his usual thoughtful way. "Onebout with a flood will be more than enough for father. Think of whatit meant to us, the destruction of our garden; the uprooting of thesupports of our cabin; and then the loss of mother's little strong-boxin which she kept her few precious remembrances of the past, as well asthat wampum belt given to us by Pontiac, when we saved his life. Yes,it answers all the needs of our little company; and, once it is decidedthat we stay here, watch how soon the axes begin to ring, and the treesto fall. Inside of three days, we could have a roof over our headsagain."
"I should be glad of that," ventured Sandy, heaving a little sigh ashis eye roved toward their mother, just climbing down from the side ofthe boat, assisted by the steady hand of her husband; "for mother hasgrown weary of this wandering. She wants to have her own fire to workover, and cook meals for her family, instead of the whole company."
"Suppose we look around a little," suggested Bob.
"Count me in with you on that," agreed the other, quickly, for it wasjust what Sandy was about to propose himself, being fairly wild to do alittle exploring on his own hook.
Of course they carried their guns as they left the vicinity of theflatboat, for the pioneer of that day never knew at what moment hewould have urgent need of his weapons.
Pat was no longer in sight. He had started to circle rapidly around,and had already covered so much territory that it seemed as if therecertainly could be nothing near by that might be dangerous.
A rabbit jumped out from almost under their feet; squirrels friskedamong the oaks that grew in abundance in the woods; plump partridgeswhirred when they happened to stir the brush, and inside of fiveminutes these evidences of the abundance of small game had Sandylaughing in great glee.
"Oh! I guess none of those stories could have been untrue, brother," hedeclared, as they glimpsed a deer that had evidently been lying downnear by, and was only disturbed by their approach; "why, I came neargetting a shot at that doe; but, when that branch closed in behindher flank, I thought it would be silly to fire, with only a chance ofwounding the poor thing. Mother has taught us not to be cruel when wetake our toll of meat, and I am glad now I did not fire."
"I believe you will have plenty of chances to shoot all you want,if father decides to stay right around here," remarked Bob. "As formyself, I fancy that fine ridge just back there. If our cabin toppedthat, we could see up and down the river, just as we used to do,before, up on the Ohio; but what a different thing the Mississippi isfrom its tributary!"
"But," broke in Sandy, just then, "didn't you hear Pat tell about thatother big river that comes down from the unknown country away off tothe northwest, and empties its volume of water into the Mississippi nottwo hundred miles north of the mouth of the Ohio? He said it was thereal Mississippi, and that the Indians so regarded it, because it comesfrom so far away, hundreds and hundreds of miles, so that no man knowsthe beginning, up in the country of the Crows; and the strange Indianswith the white skin, called the Mandans; and the Sioux, who, the Frenchsay, are the most savage fighters of all the red race."
Bob looked at his brother doubtfully. He knew something was working onthe mind of the boy, for he was used to reading the signs.
"You listen too much to these idle tales Pat tells, Sandy," heremarked. "First thing I know, you'll be wanting to go off and explorethat other river, where no English settler has yet built his cabin, andonly savage foes lurk."
Sandy made no reply, but a flush crept over his face; and Bob sighed;for he knew that his brother had even then been indulging in dreamsof some day seeing that other great river, lying still deeper in thewilderness that lay toward the land of the setting sun.
"Pat was telling us that trappers call this the most favored place formany miles along the river," Bob remarked, as he glanced around him.
"Yes," added the other, quickly, "and he said he had camped here oncehimself, when he came to the country of the Mississippi to see what theFrenchmen were doing, and find o
ut if it was really as fine a placeas others had reported. Why, even now that looks like the ashes of acampfire over yonder."
"You are right, Sandy," declared Bob; "some one has been in camp here,and not so long ago, too; for the ashes have never been rained on; andyou remember that just three days ago we had a long siege of it."
Bob had touched the flaky ashes with the toe of his moccasin whensaying this. Versed in the knowledge of woodcraft, this was only anatural thing for the boy to remark. It fell from his lips just asreadily as a lad of the present day might read a printed message thathad been left in the crotch of a stick, after the departure of latecampers.
"I wonder who they could have been, Indians, or French trappers headingfor the nearest trading post with their winter's catch of pelts?" musedSandy, looking thoughtfully around him while speaking.
"The chances are the last," Bob replied. "If Indians had been here wewould see some signs to tell us of that fact. Chances are they wouldleave a broken arrow behind, or some feathers that were cast aside; andI do not see any such, do you?"
"No, not here," replied Sandy, and then added: "It seems to me thereis something lying there, in that clump of grass, that has beenthrown aside. Wait until I get it, Bob; perhaps it may give us a clueconcerning the men who made this fire."
Carelessly he stepped aside, and, bending, picked up the object thathad caught his attention. As Sandy stood staring, Bob advanced to hisside with quick strides. Then he, too, seemed to have been turned intostone, for his eyes were glued upon what Sandy held in his shakinghand.
The eyes of the two boys met in a startled look; and it could beplainly seen that they were deeply moved by the discovery Sandy hadmade, close to the dead ashes of the abandoned fire.
The Pioneer Boys of the Mississippi; or, The Homestead in the Wilderness Page 26
