Fear in the Forest

by Cateau De Leeuw

  “You mean Christopher Miller?” the soldier said.

  “That’s the one. He was in the guardhouse, and folks said they were tryin’ to get him to work for the Gen’l.”

  “Well, he didn’t want to at first,” the soldier told them. “But his brother and Cap’n Wells kep’ at him, and Old Toney himself would go and talk to him. He didn’t hold out too long. He’s workin’ for us now, an’ they say he’s right good at it.”

  “How could anyone rather stay an Indian if he was really a white man?” Daniel said slowly.

  Amos answered him. “I can see that,” he said. “If the Indians decide to adopt a boy into their family, they treat him fine. And so he grows up like one of ‘em. Just think,” he chuckled and poked Daniel in the ribs, “no farm chores to do—the Indian women do all that work—and nothin’ to do all day but hunt and fish and play ball and jaw with your friends. Wouldn’t you like that kind of life, Dan’l?”

  “Not if I had to live with the Indians to get it,” Daniel said with emphasis.

  There was no glimpse to be had of the general this time. Rumor had it that he was ill with the gout again, an affliction that never really left him, and from which he suffered greatly. Somehow, Daniel realized, as they started their southward journey, he had missed seeing that tall, commanding figure very much. He hoped that on their next trip he would see him again.

  For he was quite sure now that he would be employed for the next trip up, and for all the other trips to follow. He had never worked so hard in his life, but neither had he had such pleasure in his work before. And with every day, despite the physical weariness which weighed him down by evening, he knew he was growing stronger and more self-reliant. More of a man.

  They passed several supply trains that day, more than they had ever passed before. They were large ones, with escorts of foot soldiers and dragoons to protect them from the Indians.

  “The gen’l’s pilin’ up rations, and that’s a sign things are goin’ to move soon,” Ben said.

  The heavy wagons creaked by, and the horses neighed at one another, and the men saluted casually.

  “Anythin’ new at Fort St. Clair?” Simon called out.

  “Nope,” they answered.

  No news was good news, and the pack-horse train hurried on, eager to stop for the night.

  The road was beginning to be familiar now to Daniel. He could remember certain landmarks easily, and others were being impressed upon his memory without any effort on his part. The spots where it was boggy, and they had to go carefully, lest one of the horses fall into a hole and break a leg; the fords at the creeks; the wide, sunny, prairielike meadows; the dark stretches of heavy forest.

  Sometimes they would come to a place where some past hurricane had felled hundreds of trees so that they lay piled up in twisted heaps, dead and forlorn. The road had been hacked through them, but it gave Daniel an eerie feeling nevertheless to see with what casual force Nature could destroy the growth of years.

  There was one of these not far from Fort St. Clair, he recalled, and it was there, only thirteen days ago, that Colonel Strong’s men had seen a large number of Indians. “Oh, well,” he said to himself, half-aloud, “that don’t mean they’ll be there now!” He heard the echo of his own words with something of a shock. Thirteen days ago he could not have said such a thing, nor have felt so little fear.

  That night, encamped at Fort St. Clair, he knew that Josiah and Ben were both alerted to all of Timothy’s movements. But the big man lay quietly beside the fire, scarcely moving. Daniel was sure that the rendezvous was now past. Or, if that was not the case, then the other man—whoever he might be—wanted the supplies rather than the ponies.

  CHAPTER NINE

  There was a drizzle the next morning. It seemed like little enough rain, yet in a short time horses and men were soaking wet. The heat was intense and the air was steamy. Daniel was not sure whether the moisture he continually brushed from his brow was rain, or sweat, or both. Probably both.

  They had had little breakfast. Josiah, when he had tried to buy some food for them at the fort, was told that the soldiers were in short supply themselves, and Ben, whose turn it had been to hunt the evening before, had had no luck. “Keep an eye out for some game,” Josiah told Henry, “or Simon will have an empty kettle on the fire tonight.”

  Daniel’s musket was ready to his hand. He thought it would be fine if he could shoot some game before Henry did, and his eyes shifted from left to right, searching the trees on either side of the road in the hope that he might spot something first. He doubted, however, if he would have the chance. Surely Simon’s string, which was in the lead today, and Henry’s, which was next, would have frightened off all the wild creatures before he came along.

  Despite all this, when the shot rang out he was not expecting it, and his first thought was of the Indians. Yet he did not run, not even when there were cries from the front of the line, and the horses came to a halt. Amos called out to him, “What is it? Henry bag somethin’ for dinner?”

  But the cries held a note of distress, though Daniel could not make out the words. He ran out into the middle of the road and peered ahead. Someone was lying on the ground! It was Simon!

  Amos saw the prone figure at the same moment. “Drive your hosses up to the others!” he called out. “Simon’s hurt!”

  It was only then that Daniel began to shake. Simon had been shot, perhaps killed. And who had done it? Where had the shot come from? His frantic glance darted in all directions. He wanted to get between two of his ponies for protection, but something within him forbade it. Still shaking, he drove his string forward, Amos following. Ben passed them at a run.

  Josiah was bending over Simon when they came up. He raised his head, and instantly Daniel was reassured—he did not know why. “It ain’t serious,” Josiah said, “but he oughtn’t to walk on it. Ben, you take the packsaddle off’n one of Simon’s hosses, and rig up some blankets and things so’s he’ll ride comfortable....Henry, you know where I keep the lint. And bring the water bottle, too.”

  He said to Amos, “Look in the woods, son, and see if you can find me some slippery elm bark. Best thing I know of for bullet wounds.”

  Daniel cried, “In the woods! But the Indians may still be there!”

  “What Indians?” Josiah asked with a puzzled air. “Oh, you thought Simon had been shot by the Indians?” He chuckled. “No, he got shot by a feller named Simon.”

  At sight of Daniel’s confused look, Simon said, sitting up, “Can’t blame this on the Indians, I reckon. My own fault!”

  “But how—You mean, you shot yourself?” Daniel asked.

  “Sure thing. Thought I saw a buck in the woods—I know I saw a buck—and thought I’d beat Henry to it. Had my musket all loaded, too. Reached for my gun and didn’t have the sense to step out in the road to fire it. The hoss behind nudged me, and the gun went off and blew a hole in my foot ‘stead of in the buck. Now I’m lamed up and we ain’t got no meat, neither!”

  Amos came back with the news that he had not been able to locate any slippery elm in that section of the woods. “But I know where there is some,” he added. “Only a couple miles from here. I’ll get it when we come to the place.”

  Simon was mounted on one of the pack-horses, and Timothy was given Simon’s string to drive, but since Simon was riding the last of the ponies of the string, there was not much Timothy would be able to do that would go unobserved.

  Josiah sent the others back to their places, and the line of pack-horses began to move again. “We’ll have to leave Simon at Fort Hamilton,” was the last thing Daniel heard Josiah say.

  Daniel was glad that the horses were traveling light, for that meant they could make good time to Fort Hamilton and get medical help for Simon. There was only one pause on the way, and that was when Amos called out that they had reached the place where he knew there was slippery elm. He disappeared into the woods for a few minutes with an axe and returned with some of the inner bark, whi
ch he handed to his father.

  “We’ll take it to the fort. Might be they don’t have any on hand,” Josiah said. “No time now to boil it and mash it and make it into a poultice. But there’s nothing better to heal a wound that I know of.”

  Fort Hamilton, when they reached it, was seething with activity. Josiah went at once to get the help of the surgeon’s mate for Simon, while Ben and Henry helped the wounded man through the gate. Amos craned his neck to stare inside the double line of pickets. “Looks like the whole two hunnerd soldiers is out and busy at somethin’. Never did see this place so bustlin’ in all the times I been here. I wonder why?”

  Daniel said, “They’re none of ‘em smilin’. Mebbe they’ve had bad news.”

  Amos chuckled. “Did you ever see a soldier workin’ and smilin’ at the same time, Dan’l? Mebbe they’re expectin’ a visit from Old Toney. I hear he hands out floggin’s if there’s so much as a piece of paper on the parade ground. Everything has to be neat and orderly, or he wants to know why.”

  But Daniel shook his head. These men were not going about their duties as if they were chores unwillingly performed. There was an urgency about them that bespoke something more important—something serious, or even dangerous.

  They had to wait quite a while before Ben and Henry came out again. “Well, he’s goin’ to be as comfortable as a man can be with a hole in his foot,” Ben said with satisfaction.

  “Did they get the bullet out?” Amos asked.

  “They sure did, and not a whimper out’n him. He bit his lip till the blood ran, and the sweat rolled off’n him like rain, but all he did was grunt a little once. Brave as an Indian.”

  Daniel noticed that Josiah was not with them. “Is Mr. Gregg stayin’ with him a while?”

  Ben sobered. “No, he’s stopped to talk with Major Cass. Seems there’ve been reports comin’ in all afternoon of Indians in the neighborhood. Some says there’s only a little band; others says there’s a hunnerd of ‘em at least. Major Cass don’t know what to believe, but he does believe in bein’ ready for ‘em.”

  Amos said quickly, “What about the folks? Shouldn’t we—”

  “Oh, your pa’ll push on to the farm, no doubt of it. But he wants to find out everything he can before we go.” He sighed a little. “Timothy!” he called out. “Put that packsaddle back on the hoss Simon rode, and tie up the blankets the way they was. We’ll be headin’ out in a few minutes now.”

  Timothy came forward a little. “You mean to say we’re goin’ on when there’s Indians on the rampage around here? It’ll be dark afore you know it! Why don’t we make camp here, where we’d have the fort at our back if we needed it?”

  “Because Josiah wants to see to his family, that’s why! Now, git movin’!”

  Timothy’s face was black with rage, and he muttered something under his breath, but with Ben watching him, he went about his business. In a few minutes, Josiah joined them. His strong face wore a frown of concentration.

  “You men all got your muskets ready and loaded?” he asked. “Plenty of powder and shot to hand? Ben, I’ll take the van, as usual. Timothy next, Henry next, then Dan’l and Amos, and you. I want every one of you to keep your eyes skinned for anythin’ out of the ordinary along the road. I’d not think much of a scare like this if one man had had a fright and run to tell about it. But when three-four folks from different parts have the same kind of scare, there must be somethin’ to it.”

  He walked to the head of the file of pack-horses, his gun at the ready, and gave the signal to march.

  They passed the lovely prairie where the soldiers were wont to do their haying, but there were none there today. The weather had cleared and the late afternoon sun turned the grasses to brilliant green and gold. The long pond was visible beyond the meadow, and on their right the Big Miami River threw sparkles of light from the westering sun.

  When they had crossed Pleasant Run they came to the little lane that led to the Gregg homestead. It was really dark in the woods, although there was still plenty of light in the open spaces. Daniel could feel the extra tension which came over the others. They were ready for anything, as he was.

  This time is was Polly who saw them first. She was driving in one last unwilling cow from the woods, and let out a high shriek of welcome when she spied her father in the lead of the train.

  “Pa!” she cried, running to greet him. “Ma said you’d get here, and we’ve been fixin’ in case you did!” Her eyes swept down the line as more and more of the pack-horse train came into view. “Where’s Simon?” she asked suddenly.

  “We had to leave him at Fort Hamilton. He tride to shoot a buck so fast he tripped and shot himself! In the foot,” he added quickly, so she wouldn’t be too distressed. “The bullet’s out and he’s restin’ comfortable. Only now we’re one man short.” He cocked his head and looked at her, then said with a chuckle, “If only you was a boy, and half as good as Dan’l, I’d take you along in Simon’s stead.”

  She tossed her head and the tawny braids flounced. “Oh, no, you wouldn’t!” she said pertly. “‘Cause then who’d do all the farm chores that I do?”

  He chuckled again, and put his arm around her shoulders. “Not Ethan and Judah! Not those two rascals! And I reckon Sabrina’s a mite small for milkin’ cows, so mebbe I’ll have to leave you here anyhow.”

  By this time they were within sight of the clearing, and the boys came running. Polly turned to Daniel. “If you’ll help hold the cows,” she said, “I’ll get the milkin’ done in a hurry. I’m late, but that’s because I was helpin’ Ma cook and bake.”

  “As soon as I’ve turned the hosses out,” he promised her. Amos was already stacking the packsaddles and hobbling his string, his movements faster than usual, for he knew he would be needed for other farm chores.

  That night, as they sat around the fire after a good meal of smoked venison ham, garden sass from the truck patch, and mush-and-milk, the talk turned to the future.

  “When this war’s over, and folks can work their farms peaceful,” Ben said, “I’m goin’ to open a store. Without the Indians to bother ‘em, folks will be comin’ to the Territory from all over. The land will get taken up, and then there’ll be a cryin’ need for all the things a storekeeper carries and a farmer ain’t got.

  “That’ll take a while, Ben,” Josiah said. “What you goin’ to do in the meantime?”

  “Likely I’ll get me a couple ponies and do tradin’,” Ben replied.

  Josiah nodded. “That’s a good way to get started,” he admitted. “Then, when you have your store, you’ll have customers that know your goods, and know you, too.” He turned to Henry. “What do you aim to do?”

  Henry looked surprised. “I thought you knew I was planning to teach,” he said. “When I first came out, I had planned to farm and do a little teaching on the side. Now I’m pretty sure I’ll teach, and do a little farming on the side.”

  Josiah frowned a little. “Folks are livin’ too far apart to start a school hereabouts for a long time,” he warned Henry.

  “I wasn’t thinking of this particular area,” Henry said. “But there’s Cincinnati. And Columbia. I rather incline to Columbia, where John Reily has been teaching. Though he gave up his school this past April, he may start it again. Or perhaps I could take over his pupils.”

  He raised his head and smiled confidently. “One thing is sure—the more developed this country becomes, the more need there will be for education....Take these two lads.” He nodded toward Amos and Daniel. “As long as this part of the world is so little inhabited, they’ve small need of a knowledge of reading and writing and figuring. But once the settlements begin to grow—as they will grow when peace comes—then people will want schooling.” He turned suddenly toward Daniel. “Can you read?” he asked.

  Daniel flushed. “I was never learned,” he said quickly. “My ma taught me some of my letters, but when we come to the Territory Pa was too busy in the daytime and too tired at night to do much teachin’
. But he’d take a stick sometimes and draw the letters for me in the ashes, or on the ground. I reckon I still know ‘em all....’Course the Worders, where I lived, didn’t read nor write.”

  Henry nodded. “And when times get better, and the Worders make something of their farm—if they do—they may be at the mercy of any skinflint who tries to cheat them.”

  Timothy snorted. “Readin’ and writin’ don’t keep folks from bein’ cheated!”

  “No,” Henry said, “but at least they’ve had some mental discipline and are not dependent upon others to make out their contracts and bills of sale.”

  Josiah turned to Amos. “I know what you want to do,” he said with a smile. “Or I think I do.”

  Amos said, “That’s right. I’m goin’ to buy me some of that land north of Fort Hamilton and have my own farm when I’m a man grown. But first, I think I’ll go along with Ben for a while. That way I’ll get to see more of the country, and mebbe find me an even better spot. Besides, I’ll earn money that way to buy the land.”

  “And you, Dan’l?” Mrs. Gregg asked. He was sitting beside her.

  Daniel sighed. “I’d sooner work on a farm and earn money that way,” he said. “But you don’t make enough doin’ that, so I reckon I’d better find somethin’ I can do. Mebbe I could learn a trade in Cincinnati so’s to earn enough that way.”

  “And you, Timothy?” The small pig eyes were turned briefly upon Josiah. Once the food had disappeared, Timothy had shown little interest in the conversation. “What do you want to do?”

  “Go to sleep,” Timothy grunted rudely, and lay down beside the fire.

  “Time for all of us to get to bed,” Mrs. Gregg said. She picked up Sabrina. The sleeping child was limp in her arms, its head rolling to one side. Ethan and Judah were stifling yawns. This talk had been as boring to them as it had been to Timothy, Daniel could see. But Polly’s eyes were bright with excitement.

  He turned to her as she rose to go. “If you were a man, what would you like to do?” he asked. Somehow, he sensed that these thoughts had been flying through her mind.