“Oh, so many things!” she cried. “I’d like to fight with Gen’l Wayne! Or go west, explorin’—there’s so much to see and so many places nobody has seen yet—no white folks, I mean. Or travel to the east and see the big cities, like Philadelphia or Boston.” Suddenly she drooped a little. “But I reckon I’ll just stay here and do the things a woman does, no matter where she is.”
“Let that be your consolation,” Henry said, smiling.
“Yes,” she agreed. Then she added with suppressed vehemence, “Only I just wish somethin’ excitin’ would happen sometime!”
CHAPTER TEN
Daniel opened his eyes sleepily. It was still dark, but there was a faint suggestion of grayness to herald the dawn. He frowned a little, wondering why he had wakened so early.
A sudden loud report startled him. Something whistled past his ear. He was on his feet with one bound. “Indians!” he shouted at the top of his lungs. On the echo of his shout came the long ululating yell of savages in the cover of the woods.
The others who had been sleeping about the fire were on their feet almost as soon as he was. “The hosses!” roared Josiah. “Git the hosses!”
Daniel snatched up his musket and ran toward the place where he had loosed his string the previous night. The horses had been hobbled, as always, and he felt sure they could not have gone too far. But they were in the woods, where it was still completely dark, and the Indians were in the woods, too.
He saw, from the corner of his eye, the racing figures of Josiah, Ben, Henry, and Amos. There was another, smaller figure coming from the house, running on fleet feet. Polly!
A movement in the woods made him drop down behind a tree to fire. He heard a yell after his shot had sped toward the half-seen target, and hoped that he had hit one of the marauders. Henry, on his left, was firing coolly, and reloading and firing again with incredible speed.
Daniel forced himself to go forward toward the line of trees. The horses were in there. If he did not move quickly, the Indians would have stolen them all. He wanted, as he had wanted nothing else in his life, to be brave just this once. To find Josiah’s horses, to help this man who had befriended him. But he did not know whether he could make his feet obey his will.
Several of the horses, frightened by the noise, now came running from the woods. Their hobbles had been removed, their bells silenced. Daniel and Amos caught them and turned them over to Polly to tie together securely. The animals were wild and rearing, and Daniel wondered if Polly could handle them, but she managed them easily. Polly could do many things.
There was no time to think. He and Amos ran back toward the woods again. The menfolk had disappeared, and he realized that they had entered the forest to stalk the attackers. A rifle barrel was thrust from the window of the cabin that fronted toward the woods, and Daniel knew that it was held steadily by Mrs. Gregg.
Two more horses came charging from the woods, urged on by Ben who was briefly glimpsed thwacking them on the rump. Daniel caught them, but found he could not hold them and his musket, too.
“Here, let me,” Polly said at his side, taking one of the horses from him and starting to lead it back toward the house.
A swift, painted figure leaped from behind one of the trees nearby, and the rifle in the window spoke. The man fell to the ground.
“Good shot, Ma!” Polly shrieked. Her shift was torn, and her tawny hair flew in the wind. Daniel suddenly found himself laughing. He did not know why.
His laugh was cut short as another Indian, mounted on a horse, swept from the woods. There hadn’t been time for Mrs. Gregg to reload, Daniel knew. He tried to raise his own musket, but the horse to whose bridle he was clinging, reared and knocked the gun from his hands. The mounted Indian came straight at Polly. Without a second thought, Daniel rushed to put himself between them, but the Indian swerved and caught up the girl as if she had been made of thistledown. With one hand he held her struggling form while he guided the horse back to the forest.
Daniel threw himself on the back of the horse he was holding and raced after them. He had no gun, but he did not stop to think of that. He had nothing but his hunting knife and his anger.
The Indian was a skilful rider, but Daniel’s horse was the faster. Besides, the other horse had to bear the weight of two. Daniel could see that Polly had not ceased struggling. He knew that if the Indian could free his bridle hand for a moment, he would strike her senseless.
Daniel shouted at the top of his lungs, “Let her go! Let her go!” He lay along the neck of his horse and kicked the animal with his heels. Every second counted now! His hand fumbled for his knife. He was not good at throwing a knife, but he would make a try.
The horses streaked through the woods in zigzag fashion. A fallen tree was jumped, quick turns made around heavy thickets. Daniel kept shouting, hoping that one of the others at the homestead might hear him. Yet he knew that this was a foolish hope. The clearing was far behind now.
Suddenly the Indian seemed to come to a decision. He pulled up sharply, turned about, and lifted his gun to take aim at Daniel. The moment his hand was lifted from her, Polly slipped to the ground. She rolled into some bushes. Daniel had only time to see that much. He had his knife raised and, just before the Indian fired, he threw it.
The knife did not strike the Indian, but it glanced off his horse’s rump so that the animal reared, and the bullet meant for Daniel sped harmlessly skyward. Instantly, seeing that his shot had missed the target, the Indian flung his tomahawk. Daniel, clinging to the neck of his horse, leaned far down on one side, almost sliding off. The tomahawk passed over his head with a hissing sound.
His thoughts were racing madly. The Indian must have a knife. He could come at Daniel with that. And Daniel had nothing but his bare hands. Without hesitation, he kicked his horse again and charged straight at the Indian.
Whether the Indian thought that such a move must mean Daniel had other weapons, the boy never knew. What mattered was that the ruse worked. With a swift movement, the Indian turned his horse and fled into the darkness of the forest.
For one exhilarating second, Daniel was tempted to follow. Without a weapon, he had forced an Indian to run from him! But Polly was struggling to her feet from the clump of bushes into which she had fallen. At any moment the Indian might return with some of his fellows. The only sensible thing to do was to retreat toward the farmhouse.
Daniel reached down his hand to Polly and she grasped it firmly. She put her bare foot against the horse’s side and, with Daniels strong pull, landed in front of him upon the horse. She was gasping.
“Turn to the right, Dan’l. It’s a mite swampy—in there, and the Indians—wouldn’t be goin’ that way. We can work around—to the house. I know the way.”
It was getting lighter, even in the woods, as they moved off to the right. The ground soon grew boggy and the horse picked its way with care. They could no longer hear any shots and Polly, breathing easily now, laughed. “They’ve beat ‘em off,” she said with confidence.
It could mean just the opposite, as Daniel knew all too well. But, strangely, he felt as certain as Polly that the Indians had been repulsed. When they came to drier ground they spied a number of the pack-horses ahead of them, huddled in a little group.
Daniel slipped off his horse. “You stay here,” he told Polly, and I’ll catch ‘em.”
But the horses stood quietly, and when he got to them, he saw that they were tied together with a buffalo tug. “Look!” he cried. “We can lead ‘em all in together!”
As they neared the farmhouse clearing, the welcome sound of voices greeted them. Josiah was shouting orders, Ben and Henry were running back toward the woods, and Amos was securely hobbling the horses that had been salvaged so far. When Daniel and Polly appeared there was a sudden silence, then a shout of relief.
“Dan’l’s got her!” Josiah yelled, and the others came forward.
“Where’d you find her?”
“Did you kill the Indian?”
“Now, God be thanked!” This last was Josiah, as he lifted Polly from the horse and hugged her briefly. He held her off then to look at her. “Not hurt, are you, Polly? You’ve got a mort of scratches, I see, and mebbe a few bruises. But you’re not hurt, are you?”
“No, Pa,” she said. “But I might ha’ been if Dan’l hadn’t come after me. You never saw anythin’ like the way he went for that Indian!” She beamed on Daniel who flushed happily.
For the first time he realized just what he had done. He had faced an Indian in uneven battle and had forced the Indian to flee! Best of all, he couldn’t remember that he had been scared at all while it was happening!
“Dan’l went after the Indian?” That was Amos, his friend. But it was said kindly. “And without his gun?”
Daniel said, still wondering at his own courage, “I was so mad when I saw him lightin’ out with Polly that I didn’t stop to git afeared.”
Mrs. Gregg was with them by this time, Sabrina in her arms, and Ethan and Judah clinging to her skirts. This was their first Indian raid and Daniel, with real understanding of how they felt, smiled at them.
“Polly, you’re a sight,” her mother said, smiling. “Best go in now and put your clothing to rights. And comb your hair.”
“But, Ma, there’s still some ponies to find. If the Indians haven’t run ‘em off.”
For the first time, Josiah really noticed the horses that Daniel was still holding. “Where’d you git all those?” he marveled. Then, his eyes lighting on the buffalo tug, he cried, “Why, the Indians had them all rounded up and ready to go! With what we’ve found so far, that means there’s only four to find.”
“I’ll help!” Polly cried, but her mother shooed her firmly into the house.
“You’ll make yourself neat first,” Daniel heard her say, as they disappeared through the doorway, “and then you’ll help me fix breakfast for the men.”
“Mmm, breakfast!” Josiah said with a sigh of content. “Come on, Dan’l, we’ll git in the firewood, and the others can bring in the ponies.” He headed around the house toward the log pile.
A fat face with heavy jowls and small pig-eyes rose from behind the pile of wood. It was pale and the jowls were shaking with fear. “Are—are they gone?” Timothy croaked.
Josiah stopped in his tracks. “So that’s where you were!” he growled. “We looked for you—thought mebbe the Indians had got you, but I reckon they’ve more sense than to want a scalp like yours!” His voice rose suddenly to a bellow, and he strode forward threateningly. “A coward, are you? Hidin’ when there’s danger! Well, I’ve no use for the likes of you. I’ll sooner go it alone than depend on a spineless critter that runs at the first whoop of danger.”
He pulled out his purse. “Here’s your pay! You can walk back to Fort Hamilton, or you can walk on to Fort Washington and Cincinnati; but wherever you go, keep out of my way!” He thrust a few coins at the man and when Timothy reached for them, jerked him out of the woodpile by the tail of his shirt. “Now, git goin’ afore I boot you out of here!”
For a moment Timothy straightened, and his mouth twisted in a snarl. “You hired me for the trip. You got to keep me,” he said. “You’ll be sorry if you don’t—”
Then Josiah got really angry. “Threaten me, will you?” he shouted. “And with what? More hosses breakin’ loose? More sore backs on the one that’s left?” He took a step toward the other man, and Timothy cringed away from him. “It begins to look like you did let those hosses get away a-purpose. Had you sold ‘em to somebody, mebbe? Somebody you met in the woods that night?”
Timothy turned without an answer, and half shambled around the house and down the lane toward the road. He cowered as he went, and his head twisted from side to side, as if he saw an Indian behind every bush and tree. Josiah watched him for a moment, then turned to Daniel.
“Looks like you were right about him,” he said. “I reckon we’ll never know for sure who he met that night.” Then he added mildly, “Well, Ma’ll be wonderin’ why we don’t bring in the firewood,” and picked up an armload.
Daniel followed suit. He could well understand how furious Josiah must be. Yet it was strange that he had seemed more angered by Timothy’s hiding during the Indian raid than he had been by the loss of the horses in the man’s string on the previous trip.
He wanted desperately to ask Josiah something, but he didn’t quite dare. Why had Josiah been so harsh to Timothy for his cowardice and so lenient to Daniel for his? The answer came to him after a few moments. Daniel had been fearful—and not just during the Indian attack, but all the time—yet he had made himself do the things he was afraid to do. He had conquered his fear at last, while Timothy had let fear conquer him.
There was leftover venison and fresh johnnycake for breakfast, and the men ate heartily. All but one of the horses had been recovered, thanks to Daniel’s discovery of the ones the Indians had tied together for driving away.
“Mebbe the one that’s missin’ is the one the Indian was ridin’,” Amos suggested.
“That wasn’t one of ours,” Daniel said with conviction. “I mean, one of yours.”
But Josiah put his hand on the lad’s shoulder. “It’s ‘ours’, son,” he said in his deep voice. “After what you did this morning, you can have anythin’ we have. Ain’t it so, Ma?”
“It certainly is,” she said, nodding with emphasis. “This is your home, Dan’l, whenever you want it to be.”
“And don’t forget it!” Josiah boomed.
Daniel, looking about the circle of faces, thought how rich he had become in this short while. He had a job, he was earning money, he was seeing the world. Better still, he had friends. And now, best of all, he was to have a family. His eyes filled with tears, and he got up abruptly.
“I reckon I’d better go see if I can find my knife afore we leave,” he said. “I know just about where I threw it, so it ought to be there still.”
Without even thinking of danger from lurking Indians, Daniel walked toward the woods.
THE AUTHOR
CATEAU DE LEEUW lived in Ohio until her family moved to Plainfield, New Jersey, when she was ten years old. After graduating from high school, she studied portrait painting at the Metropolitan School of Art and the Art Students’ League in New York. Several years later she opened her own studio.
Her career as an author began by chance when she collaborated with her sister Adele on short stories for magazines. “This was a good thing,” she says, “because there was a depression and portrait commissions were scarcer than dinosaur eggs.” Her first book, published in 1943, has been followed by more than twenty others—fiction and nonfiction, some for adults, but most of them for young people.
Miss De Leeuw has many hobbies: playing the organ, fencing, jewelry-making, needle-point, and weaving. No wonder she can say that she is never bored.
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