Far Past the Frontier

by Braden, James A

  “Watch out, John! There are still eight of the fiercest wolves you ever saw here!” he called in warning, but almost simultaneously his chum’s rifle sounded, and but seven wolves remained. Another and another went down to death and the five which were left, taking fright at last, sped away among the timber, howling dismally.

  “You had me scared into fits, almost,” John cried, as Ree climbed down. “Why, how cold you are!” he exclaimed, grasping his friend’s hand. “And your teeth are chattering! How did it happen any way? Come along home!”

  “I’ll tell you about it; but we’d better skin the wolves that have not been half eaten, first. Bloody as a battle field, isn’t it?”

  “Skin nothing! Come along! It is most terribly cold and you are half frozen. We can get the skins in the morning if there is any thing left of them.”

  For once Ree yielded and when he had recovered his snow-shoes John marched him off at a pace which soon put his blood in circulation.

  If ever the young pioneers appreciated the rude comforts of their cabin, they did that night. It was sweet to feel snug and warm and safe, as Ree told the story of his adventure more fully than at first; to stretch their weary legs toward the crackling fire and lean back in the fur covered seat they had constructed. It was pleasant to eat a lunch of nuts secured from the Indians, and venison steaks cut thin and broiled crisp. It was comfortable to creep into bed and lie awake and talk of their plans; of their friends in far away Connecticut; of incidents of their trip; of the strange absence of Tom Fish; of the sad story of Arthur Bridges—of many, many things.

  And it was pleasant to watch with half closed eyes, the firelight dancing on the rough cabin walls, shining in the little looking glass near the door, showing the rifles within easy reach in the corner near the bed; the two sets of pistols in their hostlers on the table they had made; the gleaming blades of their axes, beside the fire-place; the books Ree loved so well, arranged on a board from the old cart, which did duty as a mantel, and John’s fife beside them; the frying-pan and their few dishes on and in a little cupboard in the corner. It was sweet, too, to fall asleep at last and dream of the present, past and future—enjoying the perfect rest which the fatigue of honest, hard work by those possessed of honest hearts must ever bring.

  The boys were very tired this night, partly from the unusual exercise of walking so far on snow-shoes, no doubt. But they slept soundly and were early awake. Directly after breakfast they visited the scene of the fight with the wolves. They little expected to find anything left of their victims, excepting bones, but they greatly desired to find the knife which had been Capt. Bowen’s present.

  Bones they did find—but nothing else. There was every evidence of a ghastly feast having been eaten by the wolves and other animals during the night. Even the skeletons of those which had been slaughtered, were torn to pieces, and for rods around the snow was dyed crimson.

  To cry over spilled milk was no part of Ree’s disposition, and though he deeply regretted the loss of his knife, he did not allow himself to be dispirited, though little he thought how important a part in their adventures the knife was yet to play.

  In their walks about the woods at different times, Ree and John had observed that there were many sugar maples near their cabin and had agreed that they must make some sugar when spring came. That very afternoon, therefore, they began preparations.

  Blocks of wood, cut into lengths of about two feet, they hollowed out with their axes, making troughs in which to catch the sap of maples. The work was tedious and many a trough was split and spoiled when all but completed, before they caught the knack of avoiding this by striking curved strokes with their axes, and not letting the blades cut in deeply, in line with the grain of the wood.

  This work, and the making of spouts by punching the pith out of sumac branches occupied several days. Not all their time could be given to it, however, as traps must be visited and Indians given attention; for now that the weather was becoming warm the savages came frequently, often with many furs secured during winter hunting expeditions.

  “We have made a pretty good living and a nice sum of money for each of us, when our furs shall have been marketed, and have also made ourselves a home,” said Ree one day, as they were estimating the probable value of their stores. “After deducting for all losses, we will still have done splendidly if we are fortunate in getting the skins to Pittsburg or Detroit and working a fair bargain with the buyers.”

  “We better get a good canoe Ree, and learn to use it; then we can take the furs from here to Detroit by water, traveling along the shore of Lake Erie,” John suggested. “Capt. Pipe has a couple of fine, big canoes of his own, buried for the winter. I believe he would sell us one.”

  “We will go and have a talk with him about it soon,” Ree answered. But it was not for many days that the lads found time to do this.

  Fine weather came sooner than they expected. The spring of 1791 was one of the earliest known to the section which is now Northern Ohio. Even in February the sun came out bright and warm and the cold winds disappeared.

  John and Ree awoke one morning after a rainy night to find the water high in the river, the ice gone and the air as mild as on a day in May.

  “Hooray! I’ve a mind to take a swim!” John shouted, looking with enthusiasm at the high water.

  “I wish we had our canoe now,” Ree joined in; “but I’ll tell you, old chap, we must get our maples tapped, if we are to get any sugar.”

  John turned away from watching the swift, deep current with a sigh. Somehow he did not feel like working; but under Ree’s influence he soon forgot his “spring fever” feeling, and with a small auger bored holes in the trees. Into these holes Ree drove the spouts, placing a trough beneath each one, to catch the sap which at once began to flow.

  As all the trees were near the cabin the boys might have carried the sap to their fire-place for boiling, but as this would necessitate the carrying of a great deal of wood, they hung their largest kettle on a pole laid across two forked sticks driven in the ground for that purpose, just at the top of the hill near the edge of the clearing.

  By noon enough sap was collected in the troughs to make it necessary to begin the boiling, and from then on through all that day and the next, one of the boys was constantly busy, keeping the fire blazing hot and gathering sap to keep the kettle well filled, as the water was boiled away, leaving only its sweetness. At last they added no fresh sap but allowed the syrup in the kettle to boil down thicker and thicker making in the end, most delicious molasses.

  The boys finished the boiling in the cabin that night, and when the syrup had become thick enough, they were able by stirring and cooling it, to make an excellent quality of sugar. And it had been so long since either of them had tasted sweets, that the maple’s fine product was indeed a treat. The prospect that they would be able to make enough sugar to last them until another spring, was highly agreeable, and they were willing enough to work hard during many days which followed.

  One regret the boys had, was that they possessed but two kettles, neither of which was very large; but they boiled sap in both and found that by greasing the upper edges of the vessels that they could keep them quite full and still the sap would not boil over.

  They also tried the very primitive method used by the Indians before they had kettles in which to make sugar. Several large, nearly round stones were washed clean, then heated very hot in the fire. With improvised tongs they were then lifted into a large keg of cold sap. As this operation was constantly repeated, the sap was heated and slowly evaporated.

  The process proved so very slow and laborious, however, that the boys soon abandoned it. But while the experiment was being tried, something occurred which made John laugh until he held his sides. The keg of sap had been heated to almost a boiling point, and putting a couple of large, hot stones in it both boys left the camp, John to gather more sap and Ree to chop some wood.

  As John was returning, he discovered a young bear prow
ling about the camp. The animal evidently had not been long out of its winter quarters and was hungry. It sniffed the sweet odor which came from the evaporating maple water, and ambled up to the keg.

  Quietly John ran and called Ree, and they both hurried softly back just as the bear put its nose deep into the hot sap. A squeal of pain followed, and the poor cub nearly turned a backward somersault, with such sudden energy did it take its nose out of the keg. Wild with the smarting burns the creature rushed blindly about, almost burying its head in the cool leaves and earth, and missing its footing, somehow, as it approached a steep part of the hill, fell and rolled to the bottom, squealing and growling woefully. Before John could check his laughter, the bear had picked itself up and trotted swiftly away, and Ree was willing to let it go unharmed, though he could have shot it.

  This incident set the boys to thinking. Bruin evidently knew the smell of honey better than of sap. All bears delight in sweet things, and Ree said he had no doubt there were bee trees in the neighborhood. At any rate, the lads decided, it would be well worth while to be on the lookout for them as they were about the woods during the spring and summer.

  Continued fine weather put an end to the maple season. In a fortnight the buds began to open on the trees and the flow of sap ceased. About this time, too, the Portage trail, not far away, was constantly traversed by redskins, many of them strangers, and there were daily calls at the cabin of the young Palefaces. So there was much to do; the spring crops must be planted, the pile of furs must be taken to market and fences must be completed to keep deer and other animals out of the cornfield they proposed having.

  There was another thing needing early attention, and that was the securing of land at the junction of the Portage trail and the river. For the boys could not but see how advantageous that place would be as a trading point, and they wished to build a new and larger cabin there. Moreover, as the country was opened up and settled, the land about so favorable a site for a town would probably become very valuable.

  “We will go to see Capt. Pipe to-morrow, and bargain with him for a canoe, and for some land where the trail and the river meet,” said Ree one warm March night as they sat on the doorstep of their cabin, in the moonlight.

  * * *

  CHAPTER XVI.

  The Hatred of Big Buffalo.

  The last of the sap had been reduced to sugar and made into a fine solid cake weighing nearly two pounds, the night that the foregoing conversation took place. With this as a present to the chief of the Delawares, Ree and John set out early the following morning for Capt. Pipe’s town on the lake.

  It was a beautiful day. The red buds on the trees were bursting into green, in places, and in many sunny spots the spring plants and flowers were shooting forth. All nature seemed to feel the same joy and freedom the young pioneers felt as they journeyed through the valley and over the hills toward their destination. Birds were singing on every hand. Crows were flying here and there and calling lustily to one another from all directions.

  Once a young deer bounded toward the boys, then, after standing for a moment, gazing with great, timid, bright eyes, wheeled and was away again, springing over bushes and logs with a showy vigor as though it were out only for a spring frolic. A wild turkey hen, wandering about in search of a place for nesting, scampered softly out of sight as it caught sight of the lads. A big woodchuck, fat and lazy, even after its all-winter nap, circled around a tree, to whose trunk it was clinging, thinking, perhaps, that it was always keeping just out of sight of the human intruders upon its forest home, though it was badly fooled if such were its opinion. A dozen times either boy could have shot it had he been so disposed.

  A myriad of ducks flew noisily from a stream near the lake in which they were feeding as John threw a stone among them. He and Ree could have killed a score of the wild fowls had they wished to do so, but they were in no mood for it. They had not set out to hunt, and moreover, the fresh, balmy air and invigorating sunlight, together with the delightful odors of the spring-time, put upon them both a spell—a joy in living which made it seem inhuman to harm any living creature that day.

  This sense of gladness, of friendship with every thing the woods contained, did not, however, prevent the boys from laying plans for the capture of certain denizens of the forest’s waters—the fish. They had already noticed that the lake beside which the Delawares lived, also other lakes not far away, and their own river, contained great numbers of the finny tribe, but they had been too busy with other things to try their hands at fishing. The opportunity for this fine sport, however, caused them to deeply regret that they had brought nothing in the line of fishing tackle with them.

  “The Indians will surely have hooks, and spears, though,” John suggested.

  “If they haven’t, we can make nets and spears too; I shouldn’t be surprised if we could contrive hooks as well,” Ree answered.

  “I wish we had a big mess of fish for dinner!” John exclaimed. “I’m hungry as a bear.”

  His wish was realized sooner than he expected. As was their custom, the Indians at once placed food before their visitors, and the fare was just what John had wanted. There was one objection—the savages cooked the fish without cutting off the heads, but the boys did this for themselves. That they could not be over-particular in the wilderness, they had long since discovered.

  They learned that the Delawares had caught the fish with hooks made of bones—evidently small wish-bones, and readily saw how they could make just such hooks for themselves.

  Capt. Pipe himself had received the boys, and it was in his lodge that they were eating. He sat nearby gravely smoking his pipe, seldom speaking except when spoken to. Gentle Maiden, the chief’s comely daughter, was sitting in a pleasant, sunny place just outside the bark hut, sewing with a coarse bone needle, on some sort of a frock, the cloth for which was from the bolt her father had secured from the young traders.

  “Pretty as a picture, isn’t she?” John whispered, glancing toward the Indian girl. “Honestly, I never saw a white person more beautiful.”

  Ree made no reply, for at that moment Big Buffalo put his head into the lodge. The boys had not seen him since early winter and both arose to greet him; but he ignored their action, and pausing only a second, strode haughtily away.

  “What does that mean?” John asked in surprise.

  “Has the Big Buffalo cause to be unfriendly?” inquired Ree of Capt. Pipe, wishing to call the chief’s attention to the Indian’s apparent hostility.

  “Buffalo heap big fool,” Capt. Pipe grunted, and then in the Delaware tongue he spoke to his daughter, and she arose and took a seat inside the lodge, behind her father.

  This incident filled Ree with misgiving though he was not sure enough that he had cause for such feeling to mention it at that time. John was differently impressed.

  “Why,” he exclaimed, “Big Buffalo is on a mighty high horse to-day! He acts like a child that has been told it must wait till second table at a dinner! I wonder if there is any love lost between him and the Gentle Maiden?” he added in a whisper.

  Ree did not answer, but now that they had finished dinner, signified their wish to talk to Capt. Pipe about buying a canoe.

  The chief said he would make a trade with them and asked what the boys had to give. In return they asked to see the craft he proposed swapping, and were then conducted to a hillside where a canoe had but recently been dug out of the dry muck and earth in which it was buried over winter to save it from drying, cracking or warping.

  Ree and John examined the frail boat of bitter-nut hickory bark, with much interest. It was about eleven feet in length, well constructed, and water-tight. With it were a couple of light, nicely carved paddles.

  John promptly pronounced the canoe a “regular macaroni” and laid down a pair of brass buckles, signifying that he would give them for the skiff.

  Capt. Pipe gravely shook his head.

  “I’ll add this,” said Ree, and laid down a brand new hunting knife, havi
ng a leather sheath.

  The chief again shook his head, and a large number of Indians, who had been lazily basking in the sun or idly paddling about the lake, and were now gathered around to see the trade, also shook their heads.

  “The thing isn’t worth as much as we have offered,” cried John, good humoredly, “but I’ll put in this,” and he produced a large yellow silk handkerchief, shaking it out, and holding it up to view in an attractive manner.

  Still Capt. Pipe shook his head and all his braves did the same, though their eyes glistened.

  Ree hesitated before adding more to their offer and while he did so, John picked up the handkerchief and with no thought but to display it to good advantage, turned to Gentle Maiden, who stood at her father’s side. With a quiet sweep of his hand he draped the bright cloth over the girl’s shoulder and arm.

  The next instant a stinging blow struck him in the face and he staggered, nearly falling. It was Big Buffalo’s fist that had shot out at him.

  John sprang toward the burly Indian and they grappled in a terrible struggle. All had taken place so quickly that before Ree could reach John’s side, his friend’s throat was in the redman’s grasp and the breath squeezed nearly out of him. Capt. Pipe also rushed in, and amid the yells of the Indians, the chief and Ree soon separated the combatants.

  The incident created so much excitement that the young Palefaces scarcely knew what to do. But Ree’s firm voice and quiet dignity, as he told the chief that his friend had meant no offense, and should not have been assaulted, had a quieting influence on the savages, and although John could scarcely refrain from speaking the angry words he thought, he did manage to hold his tongue, and Capt. Pipe soon restored order.