CHAPTER V
THE FLIGHT
Paul was half reclining against the wall, when he suddenly saw Henry lookup. Paul's eyes followed his comrade's, and then he heard a soft, faintsound over their heads. He understood at once. Danger had come from a newquarter. The Shawnees were upon the board roof, through which a riflebullet could easily pass. The menace was serious, but the men up therecould not see their targets below, and they themselves were in aprecarious position.
Henry once pointed his rifle toward a portion of the roof from which aslight sound came, but for a reason that he did not give he withheld hisfire. Then came a dead stillness, to be broken a few moments later byfierce war cries all around the cabin and a crash of rapid shots. Itseemed to Paul that an attack in great force was being made from everyside, and, thrusting his rifle through the loophole, he fired quickly atwhat he took to be the flitting form of a foe. The next moment he becameaware of a terrible struggle in the cabin itself. He heard a thud, theroar of a rifle shot within the confined space, a fall, and then, in thehalf darkness, he saw two powerful figures writhing to and fro. One wasHenry and the other a mighty Shawnee warrior, naked to the waist, andstriving to use a tomahawk that he held in a hand whose wrist was clenchedin the iron grasp of his foe. Lying almost at their feet was the body ofanother warrior, stark and dead.
Paul sprang forward, his second and loaded rifle in his hand.
"No, no, Paul!" cried Henry. "The chimney! Look to the chimney!"
Paul whirled about, and he was just in time. A savage warrior dropped downthe great wide chimney that all the log cabins had, and fell lightly onhis feet among the dead embers of a month ago. His face was distortedhorribly with ferocity, and Paul, all the rage of battle upon him now thatbattle had come, fired squarely at the red forehead, the rifle muzzle onlythree feet away. The savage fell back and lay still among the cinders. Thenext instant the deep, long-drawn sigh of a life departing came frombehind, and Paul whirled about again, his heart full of sickening fear.
But it was Henry who stood erect. He had wrenched the warrior's owntomahawk from him, and had slain him with it. His face was flushed with avictorious glow, but he stood there only a moment. Then he seized his ownsecond and loaded rifle, and ran to the chimney. But nothing more camedown it, and there were no more sounds of warriors walking on the roof.The three who had come had been daring men, but they had paid the price.The shots and shouts around continued for a little space, forms dashedheavily against the door, and then, as suddenly as it began, the tumultceased.
Paul felt a chill of horror creeping through his bones. It was all soghastly. The dead warriors lay, each upon his back, one among the deadcoals, and Paul could hear nothing but his own and Henry's heavybreathing.
"It was a daring thing to do," said Henry at last, "to come down thechimney that way; but it has been done before in Kentucky."
Then they reloaded their rifles, but Paul was like one in a dream. Itseemed to him now that he could not endure the long hours in the cabinwith those dead faces on the floor staring at him with their dead eyes.
"Henry," he said, "we can't keep them here."
"No," replied Henry, "we can't; but we must wait a little."
Paul sat down on the bench. He felt for a moment faint and sick. Thelittle cabin was full of rifle smoke, and it lay heavy in his nostrils andupon his lungs. He felt as if he were breathing poisoned air. But thesmoke gradually drifted away up the chimney, and the thick, cloggingfeeling departed from his lungs and nostrils. Strength and spirit cameback.
"How are we to get rid of them?" he asked, nodding toward the deadwarriors.
"Let's wait an hour at least, and I'll show you," replied Henry.
The hour passed, but to Paul it seemed two. Then Henry took the largest ofthe warriors and dragged him to the wall just beneath the window. Thesecond and third he did the same way.
"Now, Paul," he said, "you must take down the bar and open the window.Then I'll pitch them out. The besiegers will be surprised, and they won'thave time to get at us."
Paul accepted his part of the task eagerly. There might be danger, butbetter that than having the dead men lying on the floor and staring at himwith dead eyes. He took down the bar and quickly held the window open.Henry heaved up the bodies of the warriors and cast them out, one by one,each falling with a dull, heavy sound to the ground below. Then Paulslammed back the window and shot the bar into place. As he did so threeor four rifles flashed from the forest, and the bullets pattered upon theheavy oaken shutter.
"Too late," said Henry, "We took 'em by surprise, as I thought we should."
Paul drew a long and deep breath. The cabin had taken on a brighteraspect.
"I'm mighty glad that's done," he said.
"If you'll listen carefully, I think you'll hear something later," saidHenry.
Henry was right. In about half an hour they heard soft, shuffling noisesbeside the cabin, just under the window.
"They're taking away the dead warriors," said Henry.
"I don't want to fire on them while they're doing it," said Paul.
"Nor I," said Henry. "We might reach 'em, but I'm glad they're doing whatthey are."
The slight, sliding noises continued for a little while, and then theyheard only the light sweep of the rain. On the roof it became a patter,and here and there a drop made its way between the boards and fell on thefloor. It was soothing to Paul after the excitement of those terriblemoments, and he felt a queer, pleasant languor. His eyes half closed, buthis vague look fell on somber, dark spots on the floor, and the sight wasrepellent to him. He went to the hearth, heaped up the whole of the embersand ashes, and sprinkled them carefully over the spots, which would havebeen red in the light, but which were black in the night and gloom of thecabin. Henry watched him do it, but said nothing. He understood Paul, andgave him his sympathy.
Paul sat down again on the floor, and leaned against the wall. Thepleasant, languorous feeling came once more, but he was roused suddenly byscattered rifle shots, and sprang up. Henry laughed.
"They're not attacking," he said. "It was only a volley, fired from thewood, to show how angry they are. I don't think we need expect anythingmore to-night. You might really go to sleep, Paul, if you feel like it."
"No, I will not!" exclaimed Paul with energy. "I won't do all thesleeping, and let you do all the watching. Besides, I couldn't sleep,anyhow; my nerves wouldn't let me. I looked sleepy just because I wastired, it's your time."
"All right," said Henry. "Now, you watch good, Paul."
Then Henry lay down upon the floor and closed his eyes. He might not havedone so, but he felt sure that nothing more would be attempted thatnight; and if, by any chance, they should attack again, Paul would besure to waken him in time. The rain grew harder on the roof, and itssteady patter was like the rocking of a cradle to a child. His nerves wereof steel, and the mechanism of his body and brain were not upset at all.The half-dropped lids dropped down entirely, and he slept, breathingpeacefully.
Paul watched, his brief lethargy gone; but his accustomed eyes could seelittle now through the loopholes, only the dim forest and the rain,falling slowly but steadily. He and Henry seemed to be alone in the world.Outside all the wilderness was in gloom, but in the little cabin it wasdry and warm. The few drops that came through the boards now and then, andfell with a little pat on the floor, were nothing. He and Henry were dryand safe, and it seemed to him that so far, at least, they had all thebetter of the battle. The glow of triumph came again.
Paul watched until dawn, and saw the sun spring up over the easternforests. Then he awakened Henry, and the great youth, stretching himself,uttered a long sigh.
"That was fine, Paul!" he said, "fine! Now, what are our friends outsidedoing?"
"Nothing that I can see. There are only stumps in the clearing, and treesand hushes in the forest. I see no warrior."
Henry laughed, and his laugh had a most cheerful tone.
"They are not far away," he said. "It is likely they'
ll try to starve usout, or rather conquer us with thirst. They don't know anything about ourbarrel of water."
"Blessed barrel!" ejaculated Paul.
It seemed that Henry was right in his prediction. As long hours passed,the sun rose higher and higher, and it grew very close in the littlecabin. Paul thought the warriors must have gone away, disgusted with theirlosses, but Henry cautioned him against savage patience. Toward noon theyate a little more of their pigeon and dried venison, and Paul looked withsome dismay at the small portions that were left.
"Henry," he exclaimed, "there is enough for supper, and no more."
"Just so," said Henry, "and our enemies remain on guard. They'll wait forus."
He thought it best to put the case plainly and in all its hideous phasesto Paul. While savages sometimes abandoned a siege very soon, they did notshow signs of ceasing now. Perhaps they relied on starving out thebesieged, and if they only knew the state of affairs within the cabintheirs was a good reliance.
Their brief dinner over, the two boys sat down on the floor, and from theloopholes on either side watched the forest. To Paul the whole air andatmosphere of the cabin had now become intolerably oppressive. At first ithad been such a strong, snug place of refuge that he rejoiced, but at lasthis sensitive spirit was weighed down by the long delay, the gloom, andthe silence. The sight of their limited rations brought to him all thefuture--the vigilant enemy on guard, the last little piece of food gone,then slow starvation, or a rush on the savage bullets and sure death. Asusual, his uncommon imagination was depicting everything in vivid colors,far in advance.
But he said nothing, nor did Henry. They had already exhausted allsubjects for talk, and they waited--Henry with real, and Paul with assumedpatience. Fully two hours passed in silence, but after that time it wasnaturally Paul who spoke first.
"Henry," he said in a tone that indicated unbelief in his own words,"don't you think that they must have got tired and gone away?"
"No, they are surely in the forest about us; but since they won't go,Paul, you and I must leave to-night."
"What do you mean?" Paul's words expressed the greatest surprise.
Henry stood up, and figure, face, and words alike showed the greatestdecision.
"Paul," he said, "our last piece of venison will soon be gone, and theShawnees, I think, will stay, expecting to starve us out, which they cando; but the night shows all the signs of being very dark, and you and Imust slip through their lines some way or other. Are you ready to try it?"
It was like a signal to Paul, those words, "Are you ready to try it?" Hewas ready to try anything now, as a release from the cabin, and a fineflare of color mounted to his cheeks as he replied:
"I'll follow you anywhere, Henry."
Henry said nothing more; Paul's reply was sufficient; but he resumed hisposition at the loophole, and attentively watched the heavens. Somberclouds were rolling up from the southwest and the air was growing cooler,but heavy with damp. Already the sun, so bright and pitiless in themorning, was obscured, and mists and vapors hung over the forest. Hejudged that it would be a dark night, with flurries of mist and rain, justsuited to his purpose, and he felt a sensation of relief.
"Paul," he said, after a while, "I think we'd better take the two capturedrifles with us again. If we come face to face with 'em, a couple of extrashots might save us."
"Whatever you say, Henry," replied Paul.
The afternoon passed slowly away, and the night came on thick and dark, asHenry had hoped. The rain fell again in intermittent showers, and it wascarried in gusts by the wind. The two boys drank deeply from the barrel,and ate what was left of the venison.
"Be sure your powder horns are stopped up tight, Paul," said Henry. "We'vegot to keep our powder dry. The sooner we go the better, because theShawnees won't be expecting us to come out so soon."
The darkness was now rolling up so thick and black that to Paul it seemedlike a great sable curtain dropping its folds over them. It enveloped theforest, then the clearing, then the hut, and those within it. The inky skywas without a star. The puffs of rain rattled dismally on the roof of theold cabin. But all this somberness of nature brought comfort and lightnessof heart to the besieged. Paul's spirits rose with the blackness of thenight and the wildness of the rain.
"Are you all ready, Paul?" asked Henry.
"Yes," replied Paul cheerfully.
Accustomed as they were to the darkness of the cabin, they could not seeeach other's faces now, only the merest outlines of their figures.
"We must keep close together," said Henry. "It won't do to lose sight ofeach other."
He slipped to the door, lifted the bar and put it soundlessly on one side,and he and Paul stood together in the open space, just a moment, waitingand listening.
The rush of air and raindrops on Paul's face felt wonderfully cool andinvigorating. His chest expanded and his spirits rose to the top. It waslike leaving a prison behind.
"Step more lightly than you ever did before in your life," said Henry, andhe and Paul put foot together on mother earth. The very pressure of thedamp earth felt good to Paul all the way through his moccasins. A step ortwo from the door they paused again, waiting and listening. The forest wasinvisible, and so were the stumps in the clearing. But nothing stirred.Henry's acute ear told him that.
"We'll follow the wall around to the other side of the cabin," hewhispered to Paul. "They don't know yet that we've come out, and naturallythey'll watch the door closest. Be careful where you put your feet."
But the very dampness prevented any rustle in the weeds and grass, andthey passed to the other side of the cabin without an alarm coming fromthe forest. There they paused again, and once more Henry whispered hisinstructions.
"I think we'd better get down and crawl," he said. "It's a hard thing todo with two rifles each, but we must do it until we get to the woods."
It was difficult, as Henry had said, and Paul felt, too, a sense ofhumiliation; but then one's life was at stake, and without hesitation hedropped to his knees, crawling slowly after the dark figure of hiscomrade. Henry made no sound and Paul but a little, not enough to be heardten feet away. Henry stopped now and then, as if he would listen intentlya moment or two, and Paul, of course, stopped just behind him. Fortuneseemed to favor their daring. The great silence lasted, broken only bypuffs of wind and rain, and the wet leaves of the forest rubbing softlyagainst each other. Paul looked back once. The cabin was already meltinginto a blur, although not twenty yards distant, and in as many yards moreit would be lost completely in the surrounding darkness.
Now the forest was only a few yards away, but to Paul it seemed very far.His knees and wrists began to ache, and the two rifles became awkward forhim to carry. He wondered how Henry could go forward with so much ease,but he resolved to persist as long as his comrade led the way.
The dark outline of the wood slowly came nearer, then nearer yet, and thenthey entered it, pressing silently among the hushes and the black shadowsof the lofty trees. Here Henry rose to his feet and Paul imitated him,thankful to rest his aching knees and wrists, and to stand up in the formand spirit of a man.
"We may slip through unseen and unheard," whispered Henry, "and then againwe may not. Come on; we'll need all our caution now."
But as they took the first step erect, a cry arose behind them, a cry sofull of ferocity and chagrin that Paul absolutely shuddered from head tofoot. It came from the clearing, near the hut, and Paul, without thetelling of it, knew what had happened.
"They've tried the door of the cabin, only to find it open and the placeempty," whispered Henry. "Now, we must not go too fast, Paul. In thispitchy darkness not even a Shawnee could see us ten feet away, but hecould hear us. No noise, Paul!"
They stole forward, one close behind the other, going but slowly, seekingwith sedulous care to avoid any noise that would bring the savages uponthem. The rain, which had grown steadier, was a Godsend. It and the windtogether kept up a low, moaning sound that hid the faint pressure ofPaul
's footsteps. The cry behind them at the cabin was repeated once,echoing away through the black and dripping forest. After that Paul heardnothing, but to the keener ears of Henry came now and then the soft,sliding sound of rapid footsteps, a word or two uttered low, and the faintswish of bushes, swinging back into place after a body passed. He knewthat the warriors were now seeking eagerly for them, but with the aid ofthe intense darkness he hoped that he and Paul would steal safely throughtheir lines. They went slowly forward for perhaps half an hour, stoppingoften and listening. Once Henry's hand on Paul's shoulder, they sank alittle lower in the bushes, and Henry, but not Paul, saw the shadowyoutline of a figure passing near.
Fortunately the forest was very dense, but unfortunately the clouds beganto thicken, and a rumble dull and low came from the far horizon. Then theclouds parted, cut squarely down the middle by a flash of lightning, andfor a moment a dazzling glow of light played over the dripping forest.Everything was revealed by it, every twig and leaf stood out in startlingdistinctness, and Paul, by impulse, sank lower to hide himself among thebushes.
The glow vanished and Henry had seen nothing; he was sure, too, that noone had seen them, but he knew that it was only luck; another flash mightreveal them, and he and Paul must now hasten, taking the chances ofdiscovery by noise. He spoke a word to his comrade, and they plunged morerapidly through the undergrowth. The thunder kept up an unceasing andthreatening murmur on the far horizon, and the lightning flared fitfullynow and then, but they were still unseen, and Henry hoped that they hadnow passed the ring of savages in the forest and the dusk.
Paul had dropped back from Henry's side, but was following closely behindhim. He was deeply impressed by a situation so extraordinary for one ofhis type. The thunder, the lightning, the darkness and the dangercontained for him all the elements of awe and mystery.
"I think we've shaken them off," said Henry presently, "and unless thelightning shows us to some stray member of the band they can't pick up ourtrail again before morning."
Paul was grateful for the assurance, and he noticed, too, that the dangerof the lightning's revelation was decreasing, as the flashes were becomingless frequent and vivid. His breathing now grew easier and his spiritsrose. Much of the gloom departed from the forest. The thunder that hadkept up a continuous low rolling, like a dirge, died away, and thelightning, after a few more weak and ineffectual flashes, ceased.
"We won't have any further trouble to-night, that's sure," said Henry."They could not possibly find our trail before day, and I think we'dbetter push on, as nearly as we can, in the direction of our hiddenpowder. You know we still mean to do what we started out to do."
They traveled all night, with brief periods of rest, through rough anddensely wooded country. Toward morning the rain ceased, and the clouds allfloated away. The stars came out in a clear sky, and a warm wind blew overthe wet forest. Henry looked more than once at Paul, and his look wasalways full of sympathy. Paul's face was pale, but his expression was setin firm resolve, and Henry knew that he would never yield.
After a while the dark began to lighten, and Henry stopped short insurprise. Paul was walking in such automatic fashion that he almost ranagainst him before he stopped. Henry pointed with a long forefinger to ared spot deep in the forest.
"See that?" he said.
"Yes, I guess it's the sun rising," said Paul, who was staggering alittle, and who saw through a cloud, as it were.
Henry looked at him and laughed.
"The sun!" he said. "Well, Paul, it's the first time I ever knew the sunto rise in the west."
"The sun's likely to do anything out here where we are," rejoined Paul.
"That's a fire, a camp fire, Paul," said Henry, "and I'm thinking it mustbe made by white men."
"White men! Friends!" exclaimed Paul. He stood up straight, and his eyesgrew brighter. An hour or two ago it had scarcely seemed possible to himthat they should ever see white faces again.
"It's only my belief," said Henry. "We've got to make sure. Now, you waithere, Paul, and I'll do a little bit of scouting. Sit down among thosebushes there and I'll be back soon."
Paul was fully content to do what Henry said. He found a good place in athick clump of underbrush, and sank down easily. He would have been quitewilling to lie down, because he was terribly tired and sleepy, but with aneffort he held himself to a sitting posture and watched Henry. He wasconscious of a vague admiration as the tall form of his comrade wentforward swiftly, making no noise and hiding itself so quickly in theforest that he could not tell where it had gone.
Then Paul was conscious of a great peace, and a heavy tugging at hiseyelids. Never in his life before was he so tired and sleepy. The lastraindrop was gone, and the bushes and grass were drying in the gentlewind. A fine golden sun was bringing with it a silver dawn, and a pleasantwarmth stole all through him. His head sank back a little more and hiselbow found a soft place in the turf.
The boy, with his half-closed eyes and pale face, was not alone as he laythere among the bushes. Little neighbors came and looked at the newcomer.A hare gazed solemnly at him for a moment or two, and then hopped solemnlyaway. A bluebird flew down to the very tip of a bough, surveyed him atleisure, and then flew off in search of food. Neither hare nor bird wasscared. Tiny creeping things scuttled through the grass, but the boy didnot move, and they scuttled on undisturbed.
Paul was just sinking away into a pleasant unknown land when a shoutbrought him back to earth. He sprang to his feet, and there was Henryreturning through the forest.
"Friends, Paul! Old friends!" he cried. "Up with you and we'll pay 'em asurprise visit!"
Paul shook his head to clear his thoughts, and followed Henry. Henrywalked swiftly now, not seeming to care whether or not he made noise, andPaul followed him toward the fire, which now rapidly grew larger.
The Forest Runners: A Story of the Great War Trail in Early Kentucky Page 5
