CHAPTER VIII
AT THE RIVER BANK
The days dragged into a week, and the Shawnees still clung to the banks ofthe great river, occasionally hunting, but more often idling away theirtime in the deep woods near the shore. Paul's wonder at their actionsincreased. He could not see any purpose in it, and he spoke several timesto Braxton Wyatt about it. But Wyatt always shrugged his shoulders.
"I do not know," he said. "It is true they build no camp fires, at leastno big ones, and they do not seem to be much interested in hunting; but Icannot guess what they are about, and I should not dare to ask Red Eagle."
Paul noticed that Red Eagle himself often went down to the bank of theriver, and would watch its surface with the keenest attention. But Paulobserved also that he always looked eastward--that is, up the stream--andnever down it.
Paul and Wyatt were allowed an increasing amount of liberty, but they wereheld nevertheless within a ring through which they could not break; Paulwas shrewd enough to perceive it, and for the present he made no effort,thinking it a wise thing to appear contented with his situation, or atleast to be making the best of it. Braxton Wyatt commended his policy morethan once.
On the morning of the seventh day the chief went down to the bank of theriver once more, and began to watch its surface attentively and long,always looking up the stream. Paul and Braxton Wyatt and some of thewarriors stood among the trees, not fifty feet away. They also could seethe surface of the river for a long distance, and Paul's eyes followedthose of the chief, Red Eagle.
The Ohio was a great yellow river, flowing slowly on in its wide channel,the surface breaking into little waves, that crumpled and broke and roseagain. Paul could see the stream for miles, apparently becoming narrowerand narrower, until it ended in a yellow thread under the horizon. Eithershore was overhung with heavy forest red with autumn's touch. Wild fowloccasionally flew over the current. It was inexpressibly weird and lonelyto Paul, seemingly a silent river flowing on forever through silentshades.
He saw nothing on the stream, and his eyes came back to the thin,hatchet-faced chief, who stood upon the bank looking so intently. RedEagle had begun to interest him greatly. He impressed Paul as being athorough savage of savages, fairly breathing cruelty and cunning, and Paulsaw now a note of expectation, of cruel expectation, in the fierce blackeyes of the Shawnee. And as he looked, a sudden change came over the faceof the chief. A gleam appeared in the black eyes, and the tall, thinfigure seemed to raise itself a little higher. Paul again looked up thestream, and lo! a tiny dark spot appeared upon its surface. He watched itas the chief watched it, and it grew, coming steadily down the river. Buthe did not yet know what it was.
Now the spirit of action descended quickly upon the whole band. The chiefleft the shore and gave quick, low orders to the men, who sank back intothe forest, taking Paul and Braxton Wyatt with them. Two warriors, havingPaul between them, crouched in a dense thicket, and one of them tapped theunarmed boy meaningly with his tomahawk. Paul did not see Braxton Wyatt,but he supposed that he was held similarly by other warriors, somewherenear. In truth, he did not see any of the savages except the two who werewith him. All the rest had melted away with the extraordinary facilitythat they had for hiding themselves, but Paul knew that they were abouthim, pressed close to the earth, blurred with the foliage or sheltered bytree trunks.
The boy's eyes turned back to the river, and the black blot floating onits surface. That blot, he knew, had caused this sudden disappearance of awhole band of Shawnees, and he wanted to know more. The black blot camedown the stream and grew into shape and outline, and the shape and outlinewere those of a boat. An Indian canoe? No; it rapidly grew beyond the sizeof any canoe used by the savages, and began to stand up from the water inbroad and stiff fashion. Then Paul's heart thumped, because all at once heknew. It was a flatboat, and it was certainly loaded with emigrants comingdown the Ohio, women and children as well as men, and the Shawnees hadlaid an ambush. This was what the crafty Red Eagle had been waiting for solong.
It was the final touch of savagery, and the boy's generous and noble heartrebelled within him. He started up, propelled by the impulse to warn; butthe two warriors pulled him violently back, one of them again touching himsignificantly with his tomahawk. Paul knew that it was useless. Anymovement or cry of his would cause his own death, and would not besufficient to warn those on the boat. He sank back again, trembling inevery nerve, not for himself but for the unsuspecting travelers on theriver.
The boat came steadily on, Paul saw a number of men, some walking aboutand others at the huge sweeps with which it was controlled. And--yes,there was a woman and a child, too; a little girl with long, yellow curls,who played on the rude deck. Paul put his hand to his face, and it cameback wet.
Then he remembered, and his heart leaped up. The river was a mile wide,and the boat was keeping near the middle of the stream. No bullet from thesavages could reach it. Then what was the use of this ambush? It hadmerely been a chance hope of the savages that the boat would come nearenough for them to fire into it, but instead it would go steadily on! Paullooked exultantly at the two warriors beside him, but they were intentlywatching the boat, which would soon be opposite them.
Then a ghastly and horrible thing occurred. A white face suddenly appearedupon the shore in front of Paul--the face of a white youth whom he knew.The figure was in rags, the clothing torn and tattered by thorns andbushes, and the hair hung in wild locks about the white face. Face andfigure alike were the picture of desolation and despair.
The white youth staggered to the very edge of the water, and, lifting upa tremulous, weeping voice, cried out to those on the boat:
"Save me! Save me! In God's name, save me! Don't leave me here to starvein these dark woods!"
It was a sight to move all on the boat who saw and heard--this spectacleof the worn wanderer, alone in that vast wilderness, appealing tounexpected rescue. Fear, agony, and despair alike were expressed in thetones of Braxton Wyatt's voice, which carried far over the yellow streamand was heard distinctly by the emigrants. To hear was also to heed, andthe great flatboat, coming about awkwardly and sluggishly, turned hersquare prow toward the southern shore, where the refugee stood.
Braxton Wyatt never ceased to cry out for help. His voice now ran thegamut of entreaty, hope, despair, and then hope again. He called upon themby all sacred names to help him, and he also called down blessings uponthem as the big boat bore steadily toward the land where two score fiercesavages lay among the bushes, ready to slay the moment they came withinreach.
Paul was dazed at first by what he saw and heard. He could not believethat it was Braxton Wyatt who was doing this terrible and treacherousthing. He rubbed away what he thought might be a deceptive film beforehis eyes, but it was still Braxton Wyatt. It was the face of the youthwhom he had known so long, and it was his voice that begged and blessed.And there, too, came the boat, not thirty yards from the land now! In twomore minutes it would be at the bank, and its decks were crowded now withmen, women, and children, regarding with curiosity and pity alike thislone wanderer in the wilderness whom they had found in such a terriblecase. Paul heard around him a rustling like that of coiled snakes, theslight movement of the savages preparing to spring. The boat was only tenyards from the shore! Now the film passed away from his eyes, and hisdazed brain cleared. He sprang up to his full height, reckless of his ownlife, and shouted in a voice that was heard far over the yellow waters:
"Keep off! Keep off, for your lives! It is a renegade who is calling youinto an ambush! Keep off! Keep off!"
Paul saw a sudden confusion on the boat, a running to and fro of people,and a bucking of the sweeps. Then he heard a spatter of rifle shots, allthis passing in an instant, and the next moment he felt a heavyconcussion. Fire flashed before his eyes, and he sank away into a darknessthat quickly engulfed him.
When Paul came back to himself he was lying among the trees where he hadfallen, and his head ached violently. He started to put up his hand tosoot
he it, but the hand would not move, and then he realized that bothhands were bound to his side. His whole memory came back in a flash, andhe looked toward the river. Far down the stream, and near the middle ofit, was a black dot that, even as he looked, became smaller, anddisappeared. It was the flatboat with its living freight, and Paul'sheart, despite his own desperate position, leaped up with joy.
From the river he glanced back at the Indian faces near him, and so far ashe could tell they bore no signs of triumph. Nor could he see any of thosehideous trophies they would have been sure to carry in case the ambush hadbeen a success. No! the triumph had been his, not theirs. He rolled intoan easier position, shut his eyes again to relieve his head, and when heopened them once more, Braxton Wyatt stood beside him. At the sight, allthe wrath and indignation in Paul's indomitable nature flared up.
"You scoundrel! you awful scoundrel! You renegade!" he cried. "Don't youever speak to me again! Don't you come near me!"
Braxton Wyatt did not turn back when those words, surcharged withpassion, met him full in the face, but wore a sad and downcast look.
"I don't blame you, Paul," he said gently, "for speaking that way when youdon't understand. I'm not a renegade, Paul. I did what I did to save ourlives--yours as well as mine, Paul. The chief, Red Eagle, threatened toput us both to the most awful tortures at once if I didn't do it."
"Liar, as well as scoundrel and renegade!" exclaimed Paul fiercely.
But Braxton Wyatt went on in his gentle, persuading, unabashed manner:
"It is as true as I stand here. I could not take you, too, Paul, totorture and death, and all the while I was hoping that the people on theboat would see, or suspect, and that they would turn back in time. If youhad not cried out--and it was a wonderfully brave thing to do!--I thinkthat at the last moment I myself should have done so."
"Liar!" said Paul again, and he turned his back to Braxton Wyatt.
Wyatt looked fixedly at the bound boy, shrugged his shoulders a little,and said:
"I never took you for a fool before, Paul."
But Paul was silent, and Braxton Wyatt went away. An hour or two later RedEagle came to Paul, unbound his arms, and gave him something to eat. AsPaul ate the venison, Braxton Wyatt returned to him and said:
"It is my influence with the chief, Paul, that has secured you this goodtreatment in spite of their rage against you. It is better to pretend tofall in with their ways, if we are to retain life, and ever to securefreedom."
But Paul only turned his back again and remained silent. Yet with the foodand rest the ache died out of his head, and he was permitted to wash offthe blood caused by the heavy blow from the flat of a tomahawk. Then hecrossed the Ohio with the band.
Paul was in a canoe with Red Eagle and two other warriors, and BraxtonWyatt was in another canoe not far away. But Paul resolutely ignored him,and looked only at the great river, and the thick forest on either shore.He was now more lonely than ever, and the Ohio that he was crossing seemedto him to be the boundary between the known and the unknown. Below it wasWareville and Marlowe, tiny settlements in the vast surroundingwilderness, it was true, but the abodes of white people, nevertheless.North of it, and he was going northward, stretched the forest that savagesalone haunted. The crossing of the river was to Paul like passing over agreat wall that would divide him forever from his own. All his vividimagination was alive, and it painted the picture in its darkest and mostsomber colors.
They reached the northern shore without difficulty, hid the canoes forfuture use, and resumed their leisurely journey northward. Braxton Wyatt,who seemed to Paul to have much freedom, resumed his advances toward arenewal of the old friendship, but Paul was resolute. He could notovercome his repulsion, Braxton Wyatt might plead, and make excuses, andtalk about the terror of torture and death, but Paul remained unconvinced.He himself had not flinched at the crucial moment to undo what Wyatt wasdoing, and in his heart he could find no forgiveness for the one whom hecalled a renegade.
Wyatt refused to take offense. He said, and Paul could not but hear, thatPaul some day would be grateful for what he was doing, and that it wasnecessary in the forest to meet craft with craft, guile with guile.
The days passed in hunting, eating, resting, and marching, and Paul lostcount of time, distance, and direction. He had not Henry's wonderfulinstinct in the wilderness, and he could not now tell at what point of thecompass Wareville lay. But he kept a brave heart and a brave face, and ifat times he felt despair, he did not let anyone see it.
They came at last to a place where the forest thinned out, and then brokeaway, leaving a little prairie. The warriors, who had previously beenpainting themselves in more hideous colors than ever, broke into a long,loud, wailing chant. It was answered in similar fashion from a pointbeyond a swell in the prairie, and Paul knew that they had come to theIndian village. The wailing chant was a sign that they had returned afterdisaster, and now all the old squaws were taking it up in reply. Paul wasfilled with curiosity, and he watched everything.
The warriors emerged from the last fringe of the forest, their facesblackened, the hideous chant for their lost rising and falling, but neverceasing. Forward to meet them poured a mongrel throng--old men, oldsquaws, children, mangy curs, and a few warriors. Paul was with Red Eagle,and when the old squaws saw him, they stopped their plaintive howl andsent up a sudden shrill note of triumph. In a moment Paul was in a ring ofghastly old faces, in every one of which snapped a pair of cruel blackeyes. Then the old women began to push him about, to pinch him, and tostrike him, and they showed incredible activity.
Thoroughly angry and in much pain, Paul struck at the hideous hags; butthey leaped away, jabbered and laughed, and returned to the attack. Whilehe was occupied with those in front of him, others slipped up behind him,jabbed him in the back, or violently twitched the hair on his neck. Tearsof pain and rage stood in Paul's eyes, and he wheeled about, only to havethe jeering throng wheel with him and continue their torture. At last hecaught one of them a half blow, and she reeled and fell. The othersshouted uproariously, and the warriors standing by joined in their mirth.
One of the hags finally struck Paul a resounding smack in the face, and ashe turned to pursue her another from behind seized a wisp of hair andtried to tear it out by the roots. Paul whirled in a frenzy, and soquickly that she could not escape him. He seized her withered old throatin both his hands, and then and there he would have choked her to death,but the warriors interfered, and pulled his hands loose. But they alsodrove the old women away, and Paul was let alone for the time. As he stoodon one side, gasping as much with anger as with pain, Braxton Wyatt, whohad not been persecuted at all, came to him again with ironic words andderisive gesture.
"It was just as I told you, Paul," he said. "I gave you good advice. Ifyou had taken it, they would have spared you. What you have just got isonly a taste to what you may suffer."
Paul felt a dreadful inclination to shudder, but he managed to controlhimself.
"I'd rather die under the torture than do what you have done, yourenegade!" he said.
This was the first time since they crossed the Ohio that he had replied toBraxton, but even now he would say no more, and Wyatt, following hiscustom, shrugged his shoulders and walked away. Then all, mingled in onegreat throng, went forward to the village. Paul saw an irregularcollection of buffalo-skin and deer-skin tepees, and a few pole wigwams,with some rudely cultivated fields of maize about them. A fine brookflowed through the village, and the site, on the whole, was well chosen,well watered, and sheltered by the little hills from cold winds. It wastoo far away from those hills to be reached by a marksman in ambush, andall about hung signs of plenty--drying venison and buffalo meat, and skinsof many kinds.
When they came within the circle of huts and tents, Paul was againregarded by many curious eyes, and there might have been more attempts topersecute him, but the chief, Red Eagle, kept them off. Red Eagle was ableto speak a little English, but Paul was too proud to ask him about his ownfate. Not a stoic by
nature, the boy nevertheless had a will that couldcontrol his impulses.
He was thrust into a small pole hut, and when the door was tightlyfastened he was left alone there. The place was not more than six feetsquare, and only a little higher than Paul's head when he stood erect. Inone corner was a couch of skins, but that was its whole equipment. Some ofthe poles did not fit closely together, leaving cracks of a quarter of aninch or so, through which came welcome fresh air, and also the subdued humof the village noises. He heard indistinctly the barking of dogs, and thechatter of old squaws scolding, but he paid little heed to them because hefelt now the sudden rush of a terrible despair.
The Ohio had been the great wall between Paul and his kind, and with thesteady march northward, through the forests and over the little prairies,still another wall, equally great, had been reared. It seemed to Paul thatHenry and Shif'less Sol and his other friends could never reach him here,and whatever fate the Shawnees had in store for him, it would be a hardone. Wild life he liked in its due proportion, but he had no wish tobecome a wild man all his days. He wanted to see the settlements grow andprosper, and become the basis of a mighty civilization. This was whatappealed to him most. His great task of helping to save Kentuckycontinually appealed to him, and now his chance of sharing in it seemedslender and remote--too slender and remote to be considered.
The boy lay long on his couch of skins. The hum of the village life stillcame to his ears, but he paid little heed to it. Gradually his couragecame back, or rather his will brought it back, and he became consciousthat the day was waning, also that he was growing hungry. Then the doorwas opened, and Red Eagle entered. Behind him came a weazened old warriorand a weazened old squaw, hideous to behold. Red Eagle stepped to oneside, and the old squaw fell on Paul's neck, murmuring words ofendearment. Paul, startled and horrified, pushed her off, but she returnedto the charge. Then Paul pushed her back again with more force. Red Eaglestepped forward, and lifted a restraining hand.
"They would adopt you in place of the son they have lost," he said in hisscant and broken English.
Paul looked at Red Eagle. It seemed to him that he saw on the face of thechief the trace of a sardonic grin. Then he looked at the weazened andrepulsive old pair.
"Put me to the torture," he said.
Now the sardonic grin was unmistakable on die face of the chief.
"Not yet," he said, "but maybe later."
Then he and the old pair left the hut, and presently food was brought toPaul, who, worn out by his trials, ceased to think about his future. Whenhe had finished eating he threw himself on the couch again, and sleptheavily until the next day.
The Forest Runners: A Story of the Great War Trail in Early Kentucky Page 8
