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diff --git a/.gitattributes b/.gitattributes new file mode 100644 index 0000000..6833f05 --- /dev/null +++ b/.gitattributes @@ -0,0 +1,3 @@ +* text=auto +*.txt text +*.md text diff --git a/36390-0.txt b/36390-0.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..ed22896 --- /dev/null +++ b/36390-0.txt @@ -0,0 +1,5558 @@ +The Project Gutenberg EBook of Erskine Dale--Pioneer, by John Fox + +This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with +almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or +re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included +with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org + + +Title: Erskine Dale--Pioneer + +Author: John Fox + +Illustrator: F. C. Yohn + +Release Date: June 12, 2011 [EBook #36390] + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: UTF-8 + +*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK ERSKINE DALE--PIONEER *** + + + + +Produced by Roger Frank and the Online Distributed +Proofreading Team at https://www.pgdp.net + + + + + + ERSKINE DALE—PIONEER + + BY JOHN FOX, JR. + + ERSKINE DALE—PIONEER + THE HEART OF THE HILLS + THE TRAIL OF THE LONESOME PINE + THE LITTLE SHEPHERD OF KINGDOM COME + CRITTENDEN. A Kentucky Story of Love and War + THE KENTUCKIANS AND A KNIGHT OF THE CUMBERLAND + A MOUNTAIN EUROPA AND A CUMBERLAND VENDETTA + CHRISTMAS EVE ON LONESOME, HELL-FER-SARTAIN AND IN HAPPY VALLEY + BLUE GRASS AND RHODODENDRON, Outdoor Life in Kentucky + + CHARLES SCRIBNER’S SONS + + + + +[Illustration: The third stayed behind a moment, bowed over her hand, +and kissed it] + + + + + ERSKINE DALE + PIONEER + + BY + + JOHN FOX, JR. + + ILLUSTRATED BY F. C. YOHN + + CHARLES SCRIBNER’S SONS + NEW YORK 1920 + + + + + Copyright, 1919, 1920, by + CHARLES SCRIBNER’S SONS + + Published September, 1920 + + + + +ILLUSTRATIONS + + The third stayed behind a moment, bowed over her hand, + and kissed it Frontispiece + + “The messenger is the son of a king” 36 + + “I don’t want nobody to take up for me” 56 + + “Four more days,” he cried, “and we’ll be there!” 100 + + “That is Kahtoo’s talk, but this is mine” 132 + + The sword blades clashed, Erskine whipping back and forth + in a way to make a swordsman groan 168 + + “Make no noise, and don’t move” 238 + + To his bewilderment he found Barbara at his mother’s bedside 256 + + + + +ERSKINE DALE—PIONEER + + + + +I + + +Streaks of red ran upward, and in answer the great gray eye of the +wilderness lifted its mist-fringed lid. From the green depths came the +fluting of a lone wood-thrush. Through them an owl flew on velvety wings +for his home in the heart of a primeval poplar. A cougar leaped from the +low limb of an oak, missed, and a shuddering deer streaked through a +forest aisle, bounded into a little clearing, stopped rigid, sniffed a +deadlier enemy, and whirled into the wilderness again. Still deeper in +the depths a boy with a bow and arrow and naked, except for scalp-lock +and breech-clout, sprang from sleep and again took flight along a +buffalo trail. Again, not far behind him, three grunting savages were +taking up the print of his moccasined feet. + +An hour before a red flare rose within the staked enclosure that was +reared in the centre of the little clearing, and above it smoke was soon +rising. Before the first glimmer of day the gates yawned a little and +three dim shapes appeared and moved leisurely for the woods—each man +with a long flintlock rifle in the hollow of his arm, a hunting-knife in +his belt, and a coonskin cap on his head. At either end of the stockade +a watchtower of oak became visible and in each a sleepy sentinel yawned +and sniffed the welcome smell of frying venison below him. In the pound +at one end of the fort, and close to the eastern side, a horse whinnied, +and a few minutes later when a boy slipped through the gates with feed +in his arms there was more whinnying and the stamping of impatient feet. + +“Gol darn ye!” the boy yelled, “can’t ye wait till a feller gits _his_ +breakfast?” + +A voice deep, lazy, and resonant came from the watch-tower above: + +“Well, I’m purty hungry myself.” + +“See any Injuns, Dave?” + +“Not more’n a thousand or two, I reckon.” The boy laughed: + +“Well, I reckon you won’t see any while I’m around—they’re afeerd o’ +_me_.” + +“I don’t blame ’em, Bud. I reckon that blunderbuss o’ yours would come +might’ nigh goin’ through a pat o’ butter at twenty yards.” The sentinel +rose towering to the full of his stature, stretched his mighty arms with +a yawn, and lightly leaped, rifle in hand, into the enclosure. A girl +climbing the rude ladder to the tower stopped midway. + +“Mornin’, Dave!” + +“Mornin’, Polly!” + +“I was comin’ to wake you up,” she smiled. + +“I just waked up,” he yawned, humoring the jest. + +“You don’t seem to have much use for this ladder.” + +“Not unless I’m goin’ up; and I wouldn’t then if I could jump as high as +I can fall.” He went toward her to help her down. + +“I wouldn’t climb very high,” she said, and scorning his hand with a +tantalizing little grimace she leaped as lightly as had he to the +ground. Two older women who sat about a kettle of steaming clothes +watched her. + +“Look at Polly Conrad, won’t ye? I declare that gal——” + +“Lyddy!” cried Polly, “bring Dave’s breakfast!” + +At the door of each log cabin, as solidly built as a little fort, a +hunter was cleaning a long rifle. At the western angle two men were +strengthening the pickets of the palisade. About the fire two mothers +were suckling babes at naked breasts. A boy was stringing a bow, and +another was hurling a small tomahawk at an oaken post, while a third who +was carrying wood for the open fire cried hotly: + +“Come on here, you two, an’ he’p me with this wood!” And grumbling they +came, for that fort harbored no idler, irrespective of age or sex. + +At the fire a tall girl rose, pushed a mass of sunburned hair from her +heated forehead, and a flush not from the fire fused with her smile. + +“I reckon Dave can walk this far—he don’t look very puny.” + +A voice vibrant with sarcasm rose from one of the women about the +steaming kettle. + +“Honor!” she cried, “Honor Sanders!” + +In a doorway near, a third girl was framed—deep-eyed, deep-breasted. + +“Honor!” cried the old woman, “stop wastin’ yo’ time with that weavin’ +in thar an’ come out here an’ he’p these two gals to git Dave his +breakfast.” Dave Yandell laughed loudly. + +“Come on, Honor,” he called, but the girl turned and the whir of a loom +started again like the humming of bees. Lydia Noe handed the hunter a +pan of deer-meat and corn bread, and Polly poured him a cup of steaming +liquid made from sassafras leaves. Unheeding for a moment the food in +his lap, Dave looked up into Polly’s black eyes, shifted to Lydia, +swerved to the door whence came the whir of the loom. + +“You are looking very handsome this morning, Polly,” he said gravely, +“and Lydia is lovelier even than usual, and Honor is a woodland dream.” +He shook his head. “No,” he said, “I really couldn’t.” + +“Couldn’t what?” asked Polly, though she knew some nonsense was coming. + +“Be happy even with two, if t’other were far away.” + +“I reckon you’ll have to try some day—with all of us far away,” said the +gentle Lydia. + +“No doubt, no doubt.” He fell upon his breakfast. + +“Purple, crimson, and gold—daughters of the sun—such are not for the +poor hunter—alack, alack!” + +“Poor boy!” said Lydia, and Polly looked at her with quickening wonder. +Rallying Dave with soft-voiced mockery was a new phase in Lydia. Dave +gave his hunting-knife a pathetic flourish. + +“And when the Virginia gallants come, where will poor Dave be?” + +Polly’s answer cut with sarcasm, but not at Dave. + +“Dave will be busy cuttin’ wood an’ killin’ food for ’em—an’ keepin’ ’em +from gettin’ scalped by Indians.” + +“I wonder,” said Lydia, “if they’ll have long hair like Dave?” Dave +shook his long locks with mock pride. + +“Yes, but it won’t be their own an’ it’ll be _powdered_.” + +“Lord, I’d like to see the first Indian who takes one of their scalps.” +Polly laughed, but there was a shudder in Lydia’s smile. Dave rose. + +“I’m goin’ to sleep till dinner—don’t let anybody wake me,” he said, and +at once both the girls were serious and kind. + +“We won’t, Dave.” + +Cow-bells began to clang at the edge of the forest. + +“There they are,” cried Polly. “Come on, Lyddy.” + +The two girls picked up piggins and squeezed through the opening between +the heavy gates. The young hunter entered a door and within threw +himself across a rude bed, face down. + +“Honor!” cried one of the old women, “you go an’ git a bucket o’ water.” +The whir stopped instantly, the girl stepped with a sort of slow majesty +from the cabin, and, entering the next, paused on the threshold as her +eyes caught the powerful figure stretched on the bed and already in +heavy sleep. As she stepped softly for the bucket she could not forbear +another shy swift glance; she felt the flush in her face and to conceal +it she turned her head angrily when she came out. A few minutes later +she was at the spring and ladling water into her pail with a gourd. Near +by the other two girls were milking—each with her forehead against the +soft flank of a dun-colored cow whose hoofs were stained with the juice +of wild strawberries. Honor dipped lazily. When her bucket was full she +fell a-dreaming, and when the girls were through with their task they +turned to find her with deep, unseeing eyes on the dark wilderness. + +“Boo!” cried Polly, startling her, and then teasingly: + +“Are you in love with Dave, too, Honor?” + +The girl reddened. + +“No,” she whipped out, “an’ I ain’t goin’ to be.” And then she reddened +again angrily as Polly’s hearty laugh told her she had given herself +away. For a moment the three stood like wood-nymphs about the spring, +vigorous, clear-eyed, richly dowered with health and color and body and +limb—typical mothers-to-be of a wilderness race. And as Honor turned +abruptly for the fort, a shot came from the woods followed by a +war-whoop that stopped the blood shuddering in their veins. + +“Oh, my God!” each cried, and catching at their wet skirts they fled in +terror through the long grass. They heard the quick commotion in the +fort, heard sharp commands, cries of warning, frantic calls for them to +hurry, saw strained faces at the gates, saw Dave bound through and rush +toward them. And from the forest there was nothing but its silence until +that was again broken—this time by a loud laugh—the laugh of a white +man. Then at the edge of the wilderness appeared—the fool. Behind him +followed the other two who had gone out that morning, one with a deer +swung about his shoulders, and all could hear the oaths of both as they +cursed the fool in front who had given shot and war-whoop to frighten +women and make them run. Dave stood still, but his lips, too, were busy +with curses, and from the fort came curses—an avalanche of them. The +sickly smile passed from the face of the fellow, shame took its place, +and when he fronted the terrible eyes of old Jerome Sanders at the gate, +that face grew white with fear. + +“Thar ain’t an Injun in a hundred miles,” he stammered, and then he +shrank down as though he were almost going to his knees, when suddenly +old Jerome slipped his long rifle from his shoulder and fired past the +fellow’s head with a simultaneous roar of command: + +“Git in—ever’body—git in—quick!” + +From a watch-tower, too, a rifle had cracked. A naked savage had bounded +into a spot of sunlight that quivered on the buffalo trail a hundred +yards deep in the forest and leaped lithely aside into the bushes—both +rifles had missed. Deeper from the woods came two war-whoops—real +ones—and in the silence that followed the gates were swiftly closed and +barred, and a keen-eyed rifleman was at every port-hole in the fort. +From the tower old Jerome saw reeds begin to shake in a cane-brake to +the left of the spring. + +“Look thar!” he called, and three rifles, with his own, covered the +spot. A small brown arm was thrust above the shaking reeds, with the +palm of the hand toward the fort—the peace sign of the Indian—and a +moment later a naked boy sprang from the cane-brake and ran toward the +blockhouse, with a bow and arrow in his left hand and his right +stretched above his head, its pleading palm still outward. + +“Don’t shoot!—don’t nobody shoot!” shouted the old man. No shot came +from the fort, but from the woods came yells of rage, and as the boy +streaked through the clearing an arrow whistled past his head. + +“Let him in!” shouted Jerome, and as Dave opened the gates another arrow +hurtled between the boy’s upraised arm and his body and stuck quivering +in one of its upright bars. The boy slid through and stood panting, +shrinking, wild-eyed. The arrow had grazed his skin, and when Dave +lifted his arm and looked at the oozing drops of blood he gave a +startled oath, for he saw a flash of white under the loosened +breech-clout below. The boy understood. Quickly he pushed the clout +aside on his thigh that all might see, nodded gravely, and proudly +tapped his breast. + +“Paleface!” he half grunted, “white man!” + +The wilds were quiet. The boy pointed to them and held up three fingers +to indicate that there were only three red men there, and shook his head +to say there would be no attack from them. Old Jerome studied the little +stranger closely, wondering what new trick those red devils were trying +now to play. Mother Sanders and Mother Noe, the boys of the fort, the +gigantic brothers to Lydia, Adam and Noel, the three girls had gathered +about him, as he stood with the innocence of Eden before the fall. + +“The fust thing to do,” said Mother Sanders, “is to git some clothes for +the little heathen.” Whereat Lydia flushed and Dave made an impatient +gesture for silence. + +“What’s your name?” The boy shook his head and looked eagerly around. + +“Français—French?” he asked, and in turn the big woodsman shook his +head—nobody there spoke French. However, Dave knew a little Shawnee, a +good deal of the sign-language, and the boy seemed to understand a good +many words in English; so that the big woodsman pieced out his story +with considerable accuracy, and turned to tell it to Jerome. The Indians +had crossed the Big River, were as many as the leaves, and meant to +attack the whites. For the first time they had allowed the boy to go on +a war-party. Some one had treated him badly—he pointed out the bruises +of cuffs and kicks on his body. The Indians called him White Arrow, and +he knew he was white from the girdle of untanned skin under his +breech-clout and because the Indian boys taunted him. Asked why he had +come to the fort, he pointed again to his bruises, put both hands +against his breast, and stretched them wide as though he would seek +shelter in the arms of his own race and take them to his heart; and for +the first time a smile came to his face that showed him plainly as a +curious product of his race and the savage forces that for years had +been moulding him. That smile could have never come to the face of an +Indian. No Indian would ever have so lost himself in his own emotions. +No white man would have used his gestures and the symbols of nature to +which he appealed. Only an Indian could have shown such a cruel, +vindictive, merciless fire in his eyes when he told of his wrongs, and +when he saw tears in Lydia’s eyes, the first burning in his life came to +his own, and brushing across them with fierce shame he turned Indian +stoic again and stood with his arms folded over his bow and arrows at +his breast, looking neither to right nor left, as though he were waiting +for judgment at their hands and cared little what his fate might be, as +perfect from head to foot as a statue of the ancient little god, who, in +him, had forsaken the couches of love for the tents of war. + + + + +II + + +All turned now to the duties of the day—Honor to her loom, Polly to her +distaff, and Lydia to her spinning-wheel, for the clothes of the women +were home-spun, home-woven, home-made. Old Jerome and Dave and the older +men gathered in one corner of the stockade for a council of war. The boy +had made it plain that the attacking party was at least two days behind +the three Indians from whom he had escaped, so that there was no danger +that day, and they could wait until night to send messengers to warn the +settlers outside to seek safety within the fort. Meanwhile, Jerome would +despatch five men with Dave to scout for the three Indians who might be +near by in the woods, and the boy, who saw them slip out the rear gate +of the fort, at once knew their purpose, shook his head, and waved his +hand to say that his late friends were gone back to hurry on the big +war-party to the attack, now that the whites themselves knew their +danger. Old Jerome nodded that he understood, and nodded to others his +appreciation of the sense and keenness of the lad, but he let the men go +just the same. From cabin door to cabin door the boy went in +turn—peeking in, but showing no wonder, no surprise, and little interest +until Lydia again smiled at him. At her door he paused longest, and even +went within and bent his ear to the bee-like hum of the wheel. At the +port-holes in the logs he pointed and grunted his understanding and +appreciation, as he did when he climbed into a blockhouse and saw how +one story overlapped the other and how through an opening in the upper +floor the defenders in the tower might pour a destructive fire on +attackers breaking in below. When he came down three boys, brothers to +the three girls, Bud Sanders, Jack Conrad, and Harry Noe, were again +busy with their games. They had been shy with him as he with them, and +now he stood to one side while they, pretending to be unconscious of his +presence, watched with sidelong glances the effect on him of their +prowess. All three threw the tomahawk and shot arrows with great skill, +but they did not dent the impassive face of the little stranger. + +“Maybe he thinks he can do better,” said Bud; “let’s let him try it.” + +And he held forth the tomahawk and motioned toward the post. The lad +took it gravely, gravely reached for the tomahawk of each of the other +two, and with slow dignity walked several yards farther away from the +mark. Then he wheeled with such ferocity in his face that the boys +shrank aside, clutching with some fear to one another’s arms, and before +they could quite recover, they were gulping down wonder as the three +weapons whistled through the air and were quivering close, side by side, +in the post. + +“Gee!” they said. Again the lad’s face turned impassive as he picked up +his bow and three arrows and slowly walked toward the wall of the +stockade so that he was the full width of the fort away. And then three +arrows hurtled past them in incredibly swift succession and thudded into +the post, each just above a tomahawk. This time the three onlookers were +quite speechless, though their mouths were open wide. Then they ran +toward him and had him show just how he held tomahawk and bow and arrow, +and all three did much better with the new points he gave them. +Wondering then whether they might not teach him something, Jack did a +standing broad jump and Bud a running broad jump and Harry a hop, skip, +and a jump. The young stranger shook his head but he tried and fell +short in each event and was greatly mortified. Again he shook his head +when Bud and Jack took backholds and had a wrestling-match, but he tried +with Jack and was thumped hard to the earth. He sprang to his feet +looking angry, but all were laughing, and he laughed too. + +“Me big fool,” he said; and they showed him how to feint and trip, and +once he came near throwing Bud. At rifle-shooting, too, he was no match +for the young pioneers, but at last he led them with gestures and +unintelligible grunts to the far end of the stockade and indicated a +foot-race. The boy ran like one of his own arrows, but he beat Bud only +a few feet, and Bud cried: + +“I reckon if _I_ didn’t have no clothes on, he couldn’t ‘a’ done it”; +and on the word Mother Sanders appeared and cried to Bud to bring the +“Injun” to her cabin. She had been unearthing clothes for the “little +heathen,” and Bud helped to put them on. In a few minutes the lad +reappeared in fringed hunting shirt and trousers, wriggling in them most +uncomfortably, for they made him itch, but at the same time wearing them +proudly. Mother Sanders approached with a hunting-knife. + +“I’m goin’ to cut off that topknot so his hair can ketch up,” she said, +but the boy scowled fearfully, turned, fled, and scaling the stockade as +nimbly as a squirrel, halted on top with one leg over the other side. + +“He thinks you air goin’ to take his scalp,” shouted Bud. The three boys +jumped up and down in their glee, and even Mother Sanders put her hands +on her broad hips and laughed with such loud heartiness that many came +to the cabin doors to see what the matter was. It was no use for the +boys to point to their own heads and finger their own shocks of hair, +for the lad shook his head, and outraged by their laughter kept his +place in sullen dignity a long while before he could be persuaded to +come down. + +On the mighty wilderness the sun sank slowly and old Jerome sat in the +western tower to watch alone. The silence out there was oppressive and +significant, for it meant that the boy’s theory was right; the three +Indians had gone back for their fellows, and when darkness came the old +man sent runners to the outlying cabins to warn the inmates to take +refuge within the fort. There was no settler that was not accustomed to +a soft tapping on the wooden windows that startled him wide awake. Then +there was the noiseless awakening of the household, noiseless dressing +of the children—the mere whisper of “Indians” was enough to keep them +quiet—and the noiseless slipping through the wilderness for the +oak-picketed stockade. And the gathering-in was none too soon. The +hooting of owls started before dawn. A flaming arrow hissed from the +woods, thudded into the roof of one of the cabins, sputtered feebly on a +dew-drenched ridge-pole, and went out. Savage war-whoops rent the air, +and the battle was on. All day the fight went on. There were feints of +attack in front and rushes from the rear, and there were rushes from all +sides. The women loaded rifles and cooked and cared for the wounded. +Thrice an Indian reached the wall of the stockade and set a cabin on +fire, but no one of the three got back to the woods alive. The stranger +boy sat stoically in the centre of the enclosure watching everything, +and making no effort to take part, except twice when he saw a gigantic +Indian brandishing his rifle at the edge of the woods, encouraging his +companions behind, and each time he grunted and begged for a gun. And +Dave made out that the Indian was the one who had treated the boy +cruelly and that the lad was after a personal revenge. Late in the +afternoon the ammunition began to run low and the muddy discoloration of +the river showed that the red men had begun to tunnel under the walls of +the fort. And yet a last sally was made just before sunset. A body +pushed against Dave in the tower and Dave saw the stranger boy at his +side with his bow and arrow. A few minutes later he heard a yell from +the lad which rang high over the din, and he saw the feathered tip of an +arrow shaking in the breast of the big Indian who staggered and fell +behind a bush. Just at that moment there were yells from the woods +behind—the yells of white men that were answered by joyful yells within +the fort: + +“The Virginians! The Virginians!” And as the rescuers dashed into sight +on horse and afoot, Dave saw the lad leap the wall of the stockade and +disappear behind the fleeing Indians. + +“Gone back to ’em,” he grunted to himself. The gates were thrown open. +Old Jerome and his men rushed out, and besieged and rescuers poured all +their fire after the running Indians, some of whom turned bravely to +empty their rifles once more. + +“Git in! Git in, quick!” yelled old Joel. He knew another volley would +come as soon as the Indians reached the cover of thick woods, and come +the volley did. Three men fell—one the leader of the Virginians, whose +head flopped forward as he entered the gate and was caught in old Joel’s +arms. Not another sound came from the woods, but again Dave from the +tower saw the cane-brush rustle at the edge of a thicket, saw a hand +thrust upward with the palm of peace toward the fort, and again the +stranger boy emerged—this time with a bloody scalp dangling in his left +hand. Dave sprang down and met him at the gate. The boy shook his bow +and arrow proudly, pointed to a crisscross scar on the scalp, and Dave +made out from his explanation that once before the lad had tried to kill +his tormentor and that the scar was the sign. In the centre of the +enclosure the wounded Virginian lay, and when old Jerome stripped the +shirt from his breast he shook his head gravely. The wounded man opened +his eyes just in time to see and he smiled. + +“I know it,” he said faintly, and then his eyes caught the boy with the +scalp, were fixed steadily and began to widen. + +“Who is that boy?” he asked sharply. + +“Never mind now,” said old Joel soothingly, “you must keep still!” The +boy’s eyes had begun to shift under the scrutiny and he started away. + +“Come back here!” commanded the wounded man, and still searching the lad +he said sharply again: + +“Who is that boy?” Nor would he have his wound dressed or even take the +cup of water handed to him until old Joel briefly told the story, when +he lay back on the ground and closed his eyes. + +Darkness fell. In each tower a watcher kept his eyes strained toward the +black, silent woods. The dying man was laid on a rude bed within one +cabin, and old Joel lay on the floor of it close to the door. The +stranger lad refused to sleep indoors and huddled himself in a blanket +on the ground in one corner of the stockade. Men, women, and children +fell to a deep and weary sleep. In the centre the fire burned and there +was no sound on the air but the crackle of its blazing. An hour later +the boy in the corner threw aside his blanket, and when, a moment later, +Lydia Noe, feverish and thirsty, rose from her bed to get a drink of +water outside her door, she stopped short on the threshold. The lad, +stark naked but for his breech-clout and swinging his bloody scalp over +his head, was stamping around the fire—dancing the scalp-dance of the +savage to a low, fierce, guttural song. The boy saw her, saw her face in +the blaze, stricken white with fright and horror, saw her too paralyzed +to move and he stopped, staring at her a moment with savage rage, and +went on again. Old Joel’s body filled the next doorway. He called out +with a harsh oath, and again the boy stopped. With another oath and a +threatening gesture Joel motioned to the corner of the stockade, and +with a flare of defiance in his black eyes the lad stalked slowly and +proudly away. From behind him the voice of the wounded man called, and +old Joel turned. There was a ghastly smile on the Virginian’s pallid +face. + +“I saw it,” he said painfully. “That’s—that’s my son!” + + + + +III + + +From the sun-dial on the edge of the high bank, straight above the brim +of the majestic yellow James, a noble path of thick grass as broad as a +modern highway ran hundreds of yards between hedges of roses straight to +the open door of the great manor-house with its wide verandas and mighty +pillars set deep back from the river in a grove of ancient oaks. Behind +the house spread a little kingdom, divided into fields of grass, wheat, +tobacco, and corn, and dotted with whitewashed cabins filled with +slaves. Already the house had been built a hundred years of brick +brought from England in the builder’s own ships, it was said, and the +second son of the reigning generation, one Colonel Dale, sat in the +veranda alone. He was a royalist officer, this second son, but his elder +brother had the spirit of daring and adventure that should have been +his, and he had been sitting there four years before when that elder +brother came home from his first pioneering trip into the wilds, to tell +that his wife was dead and their only son was a captive among the +Indians. Two years later still, word came that the father, too, had met +death from the savages, and the little kingdom passed into Colonel +Dale’s hands. + +Indentured servants, as well as blacks from Africa, had labored on that +path in front of him; and up it had once stalked a deputation of the +great Powhatan’s red tribes. Up that path had come the last of the early +colonial dames, in huge ruffs, high-heeled shoes, and short skirts, with +her husband, who was the “head of a hundred,” with gold on his clothes, +and at once military commander, civil magistrate, judge, and executive +of the community; had come officers in gold lace, who had been rowed up +in barges from Jamestown; members of the worshipful House of Burgesses; +bluff planters in silk coats, the governor and members of the council; +distinguished visitors from England, colonial gentlemen and ladies. At +the manor they had got beef, bacon, brown loaves, Indian corn-cakes, +strong ales, and strong waters (but no tea or coffee), and “drunk” pipes +of tobacco from lily-pots—jars of white earth—lighted with splinters of +juniper, or coals of fire plucked from the fireplace with a pair of +silver tongs. And all was English still—books, clothes, plates, knives, +and forks; the church, the Church of England; the Governor, the +representative of the King; his Council, the English House of Lords; the +Burgesses, the English Parliament—socially aristocratic, politically +republican. For ancient usage held that all “freemen” should have a +voice in the elections, have equal right to say who the lawmakers and +what the law. The way was open as now. Any man could get two thousand +acres by service to the colony, could build, plough, reap, save, buy +servants, and roll in his own coach to sit as burgess. There was but one +seat of learning—at Williamsburg. What culture they had they brought +from England or got from parents or minister. And always they had seemed +to prefer sword and stump to the pen. They hated towns. At every wharf a +long shaky trestle ran from a warehouse out into the river to load ships +with tobacco for England and to get in return all conveniences and +luxuries, and that was enough. In towns men jostled and individual +freedom was lost, so, Ho! for the great sweeps of land and the sway of a +territorial lord! Englishmen they were of Shakespeare’s time but living +in Virginia, and that is all they were—save that the flower of liberty +was growing faster in the new-world soil. + +The plantation went back to a patent from the king in 1617, and by the +grant the first stout captain was to “enjoy his landes in as large and +ample manner to all intentes and purposes as any Lord of any manours in +England doth hold his grounde.” This gentleman was the only man after +the “Starving Time” to protest against the abandonment of Jamestown in +1610. When, two years later, he sent two henchmen as burgesses to the +first general assembly, that august body would not allow them to sit +unless the captain would relinquish certain high privileges in his +grant. + +“I hold my patent for service done,” the captain answered +grandiloquently, “which noe newe or late comers can meritt or +challenge,” and only with the greatest difficulty was he finally +persuaded to surrender his high authority. In that day the house was +built of wood, protected by a palisade, prescribed by law, and the +windows had stout shutters. Everything within it had come from England. +The books were ponderous folios, stout duodecimos encased in embossed +leather, and among them was a folio containing Master William +Shakespeare’s dramas, collected by his fellow actors Heminge and +Condell. Later by many years a frame house supplanted this primitive, +fort-like homestead, and early in the eighteenth century, after several +generations had been educated in England, an heir built the noble manor +as it still stands—an accomplished gentleman with lace collar, slashed +doublet, and sable silvered hair, a combination of scholar, courtier, +and soldier. And such had been the master of the little kingdom ever +since. + +In the earliest days the highest and reddest cedars in the world rose +above the underbrush. The wild vines were so full of grape bunches that +the very turf overflowed with them. Deer, turkeys, and snow-white cranes +were in incredible abundance. The shores were fringed with verdure. The +Indians were a “kind, loving people.” Englishmen called it the “Good +Land,” and found it “most plentiful, sweet, wholesome, and fruitful of +all others.” The east was the ocean; Florida was the south; the north +was Nova Francia, and the west unknown. Only the shores touched the +interior, which was an untravelled realm of fairer fruits and flowers +than in England; green shores, majestic forests, and blue mountains +filled with gold and jewels. Bright birds flitted, dusky maids danced +and beckoned, rivers ran over golden sand, and toward the South Sea was +the Fount of Youth, whose waters made the aged young again. Bermuda +Islands were an enchanted den full of furies and devils which all men +did shun as hell and perdition. And the feet of all who had made history +had trod that broad path to the owner’s heart and home. + +Down it now came a little girl—the flower of all those dead and gone—and +her coming was just as though one of the flowers about her had stepped +from its gay company on one or the other side of the path to make +through them a dainty, triumphal march as the fairest of them all. At +the dial she paused and her impatient blue eyes turned to a bend of the +yellow river for the first glimpse of a gay barge that soon must come. +At the wharf the song of negroes rose as they unloaded the boat just +from Richmond. She would go and see if there was not a package for her +mother and perhaps a present for herself, so with another look to the +river bend she turned, but she moved no farther. Instead, she gave a +little gasp, in which there was no fear, though what she saw was surely +startling enough to have made her wheel in flight. Instead, she gazed +steadily into a pair of grave black eyes that were fixed on her from +under a green branch that overhung the footpath, and steadily she +searched the figure standing there, from the coonskin cap down the +fringed hunting-shirt and fringed breeches to the moccasined feet. And +still the strange figure stood arms folded, motionless and silent. +Neither the attitude nor the silence was quite pleasing, and the girl’s +supple slenderness stiffened, her arms went rigidly to her sides, and a +haughty little snap sent her undimpled chin upward. + +“What do you want?” + +And still he looked, searching her in turn from head to foot, for he was +no more strange to her than she was to him. + +“Who are you and what do you want?” + +It was a new way for a woman to speak to a man; he in turn was not +pleased, and a gleam in his eyes showed it. + +“I am the son of a king.” + +She started to laugh, but grew puzzled, for she had the blood of +Pocahontas herself. + +“You are an Indian?” + +He shook his head, scorning to explain, dropped his rifle to the hollow +of his arm, and, reaching for his belt where she saw the buckhorn handle +of a hunting-knife, came toward her, but she did not flinch. Drawing a +letter from the belt, he handed it to her. It was so worn and soiled +that she took it daintily and saw on it her father’s name. The boy waved +his hand toward the house far up the path. + +“He live here?” + +“You wish to see him?” + +The boy grunted assent, and with a shock of resentment the little lady +started up the path with her head very high indeed. The boy slipped +noiselessly after her, his face unmoved, but his eyes were darting right +and left to the flowers, trees, and bushes, to every flitting, strange +bird, the gray streak of a scampering squirrel, and what he could not +see, his ears took in—the clanking chains of work-horses, the whir of a +quail, the screech of a peacock, the songs of negroes from far-off +fields. + +On the porch sat a gentleman in powdered wig and knee-breeches, who, +lifting his eyes from a copy of _The Spectator_ to give an order to a +negro servant, saw the two coming, and the first look of bewilderment on +his fine face gave way to a tolerant smile. A stray cat or dog, a +crippled chicken, a neighbor’s child, or a pickaninny—all these his +little daughter had brought in at one time or another for a home, and +now she had a strange ward, indeed. He asked no question, for a purpose +very decided and definite was plainly bringing the little lady on, and +he would not have to question. Swiftly she ran up the steps, her mouth +primly set, and handed him a letter. + +[Illustration: “The messenger is the son of a king”] + +“The messenger is the son of a king.” + +“A what?” + +“The son of a king,” she repeated gravely. + +“Ah,” said the gentleman, humoring her, “ask his highness to be seated.” + +His highness was looking from one to the other gravely and keenly. He +did not quite understand, but he knew gentle fun was being poked at him, +and he dropped sullenly on the edge of the porch and stared in front of +him. The little girl saw that his moccasins were much worn and that in +one was a hole with the edge blood-stained. And then she began to watch +her father’s face, which showed that the contents of the letter were +astounding him. He rose quickly when he had finished and put out his +hand to the stranger. + +“I am glad to see you, my boy,” he said with great kindness. “Barbara, +this is a little kinsman of ours from Kentucky. He was the adopted son +of an Indian chief, but by blood he is your own cousin. His name is +Erskine Dale.” + + + + +IV + + +The little girl rose startled, but her breeding was too fine for +betrayal, and she went to him with hand outstretched. The boy took it as +he had taken her father’s, limply and without rising. The father frowned +and smiled—how could the lad have learned manners? And then he, too, saw +the hole in the moccasin through which the bleeding had started again. + +“You are hurt—you have walked a long way?” + +The lad shrugged his shoulders carelessly. + +“Three days—I had to shoot horse.” + +“Take him into the kitchen, Barbara, and tell Hannah to wash his foot +and bandage it.” + +The boy looked uncomfortable and shook his head, but the little girl was +smiling and she told him to come with such sweet imperiousness that he +rose helplessly. Old Hannah’s eyes made a bewildered start! + +“You go on back an’ wait for yo’ company, little Miss; I’ll ‘tend to +_him_!” + +And when the boy still protested, she flared up: + +“Looky here, son, little Miss tell me to wash yo’ foot, an’ I’se gwinter +do it, ef I got to tie you fust; now you keep still. Whar you come +from?” + +His answer was a somewhat haughty grunt that at once touched the quick +instincts of the old negress and checked further question. Swiftly and +silently she bound his foot, and with great respect she led him to a +little room in one ell of the great house in which was a tub of warm +water. + +“Ole marster say you been travellin’ an’ mebbe you like to refresh +yo’self wid a hot bath. Dar’s some o’ little marster’s clothes on de bed +dar, an’ a pair o’ his shoes, an’ I know dey’ll jus’ fit you snug. +You’ll find all de folks on de front po’ch when you git through.” + +She closed the door. Once, winter and summer, the boy had daily plunged +into the river with his Indian companions, but he had never had a bath +in his life, and he did not know what the word meant; yet he had learned +so much at the fort that he had no trouble making out what the tub of +water was for. For the same reason he felt no surprise when he picked up +the clothes; he was only puzzled how to get into them. He tried, and +struggling with the breeches he threw one hand out to the wall to keep +from falling and caught a red cord with a bushy red tassel; whereat +there was a ringing that made him spring away from it. A moment later +there was a knock at his door. + +“Did you ring, suh?” asked a voice. What that meant he did not know, and +he made no answer. The door was opened slightly and a woolly head +appeared. + +“Do you want anything, suh?” + +“No.” + +“Den I reckon hit was anudder bell—Yassuh.” + +The boy began putting on his own clothes. + +Outside Colonel Dale and Barbara had strolled down the big path to the +sun-dial, the colonel telling the story of the little Kentucky +kinsman—the little girl listening and wide-eyed. + +“Is he going to live here with us, papa?” + +“Perhaps. You must be very nice to him. He has lived a rude, rough life, +but I can see he is very sensitive.” + +At the bend of the river there was the flash of dripping oars, and the +song of the black oarsmen came across the yellow flood. + +“There they come!” cried Barbara. And from his window the little +Kentuckian saw the company coming up the path, brave with gay clothes +and smiles and gallantries. The colonel walked with a grand lady at the +head, behind were the belles and beaux, and bringing up the rear was +Barbara, escorted by a youth of his own age, who carried his hat under +his arm and bore himself as haughtily as his elders. No sooner did he +see them mounting to the porch than there was the sound of a horn in the +rear, and looking out of the other window the lad saw a coach and four +dash through the gate and swing around the road that encircled the great +trees, and up to the rear portico, where there was a joyous clamor of +greetings. Where did all those people come from? Were they going to stay +there and would he have to be among them? All the men were dressed alike +and not one was dressed like him. Panic assailed him, and once more he +looked at the clothes on the bed, and then without hesitation walked +through the hallway, and stopped on the threshold of the front door. A +quaint figure he made there, and for the moment the gay talk and +laughter quite ceased. The story of him already had been told, and +already was sweeping from cabin to cabin to the farthest edge of the +great plantation. Mrs. General Willoughby lifted her lorgnettes to study +him curiously, the young ladies turned a battery of searching but +friendly rays upon him, the young men regarded him with tolerance and +repressed amusement, and Barbara, already his champion, turned her eyes +from one to the other of them, but always seeing him. No son of Powhatan +could have stood there with more dignity, and young Harry Dale’s face +broke into a smile of welcome. His father being indoors he went forward +with hand outstretched. + +“I am your cousin Harry,” he said, and taking him by the arm he led him +on the round of presentation. + +“Mrs. Willoughby, may I present my cousin from Kentucky?” + +“This is your cousin, Miss Katherine Dale; another cousin, Miss Mary; +and this is your cousin Hugh.” + +And the young ladies greeted him with frank, eager interest, and the +young gentlemen suddenly repressed patronizing smiles and gave him grave +greeting, for if ever a rapier flashed from a human head, it flashed +from the piercing black eye of that little Kentucky backwoodsman when +his cousin Hugh, with a rather whimsical smile, bowed with a politeness +that was a trifle too elaborate. Mrs. Willoughby still kept her +lorgnettes on him as he stood leaning against a pillar. She noted the +smallness of his hands and feet, the lithe, perfect body, the clean cut +of his face, and she breathed: + +“He is a Dale—and blood _does_ tell.” + +Nobody, not even she, guessed how the lad’s heart was thumping with the +effort to conceal his embarrassment, but when a tinge of color spread on +each side of his set mouth and his eyes began to waver uncertainly, Mrs. +Willoughby’s intuition was quick and kind. + +“Barbara,” she asked, “have you shown your cousin your ponies?” + +The little girl saw her motive and laughed merrily: + +“Why, I haven’t had time to show him anything. Come on, cousin.” + +The boy followed her down the steps in his noiseless moccasins, along a +grass path between hedges of ancient box, around an ell, and past the +kitchen and toward the stables. In and behind the kitchen negroes of all +ages and both sexes were hurrying or lazing around, and each turned to +stare wonderingly after the strange woodland figure of the little +hunter. Negroes were coming in from the fields with horses and mules, +negroes were chopping and carrying wood, there were negroes everywhere, +and the lad had never seen one before, but he showed no surprise. At a +gate the little girl called imperiously: + +“Ephraim, bring out my ponies!” + +And in a moment out came a sturdy little slave whose head was all black +skin, black wool, and white teeth, leading two creamy-white little +horses that shook the lad’s composure at last, for he knew ponies as far +back as he could remember, but he had never seen the like of them. His +hand almost trembled when he ran it over their sleek coats, and +unconsciously he dropped into his Indian speech and did not know it +until the girl asked laughingly: + +“Why, what are you saying to my ponies?” + +And he blushed, for the little girl’s artless prattling and friendliness +were already beginning to make him quite human. + +“That’s Injun talk.” + +“Can you talk Indian—but, of course, you can.” + +“Better than English,” he smiled. + +Hugh had followed them. + +“Barbara, your mother wants you,” he said, and the little girl turned +toward the house. The stranger was ill at ease with Hugh and the latter +knew it. + +“It must be very exciting where you live.” + +“How?” + +“Oh, fighting Indians and shooting deer and turkeys and buffalo. It must +be great fun.” + +“Nobody does it for fun—it’s mighty hard work.” + +“My uncle—your father—used to tell us about his wonderful adventures out +there.” + +“He had no chance to tell me.” + +“But yours must have been more wonderful than his.” + +The boy gave the little grunt that was a survival of his Indian life and +turned to go back to the house. + +“But all this, I suppose, is as strange to you.” + +“More.” + +Hugh was polite and apparently sincere in interest, but the lad was +vaguely disturbed and he quickened his step. The porch was empty when +they turned the corner of the house, but young Harry Dale came running +down the steps, his honest face alight, and caught the little Kentuckian +by the arm. + +“Get ready for supper, Hugh—come on, cousin,” he said, and led the +stranger to his room and pointed to the clothes on the bed. + +“Don’t they fit?” he asked smiling. + +“I don’t know—I don’t know how to git into ’em.” + +Young Harry laughed joyously. + +“Of course not. I wouldn’t know how to put yours on either. You just +wait,” he cried, and disappeared to return quickly with an armful of +clothes. + +“Take off your war-dress,” he said, “and I’ll show you.” + +With heart warming to such kindness, and helpless against it, the lad +obeyed like a child and was dressed like a child. + +“Now, I’ve got to hurry,” said Harry. “I’ll come back for you. Just look +at yourself,” he called at the door. + +And the stranger did look at the wonderful vision that a great mirror as +tall as himself gave back. His eyes began to sting, and he rubbed them +with the back of his hand and looked at the hand curiously. It was +moist. He had seen tears in a woman’s eyes, but he did not know that +they could come to a man, and he felt ashamed. + + + + +V + + +The boy stood at a window looking out into the gathering dusk. His eye +could catch the last red glow on the yellow river. Above that a purplish +light rested on the green expanse stretching westward—stretching on and +on through savage wilds to his own wilds beyond the lonely Cumberlands. +Outside the window the multitude of flowers was drinking in the dew and +drooping restfully to sleep. A multitude of strange birds called and +twittered from the trees. The neighing of horses, the lowing of cattle, +the piping of roosting turkeys and motherly clutter of roosting hens, +the weird songs of negroes, the sounds of busy preparation through the +house and from the kitchen—all were sounds of peace and plenty, security +and service. And over in his own wilds at that hour they were driving +cows and horses into the stockade. They were cooking their rude supper +in the open. A man had gone to each of the watch-towers. From the +blackening woods came the curdling cry of a panther and the hooting of +owls. Away on over the still westward wilds were the wigwams of squaws, +pappooses, braves, the red men—red in skin, in blood, in heart, and red +with hate against the whites. + +Perhaps they were circling a fire at that moment in a frenzied +war-dance—perhaps the hooting at that moment, from the woods around the +fort was not the hooting of owls at all. There all was hardship—danger; +here all was comfort and peace. If they could see him now! See his room, +his fire, his bed, his clothes! They had told him to come, and yet he +felt now the shame of desertion. He had come, but he would not stay long +away. The door opened, he turned, and Harry Dale came eagerly in. + +“Mother wants to see you.” + +The two boys paused in the hall and Harry pointed to a pair of crossed +rapiers over the mantelpiece. + +“Those were your father’s,” he said; “he was a wonderful fencer.” + +The lad shook his head in ignorance, and Harry smiled. + +“I’ll show you to-morrow.” + +At a door in the other ell Harry knocked gently, and a voice that was +low and sweet but vibrant with imperiousness called: + +“Come in!” + +“Here he is, mother.” + +The lad stepped into warmth, subtle fragrance, and many candle lights. +The great lady was just rising from a chair in front of her mirror, +brocaded, powdered, and starred with jewels. So brilliant a vision +almost stunned the little stranger and it took an effort for him to lift +his eyes to hers. + +“Why, _this_ is not the lad you told me of,” she said. “Come here! Both +of you.” They came and the lady scrutinized them comparingly. + +“Actually you look alike—and, Harry, you have no advantage, even if you +are my own son. I am glad you are here,” she said with sudden soberness, +and smiling tenderly she put both hands on his shoulders, drew him to +her and kissed him, and again he felt in his eyes that curious sting. + +“Come, Harry!” With a gallant bow Harry offered his left arm, and +gathering the little Kentuckian with her left, the regal lady swept out. +In the reception-room she kept the boy by her side. Every man who +approached bowed, and soon the lad was bowing, too. The ladies +courtesied, the room was soon filled, and amid the flash of smiles, +laughter, and gay banter the lad was much bewildered, but his face +showed it not at all. Barbara almost cried out her astonishment and +pleasure when she saw what a handsome figure he made in his new +clothing, and all her little friends were soon darting surreptitious +glances at him, and many whispered questions and pleasing comments were +passed around. From under Hugh’s feet the ground for the moment was +quite taken away, so much to the eye, at least, do clothes make the man. +Just then General Willoughby bowed with noble dignity before Mrs. Dale, +and the two led the way to the dining-room. + +“Harry,” she said, “you and Barbara take care of your cousin.” + +And almost without knowing it the young Kentuckian bowed to Barbara, who +courtesied and took his arm. But for his own dignity and hers, she would +have liked to squeal her delight. The table flashed with silver and +crystal on snowy-white damask and was brilliant with colored candles. +The little woodsman saw the men draw back chairs for the ladies, and he +drew back Barbara’s before Hugh, on the other side of her, could +forestall him. On his left was Harry, and Harry he watched keenly—but no +more keenly than Hugh watched him. Every now and then he would catch a +pair of interested eyes looking furtively at him, and he knew his story +was going the round of the table among those who were not guests in the +house. The boy had never seen so many and so mysterious-looking things +to eat and drink. One glass of wine he took, and the quick dizziness +that assailed him frightened him, and he did not touch it again. Beyond +Barbara, Hugh leaned forward and lifted his glass to him. He shook his +head and Hugh flushed. + +“Our Kentucky cousin is not very polite—he is something of a +barbarian—naturally.” + +“He doesn’t understand,” said Barbara quickly, who had noted the +incident, and she turned to her cousin. + +“Papa says you _are_ going to live with us and you are going to study +with Harry under Mr. Brockton.” + +“Our tutor,” explained Harry; “there he is across there. He is an +Englishman.” + +“Tutor?” questioned the boy. + +“School-teacher,” laughed Harry. + +“Oh!” + +“Haven’t you any school-teachers at home?” + +“No, I learned to read and write a little from Dave and Lyddy.” + +And then he had to tell who they were, and he went on to tell them about +Mother Sanders and Honor and Bud and Jack and Polly Conrad and Lydia and +Dave, and all the frontier folk, and the life they led, and the Indian +fights which thrilled Barbara and Harry, and forced even Hugh to +listen—though once he laughed incredulously, and in a way that of a +sudden shut the boy’s lips tight and made Barbara color and Harry look +grave. Hugh then turned to his wine and began soon to look more flushed +and sulky. Shortly after the ladies left, Hugh followed them, and Harry +and the Kentuckian moved toward the head of the table where the men had +gathered around Colonel Dale. + +“Yes,” said General Willoughby, “it looks as though it might come.” + +“With due deference to Mr. Brockton,” said Colonel Dale, “it looks as +though his country would soon force us to some action.” + +They were talking about impending war. Far away as his wilds were, the +boy had heard some talk of war in them, and he listened greedily to the +quick fire of question and argument directed to the Englishman, who held +his own with such sturdiness that Colonel Dale, fearing the heat might +become too great, laughed and skilfully shifted the theme. Through hall +and doorways came now merry sounds of fiddle and banjo. + +“Come on, cousin,” said Harry; “can you dance?” + +“If your dances are as different as everything else, I reckon not, but I +can try.” + +Near a doorway between parlor and hall sat the fiddlers three. Gallant +bows and dainty courtesyings and nimble feet were tripping measures +quite new to the backwoodsman. Barbara nodded, smiled, and after the +dance ran up to ask him to take part, but he shook his head. Hugh had +looked at him as from a superior height, and the boy noticed him +frowning while Barbara was challenging him to dance. The next dance was +even more of a mystery, for the dancers glided by in couples, Mr. +Byron’s diatribe not having prevented the importation of the waltz to +the new world, but the next cleared his face and set his feet to keeping +time, for the square dance had, of course, reached the wilds. + +“I know that,” he said to Harry, who told Barbara, and the little girl +went up to him again, and this time, flushing, he took place with her on +the floor. Hugh came up. + +“Cousin Barbara, this is our dance, I believe,” he said a little +thickly. + +The girl took him aside and Hugh went surlily away. Harry saw the +incident and he looked after Hugh, frowning. The backwoodsman conducted +himself very well. He was lithe and graceful and at first very +dignified, but as he grew in confidence he began to execute steps that +were new to that polite land and rather boisterous, but Barbara looked +pleased and all onlookers seemed greatly amused—all except Hugh. And +when the old fiddler sang out sonorously: + +“Genelmen to right—cheat an’ swing!” the boy cheated outrageously, +cheated all but his little partner, to whom each time he turned with +open loyalty, and Hugh was openly sneering now and genuinely angry. + +“You shall have the last dance,” whispered Barbara, “the Virginia reel.” + +“I know that dance,” said the boy. + +And when that dance came and the dancers were drawn in two lines, the +boy who was third from the end heard Harry’s low voice behind him: + +“He is my cousin and my guest and you will answer to me.” + +The lad wheeled, saw Harry with Hugh, left his place, and went to them. +He spoke to Harry, but he looked at Hugh with a sword-flash in each +black eye: + +“I don’t want nobody to take up for me.” + +Again he wheeled and was in his place, but Barbara saw and looked +troubled, and so did Colonel Dale. He went over to the two boys and put +his arm around Hugh’s shoulder. + +[Illustration: “I don’t want nobody to take up for me”] + +“Tut, tut, my boys,” he said, with pleasant firmness, and led Hugh away, +and when General Willoughby would have followed, the colonel nodded him +back with a smile, and Hugh was seen no more that night. The guests left +with gayety, smiles, and laughter, and every one gave the stranger a +kindly good-by. Again Harry went with him to his room and the lad +stopped again under the crossed swords. + +“You fight with ’em?” + +“Yes, and with pistols.” + +“I’ve never had a pistol. I want to learn how to use _them_.” + +Harry looked at him searchingly, but the boy’s face gave hint of no more +purpose than when he first asked the same question. + +“All right,” said Harry. + +The lad blew out his candle, but he went to his window instead of his +bed. The moonlight was brilliant—among the trees and on the sleeping +flowers and the slow run of the broad river, and it was very still out +there and very lovely, but he had no wish to be out there. With wind and +storm and sun, moon and stars, he had lived face to face all his life, +but here they were not the same. Trees, flowers, house, people had +reared some wall between him and them, and they seemed now to be very +far away. Everybody had been kind to him—all but Hugh. Veiled hostility +he had never known before and he could not understand. Everybody had +surely been kind, and yet—he turned to his bed, and all night his brain +was flashing to and fro between the reel of vivid pictures etched on it +in a day and the grim background that had hitherto been his life beyond +the hills. + + + + +VI + + +From pioneer habit he awoke before dawn, and for a moment the softness +where he lay puzzled him. There was no sound of anybody stirring and he +thought he must have waked up in the middle of the night, but he could +smell the dawn and he started to spring up. But there was nothing to be +done, nothing that he could do. He felt hot and stuffy, though Harry had +put up his windows, and he could not lie there wide awake. He could not +go out in the heavy dew in the gay clothes and fragile shoes he had +taken off, so he slid into his own buckskin clothes and moccasins and +out the still open front door and down the path toward the river. +Instinctively he had picked up his rifle, bullet-pouch, and powder-horn. +Up the river to the right he could faintly see dark woods, and he made +toward and plunged into them with his eyes on the ground for signs of +game, but he saw tracks only of coon and skunk and fox, and he grunted +his disgust and loped ahead for half an hour farther into the heart of +the woods. An hour later he loped back on his own tracks. The cabins +were awake now, and every pickaninny who saw him showed the whites of +his eyes in terror and fled back into his house. He came noiselessly +behind a negro woman at the kitchen-door and threw three squirrels on +the steps before her. She turned, saw him, and gave a shriek, but +recovered herself and picked them up. Her amazement grew as she looked +them over, for there was no sign of a bullet-wound, and she went in to +tell how the Injun boy must naturally just “charm ’em right out o’ de +trees.” + +At the front door Harry hailed him and Barbara came running out. + +“I forgot to get you another suit of clothes last night,” he said, “and +we were scared this morning. We thought you had left us, and Barbara +there nearly cried.” Barbara blushed now and did not deny. + +“Come to breakfast!” she cried. + +“Did you find anything to shoot?” Harry asked. + +“Nothin’ but some squirrels,” said the lad. + +Colonel Dale soon came in. + +“You’ve got the servants mystified,” he said laughingly. “They think +you’re a witch. How _did_ you kill those squirrels?” + +“I couldn’t see their heads—so I barked ’em.” + +“Barked?” + +“I shot between the bark and the limb right under the squirrel, an’ the +shock kills ’em. Uncle Dan’l Boone showed me how to do that.” + +“Daniel Boone!” breathed Harry. “Do you know Daniel Boone?” + +“Shucks, Dave can beat him shootin’.” + +And then Hugh came in, pale of face and looking rather ashamed. He went +straight to the Kentuckian. + +“I was rude to you last night and I owe you an apology.” + +He thrust out his hand and awkwardly the boy rose and took it. + +“And you’ll forgive me, too, Barbara?” + +“Of course I will,” she said happily, but holding up one finger of +warning—should he ever do it again. The rest of the guests trooped in +now, and some were going out on horseback, some for a sail, and some +visiting up the river in a barge, and all were paired off, even Harry. + +“I’m going to drive Cousin Erskine over the place with my ponies,” said +Barbara, “and——” + +“I’m going back to bed,” interrupted Hugh, “or read a little Latin and +Greek with Mr. Brockton.” There was impudence as well as humor in this, +for the tutor had given up Hugh in despair long ago. + +Barbara shook her head. + +“You are going with us,” she said. + +“I want Hugh to ride with me,” said Colonel Dale, “and give Firefly a +little exercise. Nobody else can ride him.” + +The Kentucky boy turned a challenging eye, as did every young man at the +table, and Hugh felt very comfortable. While every one was getting +ready, Harry brought out two foils and two masks on the porch a little +later. + +“We fight with those,” he said, pointing to the crossed rapiers on the +wall, “but we practise with these. Hugh, there, is the champion fencer,” +he said, “and he’ll show you.” + +Harry helped the Kentucky boy to mask and they crossed foils—Hugh giving +instructions all the time and nodding approval. + +“You’ll learn—you’ll learn fast,” he said. And over his shoulder to +Harry: + +“Why, his wrist is as strong as mine now, and he’s got an eye like a +weasel.” + +With a twist he wrenched the foil from his antagonist’s hand and +clattered it on the steps. The Kentuckian was bewildered and his face +flushed. He ran for the weapon. + +“You can’t do that again.” + +“I don’t believe I can,” laughed Hugh. + +“Will you learn me some more?” asked the boy eagerly. + +“I surely will.” + +A little later Barbara and her cousin were trotting smartly along a +sandy road through the fields with the colonel and Hugh loping in front +of them. Firefly was a black mettlesome gelding. He had reared and +plunged when Hugh mounted, and even now he was champing his bit and +leaping playfully at times, but the lad sat him with an unconcern of his +capers that held the Kentucky boy’s eyes. + +“Gosh,” he said, “but Hugh can ride! I wonder if he could stay on him +bareback.” + +“I suppose so,” Barbara said; “Hugh can do anything.” + +The summer fields of corn and grain waved away on each side under the +wind, innumerable negroes were at work and song on either side, great +barns and whitewashed cabins dotted the rich landscape which beyond the +plantation broke against woods of sombre pines. For an hour they drove, +the boy’s bewildered eye missing few details and understanding few, so +foreign to him were all the changes wrought by the hand, and he could +hardly have believed that this country was once as wild as his own—that +this was to be impoverished and his own become even a richer land. Many +questions the little girl asked—and some of his answers made her +shudder. + +“Papa said last night that several of our kinsfolk spoke of going to +your country in a party, and Harry and Hugh are crazy to go with them. +Papa said people would be swarming over the Cumberland Mountains before +long.” + +“I wish you’d come along.” + +Barbara laughed. + +“I wouldn’t like to lose my hair.” + +“I’ll watch out for that,” said the boy with such confident gravity that +Barbara turned to look at him. + +“I believe you would,” she murmured. And presently: + +“What did the Indians call you?” + +“White Arrow.” + +“White Arrow. That’s lovely. Why?” + +“I could outrun all the other boys.” + +“Then you’ll have to run to-morrow when we go to the fair at +Williamsburg.” + +“The fair?” + +Barbara explained. + +For an hour or more they had driven and there was no end to the fields +of tobacco and grain. + +“Are we still on your land?” + +Barbara laughed. “Yes, we can’t drive around the plantation and get back +for dinner. I think we’d better turn now.” + +“Plan-ta-tion,” said the lad. “What’s that?” + +Barbara waved her whip. + +“Why, all this—the land—the farm.” + +“Oh!” + +“It’s called Red Oaks—from those big trees back of the house.” + +“Oh. I know oaks—all of ’em.” + +She wheeled the ponies and with fresh zest they scampered for home. She +even let them run for a while, laughing and chatting meanwhile, though +the light wagon swayed from side to side perilously as the boy thought, +and when, in his ignorance of the discourtesy involved, he was on the +point of reaching for the reins, she spoke to them and pulled them +gently into a swift trot. Everybody had gathered for the noonday dinner +when they swung around the great trees and up to the back porch. The +clamor of the great bell gave its summons and the guests began +straggling in by couples from the garden. Just as they were starting in +the Kentucky boy gave a cry and darted down the path. A towering figure +in coonskin cap and hunter’s garb was halted at the sun-dial and looking +toward them. + +“Now, I wonder who _that_ is,” said Colonel Dale. “Jupiter, but that boy +can run!” + +They saw the tall stranger stare wonderingly at the boy and throw back +his head and laugh. Then the two came on together. The boy was still +flushed but the hunter’s face was grave. + +“This is Dave,” said the boy simply. + +“Dave Yandell,” added the stranger, smiling and taking off his cap. +“I’ve been at Williamsburg to register some lands and I thought I’d come +and see how this young man is getting along.” + +Colonel Dale went quickly to meet him with outstretched hand. + +“I’m glad you did,” he said heartily. “Erskine has already told us about +you. You are just in time for dinner.” + +“That’s mighty kind,” said Dave. And the ladies, after he was presented, +still looked at him with much curiosity and great interest. Truly, +strange visitors were coming to Red Oaks these days. + +That night the subject of Hugh and Harry going back home with the two +Kentuckians was broached to Colonel Dale, and to the wondering delight +of the two boys both fathers seemed to consider it favorably. Mr. +Brockton was going to England for a visit, the summer was coming on, and +both fathers thought it would be a great benefit to their sons. Even +Mrs. Dale, on whom the hunter had made a most agreeable impression, +smiled and said she would already be willing to trust her son with their +new guest anywhere. + +“I shall take good care of him, madam,” said Dave with a bow. + +Colonel Dale, too, was greatly taken with the stranger, and he asked +many questions of the new land beyond the mountains. There was dancing +again that night, and the hunter, towering a head above them all, looked +on with smiling interest. He even took part in a square dance with Miss +Jane Willoughby, handling his great bulk with astonishing grace and +lightness of foot. Then the elder gentlemen went into the drawing-room +to their port and pipes, and the boy Erskine slipped after them and +listened enthralled to the talk of the coming war. + +Colonel Dale had been in Hanover ten years before, when one Patrick +Henry voiced the first intimation of independence in Virginia; Henry, a +country storekeeper—bankrupt; farmer—bankrupt; storekeeper again, and +bankrupt again; an idler, hunter, fisher, and story-teller—even a +“barkeeper,” as Mr. Jefferson once dubbed him, because Henry had once +helped his father-in-law to keep tavern. That far back Colonel Dale had +heard Henry denounce the clergy, stigmatize the king as a tyrant who had +forfeited all claim to obedience, and had seen the orator caught up on +the shoulders of the crowd and amidst shouts of applause borne around +the court-house green. He had seen the same Henry ride into Richmond two +years later on a lean horse: with papers in his saddle-pockets, his +expression grim, his tall figure stooping, a peculiar twinkle in his +small blue eyes, his brown wig without powder, his coat peach-blossom in +color, his knee-breeches of leather, and his stockings of yarn. The +speaker of the Burgesses was on a dais under a red canopy supported by +gilded rods, and the clerk sat beneath with a mace on the table before +him, but Henry cried for liberty or death, and the shouts of treason +failed then and there to save Virginia for the king. The lad’s brain +whirled. What did all this mean? Who was this king and what had he done? +He had known but the one from whom he had run away. And this talk of +taxes and Stamp Acts; and where was that strange land, New England, +whose people had made tea of the salt water in Boston harbor? Until a +few days before he had never known what tea was, and he didn’t like it. +When he got Dave alone he would learn and learn and learn—everything. +And then the young people came quietly in and sat down quietly, and +Colonel Dale, divining what they wanted, got Dave started on stories of +the wild wilderness that was his home—the first chapter in the Iliad of +Kentucky—the land of dark forests and cane thickets that separated +Catawbas, Creeks, and Cherokees on the south from Delawares, Wyandottes, +and Shawnees on the north, who fought one another, and all of whom the +whites must fight. How Boone came and stayed two years in the wilderness +alone, and when found by his brother was lying on his back in the woods +lustily singing hymns. How hunters and surveyors followed; how the first +fort was built, and the first women stood on the banks of the Kentucky +River. He told of the perils and hardships of the first journeys +thither—fights with wild beasts and wild men, chases, hand-to-hand +combats, escapes, and massacres—and only the breathing of his listeners +could be heard, save the sound of his own voice. And he came finally to +the story of the attack on the fort, the raising of a small hand above +the cane, palm outward, and the swift dash of a slender brown body into +the fort, and then, seeing the boy’s face turn scarlet, he did not tell +how that same lad had slipped back into the woods even while the fight +was going on, and slipped back with the bloody scalp of his enemy, but +ended with the timely coming of the Virginians, led by the lad’s father, +who got his death-wound at the very gate. The tense breathing of his +listeners culminated now in one general deep breath. + +Colonel Dale rose and turned to General Willoughby. + +“And _that’s_ where he wants to take our boys.” + +“Oh, it’s much safer now,” said the hunter. “We have had no trouble for +some time, and there’s no danger inside the fort.” + +“I can imagine you keeping those boys inside the fort when there’s so +much going on outside. Still—” Colonel Dale stopped and the two boys +took heart again. The ladies rose to go to bed, and Mrs. Dale was +shaking her head very doubtfully, but she smiled up at the tall hunter +when she bade him good night. + +“I shall not take back what I said.” + +“Thank you, madam,” said Dave, and he bent his lips to her absurdly +little white hand. + +Colonel Dale escorted the boy and Dave to their room. Mr. Yandell must +go with them to the fair at Williamsburg next morning, and Mr. Yandell +would go gladly. They would spend the night there and go to the +Governor’s Ball. The next day there was a county fair, and perhaps Mr. +Henry would speak again. Then Mr. Yandell must come back with them to +Red Oaks and pay them a visit—no, the colonel would accept no excuse +whatever. + +The boy plied Dave with questions about the people in the wilderness and +passed to sleep. Dave lay awake a long time thinking that war was sure +to come. They were Americans now, said Colonel Dale—not Virginians, just +as nearly a century later the same people were to say: + +“We are not Americans now—we are Virginians.” + + + + +VII + + +It was a merry cavalcade that swung around the great oaks that spring +morning in 1774. Two coaches with outriders and postilions led the way +with their precious freight—the elder ladies in the first coach, and the +second blossoming with flower-like faces and starred with dancing eyes. +Booted and spurred, the gentlemen rode behind, and after them rolled the +baggage-wagons, drawn by mules in jingling harness. Harry on a chestnut +sorrel and the young Kentuckian on a high-stepping gray followed the +second coach—Hugh on Firefly champed the length of the column. Colonel +Dale and Dave brought up the rear. The road was of sand and there was +little sound of hoof or wheel—only the hum of voices, occasional sallies +when a neighbor joined them, and laughter from the second coach as happy +and care-free as the singing of birds from trees by the roadside. + +The capital had been moved from Jamestown to the spot where Bacon had +taken the oath against England—then called Middle-Plantation, and now +Williamsburg. The cavalcade wheeled into Gloucester Street, and Colonel +Dale pointed out to Dave the old capitol at one end and William and Mary +College at the other. Mr. Henry had thundered in the old capitol, the +Burgesses had their council-chamber there, and in the hall there would +be a ball that night. Near the street was a great building which the +colonel pointed out as the governor’s palace, surrounded by +pleasure-grounds of full three hundred acres and planted thick with +linden-trees. My Lord Dunmore lived there. Back at the plantation Dave +had read in an old copy of _The Virginia Gazette_, amid advertisements +of shopkeepers, the arrival and departure of ships, and poetical bits +that sang of Myrtilla, Florella, and other colonial belles, how the town +had made an illumination in honor of the recent arrival of the elegant +Lady Dunmore and her three fine, sprightly daughters, from whose every +look flashed goodness of heart. For them the gentlemen of the Burgesses +were to give a ball the next night. At this season the planters came +with their families to the capitol, and the street was as brilliant as a +fancy-dress parade would be to us now. It was filled with coaches and +fours. Maidens moved daintily along in silk and lace, high-heeled shoes +and clocked stockings. Youths passed on spirited horses, college +students in academic dress swaggered through the throng, and from his +serene excellency’s coach, drawn by six milk-white horses, my lord bowed +grimly to the grave lifting of hats on either side of the street. + +The cavalcade halted before a building with a leaden bust of Sir Walter +Raleigh over the main doorway, the old Raleigh Tavern, in the Apollo +Room of which Mr. Jefferson had rapturously danced with his Belinda, and +which was to become the Faneuil Hall of Virginia. Both coaches were +quickly surrounded by bowing gentlemen, young gallants, and frolicsome +students. Dave, the young Kentuckian, and Harry would be put up at the +tavern, and, for his own reasons, Hugh elected to stay with them. With +an _au revoir_ of white hands from the coaches, the rest went on to the +house of relatives and friends. + +Inside the tavern Hugh was soon surrounded by fellow students and boon +companions. He pressed Dave and the boy to drink with them, but Dave +laughingly declined and took the lad up to their room. Below they could +hear Hugh’s merriment going on, and when he came up-stairs a while later +his face was flushed, he was in great spirits, and was full of +enthusiasm over a horserace and cock-fight that he had arranged for the +afternoon. With him came a youth of his own age with daredevil eyes and +a suave manner, one Dane Grey, to whom Harry gave scant greeting. One +patronizing look from the stranger toward the Kentucky boy and within +the latter a fire of antagonism was instantly kindled. With a word after +the two went out, Harry snorted his explanation: + +“Tory!” + +In the early afternoon coach and horsemen moved out to an “old field.” +Hugh was missing from the Dale party, and General Willoughby frowned +when he noted his son’s absence. When they arrived a most extraordinary +concert of sounds was filling the air. On a platform stood twenty +fiddlers in contest for a fiddle—each sawing away for dear life and each +playing a different tune—a custom that still survives in our own hills. +After this a “quire of ballads” was sung for. Then a crowd of boys +gathered to run one hundred and twelve yards for a hat worth twelve +shillings, and Dave nudged his young friend. A moment later Harry cried +to Barbara: + +“Look there!” + +There was their young Indian lining up with the runners, his face calm, +but an eager light in his eyes. At the word he started off almost +leisurely, until the whole crowd was nearly ten yards ahead of him, and +then a yell of astonishment rose from the crowd. The boy was skimming +the grounds on wings. Past one after another he flew, and laughing and +hardly out of breath he bounded over the finish, with the first of the +rest laboring with bursting lungs ten yards behind. Hugh and Dane Grey +had appeared arm in arm and were moving through the crowd with great +gayety and some boisterousness, and when the boy appeared with his hat +Grey shouted: + +“Good for the little savage!” Erskine wheeled furiously but Dave caught +him by the arm and led him back to Harry and Barbara, who looked so +pleased that the lad’s ill-humor passed at once. + +“Whut you reckon I c’n do with this hat?” + +“Put it on!” smiled Barbara; but it was so ludicrous surmounting his +hunter’s garb that she couldn’t help laughing aloud. Harry looked +uneasy, but it was evident that the girl was the one person who could +laugh at the sensitive little woodsman with no offense. + +“I reckon you’re right,” he said, and gravely he handed it to Harry and +gravely Harry accepted it. Hugh and his friend had not approached them, +for Hugh had seen the frown on his father’s face, but Erskine saw Grey +look long at Barbara, turn to question Hugh, and again he began to burn +within. + +The wrestlers had now stepped forth to battle for a pair of silver +buckles, and the boy in turn nudged Dave, but unavailingly. The +wrestling was good and Dave watched it with keen interest. One huge +bull-necked fellow was easily the winner, but when the silver buckles +were in his hand, he boastfully challenged anybody in the crowd. Dave +shouldered through the crowd and faced the victor. + +“I’ll try you once,” he said, and a shout of approval rose. + +The Dale party crowded close and my lord’s coach appeared on the +outskirts and stopped. + +“Backholts or catch-as-catch-can?” asked the victor sneeringly. + +“As you please,” said Dave. + +The bully rushed. Dave caught him around the neck with his left arm, his +right swinging low, the bully was lifted from the ground, crushed +against Dave’s breast, the wind went out of him with a grunt, and Dave +with a smile began swinging him to and fro as though he were putting a +child to sleep. The spectators yelled their laughter and the bully +roared like a bull. Then Dave reached around with his left hand, caught +the bully’s left wrist, pulled loose his hold, and with a leftward twist +of his own body tossed his antagonist some several feet away. The bully +turned once in the air and lighted resoundingly on his back. He got up +dazed and sullen, but breaking into a good-natured laugh, shook his head +and held forth the buckles to Dave. + +“You won ’em,” Dave said. “They’re yours. I wasn’t wrastling for them. +You challenged. We’ll shake hands.” + +Then my Lord Dunmore sent for Dave and asked him where he was from. + +“And do you know the Indian country on this side of the Cumberland?” +asked his lordship. + +“Very well.” + +His lordship smiled thoughtfully. + +“I may have need of you.” + +Dave bowed: + +“I am an American, my lord.” + +His lordship flamed, but he controlled himself. + +“You are at least an open enemy,” he said, and gave orders to move on. + +The horse-race was now on, and meanwhile a pair of silk stockings, of +one pistol’s value, was yet to be conferred. Colonel Dale had given Hugh +permission to ride Firefly in the race, but when he saw the lad’s +condition he peremptorily refused. + +“And nobody else can ride him,” he said, with much disappointment. + +“Let me try!” cried Erskine. + +“You!” Colonel Dale started to laugh, but he caught Dave’s eye. + +“Surely,” said Dave. The colonel hesitated. + +“Very well—I will.” + +At once the three went to the horse, and the negro groom rolled his eyes +when he learned what his purpose was. + +“Dis hoss’ll kill dat boy,” he muttered, but the horse had already +submitted his haughty head to the lad’s hand and was standing quietly. +Even Colonel Dale showed amazement and concern when the boy insisted +that the saddle be taken off, as he wanted to ride bareback, and again +Dave overcame his scruples with a word of full confidence. The boy had +been riding pony-races bareback, he explained, among the Indians, as +long as he had been able to sit a horse. The astonishment of the crowd +when they saw Colonel Dale’s favorite horse enter the course with a +young Indian apparently on him bareback will have to be imagined, but +when they recognized the rider as the lad who had won the race, the +betting through psychological perversity was stronger than ever on +Firefly. Hugh even took an additional bet with his friend Grey, who was +quite openly scornful. + +“You bet on the horse now,” he said. + +“On both,” said Hugh. + +It was a pretty and a close race between Firefly and a white-starred bay +mare, and they came down the course neck and neck like two whirlwinds. A +war-whoop so Indian-like and curdling that it startled every old +frontiersman who heard it came suddenly from one of the riders. Then +Firefly stretched ahead inch by inch, and another triumphant savage yell +heralded victory as the black horse swept over the line a length ahead. +Dane Grey swore quite fearfully, for it was a bet that he could ill +afford to lose. He was talking with Barbara when the boy came back to +the Dales, and something he was saying made the girl color resentfully, +and the lad heard her say sharply: + +“He is my cousin,” and she turned away from the young gallant and gave +the youthful winner a glad smile. Just then a group of four men stopped +near, looked closely at the little girl, and held a short consultation. +One of them came forward with a pair of silk stockings in his hand. + +“These are for the loveliest maiden present here. The committee chooses +you.” + +And later he reported to his fellow members: + +“It was like a red rose courtesying and breathing thanks.” + +Again Hugh and Dane Grey were missing when the party started back to the +town—they were gone to bet on “Bacon’s Thunderbolts” in a cock-fight. +That night they still were missing when the party went to see the +Virginia Comedians in a play by one Mr. Congreve—they were gaming that +night—and next morning when the Kentucky lad rose, he and Dave through +his window saw the two young roisterers approaching the porch of the +hotel—much dishevelled and all but staggering with drink. + +“I don’t like that young man,” said Dave, “and he has a bad influence on +Hugh.” + +That morning news came from New England that set the town a-quiver. +England’s answer to the Boston tea-party had been the closing of Boston +harbor. In the House of Burgesses, the news was met with a burst of +indignation. The 1st of June was straight-way set apart as a day of +fasting, humiliation, and prayer that God would avert the calamity +threatening the civil rights of America. In the middle of the afternoon +my lord’s coach and six white horses swung from his great yard and made +for the capitol—my lord sitting erect and haughty, his lips set with the +resolution to crush the spirit of the rebellion. It must have been a +notable scene, for Nicholas, Bland, Lee, Harrison, Pendleton, Henry, and +Jefferson, and perhaps Washington, were there. And my lord was far from +popular. He had hitherto girded himself with all the trappings of +etiquette, had a court herald prescribe rules for the guidance of +Virginians in approaching his excellency, had entertained little and, +unlike his predecessors, made no effort to establish cordial relations +with the people of the capitol. The Burgesses were to give a great ball +in his honor that very night, and now he was come to dissolve them. And +dissolve them he did. They bowed gravely and with no protest. Shaking +with anger my lord stalked to his coach and six while they repaired to +the Apollo Room to prohibit the use of tea and propose a general +congress of the colonies. And that ball came to pass. Haughty hosts +received their haughty guest with the finest and gravest courtesy, bent +low over my lady’s hand, danced with her daughters, and wrung from my +lord’s reluctant lips the one grudging word of comment: + +“Gentlemen!” + +And the ladies of his family bobbed their heads sadly in confirmation, +for the steel-like barrier between them was so palpable that it could +have been touched that night, it seemed, by the hand. + +The two backwoodsmen had been dazzled by the brilliance of it all, for +the boy had stood with Barbara, who had been allowed to look on for a +while. Again my lord had summoned Dave to him and asked many questions +about the wilderness beyond the Cumberland, and he even had the boy to +come up and shake hands, and asked him where he had learned to ride so +well. He lifted his eyebrows when Dave answered for him and murmured +with surprise and interest: + +“So—so!” + +Before Barbara was sent home Hugh and Dane Grey, dressed with great +care, came in, with an exaggeration of dignity and politeness that +fooled few others than themselves. Hugh, catching Barbara’s sad and +reproachful glance, did not dare go near her, but Dane made straight for +her side when he entered the room—and bowed with great gallantry. To the +boy he paid no attention whatever, and the latter, fired with +indignation and hate, turned hastily away. But in a corner unseen he +could not withhold watching the two closely, and he felt vaguely that he +was watching a frightened bird and a snake. The little girl’s +self-composure seemed quite to vanish, her face flushed, her eyes were +downcast, and her whole attitude had a mature embarrassment that was far +beyond her years. The lad wondered and was deeply disturbed. The half +overlooking and wholly contemptuous glance that Grey had shot over his +head had stung him like a knife-cut, so like an actual knife indeed that +without knowing it his right hand was then fumbling at his belt. Dave +too was noticing and so was Barbara’s mother and her father, who knew +very well that this smooth, suave, bold, young daredevil was +deliberately leading Hugh into all the mischief he could find. Nor did +he leave the girl’s side until she was taken home. Erskine, too, left +then and went back to the tavern and up to his room. Then with his knife +in his belt he went down again and waited on the porch. Already guests +were coming back from the party and it was not long before he saw Hugh +and Dane Grey half-stumbling up the steps. Erskine rose. Grey confronted +the lad dully for a moment and then straightened. + +“Here’s anuzzer one wants to fight,” he said thickly. “My young friend, +I will oblige you anywhere with anything, at any time—except to-night. +You must regard zhat as great honor, for I am not accustomed to fight +with savages.” + +And he waved the boy away with such an insolent gesture that the lad, +knowing no other desire with an enemy than to kill in any way possible, +snatched his knife from his belt. He heard a cry of surprise and horror +from Hugh and a huge hand caught his upraised wrist. + +“Put it back!” said Dave sternly. + +The dazed boy obeyed and Dave led him up-stairs. + + + + +VIII + + +Dave talked to the lad about the enormity of his offense, but to Dave he +was inclined to defend himself and his action. Next morning, however, +when the party started back to Red Oaks, Erskine felt a difference in +the atmosphere that made him uneasy. Barbara alone seemed unchanged, and +he was quick to guess that she had not been told of the incident. Hugh +was distinctly distant and surly for another reason as well. He had +wanted to ask young Grey to become one of their party and his father had +decisively forbidden him—for another reason too than his influence over +Hugh: Grey and his family were Tories and in high favor with Lord +Dunmore. + +As yet Dave had made no explanation or excuse for his young friend, but +he soon made up his mind that it would be wise to offer the best +extenuation as soon as possible; which was simply that the lad knew no +better, had not yet had the chance to learn, and on the rage of impulse +had acted just as he would have done among the Indians, whose code alone +he knew. + +The matter came to a head shortly after their arrival at Red Oaks when +Colonel Dale, Harry, Hugh, and Dave were on the front porch. The boy was +standing behind the box-hedge near the steps and Barbara had just +appeared in the doorway. + +“Well, what was the trouble?” Colonel Dale had just asked. + +“He tried to stab Grey unarmed and without warning,” said Hugh shortly. + +At the moment, the boy caught sight of Barbara. Her eyes, filled with +scorn, met his in one long, sad, withering look, and she turned +noiselessly back into the house. Noiselessly too he melted into the +garden, slipped down to the river-bank, and dropped to the ground. He +knew at last what he had done. Nothing was said to him when he came back +to the house and that night he scarcely opened his lips. In silence he +went to bed and next morning he was gone. + +The mystery was explained when Barbara told how the boy too must have +overheard Hugh. + +“He’s hurt,” said Dave, “and he’s gone home.” + +“On foot?” asked Colonel Dale incredulously. + +“He can trot all day and make almost as good time as a horse.” + +“Why, he’ll starve.” + +Dave laughed: + +“He could get there on roots and herbs and wild honey, but he’ll have +fresh meat every day. Still, I’ll have to try to overtake him. I must +go, anyhow.” + +And he asked for his horse and went to get ready for the journey. Ten +minutes later Hugh and Harry rushed joyously to his room. + +“We’re going with you!” they cried, and Dave was greatly pleased. An +hour later all were ready, and at the last moment Firefly was led in, +saddled and bridled, and with a leading halter around his neck. + +“Harry,” said Colonel Dale, “carry your cousin my apologies and give him +Firefly on condition that he ride him back some day. Tell him this home +is his”—the speaker halted, but went on gravely and firmly—“whenever he +pleases.” + +“And give him my love,” said Barbara, holding back her tears. + +At the river-gate they turned to wave a last good-by and disappeared in +the woods. At that hour the boy far over in the wilderness ahead of them +had cooked a squirrel that he had shot for his breakfast and was gnawing +it to the bones. Soon he rose and at a trot sped on toward his home +beyond the Cumberland. And with him, etched with acid on the steel of +his brain, sped two images—Barbara’s face as he last saw it and the face +of young Dane Grey. + +The boy’s tracks were easily to be seen in the sandy road, and from them +Dave judged that he must have left long before daylight. And he was +travelling rapidly. They too went as fast as they could, but Firefly led +badly and delayed them a good deal. Nobody whom they questioned had laid +eyes on the boy, and apparently he had been slipping into the bushes to +avoid being seen. At sunset Dave knew that they were not far behind him, +but when darkness hid the lad’s tracks Dave stopped for the night. Again +Erskine had got the start by going on before day, and it was the middle +of the forenoon before Dave, missing the tracks for a hundred yards, +halted and turned back to where a little stream crossed the road and +dismounted leading his horse and scrutinizing the ground. + +“Ah,” he said, “just what I expected. He turned off here to make a +bee-line for the fort. He’s not far away now.” An hour later he +dismounted again and smiled: “We’re pretty close now.” + +Meanwhile Harry and Hugh were getting little lessons in woodcraft. Dave +pointed out where the lad had broken a twig climbing over a log, where +the loose covering of another log had been detached when he leaped to +it, and where he had entered the creek, the toe of one moccasin pointing +down-stream. + +Then Dave laughed aloud: + +“He’s seen us tracking him and he’s doubled on us and is tracking us. I +expect he’s looking at us from somewhere around here.” And he hallooed +at the top of his voice, which rang down the forest aisles. A war-whoop +answered almost in their ears that made the blood leap in both the boys. +Even Dave wheeled with cocked rifle, and the lad stepped from behind a +bush scarcely ten feet behind them. + +“Well, by gum,” shouted Dave, “fooled us, after all.” + +A faint grin of triumph was on the lad’s lips, but in his eyes was a +waiting inquiry directed at Harry and Hugh. They sprang forward, both of +them with their hands outstretched: + +“We’re sorry!” + +A few minutes later Hugh was transferring his saddle from Firefly to his +own horse, which had gone a trifle lame. On Firefly, Harry buckled the +boy’s saddle and motioned for him to climb up. The bewildered lad turned +to Dave, who laughed: + +“It’s all right.” + +“He’s your horse, cousin,” said Harry. “My father sent him to you and +says his home is yours whenever you please. And Barbara sent her love.” + +At almost the same hour in the great house on the James the old negress +was carrying from the boy’s room to Colonel Dale in the library a kingly +deed that the lad had left behind him. It was a rude scrawl on a sheet +of paper, signed by the boy’s Indian name and his totem mark—a buffalo +pierced by an arrow. + +“It make me laugh. I have no use. I give hole dam plantashun Barbara.” + +Thus read the scrawl! + + + + +IX + + +Led by Dave, sometimes by the boy, the four followed the course of +rivers, upward, always except when they descended some mountain which +they had to cross, and then it was soon upward again. The two Virginia +lads found themselves, much to their chagrin, as helpless as children, +but they were apt pupils and soon learned to make a fire with flint and +even with dry sticks of wood. On the second day Harry brought down a +buck, and the swiftness and skill with which Dave and the Kentucky boy +skinned and cleaned it greatly astonished the two young gentlemen from +the James. There Erskine had been helpless, here these two were, and +they were as modest over the transposition as was the Kentucky lad in +the environment he had just left. Once they saw a herd of buffalo and +they tied their horses and slipped toward them. In his excitement Harry +fired too soon and the frightened herd thundered toward them. + +“Climb a tree!” shouted Erskine dropping his rifle and skinning up a +young hickory. Like squirrels they obeyed and from their perches they +saw Dave in an open space ahead of them dart for a tree too late. + +The buffalo were making straight for them through no purpose but to get +away, and to their horror they saw the big hunter squeezing his huge +body sidewise against a small tree and the herd dashing under them and +past him. They could not see him for the shaggy bodies rushing by, but +when they passed, there was Dave unhurt, though the tree on both sides +of him had been skinned of its bark by their horns. + +“Don’t do that again,” said Dave, and then seeing the crestfallen terror +on Harry’s face, he smiled and patted the boy on the shoulder: + +“You won’t again. You didn’t know. You will next time.” + +Three days later they reached the broad, beautiful Holston River, +passing over the pine-crested, white-rocked summit of Clinch Mountain, +and came to the last outlying fort of the western frontier. Next day +they started on the long, long wilderness trail toward the Cumberland +range. In the lowland they found much holly and laurel and rhododendron. +Over Wallen’s Ridge they followed a buffalo trail to a river that had +been called Beargrass because it was fringed with spikes of white +umbelliferous flowers four feet high that were laden with honey and +beloved by Bruin of the sweet tooth. The land was level down the valley. +On the third day therefrom the gray wall of the Cumberland that ran with +frowning inaccessibility on their right gathered its flanks into steep +gray cliffs and dipped suddenly into Cumberland Gap. Up this they +climbed. On the summit they went into camp, and next morning Dave swept +a long arm toward the wild expanse to the west. + +“Four more days,” he cried, “and we’ll be there!” + +The two boys looked with awe on the limitless stretch of wooded wilds. +It was still Virginia, to be sure, but they felt that once they started +down they would be leaving their own beloved State for a strange land of +unknown beasts and red men who peopled that “dark and bloody ground.” + +Before sunrise next morning they were dropping down the steep and rocky +trail. Before noon they reached the beautiful Cumberland River, and Dave +told them that, below, it ran over a great rocky cliff, tumbling into +foam and spray over mighty boulders around which the Indians had to +carry their bark canoes. As they rode along the bank of the stream the +hills got lower and were densely thicketed with laurel and rhododendron, +and impenetrable masses of cane-brake filled every little valley curve. +That night they slept amid the rocky foot-hills of the range, and next +morning looked upon a vast wilderness stretch of woods that undulated to +the gentle slopes of the hills, and that night they were on the edge of +the blue-grass land. + +Toward sunset Dave, through a sixth sense, had the uneasy feeling that +he was not only being followed but watched from the cliffs alongside, +and he observed that Erskine too had more than once turned in his saddle +or lifted his eyes searchingly to the shaggy flanks of the hills. +Neither spoke to the other, but that night when the hoot of an owl +raised Dave from his blanket, Erskine too was upright with his rifle in +his hand. For half an hour they waited, and lay down again, only to be +awakened again by the snort of a horse, when both sprang to their feet +and crawled out toward the sound. But the heavy silence lay unbroken and +they brought the horses closer to the fire. + +[Illustration: “Four more days,” he cried, “and we’ll be there!”] + +“Now I _know_ it was Indians,” said Dave; “that hoss o’ mine can smell +one further’n a rattlesnake.” The boy nodded and they took turns on +watch while the two boys slept on till daylight. The trail was broad +enough next morning for them to ride two abreast—Dave and Erskine in +advance. They had scarcely gone a hundred yards when an Indian stepped +into the path twenty yards ahead. Instinctively Dave threw his rifle up, +but Erskine caught his arm. The Indian had lifted his hand—palm upward. +“Shawnee!” said the lad, as two more appeared from the bushes. The eyes +of the two tidewater boys grew large, and both clinched their guns +convulsively. The Indian spokesman paid no heed except to Erskine—and +only from the lad’s face, in which surprise was succeeded by sorrow and +then deep thoughtfulness, could they guess what the guttural speech +meant, until Erskine turned to them. + +They were not on the war-path against the whites, he explained. His +foster-father—Kahtoo, the big chief, the king—was very ill, and his +message, brought by them, was that Erskine should come back to the tribe +and become chief, as the chief’s only daughter was dead and his only son +had been killed by the palefaces. They knew that in the fight at the +fort Erskine had killed the Shawnee, his tormentor, for they knew the +arrow, which Erskine had not had time to withdraw. The dead Shawnee’s +brother—Crooked Lightning—was with them. He it was who had recognized +the boy the day before, and they had kept him from killing Erskine from +the bushes. At that moment a gigantic savage stepped from the brush. The +boy’s frame quivered, straightened, grew rigid, but he met the +malevolent glare turned on him with emotionless face and himself quietly +began to speak while Harry and Hugh and even Dave watched him +enthralled; for the lad was Indian now and the old chief’s mantle was +about his shoulders. He sat his horse like a king and spoke as a king. +He thanked them for holding back Crooked Lightning’s evil hand, +but—contemptuously he spat toward the huge savage—he was not to die by +that hand. He was a paleface and the Indians had slain his white mother. +He had forgiven that, for he loved the old chief and his foster mother +and brother and sister, and the tribe had always been kind to him. Then +they had killed his white father and he had gone to visit his kindred by +the big waters, and now he loved _them_. He had fled from the Shawnees +because of the cruelty of Crooked Lightning’s brother whom he had slain. +But if the Indians were falling into evil ways and following evil +counsels, his heart was sad. + +“I will come when the leaves fall,” he concluded, “but Crooked Lightning +must pitch his lodge in the wilderness and be an outcast from the tribe +until he can show that his heart is good.” And then with an imperious +gesture he waved his hand toward the west: + +“Now go!” + +It was hard even for Dave to realize that the lad, to all purposes, was +actually then the chief of a powerful tribe, and even he was a little +awed by the instant obedience of the savages, who, without a word, +melted into the bushes and disappeared. Harry wished that Barbara had +been there to see, and Hugh was open-mouthed with astonishment and +wonder, and Dave recovered himself with a little chuckle only when +without a word Erskine clucked Firefly forward, quite unconsciously +taking the lead. And Dave humored him; nor was it many hours before the +lad ceased to be chief, although he did not wholly become himself again +until they were near the fort. It was nearing sunset and from a little +hill Dave pointed to a thin blue wisp of smoke rising far ahead from the +green expanse. + +“There it is, boys!” he cried. All the horses were tired except Firefly +and with a whoop Erskine darted forward and disappeared. They followed +as fast as they could and they heard the report of the boy’s rifle and +the series of war-whoops with which he was heralding his approach. +Nobody in the fort was fearful, for plainly it was no unfriendly coming. +All were gathered at the big gate and there were many yells and cries of +welcome and wonder when the boy swept into the clearing on a run, +brandishing his rifle above his head, and pulled his fiery black horse +up in front of them. + +“Whar’d you steal that hoss?” shouted Bud. + +“Look at them clothes!” cried Jack Sanders. And the women—Mother +Sanders, Mother Noe, and Lydia and Honor and Polly Conrad—gathered about +him, laughing, welcoming, shaking hands, and asking questions. + +“Where’s Dave?” That was the chief question and asked by several voices +at the same time. The boy looked grave. + +“Dave ain’t comin’ back,” he said, and then seeing the look on Lydia’s +face, he smiled: “Dave—” He had no further to go, for Dave’s rifle +cracked and his voice rose from the woods, and he and Harry and Hugh +galloped into the clearing. Then were there more whoopings and +greetings, and Lydia’s starting tears turned to smiles. + +Healthy, husky, rude, and crude these people were, but hearty, kind, +wholesome, and hospitable to the last they had. Naturally the young +people and the two boys from the James were mutually shy, but it was +plain that the shyness would soon wear off. Before dark the men came in: +old Jerome and the Noe brothers and others who were strangers even to +Dave, for in his absence many adventurers had come along the wilderness +trail and were arriving all the time. Already Erskine and Bud had shown +the two stranger boys around the fort; had told them of the last fight +with the Indians, and pointed out the outer walls pockmarked with +bullet-holes. Supper was in the open—the women serving and the men +seated about on buffalo-skins and deer-hides. Several times Hugh or +Harry would spring up to help serve, until Polly turned on Hugh sharply: + +“You set still!” and then she smiled at him. + +“You’ll spile us—but I know a lot o’ folks that might learn manners from +you two boys.” + +Both were embarrassed. Dave laughed, Bud Sanders grunted, and Erskine +paid no heed. All the time the interchange of news and experiences was +going on. Dave had to tell about his trip and Erskine’s races—for the +lad would say nothing—and in turn followed stories of killing buffalo, +deer, panther, and wildcat during his absence. Early the women +disappeared, soon the men began to yawn and stretch, and the sentinels +went to the watch-towers, for there had been Indian signs that day. This +news thrilled the eastern lads, and they too turned into the same bed +built out from the wall of one of the cabins and covered with bearskins. +And Harry, just before his eyes closed, saw through the open door +Erskine seated alone by the dying fire in deep thought—Erskine, the +connecting-link between the tide-water aristocrats and these rude +pioneers, between these backwoodsmen and the savage enemies out in the +black encircling wilderness. And that boy’s brain was in a turmoil—what +was to be his fate, there, here, or out there where he had promised to +go at the next falling of the leaves? + + + + +X + + +The green of the wilderness dulled and burst into the yellow of the +buckeye, the scarlet of maple, and the russet of oak. This glory in turn +dulled and the leaves, like petals of withered flowers, began to drift +to the earth. Through the shower of them went Erskine and Firefly, who +had become as used to the wilds as to the smiling banks of the far-away +James, for no longer did some strange scent make his nostrils quiver or +some strange sound point his beautiful ears and make him crouch and +shudder, or some shadow or shaft of light make him shy and leap like a +deer aside. And the two now were one in mutual affection and a mutual +understanding that was uncanny. A brave picture the lad made of those +lone forerunners whose tent was the wilderness and whose goal was the +Pacific slope. From his coonskin cap the bushy tail hung like a plume; +his deerskin hunting-shirt, made by old Mother Sanders, was beaded and +fringed—fringed across the breast, at the wrists, and at the hem, and +girded by a belt from which the horned handle of a scalping-knife showed +in front and the head of a tomahawk behind; his powder-horn swung under +one shoulder and his bullet-pouch, wadding, flint, and steel under the +other; his long rifle across his saddle-bow. And fringed too were his +breeches and beaded were his moccasins. Dave had laughed at him as a +backwoods dandy and then checked himself, so dignified was the boy and +grave; he was the son of a king again, and as such was on his way in +answer to the wish of a king. For food he carried only a little sack of +salt, for his rifle would bring him meat and the forest would give him +nuts and fruit. When the sun was nearing its highest, he “barked” a +squirrel from the trunk of a beech; toward sunset a fat pheasant +fluttered from the ground to a low limb and he shot its head off and +camped for the night. Hickory-nuts, walnuts, and chestnuts were +abundant. Persimmons and papaws were ripe, haws and huckleberries were +plentiful. There were wild cherries and even wild plums, and when he +wished he could pluck a handful of wild grapes from a vine by the trail +and munch them as he rode along. For something sweet he could go to the +pod of the honey-locust. + +On the second day he reached the broad buffalo trail that led to the +salt-licks and on to the river, and then memories came. He remembered a +place where the Indians had camped after they had captured himself and +his mother. In his mind was a faint picture of her sitting against a +tree and weeping and of an Indian striking her to make her stop and of +himself leaping at the savage like a little wildcat, whereat the others +laughed like children. Farther on, next day, was the spot where the +Indians had separated them and he saw his mother no more. They told him +that she had been taken back to the whites, but he was told later that +they had killed her because in their flight from the whites she was +holding them back too much. Farther on was a spot where they had hurried +from the trail and thrust him into a hollow log, barring the exit with +stones, and had left him for a day and a night. + +On the fourth day he reached the river and swam it holding rifle and +powder-horn above his head. On the seventh he was nearing the village +where the sick chief lay, and when he caught sight of the teepees in a +little creek bottom, he fired his rifle, and putting Firefly into a +gallop and with right hand high swept into the village. Several bucks +had caught up bow or rifle at the report of the gun and the clatter of +hoofs, but their hands relaxed when they saw his sign of peace. The +squaws gathered and there were grunts of recognition and greeting when +the boy pulled up in their midst. The flaps of the chief’s tent parted +and his foster-mother started toward him with a sudden stream of tears +and turned quickly back. The old chief’s keen black eyes were waiting +for her and he spoke before she could open her lips: + +“White Arrow! It is well. Here—at once!” + +Erskine had swung from his horse and followed. The old chief measured +him from head to foot slowly and his face grew content: + +“Show me the horse!” + +The boy threw back the flaps of the tent and with a gesture bade an +Indian to lead Firefly to and fro. The horse even thrust his beautiful +head over his master’s shoulder and looked within, snorting gently. +Kahtoo waved dismissal: + +“You must ride north soon to carry the white wampum and a peace talk. +And when you go you must hurry back, for when the sun is highest on the +day after you return, my spirit will pass.” + +And thereupon he turned his face and went back into sleep. Already his +foster-mother had unsaddled and tethered Firefly and given him a feed of +corn; and yet bucks, squaws, girls, and pappooses were still gathered +around him, for some had not seen his like before, and of the rest none +failed to feel the change that had taken place in him. Had the lad in +truth come to win and make good his chieftainship, he could not have +made a better beginning, and there was not a maid in camp in whose eyes +there was not far more than curiosity—young as he was. Just before +sunset rifle-shots sounded in the distance—the hunters were coming +in—and the accompanying whoops meant great success. Each of three bucks +carried a deer over his shoulders, and foremost of the three was Crooked +Lightning, who barely paused when he saw Erskine, and then with an +insolent glare and grunt passed him and tossed his deer at the feet of +the squaws. The boy’s hand slipped toward the handle of his tomahawk, +but some swift instinct kept him still. The savage must have had good +reason for such open defiance, for the lad began to feel that many +others shared in his hostility and he began to wonder and speculate. + +Quickly the feast was prepared and the boy ate apart—his foster-mother +bringing him food—but he could hear the story of the day’s hunting and +the allusions to the prowess of Crooked Lightning’s son, Black Wolf, who +was Erskine’s age, and he knew they were but slurs against himself. When +the dance began his mother pointed toward it, meaning that he should +take part, but he shook his head—and his thoughts went backward to his +friends at the fort and on back to the big house on the James, to Harry +and Hugh—and Barbara; and he wondered what they would think if they +could see him there; could see the gluttonous feast and those naked +savages stamping around the fire with barbaric grunts and cries to the +thumping of a drum. Where did he belong? + +Fresh wood was thrown on the fire, and as its light leaped upward the +lad saw an aged Indian emerge from one of two tents that sat apart on a +little rise—saw him lift both hands toward the stars for a moment and +then return within. + +“Who is that?” he asked. + +“The new prophet,” said his mother. “He has been but one moon here and +has much power over our young men.” + +An armful of pine fagots was tossed on the blaze, and in a whiter leap +of light he saw the face of a woman at the other tent—saw her face and +for a moment met her eyes before she shrank back—and neither face nor +eyes belonged to an Indian. Startled, he caught his mother by the wrist +and all but cried out: + +“And that?” The old woman hesitated and scowled: + +“A paleface. Kahtoo bought her and adopted her but”—the old woman gave a +little guttural cluck of triumph—“she dies to-morrow. Kahtoo will burn +her.” + +“Burn her?” burst out the boy. + +“The palefaces have killed many of Kahtoo’s kin!” + +A little later when he was passing near the white woman’s tent a girl +sat in front of it pounding corn in a mortar. She looked up at him and, +staring, smiled. She had the skin of the half-breed, and he stopped, +startled by that fact and her beauty—and went quickly on. At old +Kahtoo’s lodge he could not help turning to look at her again, and this +time she rose quickly and slipped within the tent. He turned to find his +foster-mother watching him. + +“Who is that girl?” The old woman looked displeased. + +“Daughter of the white woman.” + +“Does she know?” + +“Neither knows.” + +“What is her name?” + +“Early Morn.” + +Early Morn and daughter of the white woman—he would like to know more of +those two, and he half turned, but the old Indian woman caught him by +the arm: + +“Do not go there—you will only make more trouble.” + +He followed the flash of her eyes to the edge of the firelight where a +young Indian stood watching and scowling: + +“Who is that?” + +“Black Wolf, son of Crooked Lightning.” + +“Ah!” thought Erskine. + +Within the old chief called faintly and the Indian woman motioned the +lad to go within. The old man’s dim eyes had a new fire. + +“Talk!” he commanded and motioned to the ground, but the lad did not +squat Indian fashion, but stood straight with arms folded, and the chief +knew that a conflict was coming. Narrowly he watched White Arrow’s face +and bearing—uneasily felt the strange new power of him. + +“I have been with my own people,” said the lad simply, “the palefaces +who have come over the big mountains and have built forts and planted +corn, and they were kind to me. I went over those mountains, on and on +almost to the big waters. I found my kin. They are many and strong and +rich. They have big houses of stone such as I had never seen nor heard +of and they plant more corn than all the Shawnees and Iroquois. They, +too, were kind to me. I came because you had been kind and because you +were sick and because you had sent for me, and to keep my word. + +“I have seen Crooked Lightning. His heart is bad. I have seen the new +prophet. I do not like him. And I have seen the white woman that you are +to burn to-morrow.” The lad stopped. His every word had been of defense +or indictment and more than once the old chief’s eyes shifted uneasily. + +“Why did you leave us?” + +“To see my people and because of Crooked Lightning and his brother.” + +“You fought us.” + +“Only the brother, and I killed him.” The dauntless mien of the boy, his +steady eyes, and his bold truthfulness, pleased the old man. The lad +must take his place as chief. Now White Arrow turned questioner: + +“I told you I would come when the leaves fell and I am here. Why is +Crooked Lightning here? Why is the new prophet? Who is the woman? What +has she done that she must die? What is the peace talk you wish me to +carry north?” + +The old man hesitated long with closed eyes. When he opened them the +fire was gone and they were dim again. + +“The story of the prophet and Crooked Lightning is too long,” he said +wearily. “I will tell to-morrow. The woman must die because her people +have slain mine. Besides, she is growing blind and is a trouble. You +carry the white wampum to a council. The Shawnees may join the British +against our enemies—the palefaces.” + +“I will wait,” said the lad. “I will carry the white wampum. If you war +against the paleface on this side of the mountain—I am your enemy. If +you war with the British against them all—I am your enemy. And the woman +must not die.” + +“I have spoken,” said the old man. + +“_I_ have spoken,” said the boy. He turned to lie down and went to +sleep. The old man sat on, staring out at the stars. + +Just outside the tent a figure slipped away as noiselessly as a snake. +When it rose and emerged from the shadows the firelight showed the +malignant, triumphant face of Crooked Lightning. + + + + +XI + + +The Indian boys were plunging into the river when Erskine appeared at +the opening of the old chief’s tent next morning, and when they came out +icicles were clinging to their hair. He had forgotten the custom and he +shrugged his shoulders at his mother’s inquiring look. But the next +morning when Crooked Lightning’s son Black Wolf passed him with a +taunting smile he changed his mind. + +“Wait!” he said. He turned, stripped quickly to a breech-clout, pointed +to a beech down and across the river, challenging Black Wolf to a race. +Together they plunged in and the boy’s white body clove through the +water like the arrow that he was. At the beech he whipped about to meet +the angry face of his competitor ten yards behind. Half-way back he was +more than twenty yards ahead when he heard a strangled cry. Perhaps it +was a ruse to cover the humiliation of defeat, but when he saw bucks +rushing for the river-bank he knew that the icy water had brought a +cramp to Black Wolf, so he turned, caught the lad by his topknot, towed +him shoreward, dropped him contemptuously, and stalked back to his tent. +The girl Early Morn stood smiling at her lodge and her eyes followed his +white figure until it disappeared. His mother had built a fire for him, +and the old chief looked pleased and proud. + +“My spirit shall not pass,” he said, and straightway he rose and +dressed, and to the astonishment of the tribe emerged from his tent and +walked firmly about the village until he found Crooked Lightning. + +“You would have Black Wolf chief,” he said. “Very well. We shall see who +can show the better right—your son or White Arrow”—a challenge that sent +Crooked Lightning to brood awhile in his tent, and then secretly to +consult the prophet. + +Later the old chief talked long to White Arrow. The prophet, he said, +had been with them but a little while. He claimed that the Great Spirit +had made revelations to him alone. What manner of man was he, questioned +the boy—did he have ponies and pelts and jerked meat? + +“He is poor,” said the chief. “He has only a wife and children and the +tribe feeds him.” + +White Arrow himself grunted—it was the first sign of his old life +stirring within him. + +“Why should the Great Spirit pick out such a man to favor?” he asked. +The chief shook his head. + +“He makes muzzi-neen for the young men, shows them where to find game +and they find it.” + +“But game is plentiful,” persisted the lad. + +“You will hear him drumming in the woods at night.” + +“I heard him last night and I thought he was a fool to frighten the game +away.” + +“Crooked Lightning has found much favor with him, and in turn with the +others, so that I have not thought it wise to tell Crooked Lightning +that he must go. He has stirred up the young men against me—and against +you. They were waiting for me to die.” The boy looked thoughtful and the +chief waited. He had not reached the aim of his speech and there was no +need to put it in words, for White Arrow understood. + +“I will show them,” he said quietly. + +When the two appeared outside, many braves had gathered, for the whole +village knew what was in the wind. Should it be a horse-race first? +Crooked Lightning looked at the boy’s thoroughbred and shook his +head—Indian ponies would as well try to outrun an arrow, a bullet, a +hurricane. + +A foot-race? The old chief smiled when Crooked Lightning shook his head +again—no brave in the tribe even could match the speed that gave the lad +his name. The bow and arrow, the rifle, the tomahawk? Perhaps the +pole-dance of the Sioux? The last suggestion seemed to make Crooked +Lightning angry, for a rumor was that Crooked Lightning was a renegade +Sioux and had been shamed from the tribe because of his evasion of that +same pole-dance. Old Kahtoo had humor as well as sarcasm. Tomahawks and +bows and arrows were brought out. Black Wolf was half a head shorter, +but stocky and powerfully built. White Arrow’s sinews had strengthened, +but he had scarcely used bow and tomahawk since he had left the tribe. +His tomahawk whistled more swiftly through the air and buried itself +deeper into the tree, and his arrows flashed faster and were harder to +pull out. He had the power but not the practice, and Black Wolf won with +great ease. When they came to the rifle, Black Wolf was out of the game, +for never a bull’s-eye did White Arrow miss. + +“To-morrow,” said the old chief, “they shall hunt. Each shall take his +bow and the same number of arrows at sunrise and return at sundown.... +The next day they shall do the same with the rifle. It is enough for +to-day.” + +The first snow fell that night, and at dawn the two lads started +out—each with a bow and a dozen arrows. Erskine’s woodcraft had not +suffered and the night’s story of the wilderness was as plain to his +keen eyes as a printed page. Nothing escaped them, no matter how minute +the signs. Across the patch where corn had been planted, field-mice had +left tracks like stitched seams. Crows had been after crawfish along the +edge of the stream and a mink after minnows. A muskrat had crossed the +swamp beyond. In the woods, wind-blown leaves had dotted and dashed the +snow like a stenographer’s notebook. Here a squirrel had leaped along, +his tail showing occasionally in the snow, and there was the +four-pointed, triangle-track of a cottontail. The wide-spreading toes of +a coon had made this tracery; moles had made these snowy ridges over +their galleries, and this long line of stitched tracks was the trail of +the fearless skunk which came to a sudden end in fur, feathers, and +bones where the great horned owl had swooped down on him, the only +creature that seems not to mind his smell. Here was the print of a +pheasant’s wing, and buds and bits of twigs on the snow were the +scattered remnants of his breakfast. Here was the spring hole that never +freezes—the drinking-cup for the little folks of the woods. Here a hawk +had been after a rabbit, and the lengthening distance between his +triangles showed how he had speeded up in flight. He had scudded under +thick briers and probably had gotten away. But where was the big game? +For two hours he tramped swiftly, but never sign of deer, elk, bear, or +buffalo. + +And then an hour later he heard a snort from a thick copse and the crash +of an unseen body in flight through the brush, and he loped after its +tracks. + +Black Wolf came in at sunset with a bear cub which he had found feeding +apart from its mother. He was triumphant, and Crooked Lightning was +scornful when White Arrow appeared empty-handed. His left wrist was +bruised and swollen, and there was a gash the length of his forearm. + +“Follow my tracks back,” he said, “until you come to the kill.” With a +whoop two Indians bounded away and in an hour returned with a buck. + +“I ran him down,” said White Arrow, “and killed him with the knife. He +horned me,” and went into his tent. + +The bruised wrist and wounded forearm made no matter, for the rifle was +the weapon next day—but White Arrow went another way to look for game. +Each had twelve bullets. Black Wolf came in with a deer and one bullet. +White Arrow told them where they could find a deer, a bear, a buffalo, +and an elk, and he showed eight bullets in the palm of his hand. And he +noted now that the Indian girl was always an intent observer of each +contest, and that she always went swiftly back to her tent to tell his +deeds to the white woman within. + +There was a feast and a dance that night, and Kahtoo could have gone to +his fathers and left the lad, young as he was, as chief, but not yet was +he ready, and Crooked Lightning, too, bided his time. + + + + +XII + + +Dressed as an Indian, Erskine rode forth next morning with a wampum belt +and a talk for the council north where the British were to meet Shawnee, +Iroquois, and Algonquin, and urge them to enter the great war that was +just breaking forth. There was open and angry protest against sending so +young a lad on so great a mission, but the old chief haughtily brushed +it aside: + +“He is young but his feet are swift, his arm is strong, his heart good, +and his head is old. He speaks the tongue of the paleface. Besides, he +is my son.” + +One question the boy asked as he made ready: + +“The white woman must not be burned while I am gone?” + +“No,” promised the old chief. And so White Arrow fared forth. Four days +he rode through the north woods, and on the fifth he strode through the +streets of a town that was yet filled with great forest trees: a town at +which he had spent three winters when the game was scarce and the tribe +had moved north for good. He lodged with no chief but slept in the woods +with his feet to the fire. The next night he slipped to the house of the +old priest, Father André, who had taught him some religion and a little +French, and the old man welcomed him as a son, though he noted sadly his +Indian dress and was distressed when he heard the lad’s mission. He was +quickly relieved. + +“I am no royalist,” he said. + +“Nor am I,” said Erskine. “I came because Kahtoo, who seemed nigh to +death, begged me to come. There is much intrigue about him, and he could +trust no other. I am only a messenger and I shall speak his talk; but my +heart is with the Americans and I shall fight with them.” The old priest +put his fingers to his lips: + +“Sh-h-h! It is not wise. Are you not known?” + +Erskine hesitated. + +Earlier that morning he had seen three officers riding in. Following was +a youth not in uniform though he carried a sword. On the contrary, he +was dressed like an English dandy, and then he found himself face to +face with Dane Grey. With no sign of recognition the boy had met his +eyes squarely and passed on. + +“There is but one man who does know me and he did not recognize me. His +name is Dane Grey. I am wondering what he is doing here. Can you find +out for me and let me know?” The old priest nodded and Erskine slipped +back to the woods. + +At sunrise the great council began. On his way Erskine met Grey, who +apparently was leaving with a band of traders for Detroit. Again Erskine +met his eyes and this time Grey smiled: + +“Aren’t you White Arrow?” Somehow the tone with which he spoke the name +was an insult. + +“Yes.” + +“Then it’s true. We heard that you had left your friends at the fort and +become an Indian again.” + +“Yes?” + +“So you are not only going to fight with the Indians against the whites, +but with the British against America?” + +“What I am going to do is no business of yours,” Erskine said quietly, +“but I hope we shall not be on the same side. We may meet again.” + +Grey’s face was already red with drink and it turned purple with anger. + +“When you tried to stab me do you remember what I said?” Erskine nodded +contemptuously. + +“Well, I repeat it. Whatever the side, I’ll fight you anywhere at any +time and in any way you please.” + +“Why not now?” + +“This is not the time for private quarrels and you know it.” + +Erskine bowed slightly—an act that came oddly from an Indian head-dress. + +“I can wait—and I shall not forget. The day will come.” + +The old priest touched Erskine’s shoulder as the angry youth rode away. + +“I cannot make it out,” he said. “He claims to represent an English fur +company. His talk is British but he told one man—last night when he was +drunk—that he could have a commission in the American army.” + +The council-fire was built, the flames crackled and the smoke rolled +upward and swept through the leafless trees. Three British agents sat on +blankets and around them the chiefs were ringed. All day the powwow +lasted. Each agent spoke and the burden of his talk varied very little. + +The American palefaces had driven the Indian over the great wall. They +were killing his deer, buffalo, and elk, robbing him of his land and +pushing him ever backward. They were many and they would become more. +The British were the Indian’s friends—the Americans were his enemies and +theirs; could they choose to fight with their enemies rather than with +their friends? Each chief answered in turn, and each cast forward his +wampum until only Erskine, who had sat silent, remained, and Pontiac +himself turned to him. + +“What says the son of Kahtoo?” + +Even as he rose the lad saw creeping to the outer ring his enemy Crooked +Lightning, but he appeared not to see. The whites looked surprised when +his boyish figure stood straight, and they were amazed when he addressed +the traders in French, the agents in English, and spoke to the feathered +chiefs in their own tongue. He cast the belt forward. + +“That is Kahtoo’s talk, but this is mine.” + +Who had driven the Indian from the great waters to the great wall? The +British. Who were the Americans until now? British. Why were the +Americans fighting now? Because the British, their kinsmen, would not +give them their rights. If the British would drive the Indian to the +great wall, would they not go on doing what they charged the Americans +with doing now? If the Indians must fight, why fight with the British to +beat the Americans, and then have to fight both a later day? If the +British would not treat their own kinsmen fairly, was it likely that +they would treat the Indian fairly? They had never done so yet. Would it +not be better for the Indian to make the white man on his own land a +friend rather than the white man who lived more than a moon away across +the big seas? Only one gesture the lad made. He lifted his hand high and +paused. Crooked Lightning had sprung to his feet with a hoarse cry. +Already the white men had grown uneasy, for the chiefs had turned to the +boy with startled interest at his first sentence and they could not know +what he was saying. But they looked relieved when Crooked Lightning +rose, for his was the only face in the assembly that was hostile to the +boy. With a gesture Pontiac bade Crooked Lightning speak. + +[Illustration: “That is Kahtoo’s talk, but this is mine”] + +“The tongue of White Arrow is forked. I have heard him say he would +fight with the Long Knives against the British and he would fight with +them even against his own tribe.” One grunt of rage ran the round of +three circles and yet Pontiac stopped Crooked Lightning and turned to +the lad. Slowly the boy’s uplifted hand came down. With a bound he +leaped through the head-dress of a chief in the outer ring and sped away +through the village. Some started on foot after him, some rushed to +their ponies, and some sent arrows and bullets after him. At the edge of +the village the boy gave a loud, clear call and then another as he ran. +Something black sprang snorting from the edge of the woods with pointed +ears and searching eyes. Another call came and like the swirling edge of +a hurricane-driven thunder-cloud Firefly swept after his master. The boy +ran to meet him, caught one hand in his mane before he stopped, swung +himself up, and in a hail of arrows and bullets swept out of sight. + + + + +XIII + + +The sound of pursuit soon died away, but Erskine kept Firefly at his +best, for he knew that Crooked Lightning would be quick and fast on his +trail. He guessed, too, that Crooked Lightning had already told the +tribe what he had just told the council, and that he and the prophet had +already made all use of the boy’s threat to Kahtoo in the Shawnee town. +He knew even that it might cost him his life if he went back there, and +once or twice he started to turn through the wilderness and go back to +the fort. Winter was on, and he had neither saddle nor bridle, but +neither fact bothered him. It was the thought of the white woman who was +to be burned that kept him going and sent him openly and fearlessly into +the town. He knew from the sullen looks that met him, from the fear in +the faces of his foster-mother and the white woman who peered blindly +from her lodge, and from the triumphant leer of the prophet that his +every suspicion was true, but all the more leisurely did he swing from +his horse, all the more haughtily stalk to Kahtoo’s tent. And the old +chief looked very grave when the lad told the story of the council and +all that he had said and done. + +“The people are angry. They say you are a traitor and a spy. They say +you must die. And I cannot help you. I am too old and the prophet is too +strong.” + +“And the white woman?” + +“She will not burn. Some fur traders have been here. The white chief +McGee sent me a wampum belt and a talk. His messenger brought much +fire-water and he gave me that”—he pointed to a silver-mounted +rifle—“and I promised that she should live. But I cannot help you.” +Erskine thought quickly. He laid his rifle down, stepped slowly outside, +and stretched his arms with a yawn. Then still leisurely he moved toward +his horse as though to take care of it. But the braves were too keen and +watchful and they were not fooled by the fact that he had left his rifle +behind. Before he was close enough to leap for Firefly’s back, three +bucks darted from behind a lodge and threw themselves upon him. In a +moment he was face down on the ground, his hands were tied behind his +back, and when turned over he looked up into the grinning face of Black +Wolf, who with the help of another brave dragged him to a lodge and +roughly threw him within, and left him alone. On the way he saw his +foster-mother’s eyes flashing helplessly, saw the girl Early Morn +indignantly telling her mother what was going on, and the white woman’s +face was wet with tears. He turned over so that he could look through +the tent-flaps. Two bucks were driving a stake in the centre of the +space around which the lodges were ringed. Two more were bringing fagots +of wood and it was plain what was going to become of him. His +foster-mother, who was fiercely haranguing one of the chiefs, turned +angrily into Kahtoo’s lodge and he could see the white woman rocking her +body and wringing her hands. Then the old chief appeared and lifted his +hands. + +“Crooked Lightning will be very angry. The prisoner is his—not yours. It +is for him to say what the punishment shall be—not for you. Wait for +him! Hold a council and if you decide against him, though he is my +son—he shall die.” For a moment the preparations ceased and all turned +to the prophet, who had appeared before his lodge. + +“Kahtoo is right,” he said. “The Great Spirit will not approve if White +Arrow die except by the will of the council—and Crooked Lightning will +be angry.” There was a chorus of protesting grunts, but the preparations +ceased. The boy could feel the malevolence in the prophet’s tone and he +knew that the impostor wanted to curry further favor with Crooked +Lightning and not rob him of the joy of watching his victim’s torture. +So the braves went back to their fire-water, and soon the boy’s +foster-mother brought him something to eat, but she could say nothing, +for Black Wolf had appointed himself sentinel and sat rifle in hand at +the door of the lodge. + +Night came on. A wildcat screeched, a panther screamed, and an elk +bugled far away. The drinking became more furious and once Erskine saw a +pale-brown arm thrust from behind the lodge and place a jug at the feet +of Black Wolf, who grunted and drank deep. The stars mounted into a +clear sky and the wind rose and made much noise in the trees overhead. +One by one the braves went to drunken sleep about the fire. The fire +died down and by the last flickering flame the lad saw Black Wolf’s chin +sinking sleepily to his chest. There was the slightest rustle behind the +tent. He felt something groping for his hands and feet, felt the point +of a knife graze the skin of his wrist and ankles—felt the thongs loosen +and drop apart. Noiselessly, inch by inch, he crept to the wall of the +tent, which was carefully lifted for him. Outside he rose and waited. +Like a shadow the girl Early Morn stole before him and like a shadow he +followed. The loose snow muffled their feet as the noise of the wind had +muffled his escape from the lodge, and in a few minutes they were by the +riverbank, away from the town. The moon rose and from the shadow of a +beech the white woman stepped forth with his rifle and powder-horn and +bullet-pouch and some food. She pointed to his horse a little farther +down. He looked long and silently into the Indian girl’s eyes and took +the white woman’s shaking hand. Once he looked back. The Indian girl was +stoic as stone. A bar of moonlight showed the white woman’s face wet +with tears. + + * * * * * + +Again Dave Yandell from a watch-tower saw a topknot rise above a patch +of cane now leafless and winter-bitten—saw a hand lifted high above it +with a palm of peace toward him. And again an Indian youth emerged, this +time leading a black horse with a drooping head. Both came painfully on, +staggering, it seemed, from wounds or weakness, and Dave sprang from the +tower and rushed with others to the gate. He knew the horse and there +was dread in his heart; perhaps the approaching Indian had slain the +boy, had stolen the horse, and was innocently coming there for food. +Well, he thought grimly, revenge would be swift. Still, fearing some +trick, he would let no one outside, but himself stood waiting with the +gate a little ajar. So gaunt were boy and beast that it was plain that +both were starving. The boy’s face was torn with briers and pinched with +hunger and cold, but a faint smile came from it. + +“Don’t you know me, Dave?” he asked weakly. + +“My God! It’s White Arrow!” + + + + +XIV + + +Straightway the lad sensed a curious change in the attitude of the +garrison. The old warmth was absent. The atmosphere was charged with +suspicion, hostility. Old Jerome was surly, his old playmates were +distant. Only Dave, Mother Sanders, and Lydia were unchanged. The +predominant note was curiosity, and they started to ply him with +questions, but Dave took him to a cabin, and Mother Sanders brought him +something to eat. + +“Had a purty hard time,” stated Dave. The boy nodded. + +“I had only three bullets. Firefly went lame and I had to lead him. I +couldn’t eat cane and Firefly couldn’t eat pheasant. I got one from a +hawk,” he explained. “What’s the matter out there?” + +“Nothin’,” said Dave gruffly and he made the boy go to sleep. His story +came when all were around the fire at supper, and was listened to with +eagerness. Again the boy felt the hostility and it made him resentful +and haughty and his story brief and terse. Most fluid and sensitive +natures have a chameleon quality, no matter what stratum of adamant be +beneath. The boy was dressed like an Indian, he looked like one, and he +had brought back, it seemed, the bearing of an Indian—his wildness and +stoicism. He spoke like a chief in a council, and even in English his +phrasing and metaphors belonged to the red man. No wonder they believed +the stories they had heard of him—but there was shame in many faces and +little doubt in any save one before he finished. + +He had gone to see his foster-mother and his foster-father—old chief +Kahtoo, the Shawnee—because he had given his word. Kahtoo thought he was +dying and wanted him to be chief when the Great Spirit called. Kahtoo +had once saved his life, had been kind, and made him a son. That he +could not forget. An evil prophet had come to the tribe and through his +enemies, Crooked Lightning and Black Wolf, had gained much influence. +They were to burn a captive white woman as a sacrifice. He had stayed to +save her, to argue with old Kahtoo, and carry the wampum and a talk to a +big council with the British. He had made his talk and—escaped. He had +gone back to his tribe, had been tied, and was to be burned at the +stake. Again he had escaped with the help of the white woman and her +daughter. The tribes had joined the British and even then they were +planning an early attack on this very fort and all others. + +The interest was tense and every face was startled at this calm +statement of their immediate danger. Dave and Lydia looked triumphant at +this proof of their trust, but old Jerome burst out: + +“Why did you have to escape from the council—and from the Shawnees?” The +boy felt the open distrust and he rose proudly. + +“At the council I told the Indians that they should be friends, not +enemies, of the Americans, and Crooked Lightning called me a traitor. He +had overheard my talk with Kahtoo.” + +“What was that?” asked Dave quickly. + +“I told Kahtoo I would fight with the Americans against the British and +Indians; and with _you_ against _him_!” And he turned away and went back +to the cabin. + +“What’d I tell ye!” cried Dave indignantly and he followed the boy, who +had gone to his bunk, and put one big hand on his shoulder. + +“They thought you’d turned Injun agin,” he said, “but it’s all right +now.” + +“I know,” said the lad and with a muffled sound that was half the grunt +of an Indian and half the sob of a white man turned his face away. + +Again Dave reached for the lad’s shoulder. + +“Don’t blame ’em too much. I’ll tell you now. Some fur traders came by +here, and one of ’em said you was goin’ to marry an Injun girl named +Early Morn; that you was goin’ to stay with ’em and fight with ’em +alongside the British. Of course I knowed better but——” + +“Why,” interrupted Erskine, “they must have been the same traders who +came to the Shawnee town and brought whiskey.” + +“That’s what the feller said and why folks here believed him.” + +“Who was he?” demanded Erskine. + +“You know him—Dane Grey.” + +All tried to make amends straightway for the injustice they had done +him, but the boy’s heart remained sore that their trust was so little. +Then, when they gathered all settlers within the fort and made all +preparations and no Indians came, many seemed again to get distrustful +and the lad was not happy. The winter was long and hard. A blizzard had +driven the game west and south and the garrison was hard put to it for +food. Every day that the hunters went forth the boy was among them and +he did far more than his share in the killing of game. But when winter +was breaking, more news came in of the war. The flag that had been +fashioned of a soldier’s white shirt, an old blue army coat, and a red +petticoat was now the Stars and Stripes of the American cause. Burgoyne +had not cut off New England, that “head of the rebellion,” from the +other colonies. On the contrary, the Americans had beaten him at +Saratoga and marched his army off under those same Stars and Stripes, +and for the first time Erskine heard of gallant Lafayette—how he had run +to Washington with the portentous news from his king—that beautiful, +passionate France would now stretch forth her helping hand. And Erskine +learned what that news meant to Washington’s “naked and starving” +soldiers dying on the frozen hillsides of Valley Forge. Then George +Rogers Clark had passed the fort on his way to Williamsburg to get money +and men for his great venture in the Northwest, and Erskine got a ready +permission to accompany him as soldier and guide. After Clark was gone +the lad got restless; and one morning when the first breath of spring +came he mounted his horse, in spite of arguments and protestations, and +set forth for Virginia on the wilderness trail. He was going to join +Clark, he said, but more than Clark and the war were drawing him to the +outer world. What it was he hardly knew, for he was not yet much given +to searching his heart or mind. He did know, however, that some strange +force had long been working within him that was steadily growing +stronger, was surging now like a flame and swinging him between strange +moods of depression and exultation. Perhaps it was but the spirit of +spring in his heart, but with his mind’s eye he was ever seeing at the +end of his journey the face of his little cousin Barbara Dale. + + + + +XV + + +A striking figure the lad made riding into the old capital one afternoon +just before the sun sank behind the western woods. Had it been dusk he +might have been thought to be an Indian sprung magically from the wilds +and riding into civilization on a stolen thoroughbred. Students no +longer wandered through the campus of William and Mary College. Only an +occasional maid in silk and lace tripped along the street in high-heeled +shoes and clocked stockings, and no coach and four was in sight. The +governor’s palace, in its great yard amid linden-trees, was closed and +deserted. My Lord Dunmore was long in sad flight, as Erskine later +learned, and not in his coach with its six milk-white horses. But there +was the bust of Sir Walter in front of Raleigh Tavern, and there he drew +up, before the steps where he was once nigh to taking Dane Grey’s life. +A negro servant came forward to care for his horse, but a coal-black +young giant leaped around the corner and seized the bridle with a +welcoming cry: + +“Marse Erskine! But I knowed Firefly fust.” It was Ephraim, the groom +who had brought out Barbara’s ponies, who had turned the horse over to +him for the race at the fair. + +“I come frum de plantation fer ole marse,” the boy explained. The host +of the tavern heard and came down to give his welcome, for any Dale, no +matter what his garb, could always have the best in that tavern. More +than that, a bewigged solicitor, learning his name, presented himself +with the cheerful news that he had quite a little sum of money that had +been confided to his keeping by Colonel Dale for his nephew Erskine. A +strange deference seemed to be paid him by everybody, which was a +grateful change from the suspicion he had left among his pioneer +friends. The little tavern was thronged and the air charged with the +spirit of war. Indeed, nothing else was talked. My Lord Dunmore had come +to a sad and unbemoaned end. He had stayed afar from the battle-field of +Point Pleasant and had left stalwart General Lewis to fight Cornstalk +and his braves alone. Later my Lady Dunmore and her sprightly daughters +took refuge on a man-of-war—whither my lord soon followed them. His +fleet ravaged the banks of the rivers and committed every outrage. His +marines set fire to Norfolk, which was in ashes when he weighed anchor +and sailed away to more depredations. When he intrenched himself on +Gwynn’s Island, that same stalwart Lewis opened a heavy cannonade on +fleet and island, and sent a ball through the indignant nobleman’s +flag-ship. Next day he saw a force making for the island in boats, and +my lord spread all sail; and so back to merry England, and to Virginia +no more. Meanwhile, Mr. Washington had reached Boston and started his +duties under the Cambridge elm. Several times during the talk Erskine +had heard mentioned the name of Dane Grey. Young Grey had been with +Dunmore and not with Lewis at Point Pleasant, and had been conspicuous +at the palace through much of the succeeding turmoil—the hint being his +devotion to one of the daughters, since he was now an unquestioned +loyalist. + +Next morning Erskine rode forth along a sandy road, amidst the singing +of birds and through a forest of tiny upshooting leaves, for Red Oaks on +the James. He had forsworn Colonel Dale to secrecy as to the note he had +left behind giving his birthright to his little cousin Barbara, and he +knew the confidence would be kept inviolate. He could recall the +road—every turn of it, for the woodsman’s memory is faultless—and he +could see the merry cavalcade and hear the gay quips and laughter of +that other spring day long ago, for to youth even the space of a year is +very long ago. But among the faces that blossomed within the old coach, +and nodded and danced like flowers in a wind, his mind’s eye was fixed +on one alone. At the boat-landing he hitched his horse to the low-swung +branch of an oak and took the path through tangled rose-bushes and +undergrowth along the bank of the river, halting where it would give him +forth on the great, broad, grassy way that led to the house among the +oaks. There was the sun-dial that had marked every sunny hour since he +had been away. For a moment he stood there, and when he stepped into the +open he shrank back hastily—a girl was coming through the opening of +boxwood from the house—coming slowly, bareheaded, her hands clasped +behind her, her eyes downward. His heart throbbed as he waited, throbbed +the more when his ears caught even the soft tread of her little feet, +and seemed to stop when she paused at the sun-dial, and as before +searched the river with her eyes. And as before the song of negro +oarsmen came over the yellow flood, growing stronger as they neared. +Soon the girl fluttered a handkerchief and from the single passenger in +the stern came an answering flutter of white and a glad cry. At the bend +of the river the boat disappeared from Erskine’s sight under the bank, +and he watched the girl. How she had grown! Her slim figure had rounded +and shot upward, and her white gown had dropped to her dainty ankles. +Now her face was flushed and her eye flashed with excitement—it was no +mere kinsman in that boat, and the boy’s heart began to throb +again—throb fiercely and with racking emotions that he had never known +before. A fiery-looking youth sprang up the landing-steps, bowed +gallantly over the girl’s hand, and the two turned up the path, the girl +rosy with smiles and the youth bending over her with a most protecting +and tender air. It was Dane Grey, and the heart of the watcher turned +mortal sick. + + + + +XVI + + +A long time Erskine sat motionless, wondering what ailed him. He had +never liked nor trusted Grey; he believed he would have trouble with him +some day, but he had other enemies and he did not feel toward them as he +did toward this dandy mincing up that beautiful broad path. With a +little grunt he turned back along the path. Firefly whinnied to him and +nipped at him with playful restlessness as though eager to be on his way +to the barn, and he stood awhile with one arm across his saddle. Once he +reached upward to untie the reins, and with another grunt strode back +and went rapidly up the path. Grey and Barbara had disappeared, but a +tall youth who sat behind one of the big pillars saw him coming and +rose, bewildered, but not for long. Each recognized the other swiftly, +and Hugh came with stiff courtesy forward. Erskine smiled: + +“You don’t know me?” Hugh bowed: + +“Quite well.” The woodsman drew himself up with quick breath—paling +without, flaming within—but before he could speak there was a quick step +and an astonished cry within the hall and Harry sprang out. + +“Erskine! Erskine!” he shouted, and he leaped down the steps with both +hands outstretched. “You here! You—you old Indian—how did you get here?” +He caught Erskine by both hands and then fell to shaking him by the +shoulders. “Where’s your horse?” And then he noticed the boy’s pale and +embarrassed face and his eyes shifting to Hugh, who stood, still cold, +still courteous, and he checked some hot outburst at his lips. + +“I’m glad you’ve come, and I’m glad you’ve come right now—where’s your +horse?” + +“I left him hitched at the landing,” Erskine had to answer, and Harry +looked puzzled: + +“The landing! Why, what——” He wheeled and shouted to a darky: + +“Put Master Erskine’s horse in the barn and feed him.” And he led +Erskine within—to the same room where he had slept before, and poured +out some water in a bowl. + +“Take your time,” he said, and he went back to the porch. Erskine could +hear and see him through the latticed blinds. + +“Hugh,” said the lad in a low, cold voice, “I am host here, and if you +don’t like this you can take that path.” + +“You are right,” was the answer; “but you wait until Uncle Harry gets +home.” + +The matter was quite plain to Erskine within. The presence of Dane Grey +made it plain, and as Erskine dipped both hands into the cold water he +made up his mind to an understanding with that young gentleman that +would be complete and final. And so he was ready when he and Harry were +on the porch again and Barbara and Grey emerged from the rose-bushes and +came slowly up the path. Harry looked worried, but Erskine sat still, +with a faint smile at his mouth and in his eyes. Barbara saw him first +and she did not rush forward. Instead she stopped, with wide eyes, a +stifled cry, and a lifting of one hand toward her heart. Grey saw too, +flushed rather painfully, and calmed himself. Erskine had sprung down +the steps. + +“Why, have I changed so much?” he cried. “Hugh didn’t seem to know me, +either.” His voice was gay, friendly, even affectionate, but his eyes +danced with strange lights that puzzled the girl. + +“Of course I knew you,” she faltered, paling a little but gathering +herself rather haughtily—a fact that Erskine seemed not to notice. “You +took me by surprise and you have changed—but I don’t know how much.” The +significance of this too seemed to pass Erskine by, for he bent over +Barbara’s hand and kissed it. + +“Never to you, my dear cousin,” he said gallantly, and then he bowed to +Dane Grey, not offering to shake hands. + +“Of course I know Mr. Grey.” To say that the gentleman was dumfounded is +to put it mildly—this wild Indian playing the courtier with exquisite +impudence and doing it well! Harry seemed like to burst with restrained +merriment, and Barbara was sorely put to it to keep her poise. The great +dinner-bell from behind the house boomed its summons to the woods and +fields. + +“Come on,” called Harry. “I imagine you’re hungry, cousin.” + +“I am,” said Erskine. “I’ve had nothing to eat since—since early morn.” +Barbara’s eyes flashed upward and Grey was plainly startled. Was there a +slight stress on those two words? Erskine’s face was as expressionless +as bronze. Harry had bolted into the hall. + +Mrs. Dale was visiting down the river, so Barbara sat in her mother’s +place, with Erskine at her right, Grey to her left, Hugh next to him, +and Harry at the head. Harry did not wait long. + +“Now, you White Arrow, you Big Chief, tell us the story. Where have you +been, what have you been doing, and what do you mean to do? I’ve heard a +good deal, but I want it all.” + +Grey began to look uncomfortable, and so, in truth, did Barbara. + +“What have you heard?” asked Erskine quietly. + +“Never mind,” interposed Barbara quickly; “you tell us.” + +“Well,” began Erskine slowly, “you remember that day we met some Indians +who told me that old Kahtoo, my foster-father, was ill, and that he +wanted to see me before he died? I went exactly as I would have gone had +white men given the same message from Colonel Dale, and even for better +reasons. A bad prophet was stirring up trouble in the tribe against the +old chief. An enemy of mine, Crooked Lightning, was helping him. He +wanted his son, Black Wolf, as chief, and the old chief wanted me. I +heard the Indians were going to join the British. I didn’t want to be +chief, but I did want influence in the tribe, so I stayed. There was a +white woman in the camp and an Indian girl named Early Morn. I told the +old chief that I would fight with the whites against the Indians and +with the whites against them both. Crooked Lightning overheard me, and +you can imagine what use he made of what I said. I took the wampum belt +for the old chief to the powwow between the Indians and the British, and +I found I could do nothing. I met Mr. Grey there.” He bowed slightly to +Dane and then looked at him steadily. “I was told that he was there in +the interest of an English fur company. When I found I could do nothing +with the Indians, I told the council what I had told the old chief.” He +paused. Barbara’s face was pale and she was breathing hard. She had not +looked at Grey, but Harry had been watching him covertly and he did not +look comfortable. Erskine paused. + +“What!” shouted Harry. “You told both that you would fight with the +whites against both! What’d they do to you?” + +Erskine smiled. + +“Well, here I am. I jumped over the heads of the outer ring and ran. +Firefly heard me calling him. I had left his halter loose. He broke +away. I jumped on him, and you know nothing can catch Firefly.” + +“Didn’t they shoot at you?” + +“Of course.” Again he paused. + +“Well,” said Harry impatiently, “that isn’t the end.” + +“I went back to the camp. Crooked Lightning followed me and they tied me +and were going to burn me at the stake.” + +“Good heavens!” breathed Barbara. + +“How’d you get away?” + +“The Indian girl, Early Morn, slipped under the tent and cut me loose. +The white woman got my gun, and Firefly—you know nothing can catch +Firefly.” The silence was intense. Hugh looked dazed, Barbara was on the +point of tears, Harry was triumphant, and Grey was painfully flushed. + +“And you want to know what I am going to do now?” Erskine went on. “I’m +going with Captain George Rogers Clark—with what command are you, Mr. +Grey?” + +“That’s a secret,” he smiled coolly. “I’ll let you know later,” and +Barbara, with an inward sigh of relief, rose quickly, but would not +leave them behind. + +“But the white woman?” questioned Harry. “Why doesn’t she leave the +Indians?” + +“Early Morn—a half-breed—is her daughter,” said Erskine simply. + +“Oh!” and Harry questioned no further. + +“Early Morn was the best-looking Indian girl I ever saw,” said Erskine, +“and the bravest.” For the first time Grey glanced at Barbara. “She +saved my life,” Erskine went on gravely, “and mine is hers whenever she +needs it.” Harry reached over and gripped his hand. + +As yet not one word had been said of Grey’s misdoing, but Barbara’s cool +disdain made him shamed and hot, and in her eyes was the sorrow of her +injustice to Erskine. In the hallway she excused herself with a +courtesy, Hugh went to the stables, Harry disappeared for a moment, and +the two were left alone. With smouldering fire Erskine turned to Grey. + +“It seems you have been amusing yourself with my kinspeople at my +expense.” Grey drew himself up in haughty silence. Erskine went on: + +“I have known some liars who were not cowards.” + +“You forget yourself.” + +“No—nor you.” + +“You remember a promise I made you once?” + +“Twice,” corrected Erskine. Grey’s eyes flashed upward to the crossed +rapiers on the wall. + +“Precisely,” answered Erskine, “and when?” + +“At the first opportunity.” + +“From this moment I shall be waiting for nothing else.” + +Barbara, reappearing, heard their last words, and she came forward pale +and with piercing eyes: + +“Cousin Erskine, I want to apologize to you for my little faith. I hope +you will forgive me. Mr. Grey, your horse will be at the door at once. I +wish you a safe journey—to your command.” Grey bowed and turned—furious. + +Erskine was on the porch when Grey came out to mount his horse. + +“You will want seconds?” asked Grey. + +“They might try to stop us—no!” + +“I shall ride slowly,” Grey said. Erskine bowed. + +“I shall not.” + + + + +XVII + + +Nor did he. Within half an hour Barbara, passing through the hall, saw +that the rapiers were gone from the wall and she stopped, with the color +fled from her face and her hand on her heart. At that moment Ephraim +dashed in from the kitchen. + +“Miss Barbary, somebody gwine to git killed. I was wukkin’ in de ole +field an’ Marse Grey rid by cussin’ to hisself. Jist now Marse Erskine +went tearin’ by de landin’ wid a couple o’ swords under his arm.” His +eyes too went to the wall. “Yes, bless Gawd, dey’s gone!” Barbara flew +out the door. + +In a few moments she had found Harry and Hugh. Even while their horses +were being saddled her father rode up. + +“It’s murder,” cried Harry, “and Grey knows it. Erskine knows nothing +about a rapier.” + +Without a word Colonel Dale wheeled his tired horse and soon Harry and +Hugh dashed after him. Barbara walked back to the house, wringing her +hands, but on the porch she sat quietly in the agony of waiting that was +the rôle of women in those days. + +Meanwhile, at a swift gallop Firefly was skimming along the river road. +Grey had kept his word and more: he had not only ridden slowly but he +had stopped and was waiting at an oak-tree that was a corner-stone +between two plantations. + +“That I may not kill you on your own land,” he said. + +Erskine started. “The consideration is deeper than you know.” + +They hitched their horses, and Erskine followed into a pleasant glade—a +grassy glade through which murmured a little stream. Erskine dropped the +rapiers on the sward. + +“Take your choice,” he said. + +“There is none,” said Grey, picking up the one nearer to him. “I know +them both.” Grey took off his coat while Erskine waited. Grey made the +usual moves of courtesy and still Erskine waited, wonderingly, with the +point of the rapier on the ground. + +“When you are ready,” he said, “will you please let me know?” + +“Ready!” answered Grey, and he lunged forward. Erskine merely whipped at +his blade so that the clang of it whined on the air to the +breaking-point and sprang backward. He was as quick as an eyelash and +lithe as a panther, and yet Grey almost laughed aloud. All Erskine did +was to whip the thrusting blade aside and leap out of danger like a +flash of light. It was like an inexpert boxer flailing according to +rules unknown—and Grey’s face flamed and actually turned anxious. Then, +as a kindly fate would have it, Erskine’s blade caught in Grey’s guard +by accident, and the powerful wrist behind it seeking merely to wrench +the weapon loose tore Grey’s rapier from his grasp and hurled it ten +feet away. There is no greater humiliation for the expert swordsman, and +not for nothing had Erskine suffered the shame of that long-ago day when +a primitive instinct had led him to thrusting his knife into this same +enemy’s breast. Now, with his sword’s point on the earth, he waited +courteously for Grey to recover his weapon. + +Again a kindly fate intervened. Even as Grey rushed for his sword, +Erskine heard the beat of horses’ hoofs. As he snatched it from the +ground and turned, with a wicked smile over his grinding teeth, came +Harry’s shout, and as he rushed for Erskine, Colonel Dale swung from his +horse. The sword-blades clashed, Erskine whipping back and forth in a +way to make a swordsman groan—and Colonel Dale had Erskine by the wrist +and was between them. + +“How dare you, sir?” cried Grey hotly. + +“Just a moment, young gentleman,” said Colonel Dale calmly. + +“Let us alone, Uncle Harry—I——” + +“Just a moment,” repeated the colonel sternly. “Mr. Grey, do you think +it quite fair that you with your skill should fight a man who knows +nothing about foils?” + +“There was no other way,” Grey said sullenly. + +“And you could not wait, I presume?” Grey did not answer. + +“Now, hear what I have to say, and if you both do not agree, the matter +will be arranged to your entire satisfaction, Mr. Grey. I have but one +question to ask. Your country is at war. She needs every man for her +defense. Do you not both think your lives belong to your country and +that it is selfish and unpatriotic just now to risk them in any other +cause?” He waited for his meaning to sink in, and sink it did. + +[Illustration: The sword blades clashed, Erskine whipping back and +forth in a way to make a swordsman groan] + +“Colonel Dale, your nephew grossly insulted me, and your daughter showed +me the door. I made no defense to him nor to her, but I will to you. I +merely repeated what I had been told and I believed it true. Now that I +hear it is not true, I agree with you, sir, and I am willing to express +my regrets and apologies.” + +“That is better,” said Colonel Dale heartily, and he turned to Erskine, +but Erskine was crying hotly: + +“And I express neither.” + +“Very well,” sneered Grey coldly. “Perhaps we may meet when your +relatives are not present to protect you.” + +“Uncle Harry——” Erskine implored, but Grey was turning toward his horse. + +“After all, Colonel Dale is right.” + +“Yes,” assented Erskine helplessly, and then—“it is possible that we +shall not always be on the same side.” + +“So I thought,” returned Grey with lifted eyebrows, “when I heard what I +did about you!” Both Harry and Hugh had to catch Erskine by an arm then, +and they led him struggling away. Grey mounted his horse, lifted his +hat, and was gone. Colonel Dale picked up the swords. + +“Now,” he said, “enough, of all this—let it be forgotten.” + +And he laughed. + +“You’ll have to confess, Erskine—he has a quick tongue and you must +think only of his temptation to use it.” + +Erskine did not answer. + +As they rode back Colonel Dale spoke of the war. It was about to move +into Virginia, he said, and when it did—— Both Harry and Hugh +interrupted him with a glad shout: + +“We can go!” Colonel Dale nodded sadly. + +Suddenly all pulled their horses in simultaneously and raised their +eyes, for all heard the coming of a horse in a dead run. Around a +thicketed curve of the road came Barbara, with her face white and her +hair streaming behind her. She pulled her pony in but a few feet in +front of them, with her burning eyes on Erskine alone. + +“Have you killed him—have you killed him? If you have—” She stopped +helpless, and all were so amazed that none could answer. Erskine shook +his head. There was a flash of relief in the girl’s white face, its +recklessness gave way to sudden shame, and, without a word, she wheeled +and was away again—Harry flying after her. No one spoke. Colonel Dale +looked aghast and Erskine’s heart again turned sick. + + + + +XVIII + + +The sun was close to the uneven sweep of the wilderness. Through its +slanting rays the river poured like a flood of gold. The negroes were on +the way singing from the fields. Cries, chaffing, and the musical +clanking of trace-chains came from the barnyard. Hungry cattle were +lowing and full-uddered mothers were mooing answers to bawling calves. A +peacock screamed from a distant tree and sailed forth, full-spread—a +great gleaming winged jewel of the air. In crises the nerves tighten +like violin strings, the memory-plates turn abnormally sensitive—and +Erskine was not to forget that hour. + +The house was still and not a soul was in sight as the three, still +silent, walked up the great path. When they were near the portico Harry +came out. He looked worried and anxious. + +“Where’s Barbara?” asked her father. + +“Locked in her room.” + +“Let her alone,” said Colonel Dale gently. Like brother and cousin, +Harry and Hugh were merely irritated by the late revelation, but the +father was shocked that his child was no longer a child. Erskine +remembered the girl as she waited for Grey’s coming at the sun-dial, her +face as she walked with him up the path. For a moment the two boys stood +in moody silence. Harry took the rapiers in and put them in their place +on the wall. Hugh quietly disappeared. Erskine, with a word of apology, +went to his room, and Colonel Dale sat down on the porch alone. + +As the dusk gathered, Erskine, looking gloomily through his window, saw +the girl flutter like a white moth past the box-hedge and down the path. +A moment later he saw the tall form of Colonel Dale follow her—and both +passed from sight. On the thick turf the colonel’s feet too were +noiseless, and when Barbara stopped at the sun-dial he too paused. Her +hands were caught tight and her drawn young face was lifted to the +yellow disk just rising from the far forest gloom. She was unhappy, and +the colonel’s heart ached sorely, for any unhappiness of hers always +trebled his own. + +“Little girl!” he called, and no lover’s voice could have been more +gentle. “Come here!” + +She turned and saw him, with arms outstretched, the low moon lighting +all the tenderness in his fine old face, and she flew to him and fell to +weeping on his breast. In wise silence he stroked her hair until she +grew a little calmer. + +“What’s the matter, little daughter?” + +“I—I—don’t know.” + +“I understand. You were quite right to send him away, but you did not +want him harmed.” + +“I—I—didn’t want anybody harmed.” + +“I know. It’s too bad, but none of us seem quite to trust him.” + +“That’s it,” she sobbed; “I don’t either, and yet——” + +“I know. I know. My little girl must be wise and brave, and maybe it +will all pass and she will be glad. But she must be brave. Mother is not +well and she must not be made unhappy too. She must not know. Can’t my +little girl come back to the house now? She must be hostess and this is +Erskine’s last night.” She looked up, brushing away her tears. + +“His last night?” Ah, wise old colonel! + +“Yes—he goes to-morrow to join Captain Clark at Williamsburg on his +foolish campaign in the Northwest. We might never see him again.” + +“Oh, father!” + +“Well, it isn’t that bad, but my little girl must be very nice to him. +He seems to be very unhappy, too.” + +Barbara looked thoughtful, but there was no pretense of not +understanding. + +“I’m sorry,” she said. She took her father’s arm, and when they reached +the steps Erskine saw her smiling. And smiling, almost gay, she was at +supper, sitting with exquisite dignity in her mother’s place. Harry and +Hugh looked amazed, and her father, who knew the bit of tempered steel +she was, smiled his encouragement proudly. Of Erskine, who sat at her +right, she asked many questions about the coming campaign. Captain Clark +had said he would go with a hundred men if he could get no more. The +rallying-point would be the fort in Kentucky where he had first come +back to his own people, and Dave Yandell would be captain of a company. +He himself was going as guide, though he hoped to act as soldier as +well. Perhaps they might bring back the Hair-Buyer, General Hamilton, a +prisoner to Williamsburg, and then he would join Harry and Hugh in the +militia if the war came south and Virginia were invaded, as some +prophesied, by Tarleton’s White Rangers, who had been ravaging the +Carolinas. After supper the little lady excused herself with a smiling +courtesy to go to her mother, and Erskine found himself in the moonlight +on the big portico with Colonel Dale alone. + +“Erskine,” he said, “you make it very difficult for me to keep your +secret. Hugh alone seems to suspect—he must have got the idea from Grey, +but I have warned him to say nothing. The others seem not to have +thought of the matter at all. It was a boyish impulse of generosity +which you may regret——” + +“Never,” interrupted the boy. “I have no use—less than ever now.” + +“Nevertheless,” the colonel went on, “I regard myself as merely your +steward, and I must tell you one thing. Mr. Jefferson, as you know, is +always at open war with people like us. His hand is against coach and +four, silver plate, and aristocrat. He is fighting now against the law +that gives property to the eldest son, and he will pass the bill. His +argument is rather amusing. He says if you will show him that the eldest +son eats more, wears more, and does more work than his brothers, he will +grant that that son is entitled to more. He wants to blot out all +distinctions of class. He can’t do that, but he will pass this bill.” + +“I hope he will,” muttered Erskine. + +“Barbara would not accept your sacrifice nor would any of us, and it is +only fair that I should warn you that some day, if you should change +your mind, and I were no longer living, you might be too late.” + +“Please don’t, Uncle Harry. It is done—done. Of course, it wasn’t fair +for me to consider Barbara alone, but she will be fair and you +understand. I wish you would regard the whole matter as though I didn’t +exist.” + +“I can’t do that, my boy. I am your steward and when you want anything +you have only to let me know!” Erskine shook his head. + +“I don’t want anything—I need very little, and when I’m in the woods, as +I expect to be most of the time, I need nothing at all.” Colonel Dale +rose. + +“I wish you would go to college at Williamsburg for a year or two to +better fit yourself—in case——” + +“I’d like to go—to learn to fence,” smiled the boy, and the colonel +smiled too. + +“You’ll certainly need to know that, if you are going to be as reckless +as you were today.” Erskine’s eyes darkened. + +“Uncle Harry, you may think me foolish, but I don’t like or trust Grey. +What was he doing with those British traders out in the Northwest?—he +was not buying furs. It’s absurd. Why was he hand in glove with Lord +Dunmore?” + +“Lord Dunmore had a daughter,” was the dry reply, and Erskine flung out +a gesture that made words unnecessary. Colonel Dale crossed the porch +and put his hand on the lad’s shoulders. + +“Erskine,” he said, “don’t worry—and—don’t give up hope. Be patient, +wait, come back to us. Go to William and Mary. Fit yourself to be one of +us in all ways. Then everything may yet come out in the only way that +would be fitting and right.” The boy blushed, and the colonel went on +earnestly: + +“I can think of nothing in the world that would make me quite so happy.” + +“It’s no use,” the boy said tremblingly, “but I’ll never forget what you +have just said as long as I live, and, no matter what becomes of me, +I’ll love Barbara as long as I live. But, even if things were otherwise, +I’d never risk making her unhappy even by trying. I’m not fit for her +nor for this life. I’ll never forget the goodness of all of you to me—I +can’t explain—but I can’t get over my life in the woods and among the +Indians. Why, but for all of you I might have gone back to them—I would +yet. I can’t explain, but I get choked and I can’t breathe—such a +longing for the woods comes over me and I can’t help me. I must _go_—and +nothing can hold me.” + +“Your father was that way,” said Colonel Dale sadly. “You may get over +it, but he never did. And it must be harder for you because of your +early associations. Blow out the lights in the hall. You needn’t bolt +the door. Good night, and God bless you.” And the kindly gentleman was +gone. + +Erskine sat where he was. The house was still and there were no noises +from the horses and cattle in the barn—none from roosting peacock, +turkey, and hen. From the far-away quarters came faintly the merry, +mellow notes of a fiddle, and farther still the song of some courting +negro returning home. A drowsy bird twittered in an ancient elm at the +corner of the house. The flowers drooped in the moonlight which bathed +the great path, streamed across the great river, and on up to its source +in the great yellow disk floating in majestic serenity high in the +cloudless sky. And that path, those flowers, that house, the barn, the +cattle, sheep, and hogs, those grain-fields and grassy acres, even those +singing black folk, were all—all his if he but said the words. The +thought was no temptation—it was a mighty wonder that such a thing could +be. And that was all it was—a wonder—to him, but to them it was the +world. Without it all, what would they do? Perhaps Mr. Jefferson might +soon solve the problem for him. Perhaps he might not return from that +wild campaign against the British and the Indians—he might get killed. +And then a thought gripped him and held him fast—_he need not come +back_. That mighty wilderness beyond the mountains was his real home—out +there was his real life. He need not come back, and they would never +know. Then came a thought that almost made him groan. There was a light +step in the hall, and Barbara came swiftly out and dropped on the +topmost step with her chin in both hands. Almost at once she seemed to +feel his presence, for she turned her head quickly. + +“Erskine!” As quickly he rose, embarrassed beyond speech. + +“Come here! Why, you look guilty—what have you been thinking?” He was +startled by her intuition, but he recovered himself swiftly. + +“I suppose I will always feel guilty if I have made you unhappy.” + +“You haven’t made me unhappy. I don’t know what you have made me. Papa +says a girl does not understand and no man can, but he does better than +anybody. You saw how I felt if you had killed him, but you don’t know +how I would have felt if he had killed you. I don’t myself.” + +She began patting her hands gently and helplessly together, and again +she dropped her chin into them with her eyes lifted to the moon. + +“I shall be very unhappy when you are gone. I wish you were not going, +but I know that you are—you can’t help it.” Again he was startled. + +“Whenever you look at that moon over in that dark wilderness, I wish you +would please think of your little cousin—will you?” She turned eagerly +and he was too moved to speak—he only bowed his head as for a prayer or +a benediction. + +“You don’t know how often our thoughts will cross, and that will be a +great comfort to me. Sometimes I am afraid. There is a wild strain on my +mother’s side, and it is in me. Papa knows it and he is wise—so wise—I +am afraid I may sometimes do something very foolish, and it won’t be +_me_ at all. It will be somebody that died long ago.” She put both her +hands over both his and held them tight. + +“I never, never distrusted you. I trust you more than anybody else in +the whole world except my father, and he might be away or”—she gave a +little sob—“he might get killed. I want you to make me a promise.” + +“Anything,” said the boy huskily. + +“I want you to promise me that, no matter when, no matter where you are, +if I need you and send for you you will come.” And Indian-like he put +his forehead on both her little hands. + +“Thank you. I must go now.” Bewildered and dazed, the boy rose and +awkwardly put out his hand. + +“Kiss me good-by.” She put her arms about his neck, and for the first +time in his life the boy’s lips met a woman’s. For a moment she put her +face against his and at his ear was a whisper. + +“Good-by, Erskine!” And she was gone—swiftly—leaving the boy in a dizzy +world of falling stars through which a white light leaped to heights his +soul had never dreamed. + + + + +XIX + + +With the head of that column of stalwart backwoodsmen went Dave Yandell +and Erskine Dale. A hunting-party of four Shawnees heard their coming +through the woods, and, lying like snakes in the undergrowth, peered out +and saw them pass. Then they rose, and Crooked Lightning looked at Black +Wolf and, with a grunt of angry satisfaction, led the way homeward. And +to the village they bore the news that White Arrow had made good his +word and, side by side with the big chief of the Long Knives, was +leading a war-party against his tribe and kinsmen. And Early Morn +carried the news to her mother, who lay sick in a wigwam. + +The miracle went swiftly, and Kaskaskia fell. Stealthily a cordon of +hunters surrounded the little town. The rest stole to the walls of the +fort. Lights flickered from within, the sounds of violins and dancing +feet came through crevice and window. Clark’s tall figure stole +noiselessly into the great hall, where the Creoles were making merry and +leaned silently with folded arms against the doorpost, looking on at the +revels with a grave smile. The light from the torches flickered across +his face, and an Indian lying on the floor sprang to his feet with a +curdling war-whoop. Women screamed and men rushed toward the door. The +stranger stood motionless and his grim smile was unchanged. + +“Dance on!” he commanded courteously, “but remember,” he added sternly, +“you dance under Virginia and not Great Britain!” + +There was a great noise behind him. Men dashed into the fort, and +Rocheblave and his officers were prisoners. By daylight Clark had the +town disarmed. The French, Clark said next day, could take the oath of +allegiance to the Republic, or depart with their families in peace. As +for their church, he had nothing to do with any church save to protect +it from insult. So that the people who had heard terrible stories of the +wild woodsmen and who expected to be killed or made slaves, joyfully +became Americans. They even gave Clark a volunteer company to march with +him upon Cahokia, and that village, too, soon became American. Father +Gibault volunteered to go to Vincennes. Vincennes gathered in the church +to hear him, and then flung the Stars and Stripes to the winds of +freedom above the fort. Clark sent one captain there to take command. +With a handful of hardy men who could have been controlled only by him, +the dauntless one had conquered a land as big as any European kingdom. +Now he had to govern and protect it. He had to keep loyal an alien race +and hold his own against the British and numerous tribes of Indians, +bloodthirsty, treacherous, and deeply embittered against all Americans. +He was hundreds of miles from any American troops; farther still from +the seat of government, and could get no advice or help for perhaps a +year. + +And those Indians poured into Cahokia—a horde of them from every tribe +between the Great Lakes and the Mississippi—chiefs and warriors of every +importance; but not before Clark had formed and drilled four companies +of volunteer Creoles. + +“Watch him!” said Dave, and Erskine did, marvelling at the man’s +knowledge of the Indian. He did not live in the fort, but always on +guard, always seemingly confident, stayed openly in town while the +savages, sullen and grotesque, strutted in full war panoply through the +straggling streets, inquisitive and insolent, their eyes burning with +the lust of plunder and murder. For days he sat in the midst of the +ringed warriors and listened. On the second day Erskine saw Kahtoo in +the throng and Crooked Lightning and Black Wolf. After dusk that day he +felt the fringe of his hunting-shirt plucked, and an Indian, with face +hidden in a blanket, whispered as he passed. + +“Tell the big chief,” he said in Shawnee, “to be on guard to-morrow +night.” He knew it was some kindly tribesman, and he wheeled and went to +Clark, who smiled. Already the big chief had guards concealed in his +little house, who seized the attacking Indians, while two minutes later +the townspeople were under arms. The captives were put in irons, and +Erskine saw among them the crestfallen faces of Black Wolf and Crooked +Lightning. The Indians pleaded that they were trying to test the +friendship of the French for Clark, but Clark, refusing all requests for +their release, remained silent, haughty, indifferent, fearless. He still +refused to take refuge in the fort, and called in a number of ladies and +gentlemen to his house, where they danced all night amid the +council-fires of the bewildered savages. Next morning he stood in the +centre of their ringed warriors with the tasselled shirts of his +riflemen massed behind him, released the captive chiefs, and handed them +the bloody war belt of wampum. + +“I scorn your hostility and treachery. You deserve death but you shall +leave in safety. In three days I shall begin war on you. If you Indians +do not want your women and children killed—stop killing ours. We shall +see who can make that war belt the most bloody. While you have been in +my camp you have had food and fire-water, but now that I have finished, +you must depart speedily.” + +The captive chief spoke and so did old Kahtoo, with his eyes fixed sadly +but proudly on his adopted son. They had listened to bad birds and been +led astray by the British—henceforth they would be friendly with the +Americans. But Clark was not satisfied. + +“I come as a warrior,” he said haughtily; “I shall be a friend to the +friendly. If you choose war I shall send so many warriors from the +Thirteen Council-Fires that your land shall be darkened and you shall +hear no sounds but that of the birds who live on blood.” And then he +handed forth two belts of peace and war, and they eagerly took the belt +of peace. The treaty followed next day and Clark insisted that two of +the prisoners should be put to death; and as the two selected came +forward Erskine saw Black Wolf was one. He whispered with Clark and +Kahtoo, and Crooked Lightning saw the big chief with his hand on +Erskine’s shoulder and heard him forgive the two and tell them to +depart. And thus peace was won. + +Straightway old Kahtoo pushed through the warriors and, plucking the big +chief by the sleeve, pointed to Erskine. + +“That is my son,” he said, “and I want him to go home with me.” + +“He shall go,” said Clark quickly, “but he shall return, whenever it +pleases him, to me.” + +And so Erskine went forth one morning at dawn, and his coming into the +Shawnee camp was like the coming of a king. Early Morn greeted him with +glowing eyes, his foster-mother brought him food, looking proudly upon +him, and old Kahtoo harangued his braves around the council-pole, while +the prophet and Crooked Lightning sulked in their tents. + +“My son spoke words of truth,” he proclaimed sonorously. “He warned us +against the king over the waters and told us to make friends with the +Americans. We did not heed his words, and so he brought the great chief +of the Long Knives, who stood without fear among warriors more numerous +than leaves and spoke the same words to all. We are friends of the Long +Knives. My son is the true prophet. Bring out the false one and Crooked +Lightning and Black Wolf, whose life my son saved though the two were +enemies. My son shall do with them as he pleases.” + +Many young braves sprang willingly forward and the three were haled +before Erskine. Old Kahtoo waved his hand toward them and sat down. +Erskine rose and fixed his eyes sternly on the cowering prophet: + +“He shall go forth from the village and shall never return. For his +words work mischief, he does foolish things, and his drumming frightens +the game. He is a false prophet and he must go.” He turned to Crooked +Lightning: + +“The Indians have made peace with the Long Knives and White Arrow would +make peace with any Indian, though an enemy. Crooked Lightning shall go +or stay, as he pleases. Black Wolf shall stay, for the tribe will need +him as a hunter and a warrior against the English foes of the Long +Knives. White Arrow does not ask another to spare an enemy’s life and +then take it away himself.” + +The braves grunted approval. Black Wolf and Crooked Lightning averted +their faces and the prophet shambled uneasily away. Again old Kahtoo +proclaimed sonorously, “It is well!” and went back with Erskine to his +tent. There he sank wearily on a buffalo-skin and plead with the boy to +stay with them as chief in his stead. He was very old, and now that +peace was made with the Long Knives he was willing to die. If Erskine +would but give his promise, he would never rise again from where he lay. + +Erskine shook his head and the old man sorrowfully turned his face. + + + + +XX + + +And yet Erskine lingered on and on at the village. Of the white woman he +had learned little other than that she had been bought from another +tribe and adopted by old Kahtoo; but it was plain that since the +threatened burning of her she had been held in high respect by the whole +tribe. He began to wonder about her and whether she might not wish to go +back to her own people. He had never talked with her, but he never moved +about the camp that he did not feel her eyes upon him. And Early Morn’s +big soft eyes, too, never seemed to leave him. She brought him food, she +sat at the door of his tent, she followed him about the village and bore +herself openly as his slave. At last old Kahtoo, who would not give up +his great hope, plead with him to marry her, and while he was talking +the girl stood at the door of the tent and interrupted them. Her +mother’s eyes were growing dim, she said. Her mother wanted to talk with +White Arrow and look upon his face before her sight should altogether +pass. Nor could Erskine know that the white woman wanted to look into +the eyes of the man she hoped would become her daughter’s husband, but +Kahtoo did, and he bade Erskine go. His foster-mother, coming upon the +scene, scowled, but Erskine rose and went to the white woman’s tent. She +sat just inside the opening, with a blanket across the lower half of her +face, nor did she look at him. Instead she plied him with questions, and +listened eagerly to his every word, and drew from him every detail of +his life as far back as he could remember. Poor soul, it was the first +opportunity for many years that she had had to talk with any white +person who had been in the Eastern world, and freely and frankly he held +nothing back. She had drawn her blanket close across her face while he +was telling of his capture by the Indians and his life among them, his +escape and the death of his father, and she was crying when he finished. +He even told her a little of Barbara, and when in turn he questioned +her, she told little, and his own native delicacy made him understand. +She, too, had been captured with a son who would have been about +Erskine’s age, but her boy and her husband had been killed. She had been +made a slave and—now she drew the blanket across her eyes—after the +birth of her daughter she felt she could never go back to her own +people. Then her Indian husband had been killed and old Kahtoo had +bought and adopted her, and she had not been forced to marry again. Now +it was too late to leave the Indians. She loved her daughter; she would +not subject her or herself to humiliation among the whites, and, anyhow, +there was no one to whom she could go. And Erskine read deep into the +woman’s heart and his own was made sad. Her concern was with her +daughter—what would become of her? Many a young brave, besides Black +Wolf, had put his heart at her little feet, but she would have none of +them. And so Erskine was the heaven-sent answer to the mother’s +prayers—that was the thought behind her mournful eyes. + +All the while the girl had crouched near, looking at Erskine with +doglike eyes, and when he rose to go the woman dropped the blanket from +her face and got to her feet. Shyly she lifted her hands, took his face +between them, bent close, and studied it searchingly: + +“What is your name?” + +“Erskine Dale.” + +Without a word she turned back into her tent. + +At dusk Erskine stood by the river’s brim, with his eyes lifted to a +rising moon and his thoughts with Barbara on the bank of the James. +Behind him he heard a rustle and, turning, he saw the girl, her breast +throbbing and her eyes burning with a light he had never seen before. + +“Black Wolf will kill you,” she whispered. “Black Wolf wants Early Morn +and he knows that Early Morn wants White Arrow.” Erskine put both hands +on her shoulders and looked down into her eyes. She trembled, and when +his arms went about her she surged closer to him and the touch of her +warm, supple body went through him like fire. And then with a triumphant +smile she sprang back. + +“Black Wolf will see,” she whispered, and fled. Erskine sank to the +ground, with his head in his hands. The girl ran back to her tent, and +the mother, peering at the flushed face and shining eyes, clove to the +truth. She said nothing, but when the girl was asleep and faintly +smiling, the white woman sat staring out into the moonlit woods, softly +beating her breast. + + + + +XXI + + +Erskine had given Black Wolf his life, and the young brave had accepted +the debt and fretted under it sorely. Erskine knew it, and all his +kindness had been of little avail, for Black Wolf sulked sullenly by the +fire or at his wigwam door. And when Erskine had begun to show some heed +to Early Morn a fierce jealousy seized the savage, and his old hatred +was reborn a thousandfold more strong—and that, too, Erskine now knew. +Meat ran low and a hunting-party went abroad. Game was scarce and only +after the second day was there a kill. Erskine had sighted a huge buck, +had fired quickly and at close range. Wounded, the buck had charged, +Erskine’s knife was twisted in his belt, and the buck was upon him +before he could get it out. He tried to dart for a tree, stumbled, +turned, and caught the infuriated beast by the horns. He uttered no cry, +but the angry bellow of the stag reached the ears of Black Wolf through +the woods, and he darted toward the sound. And he came none too soon. +Erskine heard the crack of a rifle, the stag toppled over, and he saw +Black Wolf standing over him with a curiously triumphant look on his +saturnine face. In Erskine, when he rose, the white man was predominant, +and he thrust out his hand, but Black Wolf ignored it. + +“White Arrow gave Black Wolf his life. The debt is paid.” + +Erskine looked at his enemy, nodded, and the two bore the stag away. + +Instantly a marked change was plain in Black Wolf. He told the story of +the fight with the buck to all. Boldly he threw off the mantle of shame, +stalked haughtily through the village, and went back to open enmity with +Erskine. At dusk a day or two later, when he was coming down the path +from the white woman’s wigwam, Black Wolf confronted him, scowling. + +“Early Morn shall belong to Black Wolf,” he said insolently. Erskine met +his baleful, half-drunken eyes scornfully. + +“We will leave that to Early Morn,” he said coolly, and then thundered +suddenly: + +“Out of my way!” + +Black Wolf hesitated and gave way, but ever thereafter Erskine was on +guard. + +In the white woman, too, Erskine now saw a change. Once she had +encouraged him to stay with the Indians; now she lost no opportunity to +urge against it. She had heard that Hamilton would try to retake +Vincennes, that he was forming a great force with which to march south, +sweep through Kentucky, batter down the wooden forts, and force the +Kentuckians behind the great mountain wall. Erskine would be needed by +the whites, who would never understand or trust him if he should stay +with the Indians. All this she spoke one day when Erskine came to her +tent to talk. Her face had blanched, she had argued passionately that he +must go, and Erskine was sorely puzzled. The girl, too, had grown +rebellious and disobedient, for the change in her mother was plain also +to her, and she could not understand. Moreover, Erskine’s stubbornness +grew, and he began to flame within at the stalking insolence of Black +Wolf, who slipped through the shadows of day and the dusk to spy on the +two whereever they came together. And one day when the sun was midway, +and in the open of the village, the clash came. Black Wolf darted forth +from his wigwam, his eyes bloodshot with rage and drink, and his +hunting-knife in his hand. A cry from Early Morn warned Erskine and he +wheeled. As Black Wolf made a vicious slash at him he sprang aside, and +with his fist caught the savage in the jaw. Black Wolf fell heavily and +Erskine was upon him with his own knife at his enemy’s throat. + +“Stop them!” old Kahtoo cried sternly, but it was the terrified shriek +of the white woman that stayed Erskine’s hand. Two young braves disarmed +the fallen Indian, and Kahtoo looked inquiringly at his adopted son. + +“Turn him loose!” Erskine scorned. “I have no fear of him. He is a woman +and drunk, but next time I shall kill him.” + +The white woman had run down, caught Early Morn, and was leading her +back to her tent. From inside presently came low, passionate pleading +from the woman and an occasional sob from the girl. And when an hour +later, at dusk, Erskine turned upward toward the tent, the girl gave a +horrified cry, flashed from the tent, and darted for the high cliff over +the river. + +“Catch her!” cried the mother. “Quick!” Erskine fled after her, overtook +her with her hands upraised for the plunge on the very edge of the +cliff, and half carried her, struggling and sobbing, back to the tent. +Within the girl dropped in a weeping heap, and with her face covered, +and the woman turned to Erskine, agonized. + +“I told her,” she whispered, “and she was going to kill herself. You are +my son!” + + * * * * * + +Still sleepless at dawn, the boy rode Firefly into the woods. At sunset +he came in, gaunt with brooding and hunger. His foster-mother brought +him food, but he would not touch it. The Indian woman stared at him with +keen suspicion, and presently old Kahtoo, passing slowly, bent on him +the same look, but asked no question. Erskine gave no heed to either, +but his mother, watching from her wigwam, understood and grew fearful. +Quickly she stepped outside and called him, and he rose and went to her +bewildered; she was smiling. + +“They are watching,” she said, and Erskine, too, understood, and kept +his back toward the watchers. + +“I have decided,” he said. “You and _she_ must leave here and go with +me.” + +His mother pretended much displeasure. “She will not leave, and I will +not leave her”—her lips trembled—“and I would have gone long ago but——” + +“I understand,” interrupted Erskine, “but you will go now with your +son.” + +The poor woman had to scowl. + +“No, and you must not tell them. They will never let me go, and they +will use me to keep you here. _You_ must go at once. She will never +leave this tent as long as you are here, and if you stay she will die, +or kill herself. Some day——” She turned abruptly and went back into her +tent. Erskine wheeled and went to old Kahtoo. + +“You want Early Morn?” asked the old man. “You shall have her.” + +“No,” said the boy, “I am going back to the big chief.” + +“You are my son and I am old and weak.” + +“I am a soldier and must obey the big chief’s commands, as must you.” + +“I shall live,” said the old man wearily, “until you come again.” + +Erskine nodded and went for his horse. Black Wolf watched him with +malignant satisfaction, but said nothing—nor did Crooked Lightning. +Erskine turned once as he rode away. His mother was standing outside her +wigwam. Mournfully she waved her hand. Behind her and within the tent he +could see Early Morn with both hands at her breast. + + + + +XXII + + +Dawned 1781. + +The war was coming into Virginia at last. Virginia falling would thrust +a great wedge through the centre of the Confederacy, feed the British +armies and end the fight. Cornwallis was to drive the wedge, and never +had the opening seemed easier. Virginia was drained of her fighting men, +and south of the mountains was protected only by a militia, for the most +part, of old men and boys. North and South ran despair. The soldiers had +no pay, little food, and only old worn-out coats, tattered linen +overalls, and one blanket between three men, to protect them from +drifting snow and icy wind. Even the great Washington was near despair, +and in foreign help his sole hope lay. Already the traitor, Arnold, had +taken Richmond, burned warehouses, and returned, but little harassed, to +Portsmouth. + +In April, “the proudest man,” as Mr. Jefferson said, “of the proudest +nation on earth,” one General Phillips, marching northward, paused +opposite Richmond, and looked with amaze at the troop-crowned hills +north of the river. Up there was a beardless French youth of +twenty-three, with the epaulets of a major-general. + +“He will not cross—hein?” said the Marquis de Lafayette. “Very well!” +And they had a race for Petersburg, which the Britisher reached first, +and straightway fell ill of a fever at “Bollingbrook.” A cannonade from +the Appomattox hills saluted him. + +“They will not let me die in peace,” said General Phillips, but he +passed, let us hope, to it, and Benedict Arnold succeeded him. + +Cornwallis was coming on. Tarleton’s white rangers were bedevilling the +land, and it was at this time that Erskine Dale once more rode Firefly +to the river James. + +The boy had been two years in the wilds. When he left the Shawnee camp +winter was setting in, that terrible winter of ‘79—of deep snow and +hunger and cold. When he reached Kaskaskia, Captain Clark had gone to +Kentucky, and Erskine found bad news. Hamilton and Hay had taken +Vincennes. There Captain Helm’s Creoles, as soon as they saw the +redcoats, slipped away from him to surrender their arms to the British, +and thus deserted by all, he and the two or three Americans with him had +to give up the fort. The French reswore allegiance to Britain. Hamilton +confiscated their liquor and broke up their billiard-tables. He let his +Indians scatter to their villages, and with his regulars, volunteers, +white Indian leaders, and red auxiliaries went into winter quarters. One +band of Shawnees he sent to Ohio to scout and take scalps in the +settlements. In the spring he would sweep Kentucky and destroy all the +settlements west of the Alleghanies. So Erskine and Dave went for Clark; +and that trip neither ever forgot. Storms had followed each other since +late November and the snow lay deep. Cattle and horses perished, deer +and elk were found dead in the woods, and buffalo came at nightfall to +old Jerome Sanders’s fort for food and companionship with his starving +herd. Corn gave out and no johnny-cakes were baked on long boards in +front of the fire. There was no salt or vegetable food; nothing but the +flesh of lean wild game. The only fat was with the bears in the hollows +of trees, and every hunter was searching hollow trees. The breast of the +wild turkey served for bread. Yet, while the frontiersmen remained +crowded in the stockades and the men hunted and the women made clothes +of tanned deer-hides, buffalo-wool cloth, and nettle-bark linen, and +both hollowed “noggins” out of the knot of a tree, Clark made his +amazing march to Vincennes, recaptured it by the end of February, and +sent Hamilton to Williamsburg a prisoner. Erskine plead to be allowed to +take him there, but Clark would not let him go. Permanent garrisons were +placed at Vincennes and Cahokia, and at Kaskaskia. Erskine stayed to +help make peace with the Indians, punish marauders and hunting bands, so +that by the end of the year Clark might sit at the Falls of the Ohio as +a shield for the west and a sure guarantee that the whites would never +be forced to abandon wild Kentucky. + +The two years in the wilderness had left their mark on Erskine. He was +tall, lean, swarthy, gaunt, and yet he was not all woodsman, for his +born inheritance as gentleman had been more than emphasized by his +association with Clark and certain Creole officers in the Northwest, who +had improved his French and gratified one pet wish of his life since his +last visit to the James—they had taught him to fence. His mother he had +not seen again, but he had learned that she was alive and not yet blind. +Of Early Morn he had heard nothing at all. Once a traveller had brought +word of Dane Grey. Grey was in Philadelphia and prominent in the gay +doings of that city. He had taken part in a brilliant pageant called the +“Mischianza,” which was staged by André, and was reported a close friend +of that ill-fated young gentleman. + +After the fight at Piqua, with Clark Erskine put forth for old Jerome +Sanders’s fort. He found the hard days of want over. There was not only +corn in plenty but wheat, potatoes, pumpkins, turnips, melons. They +tapped maple-trees for sugar and had sown flax. Game was plentiful, and +cattle, horses, and hogs had multiplied on cane and buffalo clover. +Indeed, it was a comparatively peaceful fall, and though Clark plead +with him, Erskine stubbornly set his face for Virginia. + +Honor Sanders and Polly Conrad had married, but Lydia Noe was still firm +against the wooing of every young woodsman who came to the fort; and +when Erskine bade her good-by and she told him to carry her love to Dave +Yandell, he knew for whom she would wait forever if need be. + +There were many, many travellers on the Wilderness Road now, and Colonel +Dale’s prophecy was coming true. The settlers were pouring in and the +long, long trail was now no lonesome way. + +At Williamsburg Erskine learned many things. Colonel Dale, now a +general, was still with Washington and Harry was with him. Hugh was with +the Virginia militia and Dave with Lafayette. + +Tarleton’s legion of rangers in their white uniforms were scourging +Virginia as they had scourged the Carolinas. Through the James River +country they had gone with fire and sword, burning houses, carrying off +horses, destroying crops, burning grain in the mills, laying plantations +to waste. Barbara’s mother was dead. Her neighbors had moved to safety, +but Barbara, he heard, still lived with old Mammy and Ephraim at Red +Oaks, unless that, too, had been recently put to the torch. Where, then, +would he find her? + + + + +XXIII + + +Down the river Erskine rode with a sad heart. At the place where he had +fought with Grey he pulled Firefly to a sudden halt. There was the +boundary of Red Oaks and there started a desolation that ran as far as +his eye could reach. Red Oaks had not been spared, and he put Firefly to +a fast gallop, with eyes strained far ahead and his heart beating with +agonized foreboding and savage rage. Soon over a distant clump of trees +he could see the chimneys of Barbara’s home—his home, he thought +helplessly—and perhaps those chimneys were all that was left. And then +he saw the roof and the upper windows and the cap of the big columns +unharmed, untouched, and he pulled Firefly in again, with overwhelming +relief, and wondered at the miracle. Again he started and again pulled +in when he caught sight of three horses hitched near the stiles. Turning +quickly from the road, he hid Firefly in the underbrush. Very quietly he +slipped along the path by the river, and, pushing aside through the +rose-bushes, lay down where unseen he could peer through the closely +matted hedge. He had not long to wait. A white uniform issued from the +great hall door and another and another—and after them Barbara—smiling. +The boy’s blood ran hot—smiling at her enemies. Two officers bowed, +Barbara courtesied, and they wheeled on their heels and descended the +steps. The third stayed behind a moment, bowed over her hand and kissed +it. The watcher’s blood turned then to liquid fire. Great God, at what +price was that noble old house left standing? Grimly, swiftly Erskine +turned, sliding through the bushes like a snake to the edge of the road +along which they must pass. He would fight the three, for his life was +worth nothing now. He heard them laughing, talking at the stiles. He +heard them speak Barbara’s name, and two seemed to be bantering the +third, whose answering laugh seemed acquiescent and triumphant. They +were coming now. The boy had his pistols out, primed and cocked. He was +rising on his knees, just about to leap to his feet and out into the +road, when he fell back into a startled, paralyzed, inactive heap. +Glimpsed through an opening in the bushes, the leading trooper in the +uniform of Tarleton’s legion was none other than Dane Grey, and +Erskine’s brain had worked quicker than his angry heart. This was a +mystery that must be solved before his pistols spoke. He rose crouching +as the troopers rode away. At the bend of the road he saw Grey turn with +a gallant sweep of his tricornered hat, and, swerving his head +cautiously, he saw Barbara answer with a wave of her handkerchief. If +Tarleton’s men were around he would better leave Firefly where he was in +the woods for a while. A jay-bird gave out a flutelike note above his +head; Erskine never saw a jay-bird perched cockily on a branch that he +did not think of Grey; but Grey was brave—so, too, was a jay-bird. A +startled gasp behind him made him wheel, pistol once more in hand, to +find a negro, mouth wide open and staring at him from the road. + +“Marse Erskine!” he gasped. It was Ephraim, the boy who had led +Barbara’s white ponies out long, long ago, now a tall, muscular lad with +an ebony face and dazzling teeth. “Whut you doin’ hyeh, suh? Whar’ yo’ +hoss? Gawd, I’se sutn’ly glad to see yuh.” Erskine pointed to an oak. + +“Right by that tree. Put him in the stable and feed him.” + +The negro shook his head. + +“No, suh. I’ll take de feed down to him. Too many redcoats messin’ round +heah. You bettah go in de back way—dey might see yuh.” + +“How is Miss Barbara?” + +The negro’s eyes shifted. + +“She’s well. Yassuh, she’s well as common.” + +“Wasn’t one of those soldiers who just rode away Mr. Dane Grey?” + +The negro hesitated. + +“Yassuh.” + +“What’s he doing in a British uniform?” + +The boy shifted his great shoulders uneasily and looked aside. + +“I don’t know, suh—I don’t know nuttin’.” + +Erskine knew he was lying, but respected his loyalty. + +“Go tell Miss Barbara I’m here and then feed my horse.” + +“Yassuh.” + +Ephraim went swiftly and Erskine followed along the hedge and through +the rose-bushes to the kitchen door, where Barbara’s faithful old Mammy +was waiting for him with a smile of welcome but with deep trouble in her +eyes. + +“I done tol’ Miss Barbary, suh. She’s waitin’ fer yuh in de hall.” + +Barbara, standing in the hall doorway, heard his step. + +“Erskine!” she cried softly, and she came to meet him, with both hands +outstretched, and raised her lovely face to be kissed. “What are you +doing here?” + +“I am on my way to join General Lafayette.” + +“But you will be captured. It is dangerous. The country is full of +British soldiers.” + +“So I know,” Erskine said dryly. + +“When did you get here?” + +“Twenty minutes ago. I would not have been welcome just then. I waited +in the hedge. I saw you had company.” + +“Did you see them?” she faltered. + +“I even recognized one of them.” Barbara sank into a chair, her elbow on +one arm, her chin in her hand, her face turned, her eyes looking +outdoors. She said nothing, but the toe of her slipper began to tap the +floor gently. There was no further use for indirection or concealment. + +“Barbara,” Erskine said with some sternness, and his tone quickened the +tapping of the slipper and made her little mouth tighten, “what does all +this mean?” + +“Did you see,” she answered, without looking at him, “that the crops +were all destroyed and the cattle and horses were all gone?” + +“Why did they spare the house?” The girl’s bosom rose with one quick, +defiant intake of breath, and for a moment she held it. + +“Dane Grey saved our home.” + +“How?” + +“He had known Colonel Tarleton in London and had done something for him +over there.” + +“How did he get in communication with Colonel Tarleton when he was an +officer in the American army?” The girl would not answer. + +“Was he taken prisoner?” Still she was silent, for the sarcasm in +Erskine’s voice was angering her. + +“He fought once under Benedict Arnold—perhaps he is fighting with him +now.” + +“No!” she cried hotly. + +“Then he must be a——” + +She did not allow him to utter the word. + +“Why Mr. Grey is in British uniform is his secret—not mine.” + +“And why he is here is—yours.” + +“Exactly!” she flamed. “You are a soldier. Learn what you want to know +from him. You are my cousin, but you are going beyond the rights of +blood. I won’t stand it—I won’t stand it—from anybody.” + +“I don’t understand you, Barbara—I don’t know you. That last time it was +Grey, you—and now—” He paused and, in spite of herself, her eyes flashed +toward the door. Erskine saw it, drew himself erect, bowed and strode +straight out. Nor did the irony of the situation so much as cross his +mind—that he should be turned from his own home by the woman he loved +and to whom he had given that home. Nor did he look back—else he might +have seen her sink, sobbing, to the floor. + + * * * * * + +When he turned the corner of the house old Mammy and Ephraim were +waiting for him at the kitchen door. + +“Get Firefly, Ephraim!” he said sharply. + +“Yassuh!” + +At the first sight of his face Mammy had caught her hands together at +her breast. + +“You ain’t gwine, Marse Erskine,” she said tremulously. “You ain’t gwine +away?” + +“Yes, Mammy—I must.” + +“You an’ Miss Barbary been quoilin’, Marse Erskine—you been +quoilin’”—and without waiting for an answer she went on passionately: +“Ole Marse an’ young Marse an’ Marse Hugh done gone, de niggahs all +gone, an’ nobody lef’ but me an’ Ephraim—nobody lef’ but me an’ +Ephraim—to give dat little chile one crumb o’ comfort. Nobody come to de +house but de redcoats an’ dat mean Dane Grey, an’ ev’y time he come he +leave Miss Barbary cryin’ her little heart out. ’Tain’t Miss Barbary in +dar—hit’s some other pusson. She ain’t de same pusson—no, suh. An’ lemme +tell yu—lemme tell yu—ef some o’ de men folks doan come back heah +somehow an’ look out fer dat little gal—she’s a-gwine to run away wid +dat mean low-down man whut just rid away from heah in a white uniform.” +She had startled Erskine now and she knew it. + +“Dat man has got little Missus plum’ witched, I tell ye—plum’ witched. +Hit’s jes like a snake wid a catbird.” + +“Men have to fight, Mammy——” + +“I doan keer nothin’ ’bout de war.” + +“I’d be captured if I stayed here——” + +“All I keer ’bout is my chile in dar——” + +“But we’ll drive out the redcoats and the whitecoats and I’ll come +straight here——” + +“An’ all de men folks leavin’ her heah wid nobody but black Ephraim an’ +her ole Mammy.” The old woman stopped her fiery harangue to listen: + +“Dar now, heah dat? My chile hollerin’ fer her ole Mammy.” She turned +her unwieldy body toward the faint cry that Erskine’s heart heard better +than his ears, and Erskine hurried away. + +“Ephraim,” he said as he swung upon Firefly, “you and Mammy keep a close +watch, and if I’m needed here, come for me yourself and come fast.” + +“Yassuh. Marse Grey is sutn’ly up to some devilmint no which side he +fightin’ fer. I got a gal oveh on the aige o’ de Grey plantation an’ she +tel’ me dat Marse Dane Grey don’t wear dat white uniform all de time.” + +“What’s that—what’s that?” asked Erskine. + +“No, suh. She say he got an udder uniform, same as yose, an’ he keeps it +at her uncle Sam’s cabin an’ she’s seed him go dar in white an’ come out +in our uniform, an’ al’ays at night, Marse Erskine—al’ays at night.” + +The negro cocked his ear suddenly: + +“Take to de woods quick, Marse Erskine. Horses comin’ down the road.” + +But the sound of coming hoof-beats had reached the woodsman’s ears some +seconds before the black man heard them, and already Erskine had wheeled +away. And Ephraim saw Firefly skim along the edge of a blackened meadow +behind its hedge of low trees. + +“Gawd!” said the black boy, and he stood watching the road. A band of +white-coated troopers was coming in a cloud of dust, and at the head of +them rode Dane Grey. + +“Has Captain Erskine Dale been here?” he demanded. + +Ephraim had his own reason for being on the good side of the questioner, +and did not even hesitate. + +“Yassuh—he jes’ lef’! Dar he goes now!” With a curse Grey wheeled his +troopers. At that moment Firefly, with something like the waving flight +of a bluebird, was leaping the meadow fence into the woods. The black +boy looked after the troopers’ dust. + +“Gawd!” he said again, with a grin that showed every magnificent tooth +in his head. “Jest as well try to ketch a streak o’ lightning.” And +quite undisturbed he turned to tell the news to old Mammy. + + + + +XXIV + + +Up the James rode Erskine, hiding in the woods by day and slipping +cautiously along the sandy road by night, circling about Tarleton’s +camp-fires, or dashing at full speed past some careless sentinel. Often +he was fired at, often chased, but with a clear road in front of him he +had no fear of capture. On the third morning he came upon a ragged +sentinel—an American. Ten minutes later he got his first glimpse of +Lafayette, and then he was hailed joyfully by none other than Dave +Yandell, Captain Dave Yandell, shorn of his woodsman’s dress and +panoplied in the trappings of war. + + * * * * * + +Cornwallis was coming on. The boy, he wrote, cannot escape me. But the +boy—Lafayette—did, and in time pursued and forced the Englishman into a +_cul-de-sac_. “I have given his lordship the disgrace of a retreat,” +said Lafayette. And so—Yorktown! + +Late in August came the message that put Washington’s great “soul in +arms.” Rochambeau had landed six thousand soldiers in Connecticut, and +now Count de Grasse and a French fleet had sailed for the Chesapeake. +General Washington at once resorted to camouflage. He laid out camps +ostentatiously opposite New York and in plain sight of the enemy. He +made a feigned attack on their posts. Rochambeau moved south and reached +the Delaware before the British grasped the Yankee trick. Then it was +too late. The windows of Philadelphia were filled with ladies waving +handkerchiefs and crying bravoes when the tattered Continentals, their +clothes thick with dust but hats plumed with sprigs of green, marched +through amid their torn battle-flags and rumbling cannon. Behind +followed the French in “gay white uniforms faced with green,” and +martial music throbbed the air. Not since poor André had devised the +“Mischianza” festival had Philadelphia seen such a pageant. Down the +Chesapeake they went in transports and were concentrated at Williamsburg +before the close of September. Cornwallis had erected works against the +boy, for he knew nothing of Washington and Count de Grasse, nor Mad +Anthony and General Nelson, who were south of the James to prevent +escape into North Carolina. + +“To your goodness,” the boy wrote to Washington, “I am owning the most +beautiful prospect I may ever behold.” + +Then came de Grasse, who drove off the British fleet, and the mouth of +the net was closed. + +Cornwallis heard the cannon and sent Clinton to appeal for help, but the +answer was Washington himself at the head of his army. And then the +joyous march. + +“’Tis our first campaign!” cried the French gayly, and the Continentals +joyfully answered: + +“’Tis our last!” + + * * * * * + +At Williamsburg the allies gathered, and with Washington’s army came +Colonel Dale, now a general, and young Captain Harry Dale, who had +brought news from Philadelphia that was of great interest to Erskine +Dale. In that town Dane Grey had been a close intimate of André, and +that intimacy had been the cause of much speculation since. He had told +Dave of his mother and Early Morn, and Dave had told him gravely that he +must go get them after the campaign was over and bring them to the fort +in Kentucky. If Early Morn still refused to come, then he must bring his +mother, and he reckoned grimly that no mouth would open in a word that +could offend her. Erskine also told of Red Oaks and Dane Grey, but Dave +must tell nothing to the Dales—not yet, if ever. + +In mid-September Washington came, and General Dale had but one chance to +visit Barbara. General Dale was still weak from a wound and Barbara +tried unavailingly to keep him at home. Erskine’s plea that he was too +busy to go with them aroused Harry’s suspicions, that were confirmed by +Barbara’s manner and reticence, and he went bluntly to the point: + +“What is the trouble, cousin, between you and Barbara?” + +“Trouble?” + +“Yes. You wouldn’t go to Red Oaks and Barbara did not seem surprised. Is +Dane Grey concerned?” + +“Yes.” + +Harry looked searchingly at his cousin: + +“I pray to God that I may soon meet him face to face.” + +“And I,” said Erskine quietly, “pray to God that you do not—not until +after I have met him first.” Barbara had not told, he thought, nor +should he—not yet. And Harry, after a searching look at his cousin, +turned away. + +They marched next morning at daybreak. At sunset of the second day they +bivouacked within two miles of Yorktown and the siege began. The allied +line was a crescent, with each tip resting on the water—Lafayette +commanding the Americans on the right, the French on the left under +Rochambeau. De Grasse, with his fleet, was in the bay to cut off +approach by water. Washington himself put the match to the first gun, +and the mutual cannonade of three or four days began. The scene was +“sublime and stupendous.” + +Bombshells were seen “crossing each other’s path in the air, and were +visible in the form of a black ball by day, but in the night they +appeared like a fiery meteor, with a blazing tail most beautifully +brilliant. They ascended majestically from the mortar to a certain +altitude and gradually descended to the spot where they were destined to +execute their work of destruction. When a shell fell it wheeled around, +burrowed, and excavated the earth to a considerable extent and, +bursting, made dreadful havoc around. When they fell in the river they +threw up columns of water like spouting monsters of the deep. Two +British men-of-war lying in the river were struck with hot shot and set +on fire, and the result was full of terrible grandeur. The sails caught +and the flames ran to the tops of the masts, resembling immense torches. +One fled like a mountain of fire toward the bay and was burned to the +water’s edge.” + +General Nelson, observing that the gunners were not shooting at Nelson +House because it was his own, got off his horse and directed a gun at it +with his own hand. And at Washington’s headquarters appeared the +venerable Secretary Nelson, who had left the town with the permission of +Cornwallis and now “related with a serene visage what had been the +effect of our batteries.” It was nearly the middle of October that the +two redoubts projecting beyond the British lines and enfilading the +American intrenchments were taken by storm. One redoubt was left to +Lafayette and his Americans, the other to Baron de Viomenil, who claimed +that his grenadiers were the men for the matter in hand. Lafayette +stoutly argued the superiority of his Americans, who, led by Hamilton, +carried their redoubt first with the bayonet, and sent the Frenchman an +offer of help. The answer was: + +“I will be in mine in five minutes.” And he was, Washington watching the +attack anxiously: + +“The work is done and well done.” + +And then the surrender: + +The day was the 19th of October. The victors were drawn up in two lines +a mile long on the right and left of a road that ran through the autumn +fields south of Yorktown. Washington stood at the head of his army on +the right, Rochambeau at the head of the French on the left. Behind on +both sides was a great crowd of people to watch the ceremony. Slowly out +of Yorktown marched the British colors, cased drums beating a +significant English air: + +“The world turned topsyturvy.” + +Lord Cornwallis was sick. General O’Hara bore my lord’s sword. As he +approached, Washington saluted and pointed to General Lincoln, who had +been treated with indignity at Charleston. O’Hara handed the sword to +Lincoln. Lincoln at once handed it back and the surrender was over. +Between the lines the British marched on and stacked arms in a near-by +field. Some of them threw their muskets on the ground, and a British +colonel bit the hilt of his sword from rage. + +As Tarleton’s legion went by, three pairs of eyes watched eagerly for +one face, but neither Harry nor Captain Dave Yandell saw Dane Grey—nor +did Erskine Dale. + + + + +XXV + + +To Harry and Dave, Dane Grey’s absence was merely a mystery—to Erskine +it brought foreboding and sickening fear. General Dale’s wound having +opened afresh, made travelling impossible, and Harry had a slight +bayonet-thrust in the shoulder. Erskine determined to save them all the +worry possible and to act now as the head of the family himself. He +announced that he must go straight back at once to Kentucky and Captain +Clark. Harry stormed unavailingly and General Dale pleaded with him to +stay, but gave reluctant leave. To Dave he told his fears and Dave +vehemently declared he, too, would go along, but Erskine would not hear +of it and set forth alone. + +Slowly enough he started, but with every mile suspicion and fear grew +the faster and he quickened Firefly’s pace. The distance to Williamsburg +was soon covered, and skirting the town, he went on swiftly for Red +Oaks. + +Suppose he were too late, but even if he were not too late, what should +he do, what could he do? Firefly was sweeping into a little hollow now, +and above the beating of her hoofs in the sandy road, a clink of metal +reached his ears beyond the low hill ahead, and Erskine swerved aside +into the bushes. Some one was coming, and apparently out of the red ball +of the sun hanging over that hill sprang a horseman at a dead run—black +Ephraim on the horse he had saved from Tarleton’s men. Erskine pushed +quickly out into the road. + +“Stop!” he cried, but the negro came thundering blindly on, as though he +meant to ride down anything in his way. Firefly swerved aside, and +Ephraim shot by, pulling in with both hands and shouting: + +“Marse Erskine! Yassuh, yassuh! Thank Gawd you’se come.” When he wheeled +he came back at a gallop—nor did he stop. + +“Come on, Marse Erskine!” he cried. “No time to waste. Come on, suh!” + +With a few leaps Firefly was abreast, and neck and neck they ran, while +the darky’s every word confirmed the instinct and reason that had led +Erskine where he was. + +“Yassuh, Miss Barbary gwine to run away wid dat mean white man. Yassuh, +dis very night.” + +“When did he get here?” + +“Dis mawnin’. He been pesterin’ her an’ pleadin’ wid her all day an’ she +been cryin’ her heart out, but Mammy say she’s gwine wid him. ‘Pears +like she can’t he’p herse’f.” + +“Is he alone?” + +“No, suh, he got an orficer an’ four sojers wid him.” + +“How did they get away?” + +“He say as how dey was on a scoutin’ party an’ ‘scaped.” + +“Does he know that Cornwallis has surrendered?” + +“Oh, yassuh, he tol’ Miss Barbary dat. Dat’s why he says he got to git +away right now an’ she got to go wid him right now.” + +“Did he say anything about General Dale and Mr. Harry?” + +“Yassuh, he say dat dey’s all right an’ dat dey an’ you will be hot on +his tracks. Dat’s why Mammy tol’ me to ride like de debbil an’ hurry you +on, suh.” And Ephraim had ridden like the devil, for his horse was +lathered with foam and both were riding that way now, for the negro was +no mean horseman and the horse he had saved was a thoroughbred. + +“Dis arternoon,” the negro went on, “he went ovah to dat cabin I tol’ +you ‘bout an’ got dat American uniform. He gwine to tell folks on de way +dat dem udders is his prisoners an’ he takin’ dem to Richmond. Den dey +gwine to sep’rate an’ he an’ Miss Barbary gwine to git married somewhur +on de way an’ dey goin’ on an’ sail fer England, fer he say if he git +captured folks’ll won’t let him be prisoner o’ war—dey’ll jes up an’ +shoot him. An’ dat skeer Miss Barbary mos’ to death an’ he’p make her go +wid him. Mammy heah’d ever’ word dey say.” + +Erskine’s brain was working fast, but no plan would come. They would be +six against him, but no matter—he urged Firefly on. The red ball from +which Ephraim had leaped had gone down now. The chill autumn darkness +was settling, but the moon was rising full and glorious over the black +expanse of trees when the lights of Red Oaks first twinkled ahead. +Erskine pulled in. + +“Ephraim!” + +“Yassuh. You lemme go ahead. You jest wait in dat thicket next to de +corner o’ de big gyarden. I’ll ride aroun’ through de fields an’ come +into the barnyard by de back gate. Dey won’t know I been gone. Den I’ll +come to de thicket an’ tell you de whole lay o’ de land.” + +Erskine nodded. + +“Hurry!” + +“Yassuh.” + +The negro turned from the road through a gate, and Erskine heard the +thud of his horse’s hoofs across the meadow turf. He rode on slowly, +hitched Firefly as close to the edge of the road as was safe, and crept +to the edge of the garden, where he could peer through the hedge. The +hall-door was open and the hallway lighted; so was the dining-room; and +there were lights in Barbara’s room. There were no noises, not even of +animal life, and no figures moving about or in the house. What could he +do? One thing at least, no matter what happened to him—he could number +Dane Grey’s days and make this night his last on earth. It would +probably be his own last night, too. Impatiently he crawled back to the +edge of the road. More quickly than he expected, he saw Ephraim’s figure +slipping through the shadows toward him. + +“Dey’s jus’ through supper,” he reported. “Miss Barbary didn’t eat wid +’em. She’s up in her room. Dat udder orficer been stormin’ at Marse Grey +an’ hurryin’ him up. Mammy been holdin’ de little Missus back all she +can. She say she got to make like she heppin’ her pack. De sojers down +dar by de wharf playin’ cards an’ drinkin’. Dat udder man been drinkin’ +hard. He got his head on de table now an’ look like he gone to sleep.” + +“Ephraim,” said Erskine quickly, “go tell Mr. Grey that one of his men +wants to see him right away at the sun-dial. Tell him the man wouldn’t +come to the house because he didn’t want the others to know—that he has +something important to tell him. When he starts down the path you run +around the hedge and be on hand in the bushes.” + +“Yassuh,” and the boy showed his teeth in a comprehending smile. It was +not long before he saw Grey’s tall figure easily emerge from the +hall-door and stop full in the light. He saw Ephraim slip around the +corner and Grey move to the end of the porch, doubtless in answer to the +black boy’s whispered summons. For a moment the two figures were +motionless and then Erskine began to tingle acutely from head to foot. +Grey came swiftly down the great path, which was radiant with moonlight. +As Grey neared the dial Erskine moved toward him, keeping in a dark +shadow, but Grey saw him and called in a low tone but sharply: + +“Well, what is it?” With two paces more Erskine stepped out into the +moonlight with his cocked pistol at Grey’s breast. + +“This,” he said quietly. “Make no noise—and don’t move.” Grey was +startled, but he caught his control instantly and without fear. + +“You are a brave man, Mr. Grey, and so, for that matter, is—Benedict +Arnold.” + +“Captain Grey,” corrected Grey insolently. + +“I do not recognize your rank. To me you are merely Traitor Grey.” + +“You are entitled to unusual freedom of speech—under the circumstances.” + +[Illustration: “Make no noise, and don’t move”] + +“I shall grant you the same freedom,” Erskine replied quickly—“in a +moment. You are my prisoner, Mr. Grey. I could lead you to your proper +place at the end of a rope, but I have in mind another fate for you +which perhaps will be preferable to you and maybe one or two others. Mr. +Grey, I tried once to stab you—I knew no better and have been sorry ever +since. You once tried to murder me in the duel and you did know better. +Doubtless you have been sorry ever since—that you didn’t succeed. Twice +you have said that you would fight me with anything, any time, any +place.” Grey bowed slightly. “I shall ask you to make those words good +and I shall accordingly choose the weapons.” Grey bowed again. +“Ephraim!” The boy stepped from the thicket. + +“Ah,” breathed Grey, “that black devil!” + +“Ain’ you gwine to shoot him, Marse Erskine?” + +“Ephraim!” said Erskine, “slip into the hall very quietly and bring me +the two rapiers on the wall.” Grey’s face lighted up. + +“And, Ephraim,” he called, “slip into the dining-room and fill Captain +Kilburn’s glass.” He turned with a wicked smile. + +“Another glass and he will be less likely to interrupt. Believe me, +Captain Dale, I shall take even more care now than you that we shall not +be disturbed. I am delighted.” And now Erskine bowed. + +“I know more of your career than you think, Grey. You have been a spy as +well as a traitor. And now you are crowning your infamy by weaving some +spell over my cousin and trying to carry her away in the absence of her +father and brother, to what unhappiness God only can know. I can hardly +hope that you appreciate the honor I am doing you.” + +“Not as much as I appreciate your courage and the risk you are taking.” + +Erskine smiled. + +“The risk is perhaps less than you think.” + +“You have not been idle?” + +“I have learned more of my father’s swords than I knew when we used them +last.” + +“I am glad—it will be more interesting.” Erskine looked toward the house +and moved impatiently. + +“My brother officer has dined too well,” noted Grey placidly, “and the +rest of my—er—retinue are gambling. We are quite secure.” + +“Ah!” Erskine breathed—he had seen the black boy run down the steps with +something under one arm and presently Ephraim was in the shadow of the +thicket: + +“Give one to Mr. Grey, Ephraim, and the other to me. I believe you said +on that other occasion that there was no choice of blades?” + +“Quite right,” Grey answered, skilfully testing his bit of steel. + +“Keep well out of the way, Ephraim,” warned Erskine, “and take this +pistol. You may need it, if I am worsted, to protect yourself.” + +“Indeed, yes,” returned Grey, “and kindly instruct him not to use it to +protect _you_.” For answer Erskine sprang from the shadow—discarding +formal courtesies. + +“_En garde!_” he called sternly. + +The two shining blades clashed lightly and quivered against each other +in the moonlight like running drops of quicksilver. + +Grey was cautious at first, trying out his opponent’s increase in skill: + +“You have made marked improvement.” + +“Thank you,” smiled Erskine. + +“Your wrist is much stronger.” + +“Naturally.” Grey leaped backward and parried just in time a vicious +thrust that was like a dart of lightning. + +“Ah! A Frenchman taught you that.” + +“A Frenchman taught me all the little I know.” + +“I wonder if he taught you how to meet this.” + +“He did,” answered Erskine, parrying easily and with an answering thrust +that turned Grey suddenly anxious. Constantly Grey manœuvred to keep his +back to the moon, and just as constantly Erskine easily kept him where +the light shone fairly on both. Grey began to breathe heavily. + +“I think, too,” said Erskine, “that my wind is a little better than +yours—would you like a short resting-spell?” + +From the shadow Ephraim chuckled, and Grey snapped: + +“Make that black devil——” + +“Keep quiet, Ephraim!” broke in Erskine sternly. Again Grey manœuvred +for the moon, to no avail, and Erskine gave warning: + +“Try that again and I will put that moon in your eyes and keep it +there.” Grey was getting angry now and was beginning to pant. + +“Your wind _is_ short,” said Erskine with mock compassion. “I will give +you a little breathing-spell presently.” + +Grey was not wasting his precious breath now and he made no answer. + +“Now!” said Erskine sharply, and Grey’s blade flew from his hand and lay +like a streak of silver on the dewy grass. Grey rushed for it. + +“Damn you!” he raged, and wheeled furiously—patience, humor, and caution +quite gone—and they fought now in deadly silence. Ephraim saw the +British officer appear in the hall and walk unsteadily down the steps as +though he were coming down the path, but he dared not open his lips. +There was the sound of voices, and it was evident that the game had +ended in a quarrel and the players were coming up the river-bank toward +them. Erskine heard, but if Grey did he at first gave no sign—he was too +much concerned with the death that faced him. Suddenly Erskine knew that +Grey had heard, for the fear in his face gave way to a diabolic grin of +triumph and he lashed suddenly into defense—if he could protect himself +only a little longer! Erskine had delayed the finishing-stroke too long +and he must make it now. Grey gave way step by step—parrying only. The +blades flashed like tiny bits of lightning. Erskine’s face, grim and +inexorable, brought the sick fear back into Grey’s, and Erskine saw his +enemy’s lips open. He lunged then, his blade went true, sank to the +hilt, and Grey’s warped soul started on its way with a craven cry for +help. Erskine sprang back into the shadows and snatched his pistol from +Ephraim’s hand: + +“Get out of the way now. Tell them I did it.” + +Once he looked back. He saw Barbara at the hall-door with old Mammy +behind her. With a running leap he vaulted the hedge, and, hidden in the +bushes, Ephraim heard Firefly’s hoofs beating ever more faintly the +sandy road. + + + + +XXVI + + +Yorktown broke the British heart, and General Dale, still weak from +wounds, went home to Red Oaks. It was not long before, with gentle +inquiry, he had pieced out the full story of Barbara and Erskine and +Dane Grey, and wisely he waited his chance with each phase of the +situation. Frankly he told her first of Grey’s dark treachery, and the +girl listened with horrified silence, for she would as soon have +distrusted that beloved father as the heavenly Father in her prayers. +She left him when he finished the story and he let her go without +another word. All day she was in her room and at sunset she gave him her +answer, for she came to him dressed in white, knelt by his chair, and +put her head in his lap. And there was a rose in her hair. + +“I have never understood about myself and—and that man,” she said, “and +I never will.” + +“I do,” said the general gently, “and I understand you through my sister +who was so like you. Erskine’s father was as indignant as Harry is now, +and I am trying to act toward you as my father did toward her.” The girl +pressed her lips to one of his hands. + +“I think I’d better tell you the whole story now,” said General Dale, +and he told of Erskine’s father, his wildness and his wanderings, his +marriage, and the capture of his wife and the little son by the Indians, +all of which she knew, and the girl wondered why he should be telling +her again. The general paused: + +“You know Erskine’s mother was not killed. He found her.” The girl +looked up amazed and incredulous. + +“Yes,” he went on, “the white woman whom he found in the Indian village +was his mother.” + +“Father!” She lifted her head quickly, leaned back with hands caught +tight in front of her, looked up into his face—her own crimsoning and +paling as she took in the full meaning of it all. Her eyes dropped. + +“Then,” she said slowly, “that Indian girl—Early Morn—is his +half-sister. Oh, oh!” A great pity flooded her heart and eyes. “Why +didn’t Erskine take them away from the Indians?” + +“His mother wouldn’t leave them.” And Barbara understood. + +“Poor thing—poor thing!” + +“I think Erskine is going to try now.” + +“Did you tell him to bring them here?” The general put his hand on her +head. + +“I hoped you would say that. I did, but he shook his head.” + +“Poor Erskine!” she whispered, and her tears came. Her father leaned +back and for a moment closed his eyes. + +“There is more,” he said finally. “Erskine’s father was the eldest +brother—and Red Oaks——” + +The girl sprang to her feet, startled, agonized, shamed: “Belongs to +Erskine,” she finished with her face in her hands. “God pity me,” she +whispered, “I drove him from his own home.” + +“No,” said the old general with a gentle smile. He was driving the barb +deep, but sooner or later it had to be done. + +“Look here!” He pulled an old piece of paper from his pocket and handed +it to her. Her wide eyes fell upon a rude boyish scrawl and a rude +drawing of a buffalo pierced by an arrow: + +“It make me laugh. I have no use. I give hole dam plantashun Barbara.” + +“Oh!” gasped the girl and then—“where is he?” + +“Waiting at Williamsburg to get his discharge.” She rushed swiftly down +the steps, calling: + +“Ephraim! Ephraim!” + +And ten minutes later the happy, grinning Ephraim, mounted on the +thoroughbred, was speeding ahead of a whirlwind of dust with a little +scented note in his battered slouch hat: + + “You said you would come whenever I wanted you. I want you to come + now. + + “Barbara.” + +The girl would not go to bed, and the old general from his window saw +her like some white spirit of the night motionless on the porch. And +there through the long hours she sat. Once she rose and started down the +great path toward the sun-dial, moving slowly through the flowers and +moonlight until she was opposite a giant magnolia. Where the shadow of +it touched the light on the grass, she had last seen Grey’s white face +and scarlet breast. With a shudder she turned back. The night whitened. +A catbird started the morning chorus. The dawn came and with it Ephraim. +The girl waited where she was. Ephraim took off his battered hat. + +“Marse Erskine done gone, Miss Barbary,” he said brokenly. “He done gone +two days.” + +The girl said nothing, and there the old general found her still +motionless—the torn bits of her own note and the torn bits of Erskine’s +scrawling deed scattered about her feet. + + + + +XXVII + + +On the summit of Cumberland Gap Erskine Dale faced Firefly to the east +and looked his last on the forests that swept unbroken back to the river +James. It was all over for him back there and he turned to the wilder +depths, those endless leagues of shadowy woodlands, that he would never +leave again. Before him was one vast forest. The trees ran from +mountain-crest to river-bed, they filled valley and rolling plain, and +swept on in sombre and melancholy wastes to the Mississippi. Around him +were birches, pines, hemlocks, and balsam firs. He dropped down into +solemn, mysterious depths filled with oaks, chestnuts, hickories, +maples, beeches, walnuts, and gigantic poplars. The sun could not +penetrate the leafy-roofed archway of that desolate world. The tops of +the mighty trees merged overhead in a mass of tent-like foliage and the +spaces between the trunks were choked with underbrush. And he rode on +and on through the gray aisles of the forest in a dim light that was +like twilight at high noon. + +At Boonesborough he learned from the old ferryman that, while the war +might be coming to an end in Virginia, it was raging worse than ever in +Kentucky. There had been bloody Indian forays, bloody white reprisals, +fierce private wars, and even then the whole border was in a flame. +Forts had been pushed westward even beyond Lexington, and 1782 had been +Kentucky’s year of blood. Erskine pushed on, and ever grew his +hopelessness. The British had drawn all the savages of the Northwest +into the war. As soon as the snow was off the ground the forays had +begun. Horses were stolen, cabins burned, and women and children were +carried off captive. The pioneers had been confined to their stockaded +forts, and only small bands of riflemen sallied out to patrol the +country. Old Jerome Sanders’s fort was deserted. Old Jerome had been +killed. Twenty-three widows were at Harrodsburg filing the claims of +dead husbands, and among them were Polly Conrad and Honor Sanders. The +people were expecting an attack in great force from the Indians led by +the British. At the Blue Licks there had been a successful ambush by the +Indians and the whites had lost half their number, among them many brave +men and natural leaders of the settlements. Captain Clark was at the +mouth of Licking River and about to set out on an expedition and needed +men. + +Erskine, sure of a welcome, joined him and again rode forth with Clark +through the northern wilderness, and this time a thousand mounted +riflemen followed them. Clark had been stirred at last from his lethargy +by the tragedy of the Blue Licks and this expedition was one of reprisal +and revenge; and it was to be the last. The time was autumn and the corn +was ripe. The triumphant savages rested in their villages unsuspecting +and unafraid, and Clark fell upon them like a whirl-wind. Taken by +surprise, and startled and dismayed by such evidence of the quick +rebirth of power in the beaten whites, the Indians of every village fled +at their approach, and Clark put the torch not only to cabin and wigwam +but to the fields of standing corn. As winter was coming on, this would +be a sad blow, as Clark intended, to the savages. + +Erskine had told the big chief of his mother, and every man knew the +story and was on guard that she should come to no harm. A captured +Shawnee told them that the Shawnees had got word that the whites were +coming, and their women and old men had fled or were fleeing, all, +except in a village he had just left—he paused and pointed toward the +east where a few wisps of smoke were rising. Erskine turned: “Do you +know Kahtoo?” + +“He is in that village.” + +Erskine hesitated: “And the white woman—Gray Dove?” + +“She, too, is there.” + +“And Early Morn?” + +“Yes,” grunted the savage. + +“What does he say?” asked Clark. + +“There is a white woman and her daughter in a village, there,” said +Erskine, pointing in the direction of the smoke. + +Clark’s voice was announcing the fact to his men. Hastily he selected +twenty. “See that no harm comes to them,” he cried, and dashed forward. +Erskine in advance saw Black Wolf and a few bucks covering the retreat +of some fleeing women. They made a feeble resistance of a volley and +they too turned to flee. A white woman emerged from a tent and with +great dignity stood, peering with dim eyes. To Clark’s amazement Erskine +rushed forward and took her in his arms. A moment later Erskine cried: + +“My sister, where is she?” + +The white woman’s trembling lips opened, but before she could answer, a +harsh, angry voice broke in haughtily, and Erskine turned to see Black +Wolf stalking in, a prisoner between two stalwart woodsmen. + +“Early Morn is Black Wolf’s squaw. She is gone—” He waved one hand +toward the forest. + +The insolence of the savage angered Clark, and not understanding what he +said, he asked angrily: + +“Who is this fellow?” + +“He is the husband of my half-sister,” answered Erskine gravely. + +Clark looked dazed and uncomprehending: + +“And that woman?” + +“My mother,” said Erskine gently. + +“Good God!” breathed Clark. He turned quickly and waved the open-mouthed +woodsmen away, and Erskine and his mother were left alone. A feeble +voice called from a tent near by. + +“Old Kahtoo!” said Erskine’s mother. “He is dying and he talks of +nothing but you—go to him!” And Erskine went. The old man lay trembling +with palsy on a buffalo-robe, but the incredible spirit in his wasted +body was still burning in his eyes. + +“My son,” said he, “I knew your voice. I said I should not die until I +had seen you again. It is well ... it is well,” he repeated, and wearily +his eyes closed. And thus Erskine knew it would be. + + + + +XXVIII + + +That winter Erskine made his clearing on the land that Dave Yandell had +picked out for him, and in the centre of it threw up a rude log hut in +which to house his mother, for his remembrance of her made him believe +that she would prefer to live alone. He told his plans to none. + +In the early spring, when he brought his mother home, she said that +Black Wolf had escaped and gone farther into the wilderness—that Early +Morn had gone with him. His mother seemed ill and unhappy. Erskine, not +knowing that Barbara was on her way to find him, started on a +hunting-trip. In a few days Barbara arrived and found his mother unable +to leave her bed, and Lydia Noe sitting beside her. Harry had just been +there to say good-by before going to Virginia. + +[Illustration: To his bewilderment he found Barbara at his mother’s +bedside] + + +Barbara was dismayed by Erskine’s absence and his mother’s look of +suffering and extreme weakness, and the touch of her cold fingers. There +was no way of reaching her son, she said—he did not know of her illness. +Barbara told her of Erskine’s giving her his inheritance, and that she +had come to return it. Meanwhile Erskine, haunted by his mother’s sad +face, had turned homeward. To his bewilderment, he found Barbara at his +mother’s bedside. A glance at their faces told him that death was near. +His mother held out her hand to him while still holding Barbara’s. As in +a dream, he bent over to kiss her, and with a last effort she joined +their hands, clasping both. A great peace transformed her face as she +slowly looked at Barbara and then up at Erskine. With a sigh her head +sank lower, and her lovely dimming eyes passed into the final dark. + +Two days later they were married. The woodsmen, old friends of +Erskine’s, were awed by Barbara’s daintiness, and there were none of the +rude jests they usually flung back and forth. With hearty handshakes +they said good-by and disappeared into the mighty forest. In the silence +that fell, Erskine spoke of the life before them, of its hardships and +dangers, and then of the safety and comfort of Virginia. Barbara smiled: + +“You choose the wilderness, and your choice is mine. We will leave the +same choice....” She flushed suddenly and bent her head. + +“To those who come after us,” finished Erskine. + + + The End. + + + + + +End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of Erskine Dale--Pioneer, by John Fox + +*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK ERSKINE DALE--PIONEER *** + +***** This file should be named 36390-0.txt or 36390-0.zip ***** +This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: + https://www.gutenberg.org/3/6/3/9/36390/ + +Produced by Roger Frank and the Online Distributed +Proofreading Team at https://www.pgdp.net + + +Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions +will be renamed. + +Creating the works from public domain print editions means that no +one owns a United States copyright in these works, so the Foundation +(and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United States without +permission and without paying copyright royalties. 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Thus, we do not necessarily +keep eBooks in compliance with any particular paper edition. + + +Most people start at our Web site which has the main PG search facility: + + https://www.gutenberg.org + +This Web site includes information about Project Gutenberg-tm, +including how to make donations to the Project Gutenberg Literary +Archive Foundation, how to help produce our new eBooks, and how to +subscribe to our email newsletter to hear about new eBooks. diff --git a/36390-0.zip b/36390-0.zip Binary files differnew file mode 100644 index 0000000..4e02717 --- /dev/null +++ b/36390-0.zip diff --git a/36390-8.txt b/36390-8.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..96f2851 --- /dev/null +++ b/36390-8.txt @@ -0,0 +1,5558 @@ +The Project Gutenberg EBook of Erskine Dale--Pioneer, by John Fox + +This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with +almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or +re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included +with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org + + +Title: Erskine Dale--Pioneer + +Author: John Fox + +Illustrator: F. C. Yohn + +Release Date: June 12, 2011 [EBook #36390] + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: ISO-8859-1 + +*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK ERSKINE DALE--PIONEER *** + + + + +Produced by Roger Frank and the Online Distributed +Proofreading Team at https://www.pgdp.net + + + + + + ERSKINE DALE--PIONEER + + BY JOHN FOX, JR. + + ERSKINE DALE--PIONEER + THE HEART OF THE HILLS + THE TRAIL OF THE LONESOME PINE + THE LITTLE SHEPHERD OF KINGDOM COME + CRITTENDEN. A Kentucky Story of Love and War + THE KENTUCKIANS AND A KNIGHT OF THE CUMBERLAND + A MOUNTAIN EUROPA AND A CUMBERLAND VENDETTA + CHRISTMAS EVE ON LONESOME, HELL-FER-SARTAIN AND IN HAPPY VALLEY + BLUE GRASS AND RHODODENDRON, Outdoor Life in Kentucky + + CHARLES SCRIBNER'S SONS + + + + +[Illustration: The third stayed behind a moment, bowed over her hand, +and kissed it] + + + + + ERSKINE DALE + PIONEER + + BY + + JOHN FOX, JR. + + ILLUSTRATED BY F. C. YOHN + + CHARLES SCRIBNER'S SONS + NEW YORK 1920 + + + + + Copyright, 1919, 1920, by + CHARLES SCRIBNER'S SONS + + Published September, 1920 + + + + +ILLUSTRATIONS + + The third stayed behind a moment, bowed over her hand, + and kissed it Frontispiece + + "The messenger is the son of a king" 36 + + "I don't want nobody to take up for me" 56 + + "Four more days," he cried, "and we'll be there!" 100 + + "That is Kahtoo's talk, but this is mine" 132 + + The sword blades clashed, Erskine whipping back and forth + in a way to make a swordsman groan 168 + + "Make no noise, and don't move" 238 + + To his bewilderment he found Barbara at his mother's bedside 256 + + + + +ERSKINE DALE--PIONEER + + + + +I + + +Streaks of red ran upward, and in answer the great gray eye of the +wilderness lifted its mist-fringed lid. From the green depths came the +fluting of a lone wood-thrush. Through them an owl flew on velvety wings +for his home in the heart of a primeval poplar. A cougar leaped from the +low limb of an oak, missed, and a shuddering deer streaked through a +forest aisle, bounded into a little clearing, stopped rigid, sniffed a +deadlier enemy, and whirled into the wilderness again. Still deeper in +the depths a boy with a bow and arrow and naked, except for scalp-lock +and breech-clout, sprang from sleep and again took flight along a +buffalo trail. Again, not far behind him, three grunting savages were +taking up the print of his moccasined feet. + +An hour before a red flare rose within the staked enclosure that was +reared in the centre of the little clearing, and above it smoke was soon +rising. Before the first glimmer of day the gates yawned a little and +three dim shapes appeared and moved leisurely for the woods--each man +with a long flintlock rifle in the hollow of his arm, a hunting-knife in +his belt, and a coonskin cap on his head. At either end of the stockade +a watchtower of oak became visible and in each a sleepy sentinel yawned +and sniffed the welcome smell of frying venison below him. In the pound +at one end of the fort, and close to the eastern side, a horse whinnied, +and a few minutes later when a boy slipped through the gates with feed +in his arms there was more whinnying and the stamping of impatient feet. + +"Gol darn ye!" the boy yelled, "can't ye wait till a feller gits _his_ +breakfast?" + +A voice deep, lazy, and resonant came from the watch-tower above: + +"Well, I'm purty hungry myself." + +"See any Injuns, Dave?" + +"Not more'n a thousand or two, I reckon." The boy laughed: + +"Well, I reckon you won't see any while I'm around--they're afeerd o' +_me_." + +"I don't blame 'em, Bud. I reckon that blunderbuss o' yours would come +might' nigh goin' through a pat o' butter at twenty yards." The sentinel +rose towering to the full of his stature, stretched his mighty arms with +a yawn, and lightly leaped, rifle in hand, into the enclosure. A girl +climbing the rude ladder to the tower stopped midway. + +"Mornin', Dave!" + +"Mornin', Polly!" + +"I was comin' to wake you up," she smiled. + +"I just waked up," he yawned, humoring the jest. + +"You don't seem to have much use for this ladder." + +"Not unless I'm goin' up; and I wouldn't then if I could jump as high as +I can fall." He went toward her to help her down. + +"I wouldn't climb very high," she said, and scorning his hand with a +tantalizing little grimace she leaped as lightly as had he to the +ground. Two older women who sat about a kettle of steaming clothes +watched her. + +"Look at Polly Conrad, won't ye? I declare that gal----" + +"Lyddy!" cried Polly, "bring Dave's breakfast!" + +At the door of each log cabin, as solidly built as a little fort, a +hunter was cleaning a long rifle. At the western angle two men were +strengthening the pickets of the palisade. About the fire two mothers +were suckling babes at naked breasts. A boy was stringing a bow, and +another was hurling a small tomahawk at an oaken post, while a third who +was carrying wood for the open fire cried hotly: + +"Come on here, you two, an' he'p me with this wood!" And grumbling they +came, for that fort harbored no idler, irrespective of age or sex. + +At the fire a tall girl rose, pushed a mass of sunburned hair from her +heated forehead, and a flush not from the fire fused with her smile. + +"I reckon Dave can walk this far--he don't look very puny." + +A voice vibrant with sarcasm rose from one of the women about the +steaming kettle. + +"Honor!" she cried, "Honor Sanders!" + +In a doorway near, a third girl was framed--deep-eyed, deep-breasted. + +"Honor!" cried the old woman, "stop wastin' yo' time with that weavin' +in thar an' come out here an' he'p these two gals to git Dave his +breakfast." Dave Yandell laughed loudly. + +"Come on, Honor," he called, but the girl turned and the whir of a loom +started again like the humming of bees. Lydia Noe handed the hunter a +pan of deer-meat and corn bread, and Polly poured him a cup of steaming +liquid made from sassafras leaves. Unheeding for a moment the food in +his lap, Dave looked up into Polly's black eyes, shifted to Lydia, +swerved to the door whence came the whir of the loom. + +"You are looking very handsome this morning, Polly," he said gravely, +"and Lydia is lovelier even than usual, and Honor is a woodland dream." +He shook his head. "No," he said, "I really couldn't." + +"Couldn't what?" asked Polly, though she knew some nonsense was coming. + +"Be happy even with two, if t'other were far away." + +"I reckon you'll have to try some day--with all of us far away," said the +gentle Lydia. + +"No doubt, no doubt." He fell upon his breakfast. + +"Purple, crimson, and gold--daughters of the sun--such are not for the +poor hunter--alack, alack!" + +"Poor boy!" said Lydia, and Polly looked at her with quickening wonder. +Rallying Dave with soft-voiced mockery was a new phase in Lydia. Dave +gave his hunting-knife a pathetic flourish. + +"And when the Virginia gallants come, where will poor Dave be?" + +Polly's answer cut with sarcasm, but not at Dave. + +"Dave will be busy cuttin' wood an' killin' food for 'em--an' keepin' 'em +from gettin' scalped by Indians." + +"I wonder," said Lydia, "if they'll have long hair like Dave?" Dave +shook his long locks with mock pride. + +"Yes, but it won't be their own an' it'll be _powdered_." + +"Lord, I'd like to see the first Indian who takes one of their scalps." +Polly laughed, but there was a shudder in Lydia's smile. Dave rose. + +"I'm goin' to sleep till dinner--don't let anybody wake me," he said, and +at once both the girls were serious and kind. + +"We won't, Dave." + +Cow-bells began to clang at the edge of the forest. + +"There they are," cried Polly. "Come on, Lyddy." + +The two girls picked up piggins and squeezed through the opening between +the heavy gates. The young hunter entered a door and within threw +himself across a rude bed, face down. + +"Honor!" cried one of the old women, "you go an' git a bucket o' water." +The whir stopped instantly, the girl stepped with a sort of slow majesty +from the cabin, and, entering the next, paused on the threshold as her +eyes caught the powerful figure stretched on the bed and already in +heavy sleep. As she stepped softly for the bucket she could not forbear +another shy swift glance; she felt the flush in her face and to conceal +it she turned her head angrily when she came out. A few minutes later +she was at the spring and ladling water into her pail with a gourd. Near +by the other two girls were milking--each with her forehead against the +soft flank of a dun-colored cow whose hoofs were stained with the juice +of wild strawberries. Honor dipped lazily. When her bucket was full she +fell a-dreaming, and when the girls were through with their task they +turned to find her with deep, unseeing eyes on the dark wilderness. + +"Boo!" cried Polly, startling her, and then teasingly: + +"Are you in love with Dave, too, Honor?" + +The girl reddened. + +"No," she whipped out, "an' I ain't goin' to be." And then she reddened +again angrily as Polly's hearty laugh told her she had given herself +away. For a moment the three stood like wood-nymphs about the spring, +vigorous, clear-eyed, richly dowered with health and color and body and +limb--typical mothers-to-be of a wilderness race. And as Honor turned +abruptly for the fort, a shot came from the woods followed by a +war-whoop that stopped the blood shuddering in their veins. + +"Oh, my God!" each cried, and catching at their wet skirts they fled in +terror through the long grass. They heard the quick commotion in the +fort, heard sharp commands, cries of warning, frantic calls for them to +hurry, saw strained faces at the gates, saw Dave bound through and rush +toward them. And from the forest there was nothing but its silence until +that was again broken--this time by a loud laugh--the laugh of a white +man. Then at the edge of the wilderness appeared--the fool. Behind him +followed the other two who had gone out that morning, one with a deer +swung about his shoulders, and all could hear the oaths of both as they +cursed the fool in front who had given shot and war-whoop to frighten +women and make them run. Dave stood still, but his lips, too, were busy +with curses, and from the fort came curses--an avalanche of them. The +sickly smile passed from the face of the fellow, shame took its place, +and when he fronted the terrible eyes of old Jerome Sanders at the gate, +that face grew white with fear. + +"Thar ain't an Injun in a hundred miles," he stammered, and then he +shrank down as though he were almost going to his knees, when suddenly +old Jerome slipped his long rifle from his shoulder and fired past the +fellow's head with a simultaneous roar of command: + +"Git in--ever'body--git in--quick!" + +From a watch-tower, too, a rifle had cracked. A naked savage had bounded +into a spot of sunlight that quivered on the buffalo trail a hundred +yards deep in the forest and leaped lithely aside into the bushes--both +rifles had missed. Deeper from the woods came two war-whoops--real +ones--and in the silence that followed the gates were swiftly closed and +barred, and a keen-eyed rifleman was at every port-hole in the fort. +From the tower old Jerome saw reeds begin to shake in a cane-brake to +the left of the spring. + +"Look thar!" he called, and three rifles, with his own, covered the +spot. A small brown arm was thrust above the shaking reeds, with the +palm of the hand toward the fort--the peace sign of the Indian--and a +moment later a naked boy sprang from the cane-brake and ran toward the +blockhouse, with a bow and arrow in his left hand and his right +stretched above his head, its pleading palm still outward. + +"Don't shoot!--don't nobody shoot!" shouted the old man. No shot came +from the fort, but from the woods came yells of rage, and as the boy +streaked through the clearing an arrow whistled past his head. + +"Let him in!" shouted Jerome, and as Dave opened the gates another arrow +hurtled between the boy's upraised arm and his body and stuck quivering +in one of its upright bars. The boy slid through and stood panting, +shrinking, wild-eyed. The arrow had grazed his skin, and when Dave +lifted his arm and looked at the oozing drops of blood he gave a +startled oath, for he saw a flash of white under the loosened +breech-clout below. The boy understood. Quickly he pushed the clout +aside on his thigh that all might see, nodded gravely, and proudly +tapped his breast. + +"Paleface!" he half grunted, "white man!" + +The wilds were quiet. The boy pointed to them and held up three fingers +to indicate that there were only three red men there, and shook his head +to say there would be no attack from them. Old Jerome studied the little +stranger closely, wondering what new trick those red devils were trying +now to play. Mother Sanders and Mother Noe, the boys of the fort, the +gigantic brothers to Lydia, Adam and Noel, the three girls had gathered +about him, as he stood with the innocence of Eden before the fall. + +"The fust thing to do," said Mother Sanders, "is to git some clothes for +the little heathen." Whereat Lydia flushed and Dave made an impatient +gesture for silence. + +"What's your name?" The boy shook his head and looked eagerly around. + +"Franais--French?" he asked, and in turn the big woodsman shook his +head--nobody there spoke French. However, Dave knew a little Shawnee, a +good deal of the sign-language, and the boy seemed to understand a good +many words in English; so that the big woodsman pieced out his story +with considerable accuracy, and turned to tell it to Jerome. The Indians +had crossed the Big River, were as many as the leaves, and meant to +attack the whites. For the first time they had allowed the boy to go on +a war-party. Some one had treated him badly--he pointed out the bruises +of cuffs and kicks on his body. The Indians called him White Arrow, and +he knew he was white from the girdle of untanned skin under his +breech-clout and because the Indian boys taunted him. Asked why he had +come to the fort, he pointed again to his bruises, put both hands +against his breast, and stretched them wide as though he would seek +shelter in the arms of his own race and take them to his heart; and for +the first time a smile came to his face that showed him plainly as a +curious product of his race and the savage forces that for years had +been moulding him. That smile could have never come to the face of an +Indian. No Indian would ever have so lost himself in his own emotions. +No white man would have used his gestures and the symbols of nature to +which he appealed. Only an Indian could have shown such a cruel, +vindictive, merciless fire in his eyes when he told of his wrongs, and +when he saw tears in Lydia's eyes, the first burning in his life came to +his own, and brushing across them with fierce shame he turned Indian +stoic again and stood with his arms folded over his bow and arrows at +his breast, looking neither to right nor left, as though he were waiting +for judgment at their hands and cared little what his fate might be, as +perfect from head to foot as a statue of the ancient little god, who, in +him, had forsaken the couches of love for the tents of war. + + + + +II + + +All turned now to the duties of the day--Honor to her loom, Polly to her +distaff, and Lydia to her spinning-wheel, for the clothes of the women +were home-spun, home-woven, home-made. Old Jerome and Dave and the older +men gathered in one corner of the stockade for a council of war. The boy +had made it plain that the attacking party was at least two days behind +the three Indians from whom he had escaped, so that there was no danger +that day, and they could wait until night to send messengers to warn the +settlers outside to seek safety within the fort. Meanwhile, Jerome would +despatch five men with Dave to scout for the three Indians who might be +near by in the woods, and the boy, who saw them slip out the rear gate +of the fort, at once knew their purpose, shook his head, and waved his +hand to say that his late friends were gone back to hurry on the big +war-party to the attack, now that the whites themselves knew their +danger. Old Jerome nodded that he understood, and nodded to others his +appreciation of the sense and keenness of the lad, but he let the men go +just the same. From cabin door to cabin door the boy went in +turn--peeking in, but showing no wonder, no surprise, and little interest +until Lydia again smiled at him. At her door he paused longest, and even +went within and bent his ear to the bee-like hum of the wheel. At the +port-holes in the logs he pointed and grunted his understanding and +appreciation, as he did when he climbed into a blockhouse and saw how +one story overlapped the other and how through an opening in the upper +floor the defenders in the tower might pour a destructive fire on +attackers breaking in below. When he came down three boys, brothers to +the three girls, Bud Sanders, Jack Conrad, and Harry Noe, were again +busy with their games. They had been shy with him as he with them, and +now he stood to one side while they, pretending to be unconscious of his +presence, watched with sidelong glances the effect on him of their +prowess. All three threw the tomahawk and shot arrows with great skill, +but they did not dent the impassive face of the little stranger. + +"Maybe he thinks he can do better," said Bud; "let's let him try it." + +And he held forth the tomahawk and motioned toward the post. The lad +took it gravely, gravely reached for the tomahawk of each of the other +two, and with slow dignity walked several yards farther away from the +mark. Then he wheeled with such ferocity in his face that the boys +shrank aside, clutching with some fear to one another's arms, and before +they could quite recover, they were gulping down wonder as the three +weapons whistled through the air and were quivering close, side by side, +in the post. + +"Gee!" they said. Again the lad's face turned impassive as he picked up +his bow and three arrows and slowly walked toward the wall of the +stockade so that he was the full width of the fort away. And then three +arrows hurtled past them in incredibly swift succession and thudded into +the post, each just above a tomahawk. This time the three onlookers were +quite speechless, though their mouths were open wide. Then they ran +toward him and had him show just how he held tomahawk and bow and arrow, +and all three did much better with the new points he gave them. +Wondering then whether they might not teach him something, Jack did a +standing broad jump and Bud a running broad jump and Harry a hop, skip, +and a jump. The young stranger shook his head but he tried and fell +short in each event and was greatly mortified. Again he shook his head +when Bud and Jack took backholds and had a wrestling-match, but he tried +with Jack and was thumped hard to the earth. He sprang to his feet +looking angry, but all were laughing, and he laughed too. + +"Me big fool," he said; and they showed him how to feint and trip, and +once he came near throwing Bud. At rifle-shooting, too, he was no match +for the young pioneers, but at last he led them with gestures and +unintelligible grunts to the far end of the stockade and indicated a +foot-race. The boy ran like one of his own arrows, but he beat Bud only +a few feet, and Bud cried: + +"I reckon if _I_ didn't have no clothes on, he couldn't 'a' done it"; +and on the word Mother Sanders appeared and cried to Bud to bring the +"Injun" to her cabin. She had been unearthing clothes for the "little +heathen," and Bud helped to put them on. In a few minutes the lad +reappeared in fringed hunting shirt and trousers, wriggling in them most +uncomfortably, for they made him itch, but at the same time wearing them +proudly. Mother Sanders approached with a hunting-knife. + +"I'm goin' to cut off that topknot so his hair can ketch up," she said, +but the boy scowled fearfully, turned, fled, and scaling the stockade as +nimbly as a squirrel, halted on top with one leg over the other side. + +"He thinks you air goin' to take his scalp," shouted Bud. The three boys +jumped up and down in their glee, and even Mother Sanders put her hands +on her broad hips and laughed with such loud heartiness that many came +to the cabin doors to see what the matter was. It was no use for the +boys to point to their own heads and finger their own shocks of hair, +for the lad shook his head, and outraged by their laughter kept his +place in sullen dignity a long while before he could be persuaded to +come down. + +On the mighty wilderness the sun sank slowly and old Jerome sat in the +western tower to watch alone. The silence out there was oppressive and +significant, for it meant that the boy's theory was right; the three +Indians had gone back for their fellows, and when darkness came the old +man sent runners to the outlying cabins to warn the inmates to take +refuge within the fort. There was no settler that was not accustomed to +a soft tapping on the wooden windows that startled him wide awake. Then +there was the noiseless awakening of the household, noiseless dressing +of the children--the mere whisper of "Indians" was enough to keep them +quiet--and the noiseless slipping through the wilderness for the +oak-picketed stockade. And the gathering-in was none too soon. The +hooting of owls started before dawn. A flaming arrow hissed from the +woods, thudded into the roof of one of the cabins, sputtered feebly on a +dew-drenched ridge-pole, and went out. Savage war-whoops rent the air, +and the battle was on. All day the fight went on. There were feints of +attack in front and rushes from the rear, and there were rushes from all +sides. The women loaded rifles and cooked and cared for the wounded. +Thrice an Indian reached the wall of the stockade and set a cabin on +fire, but no one of the three got back to the woods alive. The stranger +boy sat stoically in the centre of the enclosure watching everything, +and making no effort to take part, except twice when he saw a gigantic +Indian brandishing his rifle at the edge of the woods, encouraging his +companions behind, and each time he grunted and begged for a gun. And +Dave made out that the Indian was the one who had treated the boy +cruelly and that the lad was after a personal revenge. Late in the +afternoon the ammunition began to run low and the muddy discoloration of +the river showed that the red men had begun to tunnel under the walls of +the fort. And yet a last sally was made just before sunset. A body +pushed against Dave in the tower and Dave saw the stranger boy at his +side with his bow and arrow. A few minutes later he heard a yell from +the lad which rang high over the din, and he saw the feathered tip of an +arrow shaking in the breast of the big Indian who staggered and fell +behind a bush. Just at that moment there were yells from the woods +behind--the yells of white men that were answered by joyful yells within +the fort: + +"The Virginians! The Virginians!" And as the rescuers dashed into sight +on horse and afoot, Dave saw the lad leap the wall of the stockade and +disappear behind the fleeing Indians. + +"Gone back to 'em," he grunted to himself. The gates were thrown open. +Old Jerome and his men rushed out, and besieged and rescuers poured all +their fire after the running Indians, some of whom turned bravely to +empty their rifles once more. + +"Git in! Git in, quick!" yelled old Joel. He knew another volley would +come as soon as the Indians reached the cover of thick woods, and come +the volley did. Three men fell--one the leader of the Virginians, whose +head flopped forward as he entered the gate and was caught in old Joel's +arms. Not another sound came from the woods, but again Dave from the +tower saw the cane-brush rustle at the edge of a thicket, saw a hand +thrust upward with the palm of peace toward the fort, and again the +stranger boy emerged--this time with a bloody scalp dangling in his left +hand. Dave sprang down and met him at the gate. The boy shook his bow +and arrow proudly, pointed to a crisscross scar on the scalp, and Dave +made out from his explanation that once before the lad had tried to kill +his tormentor and that the scar was the sign. In the centre of the +enclosure the wounded Virginian lay, and when old Jerome stripped the +shirt from his breast he shook his head gravely. The wounded man opened +his eyes just in time to see and he smiled. + +"I know it," he said faintly, and then his eyes caught the boy with the +scalp, were fixed steadily and began to widen. + +"Who is that boy?" he asked sharply. + +"Never mind now," said old Joel soothingly, "you must keep still!" The +boy's eyes had begun to shift under the scrutiny and he started away. + +"Come back here!" commanded the wounded man, and still searching the lad +he said sharply again: + +"Who is that boy?" Nor would he have his wound dressed or even take the +cup of water handed to him until old Joel briefly told the story, when +he lay back on the ground and closed his eyes. + +Darkness fell. In each tower a watcher kept his eyes strained toward the +black, silent woods. The dying man was laid on a rude bed within one +cabin, and old Joel lay on the floor of it close to the door. The +stranger lad refused to sleep indoors and huddled himself in a blanket +on the ground in one corner of the stockade. Men, women, and children +fell to a deep and weary sleep. In the centre the fire burned and there +was no sound on the air but the crackle of its blazing. An hour later +the boy in the corner threw aside his blanket, and when, a moment later, +Lydia Noe, feverish and thirsty, rose from her bed to get a drink of +water outside her door, she stopped short on the threshold. The lad, +stark naked but for his breech-clout and swinging his bloody scalp over +his head, was stamping around the fire--dancing the scalp-dance of the +savage to a low, fierce, guttural song. The boy saw her, saw her face in +the blaze, stricken white with fright and horror, saw her too paralyzed +to move and he stopped, staring at her a moment with savage rage, and +went on again. Old Joel's body filled the next doorway. He called out +with a harsh oath, and again the boy stopped. With another oath and a +threatening gesture Joel motioned to the corner of the stockade, and +with a flare of defiance in his black eyes the lad stalked slowly and +proudly away. From behind him the voice of the wounded man called, and +old Joel turned. There was a ghastly smile on the Virginian's pallid +face. + +"I saw it," he said painfully. "That's--that's my son!" + + + + +III + + +From the sun-dial on the edge of the high bank, straight above the brim +of the majestic yellow James, a noble path of thick grass as broad as a +modern highway ran hundreds of yards between hedges of roses straight to +the open door of the great manor-house with its wide verandas and mighty +pillars set deep back from the river in a grove of ancient oaks. Behind +the house spread a little kingdom, divided into fields of grass, wheat, +tobacco, and corn, and dotted with whitewashed cabins filled with +slaves. Already the house had been built a hundred years of brick +brought from England in the builder's own ships, it was said, and the +second son of the reigning generation, one Colonel Dale, sat in the +veranda alone. He was a royalist officer, this second son, but his elder +brother had the spirit of daring and adventure that should have been +his, and he had been sitting there four years before when that elder +brother came home from his first pioneering trip into the wilds, to tell +that his wife was dead and their only son was a captive among the +Indians. Two years later still, word came that the father, too, had met +death from the savages, and the little kingdom passed into Colonel +Dale's hands. + +Indentured servants, as well as blacks from Africa, had labored on that +path in front of him; and up it had once stalked a deputation of the +great Powhatan's red tribes. Up that path had come the last of the early +colonial dames, in huge ruffs, high-heeled shoes, and short skirts, with +her husband, who was the "head of a hundred," with gold on his clothes, +and at once military commander, civil magistrate, judge, and executive +of the community; had come officers in gold lace, who had been rowed up +in barges from Jamestown; members of the worshipful House of Burgesses; +bluff planters in silk coats, the governor and members of the council; +distinguished visitors from England, colonial gentlemen and ladies. At +the manor they had got beef, bacon, brown loaves, Indian corn-cakes, +strong ales, and strong waters (but no tea or coffee), and "drunk" pipes +of tobacco from lily-pots--jars of white earth--lighted with splinters of +juniper, or coals of fire plucked from the fireplace with a pair of +silver tongs. And all was English still--books, clothes, plates, knives, +and forks; the church, the Church of England; the Governor, the +representative of the King; his Council, the English House of Lords; the +Burgesses, the English Parliament--socially aristocratic, politically +republican. For ancient usage held that all "freemen" should have a +voice in the elections, have equal right to say who the lawmakers and +what the law. The way was open as now. Any man could get two thousand +acres by service to the colony, could build, plough, reap, save, buy +servants, and roll in his own coach to sit as burgess. There was but one +seat of learning--at Williamsburg. What culture they had they brought +from England or got from parents or minister. And always they had seemed +to prefer sword and stump to the pen. They hated towns. At every wharf a +long shaky trestle ran from a warehouse out into the river to load ships +with tobacco for England and to get in return all conveniences and +luxuries, and that was enough. In towns men jostled and individual +freedom was lost, so, Ho! for the great sweeps of land and the sway of a +territorial lord! Englishmen they were of Shakespeare's time but living +in Virginia, and that is all they were--save that the flower of liberty +was growing faster in the new-world soil. + +The plantation went back to a patent from the king in 1617, and by the +grant the first stout captain was to "enjoy his landes in as large and +ample manner to all intentes and purposes as any Lord of any manours in +England doth hold his grounde." This gentleman was the only man after +the "Starving Time" to protest against the abandonment of Jamestown in +1610. When, two years later, he sent two henchmen as burgesses to the +first general assembly, that august body would not allow them to sit +unless the captain would relinquish certain high privileges in his +grant. + +"I hold my patent for service done," the captain answered +grandiloquently, "which noe newe or late comers can meritt or +challenge," and only with the greatest difficulty was he finally +persuaded to surrender his high authority. In that day the house was +built of wood, protected by a palisade, prescribed by law, and the +windows had stout shutters. Everything within it had come from England. +The books were ponderous folios, stout duodecimos encased in embossed +leather, and among them was a folio containing Master William +Shakespeare's dramas, collected by his fellow actors Heminge and +Condell. Later by many years a frame house supplanted this primitive, +fort-like homestead, and early in the eighteenth century, after several +generations had been educated in England, an heir built the noble manor +as it still stands--an accomplished gentleman with lace collar, slashed +doublet, and sable silvered hair, a combination of scholar, courtier, +and soldier. And such had been the master of the little kingdom ever +since. + +In the earliest days the highest and reddest cedars in the world rose +above the underbrush. The wild vines were so full of grape bunches that +the very turf overflowed with them. Deer, turkeys, and snow-white cranes +were in incredible abundance. The shores were fringed with verdure. The +Indians were a "kind, loving people." Englishmen called it the "Good +Land," and found it "most plentiful, sweet, wholesome, and fruitful of +all others." The east was the ocean; Florida was the south; the north +was Nova Francia, and the west unknown. Only the shores touched the +interior, which was an untravelled realm of fairer fruits and flowers +than in England; green shores, majestic forests, and blue mountains +filled with gold and jewels. Bright birds flitted, dusky maids danced +and beckoned, rivers ran over golden sand, and toward the South Sea was +the Fount of Youth, whose waters made the aged young again. Bermuda +Islands were an enchanted den full of furies and devils which all men +did shun as hell and perdition. And the feet of all who had made history +had trod that broad path to the owner's heart and home. + +Down it now came a little girl--the flower of all those dead and gone--and +her coming was just as though one of the flowers about her had stepped +from its gay company on one or the other side of the path to make +through them a dainty, triumphal march as the fairest of them all. At +the dial she paused and her impatient blue eyes turned to a bend of the +yellow river for the first glimpse of a gay barge that soon must come. +At the wharf the song of negroes rose as they unloaded the boat just +from Richmond. She would go and see if there was not a package for her +mother and perhaps a present for herself, so with another look to the +river bend she turned, but she moved no farther. Instead, she gave a +little gasp, in which there was no fear, though what she saw was surely +startling enough to have made her wheel in flight. Instead, she gazed +steadily into a pair of grave black eyes that were fixed on her from +under a green branch that overhung the footpath, and steadily she +searched the figure standing there, from the coonskin cap down the +fringed hunting-shirt and fringed breeches to the moccasined feet. And +still the strange figure stood arms folded, motionless and silent. +Neither the attitude nor the silence was quite pleasing, and the girl's +supple slenderness stiffened, her arms went rigidly to her sides, and a +haughty little snap sent her undimpled chin upward. + +"What do you want?" + +And still he looked, searching her in turn from head to foot, for he was +no more strange to her than she was to him. + +"Who are you and what do you want?" + +It was a new way for a woman to speak to a man; he in turn was not +pleased, and a gleam in his eyes showed it. + +"I am the son of a king." + +She started to laugh, but grew puzzled, for she had the blood of +Pocahontas herself. + +"You are an Indian?" + +He shook his head, scorning to explain, dropped his rifle to the hollow +of his arm, and, reaching for his belt where she saw the buckhorn handle +of a hunting-knife, came toward her, but she did not flinch. Drawing a +letter from the belt, he handed it to her. It was so worn and soiled +that she took it daintily and saw on it her father's name. The boy waved +his hand toward the house far up the path. + +"He live here?" + +"You wish to see him?" + +The boy grunted assent, and with a shock of resentment the little lady +started up the path with her head very high indeed. The boy slipped +noiselessly after her, his face unmoved, but his eyes were darting right +and left to the flowers, trees, and bushes, to every flitting, strange +bird, the gray streak of a scampering squirrel, and what he could not +see, his ears took in--the clanking chains of work-horses, the whir of a +quail, the screech of a peacock, the songs of negroes from far-off +fields. + +On the porch sat a gentleman in powdered wig and knee-breeches, who, +lifting his eyes from a copy of _The Spectator_ to give an order to a +negro servant, saw the two coming, and the first look of bewilderment on +his fine face gave way to a tolerant smile. A stray cat or dog, a +crippled chicken, a neighbor's child, or a pickaninny--all these his +little daughter had brought in at one time or another for a home, and +now she had a strange ward, indeed. He asked no question, for a purpose +very decided and definite was plainly bringing the little lady on, and +he would not have to question. Swiftly she ran up the steps, her mouth +primly set, and handed him a letter. + +[Illustration: "The messenger is the son of a king"] + +"The messenger is the son of a king." + +"A what?" + +"The son of a king," she repeated gravely. + +"Ah," said the gentleman, humoring her, "ask his highness to be seated." + +His highness was looking from one to the other gravely and keenly. He +did not quite understand, but he knew gentle fun was being poked at him, +and he dropped sullenly on the edge of the porch and stared in front of +him. The little girl saw that his moccasins were much worn and that in +one was a hole with the edge blood-stained. And then she began to watch +her father's face, which showed that the contents of the letter were +astounding him. He rose quickly when he had finished and put out his +hand to the stranger. + +"I am glad to see you, my boy," he said with great kindness. "Barbara, +this is a little kinsman of ours from Kentucky. He was the adopted son +of an Indian chief, but by blood he is your own cousin. His name is +Erskine Dale." + + + + +IV + + +The little girl rose startled, but her breeding was too fine for +betrayal, and she went to him with hand outstretched. The boy took it as +he had taken her father's, limply and without rising. The father frowned +and smiled--how could the lad have learned manners? And then he, too, saw +the hole in the moccasin through which the bleeding had started again. + +"You are hurt--you have walked a long way?" + +The lad shrugged his shoulders carelessly. + +"Three days--I had to shoot horse." + +"Take him into the kitchen, Barbara, and tell Hannah to wash his foot +and bandage it." + +The boy looked uncomfortable and shook his head, but the little girl was +smiling and she told him to come with such sweet imperiousness that he +rose helplessly. Old Hannah's eyes made a bewildered start! + +"You go on back an' wait for yo' company, little Miss; I'll 'tend to +_him_!" + +And when the boy still protested, she flared up: + +"Looky here, son, little Miss tell me to wash yo' foot, an' I'se gwinter +do it, ef I got to tie you fust; now you keep still. Whar you come +from?" + +His answer was a somewhat haughty grunt that at once touched the quick +instincts of the old negress and checked further question. Swiftly and +silently she bound his foot, and with great respect she led him to a +little room in one ell of the great house in which was a tub of warm +water. + +"Ole marster say you been travellin' an' mebbe you like to refresh +yo'self wid a hot bath. Dar's some o' little marster's clothes on de bed +dar, an' a pair o' his shoes, an' I know dey'll jus' fit you snug. +You'll find all de folks on de front po'ch when you git through." + +She closed the door. Once, winter and summer, the boy had daily plunged +into the river with his Indian companions, but he had never had a bath +in his life, and he did not know what the word meant; yet he had learned +so much at the fort that he had no trouble making out what the tub of +water was for. For the same reason he felt no surprise when he picked up +the clothes; he was only puzzled how to get into them. He tried, and +struggling with the breeches he threw one hand out to the wall to keep +from falling and caught a red cord with a bushy red tassel; whereat +there was a ringing that made him spring away from it. A moment later +there was a knock at his door. + +"Did you ring, suh?" asked a voice. What that meant he did not know, and +he made no answer. The door was opened slightly and a woolly head +appeared. + +"Do you want anything, suh?" + +"No." + +"Den I reckon hit was anudder bell--Yassuh." + +The boy began putting on his own clothes. + +Outside Colonel Dale and Barbara had strolled down the big path to the +sun-dial, the colonel telling the story of the little Kentucky +kinsman--the little girl listening and wide-eyed. + +"Is he going to live here with us, papa?" + +"Perhaps. You must be very nice to him. He has lived a rude, rough life, +but I can see he is very sensitive." + +At the bend of the river there was the flash of dripping oars, and the +song of the black oarsmen came across the yellow flood. + +"There they come!" cried Barbara. And from his window the little +Kentuckian saw the company coming up the path, brave with gay clothes +and smiles and gallantries. The colonel walked with a grand lady at the +head, behind were the belles and beaux, and bringing up the rear was +Barbara, escorted by a youth of his own age, who carried his hat under +his arm and bore himself as haughtily as his elders. No sooner did he +see them mounting to the porch than there was the sound of a horn in the +rear, and looking out of the other window the lad saw a coach and four +dash through the gate and swing around the road that encircled the great +trees, and up to the rear portico, where there was a joyous clamor of +greetings. Where did all those people come from? Were they going to stay +there and would he have to be among them? All the men were dressed alike +and not one was dressed like him. Panic assailed him, and once more he +looked at the clothes on the bed, and then without hesitation walked +through the hallway, and stopped on the threshold of the front door. A +quaint figure he made there, and for the moment the gay talk and +laughter quite ceased. The story of him already had been told, and +already was sweeping from cabin to cabin to the farthest edge of the +great plantation. Mrs. General Willoughby lifted her lorgnettes to study +him curiously, the young ladies turned a battery of searching but +friendly rays upon him, the young men regarded him with tolerance and +repressed amusement, and Barbara, already his champion, turned her eyes +from one to the other of them, but always seeing him. No son of Powhatan +could have stood there with more dignity, and young Harry Dale's face +broke into a smile of welcome. His father being indoors he went forward +with hand outstretched. + +"I am your cousin Harry," he said, and taking him by the arm he led him +on the round of presentation. + +"Mrs. Willoughby, may I present my cousin from Kentucky?" + +"This is your cousin, Miss Katherine Dale; another cousin, Miss Mary; +and this is your cousin Hugh." + +And the young ladies greeted him with frank, eager interest, and the +young gentlemen suddenly repressed patronizing smiles and gave him grave +greeting, for if ever a rapier flashed from a human head, it flashed +from the piercing black eye of that little Kentucky backwoodsman when +his cousin Hugh, with a rather whimsical smile, bowed with a politeness +that was a trifle too elaborate. Mrs. Willoughby still kept her +lorgnettes on him as he stood leaning against a pillar. She noted the +smallness of his hands and feet, the lithe, perfect body, the clean cut +of his face, and she breathed: + +"He is a Dale--and blood _does_ tell." + +Nobody, not even she, guessed how the lad's heart was thumping with the +effort to conceal his embarrassment, but when a tinge of color spread on +each side of his set mouth and his eyes began to waver uncertainly, Mrs. +Willoughby's intuition was quick and kind. + +"Barbara," she asked, "have you shown your cousin your ponies?" + +The little girl saw her motive and laughed merrily: + +"Why, I haven't had time to show him anything. Come on, cousin." + +The boy followed her down the steps in his noiseless moccasins, along a +grass path between hedges of ancient box, around an ell, and past the +kitchen and toward the stables. In and behind the kitchen negroes of all +ages and both sexes were hurrying or lazing around, and each turned to +stare wonderingly after the strange woodland figure of the little +hunter. Negroes were coming in from the fields with horses and mules, +negroes were chopping and carrying wood, there were negroes everywhere, +and the lad had never seen one before, but he showed no surprise. At a +gate the little girl called imperiously: + +"Ephraim, bring out my ponies!" + +And in a moment out came a sturdy little slave whose head was all black +skin, black wool, and white teeth, leading two creamy-white little +horses that shook the lad's composure at last, for he knew ponies as far +back as he could remember, but he had never seen the like of them. His +hand almost trembled when he ran it over their sleek coats, and +unconsciously he dropped into his Indian speech and did not know it +until the girl asked laughingly: + +"Why, what are you saying to my ponies?" + +And he blushed, for the little girl's artless prattling and friendliness +were already beginning to make him quite human. + +"That's Injun talk." + +"Can you talk Indian--but, of course, you can." + +"Better than English," he smiled. + +Hugh had followed them. + +"Barbara, your mother wants you," he said, and the little girl turned +toward the house. The stranger was ill at ease with Hugh and the latter +knew it. + +"It must be very exciting where you live." + +"How?" + +"Oh, fighting Indians and shooting deer and turkeys and buffalo. It must +be great fun." + +"Nobody does it for fun--it's mighty hard work." + +"My uncle--your father--used to tell us about his wonderful adventures out +there." + +"He had no chance to tell me." + +"But yours must have been more wonderful than his." + +The boy gave the little grunt that was a survival of his Indian life and +turned to go back to the house. + +"But all this, I suppose, is as strange to you." + +"More." + +Hugh was polite and apparently sincere in interest, but the lad was +vaguely disturbed and he quickened his step. The porch was empty when +they turned the corner of the house, but young Harry Dale came running +down the steps, his honest face alight, and caught the little Kentuckian +by the arm. + +"Get ready for supper, Hugh--come on, cousin," he said, and led the +stranger to his room and pointed to the clothes on the bed. + +"Don't they fit?" he asked smiling. + +"I don't know--I don't know how to git into 'em." + +Young Harry laughed joyously. + +"Of course not. I wouldn't know how to put yours on either. You just +wait," he cried, and disappeared to return quickly with an armful of +clothes. + +"Take off your war-dress," he said, "and I'll show you." + +With heart warming to such kindness, and helpless against it, the lad +obeyed like a child and was dressed like a child. + +"Now, I've got to hurry," said Harry. "I'll come back for you. Just look +at yourself," he called at the door. + +And the stranger did look at the wonderful vision that a great mirror as +tall as himself gave back. His eyes began to sting, and he rubbed them +with the back of his hand and looked at the hand curiously. It was +moist. He had seen tears in a woman's eyes, but he did not know that +they could come to a man, and he felt ashamed. + + + + +V + + +The boy stood at a window looking out into the gathering dusk. His eye +could catch the last red glow on the yellow river. Above that a purplish +light rested on the green expanse stretching westward--stretching on and +on through savage wilds to his own wilds beyond the lonely Cumberlands. +Outside the window the multitude of flowers was drinking in the dew and +drooping restfully to sleep. A multitude of strange birds called and +twittered from the trees. The neighing of horses, the lowing of cattle, +the piping of roosting turkeys and motherly clutter of roosting hens, +the weird songs of negroes, the sounds of busy preparation through the +house and from the kitchen--all were sounds of peace and plenty, security +and service. And over in his own wilds at that hour they were driving +cows and horses into the stockade. They were cooking their rude supper +in the open. A man had gone to each of the watch-towers. From the +blackening woods came the curdling cry of a panther and the hooting of +owls. Away on over the still westward wilds were the wigwams of squaws, +pappooses, braves, the red men--red in skin, in blood, in heart, and red +with hate against the whites. + +Perhaps they were circling a fire at that moment in a frenzied +war-dance--perhaps the hooting at that moment, from the woods around the +fort was not the hooting of owls at all. There all was hardship--danger; +here all was comfort and peace. If they could see him now! See his room, +his fire, his bed, his clothes! They had told him to come, and yet he +felt now the shame of desertion. He had come, but he would not stay long +away. The door opened, he turned, and Harry Dale came eagerly in. + +"Mother wants to see you." + +The two boys paused in the hall and Harry pointed to a pair of crossed +rapiers over the mantelpiece. + +"Those were your father's," he said; "he was a wonderful fencer." + +The lad shook his head in ignorance, and Harry smiled. + +"I'll show you to-morrow." + +At a door in the other ell Harry knocked gently, and a voice that was +low and sweet but vibrant with imperiousness called: + +"Come in!" + +"Here he is, mother." + +The lad stepped into warmth, subtle fragrance, and many candle lights. +The great lady was just rising from a chair in front of her mirror, +brocaded, powdered, and starred with jewels. So brilliant a vision +almost stunned the little stranger and it took an effort for him to lift +his eyes to hers. + +"Why, _this_ is not the lad you told me of," she said. "Come here! Both +of you." They came and the lady scrutinized them comparingly. + +"Actually you look alike--and, Harry, you have no advantage, even if you +are my own son. I am glad you are here," she said with sudden soberness, +and smiling tenderly she put both hands on his shoulders, drew him to +her and kissed him, and again he felt in his eyes that curious sting. + +"Come, Harry!" With a gallant bow Harry offered his left arm, and +gathering the little Kentuckian with her left, the regal lady swept out. +In the reception-room she kept the boy by her side. Every man who +approached bowed, and soon the lad was bowing, too. The ladies +courtesied, the room was soon filled, and amid the flash of smiles, +laughter, and gay banter the lad was much bewildered, but his face +showed it not at all. Barbara almost cried out her astonishment and +pleasure when she saw what a handsome figure he made in his new +clothing, and all her little friends were soon darting surreptitious +glances at him, and many whispered questions and pleasing comments were +passed around. From under Hugh's feet the ground for the moment was +quite taken away, so much to the eye, at least, do clothes make the man. +Just then General Willoughby bowed with noble dignity before Mrs. Dale, +and the two led the way to the dining-room. + +"Harry," she said, "you and Barbara take care of your cousin." + +And almost without knowing it the young Kentuckian bowed to Barbara, who +courtesied and took his arm. But for his own dignity and hers, she would +have liked to squeal her delight. The table flashed with silver and +crystal on snowy-white damask and was brilliant with colored candles. +The little woodsman saw the men draw back chairs for the ladies, and he +drew back Barbara's before Hugh, on the other side of her, could +forestall him. On his left was Harry, and Harry he watched keenly--but no +more keenly than Hugh watched him. Every now and then he would catch a +pair of interested eyes looking furtively at him, and he knew his story +was going the round of the table among those who were not guests in the +house. The boy had never seen so many and so mysterious-looking things +to eat and drink. One glass of wine he took, and the quick dizziness +that assailed him frightened him, and he did not touch it again. Beyond +Barbara, Hugh leaned forward and lifted his glass to him. He shook his +head and Hugh flushed. + +"Our Kentucky cousin is not very polite--he is something of a +barbarian--naturally." + +"He doesn't understand," said Barbara quickly, who had noted the +incident, and she turned to her cousin. + +"Papa says you _are_ going to live with us and you are going to study +with Harry under Mr. Brockton." + +"Our tutor," explained Harry; "there he is across there. He is an +Englishman." + +"Tutor?" questioned the boy. + +"School-teacher," laughed Harry. + +"Oh!" + +"Haven't you any school-teachers at home?" + +"No, I learned to read and write a little from Dave and Lyddy." + +And then he had to tell who they were, and he went on to tell them about +Mother Sanders and Honor and Bud and Jack and Polly Conrad and Lydia and +Dave, and all the frontier folk, and the life they led, and the Indian +fights which thrilled Barbara and Harry, and forced even Hugh to +listen--though once he laughed incredulously, and in a way that of a +sudden shut the boy's lips tight and made Barbara color and Harry look +grave. Hugh then turned to his wine and began soon to look more flushed +and sulky. Shortly after the ladies left, Hugh followed them, and Harry +and the Kentuckian moved toward the head of the table where the men had +gathered around Colonel Dale. + +"Yes," said General Willoughby, "it looks as though it might come." + +"With due deference to Mr. Brockton," said Colonel Dale, "it looks as +though his country would soon force us to some action." + +They were talking about impending war. Far away as his wilds were, the +boy had heard some talk of war in them, and he listened greedily to the +quick fire of question and argument directed to the Englishman, who held +his own with such sturdiness that Colonel Dale, fearing the heat might +become too great, laughed and skilfully shifted the theme. Through hall +and doorways came now merry sounds of fiddle and banjo. + +"Come on, cousin," said Harry; "can you dance?" + +"If your dances are as different as everything else, I reckon not, but I +can try." + +Near a doorway between parlor and hall sat the fiddlers three. Gallant +bows and dainty courtesyings and nimble feet were tripping measures +quite new to the backwoodsman. Barbara nodded, smiled, and after the +dance ran up to ask him to take part, but he shook his head. Hugh had +looked at him as from a superior height, and the boy noticed him +frowning while Barbara was challenging him to dance. The next dance was +even more of a mystery, for the dancers glided by in couples, Mr. +Byron's diatribe not having prevented the importation of the waltz to +the new world, but the next cleared his face and set his feet to keeping +time, for the square dance had, of course, reached the wilds. + +"I know that," he said to Harry, who told Barbara, and the little girl +went up to him again, and this time, flushing, he took place with her on +the floor. Hugh came up. + +"Cousin Barbara, this is our dance, I believe," he said a little +thickly. + +The girl took him aside and Hugh went surlily away. Harry saw the +incident and he looked after Hugh, frowning. The backwoodsman conducted +himself very well. He was lithe and graceful and at first very +dignified, but as he grew in confidence he began to execute steps that +were new to that polite land and rather boisterous, but Barbara looked +pleased and all onlookers seemed greatly amused--all except Hugh. And +when the old fiddler sang out sonorously: + +"Genelmen to right--cheat an' swing!" the boy cheated outrageously, +cheated all but his little partner, to whom each time he turned with +open loyalty, and Hugh was openly sneering now and genuinely angry. + +"You shall have the last dance," whispered Barbara, "the Virginia reel." + +"I know that dance," said the boy. + +And when that dance came and the dancers were drawn in two lines, the +boy who was third from the end heard Harry's low voice behind him: + +"He is my cousin and my guest and you will answer to me." + +The lad wheeled, saw Harry with Hugh, left his place, and went to them. +He spoke to Harry, but he looked at Hugh with a sword-flash in each +black eye: + +"I don't want nobody to take up for me." + +Again he wheeled and was in his place, but Barbara saw and looked +troubled, and so did Colonel Dale. He went over to the two boys and put +his arm around Hugh's shoulder. + +[Illustration: "I don't want nobody to take up for me"] + +"Tut, tut, my boys," he said, with pleasant firmness, and led Hugh away, +and when General Willoughby would have followed, the colonel nodded him +back with a smile, and Hugh was seen no more that night. The guests left +with gayety, smiles, and laughter, and every one gave the stranger a +kindly good-by. Again Harry went with him to his room and the lad +stopped again under the crossed swords. + +"You fight with 'em?" + +"Yes, and with pistols." + +"I've never had a pistol. I want to learn how to use _them_." + +Harry looked at him searchingly, but the boy's face gave hint of no more +purpose than when he first asked the same question. + +"All right," said Harry. + +The lad blew out his candle, but he went to his window instead of his +bed. The moonlight was brilliant--among the trees and on the sleeping +flowers and the slow run of the broad river, and it was very still out +there and very lovely, but he had no wish to be out there. With wind and +storm and sun, moon and stars, he had lived face to face all his life, +but here they were not the same. Trees, flowers, house, people had +reared some wall between him and them, and they seemed now to be very +far away. Everybody had been kind to him--all but Hugh. Veiled hostility +he had never known before and he could not understand. Everybody had +surely been kind, and yet--he turned to his bed, and all night his brain +was flashing to and fro between the reel of vivid pictures etched on it +in a day and the grim background that had hitherto been his life beyond +the hills. + + + + +VI + + +From pioneer habit he awoke before dawn, and for a moment the softness +where he lay puzzled him. There was no sound of anybody stirring and he +thought he must have waked up in the middle of the night, but he could +smell the dawn and he started to spring up. But there was nothing to be +done, nothing that he could do. He felt hot and stuffy, though Harry had +put up his windows, and he could not lie there wide awake. He could not +go out in the heavy dew in the gay clothes and fragile shoes he had +taken off, so he slid into his own buckskin clothes and moccasins and +out the still open front door and down the path toward the river. +Instinctively he had picked up his rifle, bullet-pouch, and powder-horn. +Up the river to the right he could faintly see dark woods, and he made +toward and plunged into them with his eyes on the ground for signs of +game, but he saw tracks only of coon and skunk and fox, and he grunted +his disgust and loped ahead for half an hour farther into the heart of +the woods. An hour later he loped back on his own tracks. The cabins +were awake now, and every pickaninny who saw him showed the whites of +his eyes in terror and fled back into his house. He came noiselessly +behind a negro woman at the kitchen-door and threw three squirrels on +the steps before her. She turned, saw him, and gave a shriek, but +recovered herself and picked them up. Her amazement grew as she looked +them over, for there was no sign of a bullet-wound, and she went in to +tell how the Injun boy must naturally just "charm 'em right out o' de +trees." + +At the front door Harry hailed him and Barbara came running out. + +"I forgot to get you another suit of clothes last night," he said, "and +we were scared this morning. We thought you had left us, and Barbara +there nearly cried." Barbara blushed now and did not deny. + +"Come to breakfast!" she cried. + +"Did you find anything to shoot?" Harry asked. + +"Nothin' but some squirrels," said the lad. + +Colonel Dale soon came in. + +"You've got the servants mystified," he said laughingly. "They think +you're a witch. How _did_ you kill those squirrels?" + +"I couldn't see their heads--so I barked 'em." + +"Barked?" + +"I shot between the bark and the limb right under the squirrel, an' the +shock kills 'em. Uncle Dan'l Boone showed me how to do that." + +"Daniel Boone!" breathed Harry. "Do you know Daniel Boone?" + +"Shucks, Dave can beat him shootin'." + +And then Hugh came in, pale of face and looking rather ashamed. He went +straight to the Kentuckian. + +"I was rude to you last night and I owe you an apology." + +He thrust out his hand and awkwardly the boy rose and took it. + +"And you'll forgive me, too, Barbara?" + +"Of course I will," she said happily, but holding up one finger of +warning--should he ever do it again. The rest of the guests trooped in +now, and some were going out on horseback, some for a sail, and some +visiting up the river in a barge, and all were paired off, even Harry. + +"I'm going to drive Cousin Erskine over the place with my ponies," said +Barbara, "and----" + +"I'm going back to bed," interrupted Hugh, "or read a little Latin and +Greek with Mr. Brockton." There was impudence as well as humor in this, +for the tutor had given up Hugh in despair long ago. + +Barbara shook her head. + +"You are going with us," she said. + +"I want Hugh to ride with me," said Colonel Dale, "and give Firefly a +little exercise. Nobody else can ride him." + +The Kentucky boy turned a challenging eye, as did every young man at the +table, and Hugh felt very comfortable. While every one was getting +ready, Harry brought out two foils and two masks on the porch a little +later. + +"We fight with those," he said, pointing to the crossed rapiers on the +wall, "but we practise with these. Hugh, there, is the champion fencer," +he said, "and he'll show you." + +Harry helped the Kentucky boy to mask and they crossed foils--Hugh giving +instructions all the time and nodding approval. + +"You'll learn--you'll learn fast," he said. And over his shoulder to +Harry: + +"Why, his wrist is as strong as mine now, and he's got an eye like a +weasel." + +With a twist he wrenched the foil from his antagonist's hand and +clattered it on the steps. The Kentuckian was bewildered and his face +flushed. He ran for the weapon. + +"You can't do that again." + +"I don't believe I can," laughed Hugh. + +"Will you learn me some more?" asked the boy eagerly. + +"I surely will." + +A little later Barbara and her cousin were trotting smartly along a +sandy road through the fields with the colonel and Hugh loping in front +of them. Firefly was a black mettlesome gelding. He had reared and +plunged when Hugh mounted, and even now he was champing his bit and +leaping playfully at times, but the lad sat him with an unconcern of his +capers that held the Kentucky boy's eyes. + +"Gosh," he said, "but Hugh can ride! I wonder if he could stay on him +bareback." + +"I suppose so," Barbara said; "Hugh can do anything." + +The summer fields of corn and grain waved away on each side under the +wind, innumerable negroes were at work and song on either side, great +barns and whitewashed cabins dotted the rich landscape which beyond the +plantation broke against woods of sombre pines. For an hour they drove, +the boy's bewildered eye missing few details and understanding few, so +foreign to him were all the changes wrought by the hand, and he could +hardly have believed that this country was once as wild as his own--that +this was to be impoverished and his own become even a richer land. Many +questions the little girl asked--and some of his answers made her +shudder. + +"Papa said last night that several of our kinsfolk spoke of going to +your country in a party, and Harry and Hugh are crazy to go with them. +Papa said people would be swarming over the Cumberland Mountains before +long." + +"I wish you'd come along." + +Barbara laughed. + +"I wouldn't like to lose my hair." + +"I'll watch out for that," said the boy with such confident gravity that +Barbara turned to look at him. + +"I believe you would," she murmured. And presently: + +"What did the Indians call you?" + +"White Arrow." + +"White Arrow. That's lovely. Why?" + +"I could outrun all the other boys." + +"Then you'll have to run to-morrow when we go to the fair at +Williamsburg." + +"The fair?" + +Barbara explained. + +For an hour or more they had driven and there was no end to the fields +of tobacco and grain. + +"Are we still on your land?" + +Barbara laughed. "Yes, we can't drive around the plantation and get back +for dinner. I think we'd better turn now." + +"Plan-ta-tion," said the lad. "What's that?" + +Barbara waved her whip. + +"Why, all this--the land--the farm." + +"Oh!" + +"It's called Red Oaks--from those big trees back of the house." + +"Oh. I know oaks--all of 'em." + +She wheeled the ponies and with fresh zest they scampered for home. She +even let them run for a while, laughing and chatting meanwhile, though +the light wagon swayed from side to side perilously as the boy thought, +and when, in his ignorance of the discourtesy involved, he was on the +point of reaching for the reins, she spoke to them and pulled them +gently into a swift trot. Everybody had gathered for the noonday dinner +when they swung around the great trees and up to the back porch. The +clamor of the great bell gave its summons and the guests began +straggling in by couples from the garden. Just as they were starting in +the Kentucky boy gave a cry and darted down the path. A towering figure +in coonskin cap and hunter's garb was halted at the sun-dial and looking +toward them. + +"Now, I wonder who _that_ is," said Colonel Dale. "Jupiter, but that boy +can run!" + +They saw the tall stranger stare wonderingly at the boy and throw back +his head and laugh. Then the two came on together. The boy was still +flushed but the hunter's face was grave. + +"This is Dave," said the boy simply. + +"Dave Yandell," added the stranger, smiling and taking off his cap. +"I've been at Williamsburg to register some lands and I thought I'd come +and see how this young man is getting along." + +Colonel Dale went quickly to meet him with outstretched hand. + +"I'm glad you did," he said heartily. "Erskine has already told us about +you. You are just in time for dinner." + +"That's mighty kind," said Dave. And the ladies, after he was presented, +still looked at him with much curiosity and great interest. Truly, +strange visitors were coming to Red Oaks these days. + +That night the subject of Hugh and Harry going back home with the two +Kentuckians was broached to Colonel Dale, and to the wondering delight +of the two boys both fathers seemed to consider it favorably. Mr. +Brockton was going to England for a visit, the summer was coming on, and +both fathers thought it would be a great benefit to their sons. Even +Mrs. Dale, on whom the hunter had made a most agreeable impression, +smiled and said she would already be willing to trust her son with their +new guest anywhere. + +"I shall take good care of him, madam," said Dave with a bow. + +Colonel Dale, too, was greatly taken with the stranger, and he asked +many questions of the new land beyond the mountains. There was dancing +again that night, and the hunter, towering a head above them all, looked +on with smiling interest. He even took part in a square dance with Miss +Jane Willoughby, handling his great bulk with astonishing grace and +lightness of foot. Then the elder gentlemen went into the drawing-room +to their port and pipes, and the boy Erskine slipped after them and +listened enthralled to the talk of the coming war. + +Colonel Dale had been in Hanover ten years before, when one Patrick +Henry voiced the first intimation of independence in Virginia; Henry, a +country storekeeper--bankrupt; farmer--bankrupt; storekeeper again, and +bankrupt again; an idler, hunter, fisher, and story-teller--even a +"barkeeper," as Mr. Jefferson once dubbed him, because Henry had once +helped his father-in-law to keep tavern. That far back Colonel Dale had +heard Henry denounce the clergy, stigmatize the king as a tyrant who had +forfeited all claim to obedience, and had seen the orator caught up on +the shoulders of the crowd and amidst shouts of applause borne around +the court-house green. He had seen the same Henry ride into Richmond two +years later on a lean horse: with papers in his saddle-pockets, his +expression grim, his tall figure stooping, a peculiar twinkle in his +small blue eyes, his brown wig without powder, his coat peach-blossom in +color, his knee-breeches of leather, and his stockings of yarn. The +speaker of the Burgesses was on a dais under a red canopy supported by +gilded rods, and the clerk sat beneath with a mace on the table before +him, but Henry cried for liberty or death, and the shouts of treason +failed then and there to save Virginia for the king. The lad's brain +whirled. What did all this mean? Who was this king and what had he done? +He had known but the one from whom he had run away. And this talk of +taxes and Stamp Acts; and where was that strange land, New England, +whose people had made tea of the salt water in Boston harbor? Until a +few days before he had never known what tea was, and he didn't like it. +When he got Dave alone he would learn and learn and learn--everything. +And then the young people came quietly in and sat down quietly, and +Colonel Dale, divining what they wanted, got Dave started on stories of +the wild wilderness that was his home--the first chapter in the Iliad of +Kentucky--the land of dark forests and cane thickets that separated +Catawbas, Creeks, and Cherokees on the south from Delawares, Wyandottes, +and Shawnees on the north, who fought one another, and all of whom the +whites must fight. How Boone came and stayed two years in the wilderness +alone, and when found by his brother was lying on his back in the woods +lustily singing hymns. How hunters and surveyors followed; how the first +fort was built, and the first women stood on the banks of the Kentucky +River. He told of the perils and hardships of the first journeys +thither--fights with wild beasts and wild men, chases, hand-to-hand +combats, escapes, and massacres--and only the breathing of his listeners +could be heard, save the sound of his own voice. And he came finally to +the story of the attack on the fort, the raising of a small hand above +the cane, palm outward, and the swift dash of a slender brown body into +the fort, and then, seeing the boy's face turn scarlet, he did not tell +how that same lad had slipped back into the woods even while the fight +was going on, and slipped back with the bloody scalp of his enemy, but +ended with the timely coming of the Virginians, led by the lad's father, +who got his death-wound at the very gate. The tense breathing of his +listeners culminated now in one general deep breath. + +Colonel Dale rose and turned to General Willoughby. + +"And _that's_ where he wants to take our boys." + +"Oh, it's much safer now," said the hunter. "We have had no trouble for +some time, and there's no danger inside the fort." + +"I can imagine you keeping those boys inside the fort when there's so +much going on outside. Still--" Colonel Dale stopped and the two boys +took heart again. The ladies rose to go to bed, and Mrs. Dale was +shaking her head very doubtfully, but she smiled up at the tall hunter +when she bade him good night. + +"I shall not take back what I said." + +"Thank you, madam," said Dave, and he bent his lips to her absurdly +little white hand. + +Colonel Dale escorted the boy and Dave to their room. Mr. Yandell must +go with them to the fair at Williamsburg next morning, and Mr. Yandell +would go gladly. They would spend the night there and go to the +Governor's Ball. The next day there was a county fair, and perhaps Mr. +Henry would speak again. Then Mr. Yandell must come back with them to +Red Oaks and pay them a visit--no, the colonel would accept no excuse +whatever. + +The boy plied Dave with questions about the people in the wilderness and +passed to sleep. Dave lay awake a long time thinking that war was sure +to come. They were Americans now, said Colonel Dale--not Virginians, just +as nearly a century later the same people were to say: + +"We are not Americans now--we are Virginians." + + + + +VII + + +It was a merry cavalcade that swung around the great oaks that spring +morning in 1774. Two coaches with outriders and postilions led the way +with their precious freight--the elder ladies in the first coach, and the +second blossoming with flower-like faces and starred with dancing eyes. +Booted and spurred, the gentlemen rode behind, and after them rolled the +baggage-wagons, drawn by mules in jingling harness. Harry on a chestnut +sorrel and the young Kentuckian on a high-stepping gray followed the +second coach--Hugh on Firefly champed the length of the column. Colonel +Dale and Dave brought up the rear. The road was of sand and there was +little sound of hoof or wheel--only the hum of voices, occasional sallies +when a neighbor joined them, and laughter from the second coach as happy +and care-free as the singing of birds from trees by the roadside. + +The capital had been moved from Jamestown to the spot where Bacon had +taken the oath against England--then called Middle-Plantation, and now +Williamsburg. The cavalcade wheeled into Gloucester Street, and Colonel +Dale pointed out to Dave the old capitol at one end and William and Mary +College at the other. Mr. Henry had thundered in the old capitol, the +Burgesses had their council-chamber there, and in the hall there would +be a ball that night. Near the street was a great building which the +colonel pointed out as the governor's palace, surrounded by +pleasure-grounds of full three hundred acres and planted thick with +linden-trees. My Lord Dunmore lived there. Back at the plantation Dave +had read in an old copy of _The Virginia Gazette_, amid advertisements +of shopkeepers, the arrival and departure of ships, and poetical bits +that sang of Myrtilla, Florella, and other colonial belles, how the town +had made an illumination in honor of the recent arrival of the elegant +Lady Dunmore and her three fine, sprightly daughters, from whose every +look flashed goodness of heart. For them the gentlemen of the Burgesses +were to give a ball the next night. At this season the planters came +with their families to the capitol, and the street was as brilliant as a +fancy-dress parade would be to us now. It was filled with coaches and +fours. Maidens moved daintily along in silk and lace, high-heeled shoes +and clocked stockings. Youths passed on spirited horses, college +students in academic dress swaggered through the throng, and from his +serene excellency's coach, drawn by six milk-white horses, my lord bowed +grimly to the grave lifting of hats on either side of the street. + +The cavalcade halted before a building with a leaden bust of Sir Walter +Raleigh over the main doorway, the old Raleigh Tavern, in the Apollo +Room of which Mr. Jefferson had rapturously danced with his Belinda, and +which was to become the Faneuil Hall of Virginia. Both coaches were +quickly surrounded by bowing gentlemen, young gallants, and frolicsome +students. Dave, the young Kentuckian, and Harry would be put up at the +tavern, and, for his own reasons, Hugh elected to stay with them. With +an _au revoir_ of white hands from the coaches, the rest went on to the +house of relatives and friends. + +Inside the tavern Hugh was soon surrounded by fellow students and boon +companions. He pressed Dave and the boy to drink with them, but Dave +laughingly declined and took the lad up to their room. Below they could +hear Hugh's merriment going on, and when he came up-stairs a while later +his face was flushed, he was in great spirits, and was full of +enthusiasm over a horserace and cock-fight that he had arranged for the +afternoon. With him came a youth of his own age with daredevil eyes and +a suave manner, one Dane Grey, to whom Harry gave scant greeting. One +patronizing look from the stranger toward the Kentucky boy and within +the latter a fire of antagonism was instantly kindled. With a word after +the two went out, Harry snorted his explanation: + +"Tory!" + +In the early afternoon coach and horsemen moved out to an "old field." +Hugh was missing from the Dale party, and General Willoughby frowned +when he noted his son's absence. When they arrived a most extraordinary +concert of sounds was filling the air. On a platform stood twenty +fiddlers in contest for a fiddle--each sawing away for dear life and each +playing a different tune--a custom that still survives in our own hills. +After this a "quire of ballads" was sung for. Then a crowd of boys +gathered to run one hundred and twelve yards for a hat worth twelve +shillings, and Dave nudged his young friend. A moment later Harry cried +to Barbara: + +"Look there!" + +There was their young Indian lining up with the runners, his face calm, +but an eager light in his eyes. At the word he started off almost +leisurely, until the whole crowd was nearly ten yards ahead of him, and +then a yell of astonishment rose from the crowd. The boy was skimming +the grounds on wings. Past one after another he flew, and laughing and +hardly out of breath he bounded over the finish, with the first of the +rest laboring with bursting lungs ten yards behind. Hugh and Dane Grey +had appeared arm in arm and were moving through the crowd with great +gayety and some boisterousness, and when the boy appeared with his hat +Grey shouted: + +"Good for the little savage!" Erskine wheeled furiously but Dave caught +him by the arm and led him back to Harry and Barbara, who looked so +pleased that the lad's ill-humor passed at once. + +"Whut you reckon I c'n do with this hat?" + +"Put it on!" smiled Barbara; but it was so ludicrous surmounting his +hunter's garb that she couldn't help laughing aloud. Harry looked +uneasy, but it was evident that the girl was the one person who could +laugh at the sensitive little woodsman with no offense. + +"I reckon you're right," he said, and gravely he handed it to Harry and +gravely Harry accepted it. Hugh and his friend had not approached them, +for Hugh had seen the frown on his father's face, but Erskine saw Grey +look long at Barbara, turn to question Hugh, and again he began to burn +within. + +The wrestlers had now stepped forth to battle for a pair of silver +buckles, and the boy in turn nudged Dave, but unavailingly. The +wrestling was good and Dave watched it with keen interest. One huge +bull-necked fellow was easily the winner, but when the silver buckles +were in his hand, he boastfully challenged anybody in the crowd. Dave +shouldered through the crowd and faced the victor. + +"I'll try you once," he said, and a shout of approval rose. + +The Dale party crowded close and my lord's coach appeared on the +outskirts and stopped. + +"Backholts or catch-as-catch-can?" asked the victor sneeringly. + +"As you please," said Dave. + +The bully rushed. Dave caught him around the neck with his left arm, his +right swinging low, the bully was lifted from the ground, crushed +against Dave's breast, the wind went out of him with a grunt, and Dave +with a smile began swinging him to and fro as though he were putting a +child to sleep. The spectators yelled their laughter and the bully +roared like a bull. Then Dave reached around with his left hand, caught +the bully's left wrist, pulled loose his hold, and with a leftward twist +of his own body tossed his antagonist some several feet away. The bully +turned once in the air and lighted resoundingly on his back. He got up +dazed and sullen, but breaking into a good-natured laugh, shook his head +and held forth the buckles to Dave. + +"You won 'em," Dave said. "They're yours. I wasn't wrastling for them. +You challenged. We'll shake hands." + +Then my Lord Dunmore sent for Dave and asked him where he was from. + +"And do you know the Indian country on this side of the Cumberland?" +asked his lordship. + +"Very well." + +His lordship smiled thoughtfully. + +"I may have need of you." + +Dave bowed: + +"I am an American, my lord." + +His lordship flamed, but he controlled himself. + +"You are at least an open enemy," he said, and gave orders to move on. + +The horse-race was now on, and meanwhile a pair of silk stockings, of +one pistol's value, was yet to be conferred. Colonel Dale had given Hugh +permission to ride Firefly in the race, but when he saw the lad's +condition he peremptorily refused. + +"And nobody else can ride him," he said, with much disappointment. + +"Let me try!" cried Erskine. + +"You!" Colonel Dale started to laugh, but he caught Dave's eye. + +"Surely," said Dave. The colonel hesitated. + +"Very well--I will." + +At once the three went to the horse, and the negro groom rolled his eyes +when he learned what his purpose was. + +"Dis hoss'll kill dat boy," he muttered, but the horse had already +submitted his haughty head to the lad's hand and was standing quietly. +Even Colonel Dale showed amazement and concern when the boy insisted +that the saddle be taken off, as he wanted to ride bareback, and again +Dave overcame his scruples with a word of full confidence. The boy had +been riding pony-races bareback, he explained, among the Indians, as +long as he had been able to sit a horse. The astonishment of the crowd +when they saw Colonel Dale's favorite horse enter the course with a +young Indian apparently on him bareback will have to be imagined, but +when they recognized the rider as the lad who had won the race, the +betting through psychological perversity was stronger than ever on +Firefly. Hugh even took an additional bet with his friend Grey, who was +quite openly scornful. + +"You bet on the horse now," he said. + +"On both," said Hugh. + +It was a pretty and a close race between Firefly and a white-starred bay +mare, and they came down the course neck and neck like two whirlwinds. A +war-whoop so Indian-like and curdling that it startled every old +frontiersman who heard it came suddenly from one of the riders. Then +Firefly stretched ahead inch by inch, and another triumphant savage yell +heralded victory as the black horse swept over the line a length ahead. +Dane Grey swore quite fearfully, for it was a bet that he could ill +afford to lose. He was talking with Barbara when the boy came back to +the Dales, and something he was saying made the girl color resentfully, +and the lad heard her say sharply: + +"He is my cousin," and she turned away from the young gallant and gave +the youthful winner a glad smile. Just then a group of four men stopped +near, looked closely at the little girl, and held a short consultation. +One of them came forward with a pair of silk stockings in his hand. + +"These are for the loveliest maiden present here. The committee chooses +you." + +And later he reported to his fellow members: + +"It was like a red rose courtesying and breathing thanks." + +Again Hugh and Dane Grey were missing when the party started back to the +town--they were gone to bet on "Bacon's Thunderbolts" in a cock-fight. +That night they still were missing when the party went to see the +Virginia Comedians in a play by one Mr. Congreve--they were gaming that +night--and next morning when the Kentucky lad rose, he and Dave through +his window saw the two young roisterers approaching the porch of the +hotel--much dishevelled and all but staggering with drink. + +"I don't like that young man," said Dave, "and he has a bad influence on +Hugh." + +That morning news came from New England that set the town a-quiver. +England's answer to the Boston tea-party had been the closing of Boston +harbor. In the House of Burgesses, the news was met with a burst of +indignation. The 1st of June was straight-way set apart as a day of +fasting, humiliation, and prayer that God would avert the calamity +threatening the civil rights of America. In the middle of the afternoon +my lord's coach and six white horses swung from his great yard and made +for the capitol--my lord sitting erect and haughty, his lips set with the +resolution to crush the spirit of the rebellion. It must have been a +notable scene, for Nicholas, Bland, Lee, Harrison, Pendleton, Henry, and +Jefferson, and perhaps Washington, were there. And my lord was far from +popular. He had hitherto girded himself with all the trappings of +etiquette, had a court herald prescribe rules for the guidance of +Virginians in approaching his excellency, had entertained little and, +unlike his predecessors, made no effort to establish cordial relations +with the people of the capitol. The Burgesses were to give a great ball +in his honor that very night, and now he was come to dissolve them. And +dissolve them he did. They bowed gravely and with no protest. Shaking +with anger my lord stalked to his coach and six while they repaired to +the Apollo Room to prohibit the use of tea and propose a general +congress of the colonies. And that ball came to pass. Haughty hosts +received their haughty guest with the finest and gravest courtesy, bent +low over my lady's hand, danced with her daughters, and wrung from my +lord's reluctant lips the one grudging word of comment: + +"Gentlemen!" + +And the ladies of his family bobbed their heads sadly in confirmation, +for the steel-like barrier between them was so palpable that it could +have been touched that night, it seemed, by the hand. + +The two backwoodsmen had been dazzled by the brilliance of it all, for +the boy had stood with Barbara, who had been allowed to look on for a +while. Again my lord had summoned Dave to him and asked many questions +about the wilderness beyond the Cumberland, and he even had the boy to +come up and shake hands, and asked him where he had learned to ride so +well. He lifted his eyebrows when Dave answered for him and murmured +with surprise and interest: + +"So--so!" + +Before Barbara was sent home Hugh and Dane Grey, dressed with great +care, came in, with an exaggeration of dignity and politeness that +fooled few others than themselves. Hugh, catching Barbara's sad and +reproachful glance, did not dare go near her, but Dane made straight for +her side when he entered the room--and bowed with great gallantry. To the +boy he paid no attention whatever, and the latter, fired with +indignation and hate, turned hastily away. But in a corner unseen he +could not withhold watching the two closely, and he felt vaguely that he +was watching a frightened bird and a snake. The little girl's +self-composure seemed quite to vanish, her face flushed, her eyes were +downcast, and her whole attitude had a mature embarrassment that was far +beyond her years. The lad wondered and was deeply disturbed. The half +overlooking and wholly contemptuous glance that Grey had shot over his +head had stung him like a knife-cut, so like an actual knife indeed that +without knowing it his right hand was then fumbling at his belt. Dave +too was noticing and so was Barbara's mother and her father, who knew +very well that this smooth, suave, bold, young daredevil was +deliberately leading Hugh into all the mischief he could find. Nor did +he leave the girl's side until she was taken home. Erskine, too, left +then and went back to the tavern and up to his room. Then with his knife +in his belt he went down again and waited on the porch. Already guests +were coming back from the party and it was not long before he saw Hugh +and Dane Grey half-stumbling up the steps. Erskine rose. Grey confronted +the lad dully for a moment and then straightened. + +"Here's anuzzer one wants to fight," he said thickly. "My young friend, +I will oblige you anywhere with anything, at any time--except to-night. +You must regard zhat as great honor, for I am not accustomed to fight +with savages." + +And he waved the boy away with such an insolent gesture that the lad, +knowing no other desire with an enemy than to kill in any way possible, +snatched his knife from his belt. He heard a cry of surprise and horror +from Hugh and a huge hand caught his upraised wrist. + +"Put it back!" said Dave sternly. + +The dazed boy obeyed and Dave led him up-stairs. + + + + +VIII + + +Dave talked to the lad about the enormity of his offense, but to Dave he +was inclined to defend himself and his action. Next morning, however, +when the party started back to Red Oaks, Erskine felt a difference in +the atmosphere that made him uneasy. Barbara alone seemed unchanged, and +he was quick to guess that she had not been told of the incident. Hugh +was distinctly distant and surly for another reason as well. He had +wanted to ask young Grey to become one of their party and his father had +decisively forbidden him--for another reason too than his influence over +Hugh: Grey and his family were Tories and in high favor with Lord +Dunmore. + +As yet Dave had made no explanation or excuse for his young friend, but +he soon made up his mind that it would be wise to offer the best +extenuation as soon as possible; which was simply that the lad knew no +better, had not yet had the chance to learn, and on the rage of impulse +had acted just as he would have done among the Indians, whose code alone +he knew. + +The matter came to a head shortly after their arrival at Red Oaks when +Colonel Dale, Harry, Hugh, and Dave were on the front porch. The boy was +standing behind the box-hedge near the steps and Barbara had just +appeared in the doorway. + +"Well, what was the trouble?" Colonel Dale had just asked. + +"He tried to stab Grey unarmed and without warning," said Hugh shortly. + +At the moment, the boy caught sight of Barbara. Her eyes, filled with +scorn, met his in one long, sad, withering look, and she turned +noiselessly back into the house. Noiselessly too he melted into the +garden, slipped down to the river-bank, and dropped to the ground. He +knew at last what he had done. Nothing was said to him when he came back +to the house and that night he scarcely opened his lips. In silence he +went to bed and next morning he was gone. + +The mystery was explained when Barbara told how the boy too must have +overheard Hugh. + +"He's hurt," said Dave, "and he's gone home." + +"On foot?" asked Colonel Dale incredulously. + +"He can trot all day and make almost as good time as a horse." + +"Why, he'll starve." + +Dave laughed: + +"He could get there on roots and herbs and wild honey, but he'll have +fresh meat every day. Still, I'll have to try to overtake him. I must +go, anyhow." + +And he asked for his horse and went to get ready for the journey. Ten +minutes later Hugh and Harry rushed joyously to his room. + +"We're going with you!" they cried, and Dave was greatly pleased. An +hour later all were ready, and at the last moment Firefly was led in, +saddled and bridled, and with a leading halter around his neck. + +"Harry," said Colonel Dale, "carry your cousin my apologies and give him +Firefly on condition that he ride him back some day. Tell him this home +is his"--the speaker halted, but went on gravely and firmly--"whenever he +pleases." + +"And give him my love," said Barbara, holding back her tears. + +At the river-gate they turned to wave a last good-by and disappeared in +the woods. At that hour the boy far over in the wilderness ahead of them +had cooked a squirrel that he had shot for his breakfast and was gnawing +it to the bones. Soon he rose and at a trot sped on toward his home +beyond the Cumberland. And with him, etched with acid on the steel of +his brain, sped two images--Barbara's face as he last saw it and the face +of young Dane Grey. + +The boy's tracks were easily to be seen in the sandy road, and from them +Dave judged that he must have left long before daylight. And he was +travelling rapidly. They too went as fast as they could, but Firefly led +badly and delayed them a good deal. Nobody whom they questioned had laid +eyes on the boy, and apparently he had been slipping into the bushes to +avoid being seen. At sunset Dave knew that they were not far behind him, +but when darkness hid the lad's tracks Dave stopped for the night. Again +Erskine had got the start by going on before day, and it was the middle +of the forenoon before Dave, missing the tracks for a hundred yards, +halted and turned back to where a little stream crossed the road and +dismounted leading his horse and scrutinizing the ground. + +"Ah," he said, "just what I expected. He turned off here to make a +bee-line for the fort. He's not far away now." An hour later he +dismounted again and smiled: "We're pretty close now." + +Meanwhile Harry and Hugh were getting little lessons in woodcraft. Dave +pointed out where the lad had broken a twig climbing over a log, where +the loose covering of another log had been detached when he leaped to +it, and where he had entered the creek, the toe of one moccasin pointing +down-stream. + +Then Dave laughed aloud: + +"He's seen us tracking him and he's doubled on us and is tracking us. I +expect he's looking at us from somewhere around here." And he hallooed +at the top of his voice, which rang down the forest aisles. A war-whoop +answered almost in their ears that made the blood leap in both the boys. +Even Dave wheeled with cocked rifle, and the lad stepped from behind a +bush scarcely ten feet behind them. + +"Well, by gum," shouted Dave, "fooled us, after all." + +A faint grin of triumph was on the lad's lips, but in his eyes was a +waiting inquiry directed at Harry and Hugh. They sprang forward, both of +them with their hands outstretched: + +"We're sorry!" + +A few minutes later Hugh was transferring his saddle from Firefly to his +own horse, which had gone a trifle lame. On Firefly, Harry buckled the +boy's saddle and motioned for him to climb up. The bewildered lad turned +to Dave, who laughed: + +"It's all right." + +"He's your horse, cousin," said Harry. "My father sent him to you and +says his home is yours whenever you please. And Barbara sent her love." + +At almost the same hour in the great house on the James the old negress +was carrying from the boy's room to Colonel Dale in the library a kingly +deed that the lad had left behind him. It was a rude scrawl on a sheet +of paper, signed by the boy's Indian name and his totem mark--a buffalo +pierced by an arrow. + +"It make me laugh. I have no use. I give hole dam plantashun Barbara." + +Thus read the scrawl! + + + + +IX + + +Led by Dave, sometimes by the boy, the four followed the course of +rivers, upward, always except when they descended some mountain which +they had to cross, and then it was soon upward again. The two Virginia +lads found themselves, much to their chagrin, as helpless as children, +but they were apt pupils and soon learned to make a fire with flint and +even with dry sticks of wood. On the second day Harry brought down a +buck, and the swiftness and skill with which Dave and the Kentucky boy +skinned and cleaned it greatly astonished the two young gentlemen from +the James. There Erskine had been helpless, here these two were, and +they were as modest over the transposition as was the Kentucky lad in +the environment he had just left. Once they saw a herd of buffalo and +they tied their horses and slipped toward them. In his excitement Harry +fired too soon and the frightened herd thundered toward them. + +"Climb a tree!" shouted Erskine dropping his rifle and skinning up a +young hickory. Like squirrels they obeyed and from their perches they +saw Dave in an open space ahead of them dart for a tree too late. + +The buffalo were making straight for them through no purpose but to get +away, and to their horror they saw the big hunter squeezing his huge +body sidewise against a small tree and the herd dashing under them and +past him. They could not see him for the shaggy bodies rushing by, but +when they passed, there was Dave unhurt, though the tree on both sides +of him had been skinned of its bark by their horns. + +"Don't do that again," said Dave, and then seeing the crestfallen terror +on Harry's face, he smiled and patted the boy on the shoulder: + +"You won't again. You didn't know. You will next time." + +Three days later they reached the broad, beautiful Holston River, +passing over the pine-crested, white-rocked summit of Clinch Mountain, +and came to the last outlying fort of the western frontier. Next day +they started on the long, long wilderness trail toward the Cumberland +range. In the lowland they found much holly and laurel and rhododendron. +Over Wallen's Ridge they followed a buffalo trail to a river that had +been called Beargrass because it was fringed with spikes of white +umbelliferous flowers four feet high that were laden with honey and +beloved by Bruin of the sweet tooth. The land was level down the valley. +On the third day therefrom the gray wall of the Cumberland that ran with +frowning inaccessibility on their right gathered its flanks into steep +gray cliffs and dipped suddenly into Cumberland Gap. Up this they +climbed. On the summit they went into camp, and next morning Dave swept +a long arm toward the wild expanse to the west. + +"Four more days," he cried, "and we'll be there!" + +The two boys looked with awe on the limitless stretch of wooded wilds. +It was still Virginia, to be sure, but they felt that once they started +down they would be leaving their own beloved State for a strange land of +unknown beasts and red men who peopled that "dark and bloody ground." + +Before sunrise next morning they were dropping down the steep and rocky +trail. Before noon they reached the beautiful Cumberland River, and Dave +told them that, below, it ran over a great rocky cliff, tumbling into +foam and spray over mighty boulders around which the Indians had to +carry their bark canoes. As they rode along the bank of the stream the +hills got lower and were densely thicketed with laurel and rhododendron, +and impenetrable masses of cane-brake filled every little valley curve. +That night they slept amid the rocky foot-hills of the range, and next +morning looked upon a vast wilderness stretch of woods that undulated to +the gentle slopes of the hills, and that night they were on the edge of +the blue-grass land. + +Toward sunset Dave, through a sixth sense, had the uneasy feeling that +he was not only being followed but watched from the cliffs alongside, +and he observed that Erskine too had more than once turned in his saddle +or lifted his eyes searchingly to the shaggy flanks of the hills. +Neither spoke to the other, but that night when the hoot of an owl +raised Dave from his blanket, Erskine too was upright with his rifle in +his hand. For half an hour they waited, and lay down again, only to be +awakened again by the snort of a horse, when both sprang to their feet +and crawled out toward the sound. But the heavy silence lay unbroken and +they brought the horses closer to the fire. + +[Illustration: "Four more days," he cried, "and we'll be there!"] + +"Now I _know_ it was Indians," said Dave; "that hoss o' mine can smell +one further'n a rattlesnake." The boy nodded and they took turns on +watch while the two boys slept on till daylight. The trail was broad +enough next morning for them to ride two abreast--Dave and Erskine in +advance. They had scarcely gone a hundred yards when an Indian stepped +into the path twenty yards ahead. Instinctively Dave threw his rifle up, +but Erskine caught his arm. The Indian had lifted his hand--palm upward. +"Shawnee!" said the lad, as two more appeared from the bushes. The eyes +of the two tidewater boys grew large, and both clinched their guns +convulsively. The Indian spokesman paid no heed except to Erskine--and +only from the lad's face, in which surprise was succeeded by sorrow and +then deep thoughtfulness, could they guess what the guttural speech +meant, until Erskine turned to them. + +They were not on the war-path against the whites, he explained. His +foster-father--Kahtoo, the big chief, the king--was very ill, and his +message, brought by them, was that Erskine should come back to the tribe +and become chief, as the chief's only daughter was dead and his only son +had been killed by the palefaces. They knew that in the fight at the +fort Erskine had killed the Shawnee, his tormentor, for they knew the +arrow, which Erskine had not had time to withdraw. The dead Shawnee's +brother--Crooked Lightning--was with them. He it was who had recognized +the boy the day before, and they had kept him from killing Erskine from +the bushes. At that moment a gigantic savage stepped from the brush. The +boy's frame quivered, straightened, grew rigid, but he met the +malevolent glare turned on him with emotionless face and himself quietly +began to speak while Harry and Hugh and even Dave watched him +enthralled; for the lad was Indian now and the old chief's mantle was +about his shoulders. He sat his horse like a king and spoke as a king. +He thanked them for holding back Crooked Lightning's evil hand, +but--contemptuously he spat toward the huge savage--he was not to die by +that hand. He was a paleface and the Indians had slain his white mother. +He had forgiven that, for he loved the old chief and his foster mother +and brother and sister, and the tribe had always been kind to him. Then +they had killed his white father and he had gone to visit his kindred by +the big waters, and now he loved _them_. He had fled from the Shawnees +because of the cruelty of Crooked Lightning's brother whom he had slain. +But if the Indians were falling into evil ways and following evil +counsels, his heart was sad. + +"I will come when the leaves fall," he concluded, "but Crooked Lightning +must pitch his lodge in the wilderness and be an outcast from the tribe +until he can show that his heart is good." And then with an imperious +gesture he waved his hand toward the west: + +"Now go!" + +It was hard even for Dave to realize that the lad, to all purposes, was +actually then the chief of a powerful tribe, and even he was a little +awed by the instant obedience of the savages, who, without a word, +melted into the bushes and disappeared. Harry wished that Barbara had +been there to see, and Hugh was open-mouthed with astonishment and +wonder, and Dave recovered himself with a little chuckle only when +without a word Erskine clucked Firefly forward, quite unconsciously +taking the lead. And Dave humored him; nor was it many hours before the +lad ceased to be chief, although he did not wholly become himself again +until they were near the fort. It was nearing sunset and from a little +hill Dave pointed to a thin blue wisp of smoke rising far ahead from the +green expanse. + +"There it is, boys!" he cried. All the horses were tired except Firefly +and with a whoop Erskine darted forward and disappeared. They followed +as fast as they could and they heard the report of the boy's rifle and +the series of war-whoops with which he was heralding his approach. +Nobody in the fort was fearful, for plainly it was no unfriendly coming. +All were gathered at the big gate and there were many yells and cries of +welcome and wonder when the boy swept into the clearing on a run, +brandishing his rifle above his head, and pulled his fiery black horse +up in front of them. + +"Whar'd you steal that hoss?" shouted Bud. + +"Look at them clothes!" cried Jack Sanders. And the women--Mother +Sanders, Mother Noe, and Lydia and Honor and Polly Conrad--gathered about +him, laughing, welcoming, shaking hands, and asking questions. + +"Where's Dave?" That was the chief question and asked by several voices +at the same time. The boy looked grave. + +"Dave ain't comin' back," he said, and then seeing the look on Lydia's +face, he smiled: "Dave--" He had no further to go, for Dave's rifle +cracked and his voice rose from the woods, and he and Harry and Hugh +galloped into the clearing. Then were there more whoopings and +greetings, and Lydia's starting tears turned to smiles. + +Healthy, husky, rude, and crude these people were, but hearty, kind, +wholesome, and hospitable to the last they had. Naturally the young +people and the two boys from the James were mutually shy, but it was +plain that the shyness would soon wear off. Before dark the men came in: +old Jerome and the Noe brothers and others who were strangers even to +Dave, for in his absence many adventurers had come along the wilderness +trail and were arriving all the time. Already Erskine and Bud had shown +the two stranger boys around the fort; had told them of the last fight +with the Indians, and pointed out the outer walls pockmarked with +bullet-holes. Supper was in the open--the women serving and the men +seated about on buffalo-skins and deer-hides. Several times Hugh or +Harry would spring up to help serve, until Polly turned on Hugh sharply: + +"You set still!" and then she smiled at him. + +"You'll spile us--but I know a lot o' folks that might learn manners from +you two boys." + +Both were embarrassed. Dave laughed, Bud Sanders grunted, and Erskine +paid no heed. All the time the interchange of news and experiences was +going on. Dave had to tell about his trip and Erskine's races--for the +lad would say nothing--and in turn followed stories of killing buffalo, +deer, panther, and wildcat during his absence. Early the women +disappeared, soon the men began to yawn and stretch, and the sentinels +went to the watch-towers, for there had been Indian signs that day. This +news thrilled the eastern lads, and they too turned into the same bed +built out from the wall of one of the cabins and covered with bearskins. +And Harry, just before his eyes closed, saw through the open door +Erskine seated alone by the dying fire in deep thought--Erskine, the +connecting-link between the tide-water aristocrats and these rude +pioneers, between these backwoodsmen and the savage enemies out in the +black encircling wilderness. And that boy's brain was in a turmoil--what +was to be his fate, there, here, or out there where he had promised to +go at the next falling of the leaves? + + + + +X + + +The green of the wilderness dulled and burst into the yellow of the +buckeye, the scarlet of maple, and the russet of oak. This glory in turn +dulled and the leaves, like petals of withered flowers, began to drift +to the earth. Through the shower of them went Erskine and Firefly, who +had become as used to the wilds as to the smiling banks of the far-away +James, for no longer did some strange scent make his nostrils quiver or +some strange sound point his beautiful ears and make him crouch and +shudder, or some shadow or shaft of light make him shy and leap like a +deer aside. And the two now were one in mutual affection and a mutual +understanding that was uncanny. A brave picture the lad made of those +lone forerunners whose tent was the wilderness and whose goal was the +Pacific slope. From his coonskin cap the bushy tail hung like a plume; +his deerskin hunting-shirt, made by old Mother Sanders, was beaded and +fringed--fringed across the breast, at the wrists, and at the hem, and +girded by a belt from which the horned handle of a scalping-knife showed +in front and the head of a tomahawk behind; his powder-horn swung under +one shoulder and his bullet-pouch, wadding, flint, and steel under the +other; his long rifle across his saddle-bow. And fringed too were his +breeches and beaded were his moccasins. Dave had laughed at him as a +backwoods dandy and then checked himself, so dignified was the boy and +grave; he was the son of a king again, and as such was on his way in +answer to the wish of a king. For food he carried only a little sack of +salt, for his rifle would bring him meat and the forest would give him +nuts and fruit. When the sun was nearing its highest, he "barked" a +squirrel from the trunk of a beech; toward sunset a fat pheasant +fluttered from the ground to a low limb and he shot its head off and +camped for the night. Hickory-nuts, walnuts, and chestnuts were +abundant. Persimmons and papaws were ripe, haws and huckleberries were +plentiful. There were wild cherries and even wild plums, and when he +wished he could pluck a handful of wild grapes from a vine by the trail +and munch them as he rode along. For something sweet he could go to the +pod of the honey-locust. + +On the second day he reached the broad buffalo trail that led to the +salt-licks and on to the river, and then memories came. He remembered a +place where the Indians had camped after they had captured himself and +his mother. In his mind was a faint picture of her sitting against a +tree and weeping and of an Indian striking her to make her stop and of +himself leaping at the savage like a little wildcat, whereat the others +laughed like children. Farther on, next day, was the spot where the +Indians had separated them and he saw his mother no more. They told him +that she had been taken back to the whites, but he was told later that +they had killed her because in their flight from the whites she was +holding them back too much. Farther on was a spot where they had hurried +from the trail and thrust him into a hollow log, barring the exit with +stones, and had left him for a day and a night. + +On the fourth day he reached the river and swam it holding rifle and +powder-horn above his head. On the seventh he was nearing the village +where the sick chief lay, and when he caught sight of the teepees in a +little creek bottom, he fired his rifle, and putting Firefly into a +gallop and with right hand high swept into the village. Several bucks +had caught up bow or rifle at the report of the gun and the clatter of +hoofs, but their hands relaxed when they saw his sign of peace. The +squaws gathered and there were grunts of recognition and greeting when +the boy pulled up in their midst. The flaps of the chief's tent parted +and his foster-mother started toward him with a sudden stream of tears +and turned quickly back. The old chief's keen black eyes were waiting +for her and he spoke before she could open her lips: + +"White Arrow! It is well. Here--at once!" + +Erskine had swung from his horse and followed. The old chief measured +him from head to foot slowly and his face grew content: + +"Show me the horse!" + +The boy threw back the flaps of the tent and with a gesture bade an +Indian to lead Firefly to and fro. The horse even thrust his beautiful +head over his master's shoulder and looked within, snorting gently. +Kahtoo waved dismissal: + +"You must ride north soon to carry the white wampum and a peace talk. +And when you go you must hurry back, for when the sun is highest on the +day after you return, my spirit will pass." + +And thereupon he turned his face and went back into sleep. Already his +foster-mother had unsaddled and tethered Firefly and given him a feed of +corn; and yet bucks, squaws, girls, and pappooses were still gathered +around him, for some had not seen his like before, and of the rest none +failed to feel the change that had taken place in him. Had the lad in +truth come to win and make good his chieftainship, he could not have +made a better beginning, and there was not a maid in camp in whose eyes +there was not far more than curiosity--young as he was. Just before +sunset rifle-shots sounded in the distance--the hunters were coming +in--and the accompanying whoops meant great success. Each of three bucks +carried a deer over his shoulders, and foremost of the three was Crooked +Lightning, who barely paused when he saw Erskine, and then with an +insolent glare and grunt passed him and tossed his deer at the feet of +the squaws. The boy's hand slipped toward the handle of his tomahawk, +but some swift instinct kept him still. The savage must have had good +reason for such open defiance, for the lad began to feel that many +others shared in his hostility and he began to wonder and speculate. + +Quickly the feast was prepared and the boy ate apart--his foster-mother +bringing him food--but he could hear the story of the day's hunting and +the allusions to the prowess of Crooked Lightning's son, Black Wolf, who +was Erskine's age, and he knew they were but slurs against himself. When +the dance began his mother pointed toward it, meaning that he should +take part, but he shook his head--and his thoughts went backward to his +friends at the fort and on back to the big house on the James, to Harry +and Hugh--and Barbara; and he wondered what they would think if they +could see him there; could see the gluttonous feast and those naked +savages stamping around the fire with barbaric grunts and cries to the +thumping of a drum. Where did he belong? + +Fresh wood was thrown on the fire, and as its light leaped upward the +lad saw an aged Indian emerge from one of two tents that sat apart on a +little rise--saw him lift both hands toward the stars for a moment and +then return within. + +"Who is that?" he asked. + +"The new prophet," said his mother. "He has been but one moon here and +has much power over our young men." + +An armful of pine fagots was tossed on the blaze, and in a whiter leap +of light he saw the face of a woman at the other tent--saw her face and +for a moment met her eyes before she shrank back--and neither face nor +eyes belonged to an Indian. Startled, he caught his mother by the wrist +and all but cried out: + +"And that?" The old woman hesitated and scowled: + +"A paleface. Kahtoo bought her and adopted her but"--the old woman gave a +little guttural cluck of triumph--"she dies to-morrow. Kahtoo will burn +her." + +"Burn her?" burst out the boy. + +"The palefaces have killed many of Kahtoo's kin!" + +A little later when he was passing near the white woman's tent a girl +sat in front of it pounding corn in a mortar. She looked up at him and, +staring, smiled. She had the skin of the half-breed, and he stopped, +startled by that fact and her beauty--and went quickly on. At old +Kahtoo's lodge he could not help turning to look at her again, and this +time she rose quickly and slipped within the tent. He turned to find his +foster-mother watching him. + +"Who is that girl?" The old woman looked displeased. + +"Daughter of the white woman." + +"Does she know?" + +"Neither knows." + +"What is her name?" + +"Early Morn." + +Early Morn and daughter of the white woman--he would like to know more of +those two, and he half turned, but the old Indian woman caught him by +the arm: + +"Do not go there--you will only make more trouble." + +He followed the flash of her eyes to the edge of the firelight where a +young Indian stood watching and scowling: + +"Who is that?" + +"Black Wolf, son of Crooked Lightning." + +"Ah!" thought Erskine. + +Within the old chief called faintly and the Indian woman motioned the +lad to go within. The old man's dim eyes had a new fire. + +"Talk!" he commanded and motioned to the ground, but the lad did not +squat Indian fashion, but stood straight with arms folded, and the chief +knew that a conflict was coming. Narrowly he watched White Arrow's face +and bearing--uneasily felt the strange new power of him. + +"I have been with my own people," said the lad simply, "the palefaces +who have come over the big mountains and have built forts and planted +corn, and they were kind to me. I went over those mountains, on and on +almost to the big waters. I found my kin. They are many and strong and +rich. They have big houses of stone such as I had never seen nor heard +of and they plant more corn than all the Shawnees and Iroquois. They, +too, were kind to me. I came because you had been kind and because you +were sick and because you had sent for me, and to keep my word. + +"I have seen Crooked Lightning. His heart is bad. I have seen the new +prophet. I do not like him. And I have seen the white woman that you are +to burn to-morrow." The lad stopped. His every word had been of defense +or indictment and more than once the old chief's eyes shifted uneasily. + +"Why did you leave us?" + +"To see my people and because of Crooked Lightning and his brother." + +"You fought us." + +"Only the brother, and I killed him." The dauntless mien of the boy, his +steady eyes, and his bold truthfulness, pleased the old man. The lad +must take his place as chief. Now White Arrow turned questioner: + +"I told you I would come when the leaves fell and I am here. Why is +Crooked Lightning here? Why is the new prophet? Who is the woman? What +has she done that she must die? What is the peace talk you wish me to +carry north?" + +The old man hesitated long with closed eyes. When he opened them the +fire was gone and they were dim again. + +"The story of the prophet and Crooked Lightning is too long," he said +wearily. "I will tell to-morrow. The woman must die because her people +have slain mine. Besides, she is growing blind and is a trouble. You +carry the white wampum to a council. The Shawnees may join the British +against our enemies--the palefaces." + +"I will wait," said the lad. "I will carry the white wampum. If you war +against the paleface on this side of the mountain--I am your enemy. If +you war with the British against them all--I am your enemy. And the woman +must not die." + +"I have spoken," said the old man. + +"_I_ have spoken," said the boy. He turned to lie down and went to +sleep. The old man sat on, staring out at the stars. + +Just outside the tent a figure slipped away as noiselessly as a snake. +When it rose and emerged from the shadows the firelight showed the +malignant, triumphant face of Crooked Lightning. + + + + +XI + + +The Indian boys were plunging into the river when Erskine appeared at +the opening of the old chief's tent next morning, and when they came out +icicles were clinging to their hair. He had forgotten the custom and he +shrugged his shoulders at his mother's inquiring look. But the next +morning when Crooked Lightning's son Black Wolf passed him with a +taunting smile he changed his mind. + +"Wait!" he said. He turned, stripped quickly to a breech-clout, pointed +to a beech down and across the river, challenging Black Wolf to a race. +Together they plunged in and the boy's white body clove through the +water like the arrow that he was. At the beech he whipped about to meet +the angry face of his competitor ten yards behind. Half-way back he was +more than twenty yards ahead when he heard a strangled cry. Perhaps it +was a ruse to cover the humiliation of defeat, but when he saw bucks +rushing for the river-bank he knew that the icy water had brought a +cramp to Black Wolf, so he turned, caught the lad by his topknot, towed +him shoreward, dropped him contemptuously, and stalked back to his tent. +The girl Early Morn stood smiling at her lodge and her eyes followed his +white figure until it disappeared. His mother had built a fire for him, +and the old chief looked pleased and proud. + +"My spirit shall not pass," he said, and straightway he rose and +dressed, and to the astonishment of the tribe emerged from his tent and +walked firmly about the village until he found Crooked Lightning. + +"You would have Black Wolf chief," he said. "Very well. We shall see who +can show the better right--your son or White Arrow"--a challenge that sent +Crooked Lightning to brood awhile in his tent, and then secretly to +consult the prophet. + +Later the old chief talked long to White Arrow. The prophet, he said, +had been with them but a little while. He claimed that the Great Spirit +had made revelations to him alone. What manner of man was he, questioned +the boy--did he have ponies and pelts and jerked meat? + +"He is poor," said the chief. "He has only a wife and children and the +tribe feeds him." + +White Arrow himself grunted--it was the first sign of his old life +stirring within him. + +"Why should the Great Spirit pick out such a man to favor?" he asked. +The chief shook his head. + +"He makes muzzi-neen for the young men, shows them where to find game +and they find it." + +"But game is plentiful," persisted the lad. + +"You will hear him drumming in the woods at night." + +"I heard him last night and I thought he was a fool to frighten the game +away." + +"Crooked Lightning has found much favor with him, and in turn with the +others, so that I have not thought it wise to tell Crooked Lightning +that he must go. He has stirred up the young men against me--and against +you. They were waiting for me to die." The boy looked thoughtful and the +chief waited. He had not reached the aim of his speech and there was no +need to put it in words, for White Arrow understood. + +"I will show them," he said quietly. + +When the two appeared outside, many braves had gathered, for the whole +village knew what was in the wind. Should it be a horse-race first? +Crooked Lightning looked at the boy's thoroughbred and shook his +head--Indian ponies would as well try to outrun an arrow, a bullet, a +hurricane. + +A foot-race? The old chief smiled when Crooked Lightning shook his head +again--no brave in the tribe even could match the speed that gave the lad +his name. The bow and arrow, the rifle, the tomahawk? Perhaps the +pole-dance of the Sioux? The last suggestion seemed to make Crooked +Lightning angry, for a rumor was that Crooked Lightning was a renegade +Sioux and had been shamed from the tribe because of his evasion of that +same pole-dance. Old Kahtoo had humor as well as sarcasm. Tomahawks and +bows and arrows were brought out. Black Wolf was half a head shorter, +but stocky and powerfully built. White Arrow's sinews had strengthened, +but he had scarcely used bow and tomahawk since he had left the tribe. +His tomahawk whistled more swiftly through the air and buried itself +deeper into the tree, and his arrows flashed faster and were harder to +pull out. He had the power but not the practice, and Black Wolf won with +great ease. When they came to the rifle, Black Wolf was out of the game, +for never a bull's-eye did White Arrow miss. + +"To-morrow," said the old chief, "they shall hunt. Each shall take his +bow and the same number of arrows at sunrise and return at sundown.... +The next day they shall do the same with the rifle. It is enough for +to-day." + +The first snow fell that night, and at dawn the two lads started +out--each with a bow and a dozen arrows. Erskine's woodcraft had not +suffered and the night's story of the wilderness was as plain to his +keen eyes as a printed page. Nothing escaped them, no matter how minute +the signs. Across the patch where corn had been planted, field-mice had +left tracks like stitched seams. Crows had been after crawfish along the +edge of the stream and a mink after minnows. A muskrat had crossed the +swamp beyond. In the woods, wind-blown leaves had dotted and dashed the +snow like a stenographer's notebook. Here a squirrel had leaped along, +his tail showing occasionally in the snow, and there was the +four-pointed, triangle-track of a cottontail. The wide-spreading toes of +a coon had made this tracery; moles had made these snowy ridges over +their galleries, and this long line of stitched tracks was the trail of +the fearless skunk which came to a sudden end in fur, feathers, and +bones where the great horned owl had swooped down on him, the only +creature that seems not to mind his smell. Here was the print of a +pheasant's wing, and buds and bits of twigs on the snow were the +scattered remnants of his breakfast. Here was the spring hole that never +freezes--the drinking-cup for the little folks of the woods. Here a hawk +had been after a rabbit, and the lengthening distance between his +triangles showed how he had speeded up in flight. He had scudded under +thick briers and probably had gotten away. But where was the big game? +For two hours he tramped swiftly, but never sign of deer, elk, bear, or +buffalo. + +And then an hour later he heard a snort from a thick copse and the crash +of an unseen body in flight through the brush, and he loped after its +tracks. + +Black Wolf came in at sunset with a bear cub which he had found feeding +apart from its mother. He was triumphant, and Crooked Lightning was +scornful when White Arrow appeared empty-handed. His left wrist was +bruised and swollen, and there was a gash the length of his forearm. + +"Follow my tracks back," he said, "until you come to the kill." With a +whoop two Indians bounded away and in an hour returned with a buck. + +"I ran him down," said White Arrow, "and killed him with the knife. He +horned me," and went into his tent. + +The bruised wrist and wounded forearm made no matter, for the rifle was +the weapon next day--but White Arrow went another way to look for game. +Each had twelve bullets. Black Wolf came in with a deer and one bullet. +White Arrow told them where they could find a deer, a bear, a buffalo, +and an elk, and he showed eight bullets in the palm of his hand. And he +noted now that the Indian girl was always an intent observer of each +contest, and that she always went swiftly back to her tent to tell his +deeds to the white woman within. + +There was a feast and a dance that night, and Kahtoo could have gone to +his fathers and left the lad, young as he was, as chief, but not yet was +he ready, and Crooked Lightning, too, bided his time. + + + + +XII + + +Dressed as an Indian, Erskine rode forth next morning with a wampum belt +and a talk for the council north where the British were to meet Shawnee, +Iroquois, and Algonquin, and urge them to enter the great war that was +just breaking forth. There was open and angry protest against sending so +young a lad on so great a mission, but the old chief haughtily brushed +it aside: + +"He is young but his feet are swift, his arm is strong, his heart good, +and his head is old. He speaks the tongue of the paleface. Besides, he +is my son." + +One question the boy asked as he made ready: + +"The white woman must not be burned while I am gone?" + +"No," promised the old chief. And so White Arrow fared forth. Four days +he rode through the north woods, and on the fifth he strode through the +streets of a town that was yet filled with great forest trees: a town at +which he had spent three winters when the game was scarce and the tribe +had moved north for good. He lodged with no chief but slept in the woods +with his feet to the fire. The next night he slipped to the house of the +old priest, Father Andr, who had taught him some religion and a little +French, and the old man welcomed him as a son, though he noted sadly his +Indian dress and was distressed when he heard the lad's mission. He was +quickly relieved. + +"I am no royalist," he said. + +"Nor am I," said Erskine. "I came because Kahtoo, who seemed nigh to +death, begged me to come. There is much intrigue about him, and he could +trust no other. I am only a messenger and I shall speak his talk; but my +heart is with the Americans and I shall fight with them." The old priest +put his fingers to his lips: + +"Sh-h-h! It is not wise. Are you not known?" + +Erskine hesitated. + +Earlier that morning he had seen three officers riding in. Following was +a youth not in uniform though he carried a sword. On the contrary, he +was dressed like an English dandy, and then he found himself face to +face with Dane Grey. With no sign of recognition the boy had met his +eyes squarely and passed on. + +"There is but one man who does know me and he did not recognize me. His +name is Dane Grey. I am wondering what he is doing here. Can you find +out for me and let me know?" The old priest nodded and Erskine slipped +back to the woods. + +At sunrise the great council began. On his way Erskine met Grey, who +apparently was leaving with a band of traders for Detroit. Again Erskine +met his eyes and this time Grey smiled: + +"Aren't you White Arrow?" Somehow the tone with which he spoke the name +was an insult. + +"Yes." + +"Then it's true. We heard that you had left your friends at the fort and +become an Indian again." + +"Yes?" + +"So you are not only going to fight with the Indians against the whites, +but with the British against America?" + +"What I am going to do is no business of yours," Erskine said quietly, +"but I hope we shall not be on the same side. We may meet again." + +Grey's face was already red with drink and it turned purple with anger. + +"When you tried to stab me do you remember what I said?" Erskine nodded +contemptuously. + +"Well, I repeat it. Whatever the side, I'll fight you anywhere at any +time and in any way you please." + +"Why not now?" + +"This is not the time for private quarrels and you know it." + +Erskine bowed slightly--an act that came oddly from an Indian head-dress. + +"I can wait--and I shall not forget. The day will come." + +The old priest touched Erskine's shoulder as the angry youth rode away. + +"I cannot make it out," he said. "He claims to represent an English fur +company. His talk is British but he told one man--last night when he was +drunk--that he could have a commission in the American army." + +The council-fire was built, the flames crackled and the smoke rolled +upward and swept through the leafless trees. Three British agents sat on +blankets and around them the chiefs were ringed. All day the powwow +lasted. Each agent spoke and the burden of his talk varied very little. + +The American palefaces had driven the Indian over the great wall. They +were killing his deer, buffalo, and elk, robbing him of his land and +pushing him ever backward. They were many and they would become more. +The British were the Indian's friends--the Americans were his enemies and +theirs; could they choose to fight with their enemies rather than with +their friends? Each chief answered in turn, and each cast forward his +wampum until only Erskine, who had sat silent, remained, and Pontiac +himself turned to him. + +"What says the son of Kahtoo?" + +Even as he rose the lad saw creeping to the outer ring his enemy Crooked +Lightning, but he appeared not to see. The whites looked surprised when +his boyish figure stood straight, and they were amazed when he addressed +the traders in French, the agents in English, and spoke to the feathered +chiefs in their own tongue. He cast the belt forward. + +"That is Kahtoo's talk, but this is mine." + +Who had driven the Indian from the great waters to the great wall? The +British. Who were the Americans until now? British. Why were the +Americans fighting now? Because the British, their kinsmen, would not +give them their rights. If the British would drive the Indian to the +great wall, would they not go on doing what they charged the Americans +with doing now? If the Indians must fight, why fight with the British to +beat the Americans, and then have to fight both a later day? If the +British would not treat their own kinsmen fairly, was it likely that +they would treat the Indian fairly? They had never done so yet. Would it +not be better for the Indian to make the white man on his own land a +friend rather than the white man who lived more than a moon away across +the big seas? Only one gesture the lad made. He lifted his hand high and +paused. Crooked Lightning had sprung to his feet with a hoarse cry. +Already the white men had grown uneasy, for the chiefs had turned to the +boy with startled interest at his first sentence and they could not know +what he was saying. But they looked relieved when Crooked Lightning +rose, for his was the only face in the assembly that was hostile to the +boy. With a gesture Pontiac bade Crooked Lightning speak. + +[Illustration: "That is Kahtoo's talk, but this is mine"] + +"The tongue of White Arrow is forked. I have heard him say he would +fight with the Long Knives against the British and he would fight with +them even against his own tribe." One grunt of rage ran the round of +three circles and yet Pontiac stopped Crooked Lightning and turned to +the lad. Slowly the boy's uplifted hand came down. With a bound he +leaped through the head-dress of a chief in the outer ring and sped away +through the village. Some started on foot after him, some rushed to +their ponies, and some sent arrows and bullets after him. At the edge of +the village the boy gave a loud, clear call and then another as he ran. +Something black sprang snorting from the edge of the woods with pointed +ears and searching eyes. Another call came and like the swirling edge of +a hurricane-driven thunder-cloud Firefly swept after his master. The boy +ran to meet him, caught one hand in his mane before he stopped, swung +himself up, and in a hail of arrows and bullets swept out of sight. + + + + +XIII + + +The sound of pursuit soon died away, but Erskine kept Firefly at his +best, for he knew that Crooked Lightning would be quick and fast on his +trail. He guessed, too, that Crooked Lightning had already told the +tribe what he had just told the council, and that he and the prophet had +already made all use of the boy's threat to Kahtoo in the Shawnee town. +He knew even that it might cost him his life if he went back there, and +once or twice he started to turn through the wilderness and go back to +the fort. Winter was on, and he had neither saddle nor bridle, but +neither fact bothered him. It was the thought of the white woman who was +to be burned that kept him going and sent him openly and fearlessly into +the town. He knew from the sullen looks that met him, from the fear in +the faces of his foster-mother and the white woman who peered blindly +from her lodge, and from the triumphant leer of the prophet that his +every suspicion was true, but all the more leisurely did he swing from +his horse, all the more haughtily stalk to Kahtoo's tent. And the old +chief looked very grave when the lad told the story of the council and +all that he had said and done. + +"The people are angry. They say you are a traitor and a spy. They say +you must die. And I cannot help you. I am too old and the prophet is too +strong." + +"And the white woman?" + +"She will not burn. Some fur traders have been here. The white chief +McGee sent me a wampum belt and a talk. His messenger brought much +fire-water and he gave me that"--he pointed to a silver-mounted +rifle--"and I promised that she should live. But I cannot help you." +Erskine thought quickly. He laid his rifle down, stepped slowly outside, +and stretched his arms with a yawn. Then still leisurely he moved toward +his horse as though to take care of it. But the braves were too keen and +watchful and they were not fooled by the fact that he had left his rifle +behind. Before he was close enough to leap for Firefly's back, three +bucks darted from behind a lodge and threw themselves upon him. In a +moment he was face down on the ground, his hands were tied behind his +back, and when turned over he looked up into the grinning face of Black +Wolf, who with the help of another brave dragged him to a lodge and +roughly threw him within, and left him alone. On the way he saw his +foster-mother's eyes flashing helplessly, saw the girl Early Morn +indignantly telling her mother what was going on, and the white woman's +face was wet with tears. He turned over so that he could look through +the tent-flaps. Two bucks were driving a stake in the centre of the +space around which the lodges were ringed. Two more were bringing fagots +of wood and it was plain what was going to become of him. His +foster-mother, who was fiercely haranguing one of the chiefs, turned +angrily into Kahtoo's lodge and he could see the white woman rocking her +body and wringing her hands. Then the old chief appeared and lifted his +hands. + +"Crooked Lightning will be very angry. The prisoner is his--not yours. It +is for him to say what the punishment shall be--not for you. Wait for +him! Hold a council and if you decide against him, though he is my +son--he shall die." For a moment the preparations ceased and all turned +to the prophet, who had appeared before his lodge. + +"Kahtoo is right," he said. "The Great Spirit will not approve if White +Arrow die except by the will of the council--and Crooked Lightning will +be angry." There was a chorus of protesting grunts, but the preparations +ceased. The boy could feel the malevolence in the prophet's tone and he +knew that the impostor wanted to curry further favor with Crooked +Lightning and not rob him of the joy of watching his victim's torture. +So the braves went back to their fire-water, and soon the boy's +foster-mother brought him something to eat, but she could say nothing, +for Black Wolf had appointed himself sentinel and sat rifle in hand at +the door of the lodge. + +Night came on. A wildcat screeched, a panther screamed, and an elk +bugled far away. The drinking became more furious and once Erskine saw a +pale-brown arm thrust from behind the lodge and place a jug at the feet +of Black Wolf, who grunted and drank deep. The stars mounted into a +clear sky and the wind rose and made much noise in the trees overhead. +One by one the braves went to drunken sleep about the fire. The fire +died down and by the last flickering flame the lad saw Black Wolf's chin +sinking sleepily to his chest. There was the slightest rustle behind the +tent. He felt something groping for his hands and feet, felt the point +of a knife graze the skin of his wrist and ankles--felt the thongs loosen +and drop apart. Noiselessly, inch by inch, he crept to the wall of the +tent, which was carefully lifted for him. Outside he rose and waited. +Like a shadow the girl Early Morn stole before him and like a shadow he +followed. The loose snow muffled their feet as the noise of the wind had +muffled his escape from the lodge, and in a few minutes they were by the +riverbank, away from the town. The moon rose and from the shadow of a +beech the white woman stepped forth with his rifle and powder-horn and +bullet-pouch and some food. She pointed to his horse a little farther +down. He looked long and silently into the Indian girl's eyes and took +the white woman's shaking hand. Once he looked back. The Indian girl was +stoic as stone. A bar of moonlight showed the white woman's face wet +with tears. + + * * * * * + +Again Dave Yandell from a watch-tower saw a topknot rise above a patch +of cane now leafless and winter-bitten--saw a hand lifted high above it +with a palm of peace toward him. And again an Indian youth emerged, this +time leading a black horse with a drooping head. Both came painfully on, +staggering, it seemed, from wounds or weakness, and Dave sprang from the +tower and rushed with others to the gate. He knew the horse and there +was dread in his heart; perhaps the approaching Indian had slain the +boy, had stolen the horse, and was innocently coming there for food. +Well, he thought grimly, revenge would be swift. Still, fearing some +trick, he would let no one outside, but himself stood waiting with the +gate a little ajar. So gaunt were boy and beast that it was plain that +both were starving. The boy's face was torn with briers and pinched with +hunger and cold, but a faint smile came from it. + +"Don't you know me, Dave?" he asked weakly. + +"My God! It's White Arrow!" + + + + +XIV + + +Straightway the lad sensed a curious change in the attitude of the +garrison. The old warmth was absent. The atmosphere was charged with +suspicion, hostility. Old Jerome was surly, his old playmates were +distant. Only Dave, Mother Sanders, and Lydia were unchanged. The +predominant note was curiosity, and they started to ply him with +questions, but Dave took him to a cabin, and Mother Sanders brought him +something to eat. + +"Had a purty hard time," stated Dave. The boy nodded. + +"I had only three bullets. Firefly went lame and I had to lead him. I +couldn't eat cane and Firefly couldn't eat pheasant. I got one from a +hawk," he explained. "What's the matter out there?" + +"Nothin'," said Dave gruffly and he made the boy go to sleep. His story +came when all were around the fire at supper, and was listened to with +eagerness. Again the boy felt the hostility and it made him resentful +and haughty and his story brief and terse. Most fluid and sensitive +natures have a chameleon quality, no matter what stratum of adamant be +beneath. The boy was dressed like an Indian, he looked like one, and he +had brought back, it seemed, the bearing of an Indian--his wildness and +stoicism. He spoke like a chief in a council, and even in English his +phrasing and metaphors belonged to the red man. No wonder they believed +the stories they had heard of him--but there was shame in many faces and +little doubt in any save one before he finished. + +He had gone to see his foster-mother and his foster-father--old chief +Kahtoo, the Shawnee--because he had given his word. Kahtoo thought he was +dying and wanted him to be chief when the Great Spirit called. Kahtoo +had once saved his life, had been kind, and made him a son. That he +could not forget. An evil prophet had come to the tribe and through his +enemies, Crooked Lightning and Black Wolf, had gained much influence. +They were to burn a captive white woman as a sacrifice. He had stayed to +save her, to argue with old Kahtoo, and carry the wampum and a talk to a +big council with the British. He had made his talk and--escaped. He had +gone back to his tribe, had been tied, and was to be burned at the +stake. Again he had escaped with the help of the white woman and her +daughter. The tribes had joined the British and even then they were +planning an early attack on this very fort and all others. + +The interest was tense and every face was startled at this calm +statement of their immediate danger. Dave and Lydia looked triumphant at +this proof of their trust, but old Jerome burst out: + +"Why did you have to escape from the council--and from the Shawnees?" The +boy felt the open distrust and he rose proudly. + +"At the council I told the Indians that they should be friends, not +enemies, of the Americans, and Crooked Lightning called me a traitor. He +had overheard my talk with Kahtoo." + +"What was that?" asked Dave quickly. + +"I told Kahtoo I would fight with the Americans against the British and +Indians; and with _you_ against _him_!" And he turned away and went back +to the cabin. + +"What'd I tell ye!" cried Dave indignantly and he followed the boy, who +had gone to his bunk, and put one big hand on his shoulder. + +"They thought you'd turned Injun agin," he said, "but it's all right +now." + +"I know," said the lad and with a muffled sound that was half the grunt +of an Indian and half the sob of a white man turned his face away. + +Again Dave reached for the lad's shoulder. + +"Don't blame 'em too much. I'll tell you now. Some fur traders came by +here, and one of 'em said you was goin' to marry an Injun girl named +Early Morn; that you was goin' to stay with 'em and fight with 'em +alongside the British. Of course I knowed better but----" + +"Why," interrupted Erskine, "they must have been the same traders who +came to the Shawnee town and brought whiskey." + +"That's what the feller said and why folks here believed him." + +"Who was he?" demanded Erskine. + +"You know him--Dane Grey." + +All tried to make amends straightway for the injustice they had done +him, but the boy's heart remained sore that their trust was so little. +Then, when they gathered all settlers within the fort and made all +preparations and no Indians came, many seemed again to get distrustful +and the lad was not happy. The winter was long and hard. A blizzard had +driven the game west and south and the garrison was hard put to it for +food. Every day that the hunters went forth the boy was among them and +he did far more than his share in the killing of game. But when winter +was breaking, more news came in of the war. The flag that had been +fashioned of a soldier's white shirt, an old blue army coat, and a red +petticoat was now the Stars and Stripes of the American cause. Burgoyne +had not cut off New England, that "head of the rebellion," from the +other colonies. On the contrary, the Americans had beaten him at +Saratoga and marched his army off under those same Stars and Stripes, +and for the first time Erskine heard of gallant Lafayette--how he had run +to Washington with the portentous news from his king--that beautiful, +passionate France would now stretch forth her helping hand. And Erskine +learned what that news meant to Washington's "naked and starving" +soldiers dying on the frozen hillsides of Valley Forge. Then George +Rogers Clark had passed the fort on his way to Williamsburg to get money +and men for his great venture in the Northwest, and Erskine got a ready +permission to accompany him as soldier and guide. After Clark was gone +the lad got restless; and one morning when the first breath of spring +came he mounted his horse, in spite of arguments and protestations, and +set forth for Virginia on the wilderness trail. He was going to join +Clark, he said, but more than Clark and the war were drawing him to the +outer world. What it was he hardly knew, for he was not yet much given +to searching his heart or mind. He did know, however, that some strange +force had long been working within him that was steadily growing +stronger, was surging now like a flame and swinging him between strange +moods of depression and exultation. Perhaps it was but the spirit of +spring in his heart, but with his mind's eye he was ever seeing at the +end of his journey the face of his little cousin Barbara Dale. + + + + +XV + + +A striking figure the lad made riding into the old capital one afternoon +just before the sun sank behind the western woods. Had it been dusk he +might have been thought to be an Indian sprung magically from the wilds +and riding into civilization on a stolen thoroughbred. Students no +longer wandered through the campus of William and Mary College. Only an +occasional maid in silk and lace tripped along the street in high-heeled +shoes and clocked stockings, and no coach and four was in sight. The +governor's palace, in its great yard amid linden-trees, was closed and +deserted. My Lord Dunmore was long in sad flight, as Erskine later +learned, and not in his coach with its six milk-white horses. But there +was the bust of Sir Walter in front of Raleigh Tavern, and there he drew +up, before the steps where he was once nigh to taking Dane Grey's life. +A negro servant came forward to care for his horse, but a coal-black +young giant leaped around the corner and seized the bridle with a +welcoming cry: + +"Marse Erskine! But I knowed Firefly fust." It was Ephraim, the groom +who had brought out Barbara's ponies, who had turned the horse over to +him for the race at the fair. + +"I come frum de plantation fer ole marse," the boy explained. The host +of the tavern heard and came down to give his welcome, for any Dale, no +matter what his garb, could always have the best in that tavern. More +than that, a bewigged solicitor, learning his name, presented himself +with the cheerful news that he had quite a little sum of money that had +been confided to his keeping by Colonel Dale for his nephew Erskine. A +strange deference seemed to be paid him by everybody, which was a +grateful change from the suspicion he had left among his pioneer +friends. The little tavern was thronged and the air charged with the +spirit of war. Indeed, nothing else was talked. My Lord Dunmore had come +to a sad and unbemoaned end. He had stayed afar from the battle-field of +Point Pleasant and had left stalwart General Lewis to fight Cornstalk +and his braves alone. Later my Lady Dunmore and her sprightly daughters +took refuge on a man-of-war--whither my lord soon followed them. His +fleet ravaged the banks of the rivers and committed every outrage. His +marines set fire to Norfolk, which was in ashes when he weighed anchor +and sailed away to more depredations. When he intrenched himself on +Gwynn's Island, that same stalwart Lewis opened a heavy cannonade on +fleet and island, and sent a ball through the indignant nobleman's +flag-ship. Next day he saw a force making for the island in boats, and +my lord spread all sail; and so back to merry England, and to Virginia +no more. Meanwhile, Mr. Washington had reached Boston and started his +duties under the Cambridge elm. Several times during the talk Erskine +had heard mentioned the name of Dane Grey. Young Grey had been with +Dunmore and not with Lewis at Point Pleasant, and had been conspicuous +at the palace through much of the succeeding turmoil--the hint being his +devotion to one of the daughters, since he was now an unquestioned +loyalist. + +Next morning Erskine rode forth along a sandy road, amidst the singing +of birds and through a forest of tiny upshooting leaves, for Red Oaks on +the James. He had forsworn Colonel Dale to secrecy as to the note he had +left behind giving his birthright to his little cousin Barbara, and he +knew the confidence would be kept inviolate. He could recall the +road--every turn of it, for the woodsman's memory is faultless--and he +could see the merry cavalcade and hear the gay quips and laughter of +that other spring day long ago, for to youth even the space of a year is +very long ago. But among the faces that blossomed within the old coach, +and nodded and danced like flowers in a wind, his mind's eye was fixed +on one alone. At the boat-landing he hitched his horse to the low-swung +branch of an oak and took the path through tangled rose-bushes and +undergrowth along the bank of the river, halting where it would give him +forth on the great, broad, grassy way that led to the house among the +oaks. There was the sun-dial that had marked every sunny hour since he +had been away. For a moment he stood there, and when he stepped into the +open he shrank back hastily--a girl was coming through the opening of +boxwood from the house--coming slowly, bareheaded, her hands clasped +behind her, her eyes downward. His heart throbbed as he waited, throbbed +the more when his ears caught even the soft tread of her little feet, +and seemed to stop when she paused at the sun-dial, and as before +searched the river with her eyes. And as before the song of negro +oarsmen came over the yellow flood, growing stronger as they neared. +Soon the girl fluttered a handkerchief and from the single passenger in +the stern came an answering flutter of white and a glad cry. At the bend +of the river the boat disappeared from Erskine's sight under the bank, +and he watched the girl. How she had grown! Her slim figure had rounded +and shot upward, and her white gown had dropped to her dainty ankles. +Now her face was flushed and her eye flashed with excitement--it was no +mere kinsman in that boat, and the boy's heart began to throb +again--throb fiercely and with racking emotions that he had never known +before. A fiery-looking youth sprang up the landing-steps, bowed +gallantly over the girl's hand, and the two turned up the path, the girl +rosy with smiles and the youth bending over her with a most protecting +and tender air. It was Dane Grey, and the heart of the watcher turned +mortal sick. + + + + +XVI + + +A long time Erskine sat motionless, wondering what ailed him. He had +never liked nor trusted Grey; he believed he would have trouble with him +some day, but he had other enemies and he did not feel toward them as he +did toward this dandy mincing up that beautiful broad path. With a +little grunt he turned back along the path. Firefly whinnied to him and +nipped at him with playful restlessness as though eager to be on his way +to the barn, and he stood awhile with one arm across his saddle. Once he +reached upward to untie the reins, and with another grunt strode back +and went rapidly up the path. Grey and Barbara had disappeared, but a +tall youth who sat behind one of the big pillars saw him coming and +rose, bewildered, but not for long. Each recognized the other swiftly, +and Hugh came with stiff courtesy forward. Erskine smiled: + +"You don't know me?" Hugh bowed: + +"Quite well." The woodsman drew himself up with quick breath--paling +without, flaming within--but before he could speak there was a quick step +and an astonished cry within the hall and Harry sprang out. + +"Erskine! Erskine!" he shouted, and he leaped down the steps with both +hands outstretched. "You here! You--you old Indian--how did you get here?" +He caught Erskine by both hands and then fell to shaking him by the +shoulders. "Where's your horse?" And then he noticed the boy's pale and +embarrassed face and his eyes shifting to Hugh, who stood, still cold, +still courteous, and he checked some hot outburst at his lips. + +"I'm glad you've come, and I'm glad you've come right now--where's your +horse?" + +"I left him hitched at the landing," Erskine had to answer, and Harry +looked puzzled: + +"The landing! Why, what----" He wheeled and shouted to a darky: + +"Put Master Erskine's horse in the barn and feed him." And he led +Erskine within--to the same room where he had slept before, and poured +out some water in a bowl. + +"Take your time," he said, and he went back to the porch. Erskine could +hear and see him through the latticed blinds. + +"Hugh," said the lad in a low, cold voice, "I am host here, and if you +don't like this you can take that path." + +"You are right," was the answer; "but you wait until Uncle Harry gets +home." + +The matter was quite plain to Erskine within. The presence of Dane Grey +made it plain, and as Erskine dipped both hands into the cold water he +made up his mind to an understanding with that young gentleman that +would be complete and final. And so he was ready when he and Harry were +on the porch again and Barbara and Grey emerged from the rose-bushes and +came slowly up the path. Harry looked worried, but Erskine sat still, +with a faint smile at his mouth and in his eyes. Barbara saw him first +and she did not rush forward. Instead she stopped, with wide eyes, a +stifled cry, and a lifting of one hand toward her heart. Grey saw too, +flushed rather painfully, and calmed himself. Erskine had sprung down +the steps. + +"Why, have I changed so much?" he cried. "Hugh didn't seem to know me, +either." His voice was gay, friendly, even affectionate, but his eyes +danced with strange lights that puzzled the girl. + +"Of course I knew you," she faltered, paling a little but gathering +herself rather haughtily--a fact that Erskine seemed not to notice. "You +took me by surprise and you have changed--but I don't know how much." The +significance of this too seemed to pass Erskine by, for he bent over +Barbara's hand and kissed it. + +"Never to you, my dear cousin," he said gallantly, and then he bowed to +Dane Grey, not offering to shake hands. + +"Of course I know Mr. Grey." To say that the gentleman was dumfounded is +to put it mildly--this wild Indian playing the courtier with exquisite +impudence and doing it well! Harry seemed like to burst with restrained +merriment, and Barbara was sorely put to it to keep her poise. The great +dinner-bell from behind the house boomed its summons to the woods and +fields. + +"Come on," called Harry. "I imagine you're hungry, cousin." + +"I am," said Erskine. "I've had nothing to eat since--since early morn." +Barbara's eyes flashed upward and Grey was plainly startled. Was there a +slight stress on those two words? Erskine's face was as expressionless +as bronze. Harry had bolted into the hall. + +Mrs. Dale was visiting down the river, so Barbara sat in her mother's +place, with Erskine at her right, Grey to her left, Hugh next to him, +and Harry at the head. Harry did not wait long. + +"Now, you White Arrow, you Big Chief, tell us the story. Where have you +been, what have you been doing, and what do you mean to do? I've heard a +good deal, but I want it all." + +Grey began to look uncomfortable, and so, in truth, did Barbara. + +"What have you heard?" asked Erskine quietly. + +"Never mind," interposed Barbara quickly; "you tell us." + +"Well," began Erskine slowly, "you remember that day we met some Indians +who told me that old Kahtoo, my foster-father, was ill, and that he +wanted to see me before he died? I went exactly as I would have gone had +white men given the same message from Colonel Dale, and even for better +reasons. A bad prophet was stirring up trouble in the tribe against the +old chief. An enemy of mine, Crooked Lightning, was helping him. He +wanted his son, Black Wolf, as chief, and the old chief wanted me. I +heard the Indians were going to join the British. I didn't want to be +chief, but I did want influence in the tribe, so I stayed. There was a +white woman in the camp and an Indian girl named Early Morn. I told the +old chief that I would fight with the whites against the Indians and +with the whites against them both. Crooked Lightning overheard me, and +you can imagine what use he made of what I said. I took the wampum belt +for the old chief to the powwow between the Indians and the British, and +I found I could do nothing. I met Mr. Grey there." He bowed slightly to +Dane and then looked at him steadily. "I was told that he was there in +the interest of an English fur company. When I found I could do nothing +with the Indians, I told the council what I had told the old chief." He +paused. Barbara's face was pale and she was breathing hard. She had not +looked at Grey, but Harry had been watching him covertly and he did not +look comfortable. Erskine paused. + +"What!" shouted Harry. "You told both that you would fight with the +whites against both! What'd they do to you?" + +Erskine smiled. + +"Well, here I am. I jumped over the heads of the outer ring and ran. +Firefly heard me calling him. I had left his halter loose. He broke +away. I jumped on him, and you know nothing can catch Firefly." + +"Didn't they shoot at you?" + +"Of course." Again he paused. + +"Well," said Harry impatiently, "that isn't the end." + +"I went back to the camp. Crooked Lightning followed me and they tied me +and were going to burn me at the stake." + +"Good heavens!" breathed Barbara. + +"How'd you get away?" + +"The Indian girl, Early Morn, slipped under the tent and cut me loose. +The white woman got my gun, and Firefly--you know nothing can catch +Firefly." The silence was intense. Hugh looked dazed, Barbara was on the +point of tears, Harry was triumphant, and Grey was painfully flushed. + +"And you want to know what I am going to do now?" Erskine went on. "I'm +going with Captain George Rogers Clark--with what command are you, Mr. +Grey?" + +"That's a secret," he smiled coolly. "I'll let you know later," and +Barbara, with an inward sigh of relief, rose quickly, but would not +leave them behind. + +"But the white woman?" questioned Harry. "Why doesn't she leave the +Indians?" + +"Early Morn--a half-breed--is her daughter," said Erskine simply. + +"Oh!" and Harry questioned no further. + +"Early Morn was the best-looking Indian girl I ever saw," said Erskine, +"and the bravest." For the first time Grey glanced at Barbara. "She +saved my life," Erskine went on gravely, "and mine is hers whenever she +needs it." Harry reached over and gripped his hand. + +As yet not one word had been said of Grey's misdoing, but Barbara's cool +disdain made him shamed and hot, and in her eyes was the sorrow of her +injustice to Erskine. In the hallway she excused herself with a +courtesy, Hugh went to the stables, Harry disappeared for a moment, and +the two were left alone. With smouldering fire Erskine turned to Grey. + +"It seems you have been amusing yourself with my kinspeople at my +expense." Grey drew himself up in haughty silence. Erskine went on: + +"I have known some liars who were not cowards." + +"You forget yourself." + +"No--nor you." + +"You remember a promise I made you once?" + +"Twice," corrected Erskine. Grey's eyes flashed upward to the crossed +rapiers on the wall. + +"Precisely," answered Erskine, "and when?" + +"At the first opportunity." + +"From this moment I shall be waiting for nothing else." + +Barbara, reappearing, heard their last words, and she came forward pale +and with piercing eyes: + +"Cousin Erskine, I want to apologize to you for my little faith. I hope +you will forgive me. Mr. Grey, your horse will be at the door at once. I +wish you a safe journey--to your command." Grey bowed and turned--furious. + +Erskine was on the porch when Grey came out to mount his horse. + +"You will want seconds?" asked Grey. + +"They might try to stop us--no!" + +"I shall ride slowly," Grey said. Erskine bowed. + +"I shall not." + + + + +XVII + + +Nor did he. Within half an hour Barbara, passing through the hall, saw +that the rapiers were gone from the wall and she stopped, with the color +fled from her face and her hand on her heart. At that moment Ephraim +dashed in from the kitchen. + +"Miss Barbary, somebody gwine to git killed. I was wukkin' in de ole +field an' Marse Grey rid by cussin' to hisself. Jist now Marse Erskine +went tearin' by de landin' wid a couple o' swords under his arm." His +eyes too went to the wall. "Yes, bless Gawd, dey's gone!" Barbara flew +out the door. + +In a few moments she had found Harry and Hugh. Even while their horses +were being saddled her father rode up. + +"It's murder," cried Harry, "and Grey knows it. Erskine knows nothing +about a rapier." + +Without a word Colonel Dale wheeled his tired horse and soon Harry and +Hugh dashed after him. Barbara walked back to the house, wringing her +hands, but on the porch she sat quietly in the agony of waiting that was +the rle of women in those days. + +Meanwhile, at a swift gallop Firefly was skimming along the river road. +Grey had kept his word and more: he had not only ridden slowly but he +had stopped and was waiting at an oak-tree that was a corner-stone +between two plantations. + +"That I may not kill you on your own land," he said. + +Erskine started. "The consideration is deeper than you know." + +They hitched their horses, and Erskine followed into a pleasant glade--a +grassy glade through which murmured a little stream. Erskine dropped the +rapiers on the sward. + +"Take your choice," he said. + +"There is none," said Grey, picking up the one nearer to him. "I know +them both." Grey took off his coat while Erskine waited. Grey made the +usual moves of courtesy and still Erskine waited, wonderingly, with the +point of the rapier on the ground. + +"When you are ready," he said, "will you please let me know?" + +"Ready!" answered Grey, and he lunged forward. Erskine merely whipped at +his blade so that the clang of it whined on the air to the +breaking-point and sprang backward. He was as quick as an eyelash and +lithe as a panther, and yet Grey almost laughed aloud. All Erskine did +was to whip the thrusting blade aside and leap out of danger like a +flash of light. It was like an inexpert boxer flailing according to +rules unknown--and Grey's face flamed and actually turned anxious. Then, +as a kindly fate would have it, Erskine's blade caught in Grey's guard +by accident, and the powerful wrist behind it seeking merely to wrench +the weapon loose tore Grey's rapier from his grasp and hurled it ten +feet away. There is no greater humiliation for the expert swordsman, and +not for nothing had Erskine suffered the shame of that long-ago day when +a primitive instinct had led him to thrusting his knife into this same +enemy's breast. Now, with his sword's point on the earth, he waited +courteously for Grey to recover his weapon. + +Again a kindly fate intervened. Even as Grey rushed for his sword, +Erskine heard the beat of horses' hoofs. As he snatched it from the +ground and turned, with a wicked smile over his grinding teeth, came +Harry's shout, and as he rushed for Erskine, Colonel Dale swung from his +horse. The sword-blades clashed, Erskine whipping back and forth in a +way to make a swordsman groan--and Colonel Dale had Erskine by the wrist +and was between them. + +"How dare you, sir?" cried Grey hotly. + +"Just a moment, young gentleman," said Colonel Dale calmly. + +"Let us alone, Uncle Harry--I----" + +"Just a moment," repeated the colonel sternly. "Mr. Grey, do you think +it quite fair that you with your skill should fight a man who knows +nothing about foils?" + +"There was no other way," Grey said sullenly. + +"And you could not wait, I presume?" Grey did not answer. + +"Now, hear what I have to say, and if you both do not agree, the matter +will be arranged to your entire satisfaction, Mr. Grey. I have but one +question to ask. Your country is at war. She needs every man for her +defense. Do you not both think your lives belong to your country and +that it is selfish and unpatriotic just now to risk them in any other +cause?" He waited for his meaning to sink in, and sink it did. + +[Illustration: The sword blades clashed, Erskine whipping back and +forth in a way to make a swordsman groan] + +"Colonel Dale, your nephew grossly insulted me, and your daughter showed +me the door. I made no defense to him nor to her, but I will to you. I +merely repeated what I had been told and I believed it true. Now that I +hear it is not true, I agree with you, sir, and I am willing to express +my regrets and apologies." + +"That is better," said Colonel Dale heartily, and he turned to Erskine, +but Erskine was crying hotly: + +"And I express neither." + +"Very well," sneered Grey coldly. "Perhaps we may meet when your +relatives are not present to protect you." + +"Uncle Harry----" Erskine implored, but Grey was turning toward his horse. + +"After all, Colonel Dale is right." + +"Yes," assented Erskine helplessly, and then--"it is possible that we +shall not always be on the same side." + +"So I thought," returned Grey with lifted eyebrows, "when I heard what I +did about you!" Both Harry and Hugh had to catch Erskine by an arm then, +and they led him struggling away. Grey mounted his horse, lifted his +hat, and was gone. Colonel Dale picked up the swords. + +"Now," he said, "enough, of all this--let it be forgotten." + +And he laughed. + +"You'll have to confess, Erskine--he has a quick tongue and you must +think only of his temptation to use it." + +Erskine did not answer. + +As they rode back Colonel Dale spoke of the war. It was about to move +into Virginia, he said, and when it did---- Both Harry and Hugh +interrupted him with a glad shout: + +"We can go!" Colonel Dale nodded sadly. + +Suddenly all pulled their horses in simultaneously and raised their +eyes, for all heard the coming of a horse in a dead run. Around a +thicketed curve of the road came Barbara, with her face white and her +hair streaming behind her. She pulled her pony in but a few feet in +front of them, with her burning eyes on Erskine alone. + +"Have you killed him--have you killed him? If you have--" She stopped +helpless, and all were so amazed that none could answer. Erskine shook +his head. There was a flash of relief in the girl's white face, its +recklessness gave way to sudden shame, and, without a word, she wheeled +and was away again--Harry flying after her. No one spoke. Colonel Dale +looked aghast and Erskine's heart again turned sick. + + + + +XVIII + + +The sun was close to the uneven sweep of the wilderness. Through its +slanting rays the river poured like a flood of gold. The negroes were on +the way singing from the fields. Cries, chaffing, and the musical +clanking of trace-chains came from the barnyard. Hungry cattle were +lowing and full-uddered mothers were mooing answers to bawling calves. A +peacock screamed from a distant tree and sailed forth, full-spread--a +great gleaming winged jewel of the air. In crises the nerves tighten +like violin strings, the memory-plates turn abnormally sensitive--and +Erskine was not to forget that hour. + +The house was still and not a soul was in sight as the three, still +silent, walked up the great path. When they were near the portico Harry +came out. He looked worried and anxious. + +"Where's Barbara?" asked her father. + +"Locked in her room." + +"Let her alone," said Colonel Dale gently. Like brother and cousin, +Harry and Hugh were merely irritated by the late revelation, but the +father was shocked that his child was no longer a child. Erskine +remembered the girl as she waited for Grey's coming at the sun-dial, her +face as she walked with him up the path. For a moment the two boys stood +in moody silence. Harry took the rapiers in and put them in their place +on the wall. Hugh quietly disappeared. Erskine, with a word of apology, +went to his room, and Colonel Dale sat down on the porch alone. + +As the dusk gathered, Erskine, looking gloomily through his window, saw +the girl flutter like a white moth past the box-hedge and down the path. +A moment later he saw the tall form of Colonel Dale follow her--and both +passed from sight. On the thick turf the colonel's feet too were +noiseless, and when Barbara stopped at the sun-dial he too paused. Her +hands were caught tight and her drawn young face was lifted to the +yellow disk just rising from the far forest gloom. She was unhappy, and +the colonel's heart ached sorely, for any unhappiness of hers always +trebled his own. + +"Little girl!" he called, and no lover's voice could have been more +gentle. "Come here!" + +She turned and saw him, with arms outstretched, the low moon lighting +all the tenderness in his fine old face, and she flew to him and fell to +weeping on his breast. In wise silence he stroked her hair until she +grew a little calmer. + +"What's the matter, little daughter?" + +"I--I--don't know." + +"I understand. You were quite right to send him away, but you did not +want him harmed." + +"I--I--didn't want anybody harmed." + +"I know. It's too bad, but none of us seem quite to trust him." + +"That's it," she sobbed; "I don't either, and yet----" + +"I know. I know. My little girl must be wise and brave, and maybe it +will all pass and she will be glad. But she must be brave. Mother is not +well and she must not be made unhappy too. She must not know. Can't my +little girl come back to the house now? She must be hostess and this is +Erskine's last night." She looked up, brushing away her tears. + +"His last night?" Ah, wise old colonel! + +"Yes--he goes to-morrow to join Captain Clark at Williamsburg on his +foolish campaign in the Northwest. We might never see him again." + +"Oh, father!" + +"Well, it isn't that bad, but my little girl must be very nice to him. +He seems to be very unhappy, too." + +Barbara looked thoughtful, but there was no pretense of not +understanding. + +"I'm sorry," she said. She took her father's arm, and when they reached +the steps Erskine saw her smiling. And smiling, almost gay, she was at +supper, sitting with exquisite dignity in her mother's place. Harry and +Hugh looked amazed, and her father, who knew the bit of tempered steel +she was, smiled his encouragement proudly. Of Erskine, who sat at her +right, she asked many questions about the coming campaign. Captain Clark +had said he would go with a hundred men if he could get no more. The +rallying-point would be the fort in Kentucky where he had first come +back to his own people, and Dave Yandell would be captain of a company. +He himself was going as guide, though he hoped to act as soldier as +well. Perhaps they might bring back the Hair-Buyer, General Hamilton, a +prisoner to Williamsburg, and then he would join Harry and Hugh in the +militia if the war came south and Virginia were invaded, as some +prophesied, by Tarleton's White Rangers, who had been ravaging the +Carolinas. After supper the little lady excused herself with a smiling +courtesy to go to her mother, and Erskine found himself in the moonlight +on the big portico with Colonel Dale alone. + +"Erskine," he said, "you make it very difficult for me to keep your +secret. Hugh alone seems to suspect--he must have got the idea from Grey, +but I have warned him to say nothing. The others seem not to have +thought of the matter at all. It was a boyish impulse of generosity +which you may regret----" + +"Never," interrupted the boy. "I have no use--less than ever now." + +"Nevertheless," the colonel went on, "I regard myself as merely your +steward, and I must tell you one thing. Mr. Jefferson, as you know, is +always at open war with people like us. His hand is against coach and +four, silver plate, and aristocrat. He is fighting now against the law +that gives property to the eldest son, and he will pass the bill. His +argument is rather amusing. He says if you will show him that the eldest +son eats more, wears more, and does more work than his brothers, he will +grant that that son is entitled to more. He wants to blot out all +distinctions of class. He can't do that, but he will pass this bill." + +"I hope he will," muttered Erskine. + +"Barbara would not accept your sacrifice nor would any of us, and it is +only fair that I should warn you that some day, if you should change +your mind, and I were no longer living, you might be too late." + +"Please don't, Uncle Harry. It is done--done. Of course, it wasn't fair +for me to consider Barbara alone, but she will be fair and you +understand. I wish you would regard the whole matter as though I didn't +exist." + +"I can't do that, my boy. I am your steward and when you want anything +you have only to let me know!" Erskine shook his head. + +"I don't want anything--I need very little, and when I'm in the woods, as +I expect to be most of the time, I need nothing at all." Colonel Dale +rose. + +"I wish you would go to college at Williamsburg for a year or two to +better fit yourself--in case----" + +"I'd like to go--to learn to fence," smiled the boy, and the colonel +smiled too. + +"You'll certainly need to know that, if you are going to be as reckless +as you were today." Erskine's eyes darkened. + +"Uncle Harry, you may think me foolish, but I don't like or trust Grey. +What was he doing with those British traders out in the Northwest?--he +was not buying furs. It's absurd. Why was he hand in glove with Lord +Dunmore?" + +"Lord Dunmore had a daughter," was the dry reply, and Erskine flung out +a gesture that made words unnecessary. Colonel Dale crossed the porch +and put his hand on the lad's shoulders. + +"Erskine," he said, "don't worry--and--don't give up hope. Be patient, +wait, come back to us. Go to William and Mary. Fit yourself to be one of +us in all ways. Then everything may yet come out in the only way that +would be fitting and right." The boy blushed, and the colonel went on +earnestly: + +"I can think of nothing in the world that would make me quite so happy." + +"It's no use," the boy said tremblingly, "but I'll never forget what you +have just said as long as I live, and, no matter what becomes of me, +I'll love Barbara as long as I live. But, even if things were otherwise, +I'd never risk making her unhappy even by trying. I'm not fit for her +nor for this life. I'll never forget the goodness of all of you to me--I +can't explain--but I can't get over my life in the woods and among the +Indians. Why, but for all of you I might have gone back to them--I would +yet. I can't explain, but I get choked and I can't breathe--such a +longing for the woods comes over me and I can't help me. I must _go_--and +nothing can hold me." + +"Your father was that way," said Colonel Dale sadly. "You may get over +it, but he never did. And it must be harder for you because of your +early associations. Blow out the lights in the hall. You needn't bolt +the door. Good night, and God bless you." And the kindly gentleman was +gone. + +Erskine sat where he was. The house was still and there were no noises +from the horses and cattle in the barn--none from roosting peacock, +turkey, and hen. From the far-away quarters came faintly the merry, +mellow notes of a fiddle, and farther still the song of some courting +negro returning home. A drowsy bird twittered in an ancient elm at the +corner of the house. The flowers drooped in the moonlight which bathed +the great path, streamed across the great river, and on up to its source +in the great yellow disk floating in majestic serenity high in the +cloudless sky. And that path, those flowers, that house, the barn, the +cattle, sheep, and hogs, those grain-fields and grassy acres, even those +singing black folk, were all--all his if he but said the words. The +thought was no temptation--it was a mighty wonder that such a thing could +be. And that was all it was--a wonder--to him, but to them it was the +world. Without it all, what would they do? Perhaps Mr. Jefferson might +soon solve the problem for him. Perhaps he might not return from that +wild campaign against the British and the Indians--he might get killed. +And then a thought gripped him and held him fast--_he need not come +back_. That mighty wilderness beyond the mountains was his real home--out +there was his real life. He need not come back, and they would never +know. Then came a thought that almost made him groan. There was a light +step in the hall, and Barbara came swiftly out and dropped on the +topmost step with her chin in both hands. Almost at once she seemed to +feel his presence, for she turned her head quickly. + +"Erskine!" As quickly he rose, embarrassed beyond speech. + +"Come here! Why, you look guilty--what have you been thinking?" He was +startled by her intuition, but he recovered himself swiftly. + +"I suppose I will always feel guilty if I have made you unhappy." + +"You haven't made me unhappy. I don't know what you have made me. Papa +says a girl does not understand and no man can, but he does better than +anybody. You saw how I felt if you had killed him, but you don't know +how I would have felt if he had killed you. I don't myself." + +She began patting her hands gently and helplessly together, and again +she dropped her chin into them with her eyes lifted to the moon. + +"I shall be very unhappy when you are gone. I wish you were not going, +but I know that you are--you can't help it." Again he was startled. + +"Whenever you look at that moon over in that dark wilderness, I wish you +would please think of your little cousin--will you?" She turned eagerly +and he was too moved to speak--he only bowed his head as for a prayer or +a benediction. + +"You don't know how often our thoughts will cross, and that will be a +great comfort to me. Sometimes I am afraid. There is a wild strain on my +mother's side, and it is in me. Papa knows it and he is wise--so wise--I +am afraid I may sometimes do something very foolish, and it won't be +_me_ at all. It will be somebody that died long ago." She put both her +hands over both his and held them tight. + +"I never, never distrusted you. I trust you more than anybody else in +the whole world except my father, and he might be away or"--she gave a +little sob--"he might get killed. I want you to make me a promise." + +"Anything," said the boy huskily. + +"I want you to promise me that, no matter when, no matter where you are, +if I need you and send for you you will come." And Indian-like he put +his forehead on both her little hands. + +"Thank you. I must go now." Bewildered and dazed, the boy rose and +awkwardly put out his hand. + +"Kiss me good-by." She put her arms about his neck, and for the first +time in his life the boy's lips met a woman's. For a moment she put her +face against his and at his ear was a whisper. + +"Good-by, Erskine!" And she was gone--swiftly--leaving the boy in a dizzy +world of falling stars through which a white light leaped to heights his +soul had never dreamed. + + + + +XIX + + +With the head of that column of stalwart backwoodsmen went Dave Yandell +and Erskine Dale. A hunting-party of four Shawnees heard their coming +through the woods, and, lying like snakes in the undergrowth, peered out +and saw them pass. Then they rose, and Crooked Lightning looked at Black +Wolf and, with a grunt of angry satisfaction, led the way homeward. And +to the village they bore the news that White Arrow had made good his +word and, side by side with the big chief of the Long Knives, was +leading a war-party against his tribe and kinsmen. And Early Morn +carried the news to her mother, who lay sick in a wigwam. + +The miracle went swiftly, and Kaskaskia fell. Stealthily a cordon of +hunters surrounded the little town. The rest stole to the walls of the +fort. Lights flickered from within, the sounds of violins and dancing +feet came through crevice and window. Clark's tall figure stole +noiselessly into the great hall, where the Creoles were making merry and +leaned silently with folded arms against the doorpost, looking on at the +revels with a grave smile. The light from the torches flickered across +his face, and an Indian lying on the floor sprang to his feet with a +curdling war-whoop. Women screamed and men rushed toward the door. The +stranger stood motionless and his grim smile was unchanged. + +"Dance on!" he commanded courteously, "but remember," he added sternly, +"you dance under Virginia and not Great Britain!" + +There was a great noise behind him. Men dashed into the fort, and +Rocheblave and his officers were prisoners. By daylight Clark had the +town disarmed. The French, Clark said next day, could take the oath of +allegiance to the Republic, or depart with their families in peace. As +for their church, he had nothing to do with any church save to protect +it from insult. So that the people who had heard terrible stories of the +wild woodsmen and who expected to be killed or made slaves, joyfully +became Americans. They even gave Clark a volunteer company to march with +him upon Cahokia, and that village, too, soon became American. Father +Gibault volunteered to go to Vincennes. Vincennes gathered in the church +to hear him, and then flung the Stars and Stripes to the winds of +freedom above the fort. Clark sent one captain there to take command. +With a handful of hardy men who could have been controlled only by him, +the dauntless one had conquered a land as big as any European kingdom. +Now he had to govern and protect it. He had to keep loyal an alien race +and hold his own against the British and numerous tribes of Indians, +bloodthirsty, treacherous, and deeply embittered against all Americans. +He was hundreds of miles from any American troops; farther still from +the seat of government, and could get no advice or help for perhaps a +year. + +And those Indians poured into Cahokia--a horde of them from every tribe +between the Great Lakes and the Mississippi--chiefs and warriors of every +importance; but not before Clark had formed and drilled four companies +of volunteer Creoles. + +"Watch him!" said Dave, and Erskine did, marvelling at the man's +knowledge of the Indian. He did not live in the fort, but always on +guard, always seemingly confident, stayed openly in town while the +savages, sullen and grotesque, strutted in full war panoply through the +straggling streets, inquisitive and insolent, their eyes burning with +the lust of plunder and murder. For days he sat in the midst of the +ringed warriors and listened. On the second day Erskine saw Kahtoo in +the throng and Crooked Lightning and Black Wolf. After dusk that day he +felt the fringe of his hunting-shirt plucked, and an Indian, with face +hidden in a blanket, whispered as he passed. + +"Tell the big chief," he said in Shawnee, "to be on guard to-morrow +night." He knew it was some kindly tribesman, and he wheeled and went to +Clark, who smiled. Already the big chief had guards concealed in his +little house, who seized the attacking Indians, while two minutes later +the townspeople were under arms. The captives were put in irons, and +Erskine saw among them the crestfallen faces of Black Wolf and Crooked +Lightning. The Indians pleaded that they were trying to test the +friendship of the French for Clark, but Clark, refusing all requests for +their release, remained silent, haughty, indifferent, fearless. He still +refused to take refuge in the fort, and called in a number of ladies and +gentlemen to his house, where they danced all night amid the +council-fires of the bewildered savages. Next morning he stood in the +centre of their ringed warriors with the tasselled shirts of his +riflemen massed behind him, released the captive chiefs, and handed them +the bloody war belt of wampum. + +"I scorn your hostility and treachery. You deserve death but you shall +leave in safety. In three days I shall begin war on you. If you Indians +do not want your women and children killed--stop killing ours. We shall +see who can make that war belt the most bloody. While you have been in +my camp you have had food and fire-water, but now that I have finished, +you must depart speedily." + +The captive chief spoke and so did old Kahtoo, with his eyes fixed sadly +but proudly on his adopted son. They had listened to bad birds and been +led astray by the British--henceforth they would be friendly with the +Americans. But Clark was not satisfied. + +"I come as a warrior," he said haughtily; "I shall be a friend to the +friendly. If you choose war I shall send so many warriors from the +Thirteen Council-Fires that your land shall be darkened and you shall +hear no sounds but that of the birds who live on blood." And then he +handed forth two belts of peace and war, and they eagerly took the belt +of peace. The treaty followed next day and Clark insisted that two of +the prisoners should be put to death; and as the two selected came +forward Erskine saw Black Wolf was one. He whispered with Clark and +Kahtoo, and Crooked Lightning saw the big chief with his hand on +Erskine's shoulder and heard him forgive the two and tell them to +depart. And thus peace was won. + +Straightway old Kahtoo pushed through the warriors and, plucking the big +chief by the sleeve, pointed to Erskine. + +"That is my son," he said, "and I want him to go home with me." + +"He shall go," said Clark quickly, "but he shall return, whenever it +pleases him, to me." + +And so Erskine went forth one morning at dawn, and his coming into the +Shawnee camp was like the coming of a king. Early Morn greeted him with +glowing eyes, his foster-mother brought him food, looking proudly upon +him, and old Kahtoo harangued his braves around the council-pole, while +the prophet and Crooked Lightning sulked in their tents. + +"My son spoke words of truth," he proclaimed sonorously. "He warned us +against the king over the waters and told us to make friends with the +Americans. We did not heed his words, and so he brought the great chief +of the Long Knives, who stood without fear among warriors more numerous +than leaves and spoke the same words to all. We are friends of the Long +Knives. My son is the true prophet. Bring out the false one and Crooked +Lightning and Black Wolf, whose life my son saved though the two were +enemies. My son shall do with them as he pleases." + +Many young braves sprang willingly forward and the three were haled +before Erskine. Old Kahtoo waved his hand toward them and sat down. +Erskine rose and fixed his eyes sternly on the cowering prophet: + +"He shall go forth from the village and shall never return. For his +words work mischief, he does foolish things, and his drumming frightens +the game. He is a false prophet and he must go." He turned to Crooked +Lightning: + +"The Indians have made peace with the Long Knives and White Arrow would +make peace with any Indian, though an enemy. Crooked Lightning shall go +or stay, as he pleases. Black Wolf shall stay, for the tribe will need +him as a hunter and a warrior against the English foes of the Long +Knives. White Arrow does not ask another to spare an enemy's life and +then take it away himself." + +The braves grunted approval. Black Wolf and Crooked Lightning averted +their faces and the prophet shambled uneasily away. Again old Kahtoo +proclaimed sonorously, "It is well!" and went back with Erskine to his +tent. There he sank wearily on a buffalo-skin and plead with the boy to +stay with them as chief in his stead. He was very old, and now that +peace was made with the Long Knives he was willing to die. If Erskine +would but give his promise, he would never rise again from where he lay. + +Erskine shook his head and the old man sorrowfully turned his face. + + + + +XX + + +And yet Erskine lingered on and on at the village. Of the white woman he +had learned little other than that she had been bought from another +tribe and adopted by old Kahtoo; but it was plain that since the +threatened burning of her she had been held in high respect by the whole +tribe. He began to wonder about her and whether she might not wish to go +back to her own people. He had never talked with her, but he never moved +about the camp that he did not feel her eyes upon him. And Early Morn's +big soft eyes, too, never seemed to leave him. She brought him food, she +sat at the door of his tent, she followed him about the village and bore +herself openly as his slave. At last old Kahtoo, who would not give up +his great hope, plead with him to marry her, and while he was talking +the girl stood at the door of the tent and interrupted them. Her +mother's eyes were growing dim, she said. Her mother wanted to talk with +White Arrow and look upon his face before her sight should altogether +pass. Nor could Erskine know that the white woman wanted to look into +the eyes of the man she hoped would become her daughter's husband, but +Kahtoo did, and he bade Erskine go. His foster-mother, coming upon the +scene, scowled, but Erskine rose and went to the white woman's tent. She +sat just inside the opening, with a blanket across the lower half of her +face, nor did she look at him. Instead she plied him with questions, and +listened eagerly to his every word, and drew from him every detail of +his life as far back as he could remember. Poor soul, it was the first +opportunity for many years that she had had to talk with any white +person who had been in the Eastern world, and freely and frankly he held +nothing back. She had drawn her blanket close across her face while he +was telling of his capture by the Indians and his life among them, his +escape and the death of his father, and she was crying when he finished. +He even told her a little of Barbara, and when in turn he questioned +her, she told little, and his own native delicacy made him understand. +She, too, had been captured with a son who would have been about +Erskine's age, but her boy and her husband had been killed. She had been +made a slave and--now she drew the blanket across her eyes--after the +birth of her daughter she felt she could never go back to her own +people. Then her Indian husband had been killed and old Kahtoo had +bought and adopted her, and she had not been forced to marry again. Now +it was too late to leave the Indians. She loved her daughter; she would +not subject her or herself to humiliation among the whites, and, anyhow, +there was no one to whom she could go. And Erskine read deep into the +woman's heart and his own was made sad. Her concern was with her +daughter--what would become of her? Many a young brave, besides Black +Wolf, had put his heart at her little feet, but she would have none of +them. And so Erskine was the heaven-sent answer to the mother's +prayers--that was the thought behind her mournful eyes. + +All the while the girl had crouched near, looking at Erskine with +doglike eyes, and when he rose to go the woman dropped the blanket from +her face and got to her feet. Shyly she lifted her hands, took his face +between them, bent close, and studied it searchingly: + +"What is your name?" + +"Erskine Dale." + +Without a word she turned back into her tent. + +At dusk Erskine stood by the river's brim, with his eyes lifted to a +rising moon and his thoughts with Barbara on the bank of the James. +Behind him he heard a rustle and, turning, he saw the girl, her breast +throbbing and her eyes burning with a light he had never seen before. + +"Black Wolf will kill you," she whispered. "Black Wolf wants Early Morn +and he knows that Early Morn wants White Arrow." Erskine put both hands +on her shoulders and looked down into her eyes. She trembled, and when +his arms went about her she surged closer to him and the touch of her +warm, supple body went through him like fire. And then with a triumphant +smile she sprang back. + +"Black Wolf will see," she whispered, and fled. Erskine sank to the +ground, with his head in his hands. The girl ran back to her tent, and +the mother, peering at the flushed face and shining eyes, clove to the +truth. She said nothing, but when the girl was asleep and faintly +smiling, the white woman sat staring out into the moonlit woods, softly +beating her breast. + + + + +XXI + + +Erskine had given Black Wolf his life, and the young brave had accepted +the debt and fretted under it sorely. Erskine knew it, and all his +kindness had been of little avail, for Black Wolf sulked sullenly by the +fire or at his wigwam door. And when Erskine had begun to show some heed +to Early Morn a fierce jealousy seized the savage, and his old hatred +was reborn a thousandfold more strong--and that, too, Erskine now knew. +Meat ran low and a hunting-party went abroad. Game was scarce and only +after the second day was there a kill. Erskine had sighted a huge buck, +had fired quickly and at close range. Wounded, the buck had charged, +Erskine's knife was twisted in his belt, and the buck was upon him +before he could get it out. He tried to dart for a tree, stumbled, +turned, and caught the infuriated beast by the horns. He uttered no cry, +but the angry bellow of the stag reached the ears of Black Wolf through +the woods, and he darted toward the sound. And he came none too soon. +Erskine heard the crack of a rifle, the stag toppled over, and he saw +Black Wolf standing over him with a curiously triumphant look on his +saturnine face. In Erskine, when he rose, the white man was predominant, +and he thrust out his hand, but Black Wolf ignored it. + +"White Arrow gave Black Wolf his life. The debt is paid." + +Erskine looked at his enemy, nodded, and the two bore the stag away. + +Instantly a marked change was plain in Black Wolf. He told the story of +the fight with the buck to all. Boldly he threw off the mantle of shame, +stalked haughtily through the village, and went back to open enmity with +Erskine. At dusk a day or two later, when he was coming down the path +from the white woman's wigwam, Black Wolf confronted him, scowling. + +"Early Morn shall belong to Black Wolf," he said insolently. Erskine met +his baleful, half-drunken eyes scornfully. + +"We will leave that to Early Morn," he said coolly, and then thundered +suddenly: + +"Out of my way!" + +Black Wolf hesitated and gave way, but ever thereafter Erskine was on +guard. + +In the white woman, too, Erskine now saw a change. Once she had +encouraged him to stay with the Indians; now she lost no opportunity to +urge against it. She had heard that Hamilton would try to retake +Vincennes, that he was forming a great force with which to march south, +sweep through Kentucky, batter down the wooden forts, and force the +Kentuckians behind the great mountain wall. Erskine would be needed by +the whites, who would never understand or trust him if he should stay +with the Indians. All this she spoke one day when Erskine came to her +tent to talk. Her face had blanched, she had argued passionately that he +must go, and Erskine was sorely puzzled. The girl, too, had grown +rebellious and disobedient, for the change in her mother was plain also +to her, and she could not understand. Moreover, Erskine's stubbornness +grew, and he began to flame within at the stalking insolence of Black +Wolf, who slipped through the shadows of day and the dusk to spy on the +two whereever they came together. And one day when the sun was midway, +and in the open of the village, the clash came. Black Wolf darted forth +from his wigwam, his eyes bloodshot with rage and drink, and his +hunting-knife in his hand. A cry from Early Morn warned Erskine and he +wheeled. As Black Wolf made a vicious slash at him he sprang aside, and +with his fist caught the savage in the jaw. Black Wolf fell heavily and +Erskine was upon him with his own knife at his enemy's throat. + +"Stop them!" old Kahtoo cried sternly, but it was the terrified shriek +of the white woman that stayed Erskine's hand. Two young braves disarmed +the fallen Indian, and Kahtoo looked inquiringly at his adopted son. + +"Turn him loose!" Erskine scorned. "I have no fear of him. He is a woman +and drunk, but next time I shall kill him." + +The white woman had run down, caught Early Morn, and was leading her +back to her tent. From inside presently came low, passionate pleading +from the woman and an occasional sob from the girl. And when an hour +later, at dusk, Erskine turned upward toward the tent, the girl gave a +horrified cry, flashed from the tent, and darted for the high cliff over +the river. + +"Catch her!" cried the mother. "Quick!" Erskine fled after her, overtook +her with her hands upraised for the plunge on the very edge of the +cliff, and half carried her, struggling and sobbing, back to the tent. +Within the girl dropped in a weeping heap, and with her face covered, +and the woman turned to Erskine, agonized. + +"I told her," she whispered, "and she was going to kill herself. You are +my son!" + + * * * * * + +Still sleepless at dawn, the boy rode Firefly into the woods. At sunset +he came in, gaunt with brooding and hunger. His foster-mother brought +him food, but he would not touch it. The Indian woman stared at him with +keen suspicion, and presently old Kahtoo, passing slowly, bent on him +the same look, but asked no question. Erskine gave no heed to either, +but his mother, watching from her wigwam, understood and grew fearful. +Quickly she stepped outside and called him, and he rose and went to her +bewildered; she was smiling. + +"They are watching," she said, and Erskine, too, understood, and kept +his back toward the watchers. + +"I have decided," he said. "You and _she_ must leave here and go with +me." + +His mother pretended much displeasure. "She will not leave, and I will +not leave her"--her lips trembled--"and I would have gone long ago but----" + +"I understand," interrupted Erskine, "but you will go now with your +son." + +The poor woman had to scowl. + +"No, and you must not tell them. They will never let me go, and they +will use me to keep you here. _You_ must go at once. She will never +leave this tent as long as you are here, and if you stay she will die, +or kill herself. Some day----" She turned abruptly and went back into her +tent. Erskine wheeled and went to old Kahtoo. + +"You want Early Morn?" asked the old man. "You shall have her." + +"No," said the boy, "I am going back to the big chief." + +"You are my son and I am old and weak." + +"I am a soldier and must obey the big chief's commands, as must you." + +"I shall live," said the old man wearily, "until you come again." + +Erskine nodded and went for his horse. Black Wolf watched him with +malignant satisfaction, but said nothing--nor did Crooked Lightning. +Erskine turned once as he rode away. His mother was standing outside her +wigwam. Mournfully she waved her hand. Behind her and within the tent he +could see Early Morn with both hands at her breast. + + + + +XXII + + +Dawned 1781. + +The war was coming into Virginia at last. Virginia falling would thrust +a great wedge through the centre of the Confederacy, feed the British +armies and end the fight. Cornwallis was to drive the wedge, and never +had the opening seemed easier. Virginia was drained of her fighting men, +and south of the mountains was protected only by a militia, for the most +part, of old men and boys. North and South ran despair. The soldiers had +no pay, little food, and only old worn-out coats, tattered linen +overalls, and one blanket between three men, to protect them from +drifting snow and icy wind. Even the great Washington was near despair, +and in foreign help his sole hope lay. Already the traitor, Arnold, had +taken Richmond, burned warehouses, and returned, but little harassed, to +Portsmouth. + +In April, "the proudest man," as Mr. Jefferson said, "of the proudest +nation on earth," one General Phillips, marching northward, paused +opposite Richmond, and looked with amaze at the troop-crowned hills +north of the river. Up there was a beardless French youth of +twenty-three, with the epaulets of a major-general. + +"He will not cross--hein?" said the Marquis de Lafayette. "Very well!" +And they had a race for Petersburg, which the Britisher reached first, +and straightway fell ill of a fever at "Bollingbrook." A cannonade from +the Appomattox hills saluted him. + +"They will not let me die in peace," said General Phillips, but he +passed, let us hope, to it, and Benedict Arnold succeeded him. + +Cornwallis was coming on. Tarleton's white rangers were bedevilling the +land, and it was at this time that Erskine Dale once more rode Firefly +to the river James. + +The boy had been two years in the wilds. When he left the Shawnee camp +winter was setting in, that terrible winter of '79--of deep snow and +hunger and cold. When he reached Kaskaskia, Captain Clark had gone to +Kentucky, and Erskine found bad news. Hamilton and Hay had taken +Vincennes. There Captain Helm's Creoles, as soon as they saw the +redcoats, slipped away from him to surrender their arms to the British, +and thus deserted by all, he and the two or three Americans with him had +to give up the fort. The French reswore allegiance to Britain. Hamilton +confiscated their liquor and broke up their billiard-tables. He let his +Indians scatter to their villages, and with his regulars, volunteers, +white Indian leaders, and red auxiliaries went into winter quarters. One +band of Shawnees he sent to Ohio to scout and take scalps in the +settlements. In the spring he would sweep Kentucky and destroy all the +settlements west of the Alleghanies. So Erskine and Dave went for Clark; +and that trip neither ever forgot. Storms had followed each other since +late November and the snow lay deep. Cattle and horses perished, deer +and elk were found dead in the woods, and buffalo came at nightfall to +old Jerome Sanders's fort for food and companionship with his starving +herd. Corn gave out and no johnny-cakes were baked on long boards in +front of the fire. There was no salt or vegetable food; nothing but the +flesh of lean wild game. The only fat was with the bears in the hollows +of trees, and every hunter was searching hollow trees. The breast of the +wild turkey served for bread. Yet, while the frontiersmen remained +crowded in the stockades and the men hunted and the women made clothes +of tanned deer-hides, buffalo-wool cloth, and nettle-bark linen, and +both hollowed "noggins" out of the knot of a tree, Clark made his +amazing march to Vincennes, recaptured it by the end of February, and +sent Hamilton to Williamsburg a prisoner. Erskine plead to be allowed to +take him there, but Clark would not let him go. Permanent garrisons were +placed at Vincennes and Cahokia, and at Kaskaskia. Erskine stayed to +help make peace with the Indians, punish marauders and hunting bands, so +that by the end of the year Clark might sit at the Falls of the Ohio as +a shield for the west and a sure guarantee that the whites would never +be forced to abandon wild Kentucky. + +The two years in the wilderness had left their mark on Erskine. He was +tall, lean, swarthy, gaunt, and yet he was not all woodsman, for his +born inheritance as gentleman had been more than emphasized by his +association with Clark and certain Creole officers in the Northwest, who +had improved his French and gratified one pet wish of his life since his +last visit to the James--they had taught him to fence. His mother he had +not seen again, but he had learned that she was alive and not yet blind. +Of Early Morn he had heard nothing at all. Once a traveller had brought +word of Dane Grey. Grey was in Philadelphia and prominent in the gay +doings of that city. He had taken part in a brilliant pageant called the +"Mischianza," which was staged by Andr, and was reported a close friend +of that ill-fated young gentleman. + +After the fight at Piqua, with Clark Erskine put forth for old Jerome +Sanders's fort. He found the hard days of want over. There was not only +corn in plenty but wheat, potatoes, pumpkins, turnips, melons. They +tapped maple-trees for sugar and had sown flax. Game was plentiful, and +cattle, horses, and hogs had multiplied on cane and buffalo clover. +Indeed, it was a comparatively peaceful fall, and though Clark plead +with him, Erskine stubbornly set his face for Virginia. + +Honor Sanders and Polly Conrad had married, but Lydia Noe was still firm +against the wooing of every young woodsman who came to the fort; and +when Erskine bade her good-by and she told him to carry her love to Dave +Yandell, he knew for whom she would wait forever if need be. + +There were many, many travellers on the Wilderness Road now, and Colonel +Dale's prophecy was coming true. The settlers were pouring in and the +long, long trail was now no lonesome way. + +At Williamsburg Erskine learned many things. Colonel Dale, now a +general, was still with Washington and Harry was with him. Hugh was with +the Virginia militia and Dave with Lafayette. + +Tarleton's legion of rangers in their white uniforms were scourging +Virginia as they had scourged the Carolinas. Through the James River +country they had gone with fire and sword, burning houses, carrying off +horses, destroying crops, burning grain in the mills, laying plantations +to waste. Barbara's mother was dead. Her neighbors had moved to safety, +but Barbara, he heard, still lived with old Mammy and Ephraim at Red +Oaks, unless that, too, had been recently put to the torch. Where, then, +would he find her? + + + + +XXIII + + +Down the river Erskine rode with a sad heart. At the place where he had +fought with Grey he pulled Firefly to a sudden halt. There was the +boundary of Red Oaks and there started a desolation that ran as far as +his eye could reach. Red Oaks had not been spared, and he put Firefly to +a fast gallop, with eyes strained far ahead and his heart beating with +agonized foreboding and savage rage. Soon over a distant clump of trees +he could see the chimneys of Barbara's home--his home, he thought +helplessly--and perhaps those chimneys were all that was left. And then +he saw the roof and the upper windows and the cap of the big columns +unharmed, untouched, and he pulled Firefly in again, with overwhelming +relief, and wondered at the miracle. Again he started and again pulled +in when he caught sight of three horses hitched near the stiles. Turning +quickly from the road, he hid Firefly in the underbrush. Very quietly he +slipped along the path by the river, and, pushing aside through the +rose-bushes, lay down where unseen he could peer through the closely +matted hedge. He had not long to wait. A white uniform issued from the +great hall door and another and another--and after them Barbara--smiling. +The boy's blood ran hot--smiling at her enemies. Two officers bowed, +Barbara courtesied, and they wheeled on their heels and descended the +steps. The third stayed behind a moment, bowed over her hand and kissed +it. The watcher's blood turned then to liquid fire. Great God, at what +price was that noble old house left standing? Grimly, swiftly Erskine +turned, sliding through the bushes like a snake to the edge of the road +along which they must pass. He would fight the three, for his life was +worth nothing now. He heard them laughing, talking at the stiles. He +heard them speak Barbara's name, and two seemed to be bantering the +third, whose answering laugh seemed acquiescent and triumphant. They +were coming now. The boy had his pistols out, primed and cocked. He was +rising on his knees, just about to leap to his feet and out into the +road, when he fell back into a startled, paralyzed, inactive heap. +Glimpsed through an opening in the bushes, the leading trooper in the +uniform of Tarleton's legion was none other than Dane Grey, and +Erskine's brain had worked quicker than his angry heart. This was a +mystery that must be solved before his pistols spoke. He rose crouching +as the troopers rode away. At the bend of the road he saw Grey turn with +a gallant sweep of his tricornered hat, and, swerving his head +cautiously, he saw Barbara answer with a wave of her handkerchief. If +Tarleton's men were around he would better leave Firefly where he was in +the woods for a while. A jay-bird gave out a flutelike note above his +head; Erskine never saw a jay-bird perched cockily on a branch that he +did not think of Grey; but Grey was brave--so, too, was a jay-bird. A +startled gasp behind him made him wheel, pistol once more in hand, to +find a negro, mouth wide open and staring at him from the road. + +"Marse Erskine!" he gasped. It was Ephraim, the boy who had led +Barbara's white ponies out long, long ago, now a tall, muscular lad with +an ebony face and dazzling teeth. "Whut you doin' hyeh, suh? Whar' yo' +hoss? Gawd, I'se sutn'ly glad to see yuh." Erskine pointed to an oak. + +"Right by that tree. Put him in the stable and feed him." + +The negro shook his head. + +"No, suh. I'll take de feed down to him. Too many redcoats messin' round +heah. You bettah go in de back way--dey might see yuh." + +"How is Miss Barbara?" + +The negro's eyes shifted. + +"She's well. Yassuh, she's well as common." + +"Wasn't one of those soldiers who just rode away Mr. Dane Grey?" + +The negro hesitated. + +"Yassuh." + +"What's he doing in a British uniform?" + +The boy shifted his great shoulders uneasily and looked aside. + +"I don't know, suh--I don't know nuttin'." + +Erskine knew he was lying, but respected his loyalty. + +"Go tell Miss Barbara I'm here and then feed my horse." + +"Yassuh." + +Ephraim went swiftly and Erskine followed along the hedge and through +the rose-bushes to the kitchen door, where Barbara's faithful old Mammy +was waiting for him with a smile of welcome but with deep trouble in her +eyes. + +"I done tol' Miss Barbary, suh. She's waitin' fer yuh in de hall." + +Barbara, standing in the hall doorway, heard his step. + +"Erskine!" she cried softly, and she came to meet him, with both hands +outstretched, and raised her lovely face to be kissed. "What are you +doing here?" + +"I am on my way to join General Lafayette." + +"But you will be captured. It is dangerous. The country is full of +British soldiers." + +"So I know," Erskine said dryly. + +"When did you get here?" + +"Twenty minutes ago. I would not have been welcome just then. I waited +in the hedge. I saw you had company." + +"Did you see them?" she faltered. + +"I even recognized one of them." Barbara sank into a chair, her elbow on +one arm, her chin in her hand, her face turned, her eyes looking +outdoors. She said nothing, but the toe of her slipper began to tap the +floor gently. There was no further use for indirection or concealment. + +"Barbara," Erskine said with some sternness, and his tone quickened the +tapping of the slipper and made her little mouth tighten, "what does all +this mean?" + +"Did you see," she answered, without looking at him, "that the crops +were all destroyed and the cattle and horses were all gone?" + +"Why did they spare the house?" The girl's bosom rose with one quick, +defiant intake of breath, and for a moment she held it. + +"Dane Grey saved our home." + +"How?" + +"He had known Colonel Tarleton in London and had done something for him +over there." + +"How did he get in communication with Colonel Tarleton when he was an +officer in the American army?" The girl would not answer. + +"Was he taken prisoner?" Still she was silent, for the sarcasm in +Erskine's voice was angering her. + +"He fought once under Benedict Arnold--perhaps he is fighting with him +now." + +"No!" she cried hotly. + +"Then he must be a----" + +She did not allow him to utter the word. + +"Why Mr. Grey is in British uniform is his secret--not mine." + +"And why he is here is--yours." + +"Exactly!" she flamed. "You are a soldier. Learn what you want to know +from him. You are my cousin, but you are going beyond the rights of +blood. I won't stand it--I won't stand it--from anybody." + +"I don't understand you, Barbara--I don't know you. That last time it was +Grey, you--and now--" He paused and, in spite of herself, her eyes flashed +toward the door. Erskine saw it, drew himself erect, bowed and strode +straight out. Nor did the irony of the situation so much as cross his +mind--that he should be turned from his own home by the woman he loved +and to whom he had given that home. Nor did he look back--else he might +have seen her sink, sobbing, to the floor. + + * * * * * + +When he turned the corner of the house old Mammy and Ephraim were +waiting for him at the kitchen door. + +"Get Firefly, Ephraim!" he said sharply. + +"Yassuh!" + +At the first sight of his face Mammy had caught her hands together at +her breast. + +"You ain't gwine, Marse Erskine," she said tremulously. "You ain't gwine +away?" + +"Yes, Mammy--I must." + +"You an' Miss Barbary been quoilin', Marse Erskine--you been +quoilin'"--and without waiting for an answer she went on passionately: +"Ole Marse an' young Marse an' Marse Hugh done gone, de niggahs all +gone, an' nobody lef' but me an' Ephraim--nobody lef' but me an' +Ephraim--to give dat little chile one crumb o' comfort. Nobody come to de +house but de redcoats an' dat mean Dane Grey, an' ev'y time he come he +leave Miss Barbary cryin' her little heart out. 'Tain't Miss Barbary in +dar--hit's some other pusson. She ain't de same pusson--no, suh. An' lemme +tell yu--lemme tell yu--ef some o' de men folks doan come back heah +somehow an' look out fer dat little gal--she's a-gwine to run away wid +dat mean low-down man whut just rid away from heah in a white uniform." +She had startled Erskine now and she knew it. + +"Dat man has got little Missus plum' witched, I tell ye--plum' witched. +Hit's jes like a snake wid a catbird." + +"Men have to fight, Mammy----" + +"I doan keer nothin' 'bout de war." + +"I'd be captured if I stayed here----" + +"All I keer 'bout is my chile in dar----" + +"But we'll drive out the redcoats and the whitecoats and I'll come +straight here----" + +"An' all de men folks leavin' her heah wid nobody but black Ephraim an' +her ole Mammy." The old woman stopped her fiery harangue to listen: + +"Dar now, heah dat? My chile hollerin' fer her ole Mammy." She turned +her unwieldy body toward the faint cry that Erskine's heart heard better +than his ears, and Erskine hurried away. + +"Ephraim," he said as he swung upon Firefly, "you and Mammy keep a close +watch, and if I'm needed here, come for me yourself and come fast." + +"Yassuh. Marse Grey is sutn'ly up to some devilmint no which side he +fightin' fer. I got a gal oveh on the aige o' de Grey plantation an' she +tel' me dat Marse Dane Grey don't wear dat white uniform all de time." + +"What's that--what's that?" asked Erskine. + +"No, suh. She say he got an udder uniform, same as yose, an' he keeps it +at her uncle Sam's cabin an' she's seed him go dar in white an' come out +in our uniform, an' al'ays at night, Marse Erskine--al'ays at night." + +The negro cocked his ear suddenly: + +"Take to de woods quick, Marse Erskine. Horses comin' down the road." + +But the sound of coming hoof-beats had reached the woodsman's ears some +seconds before the black man heard them, and already Erskine had wheeled +away. And Ephraim saw Firefly skim along the edge of a blackened meadow +behind its hedge of low trees. + +"Gawd!" said the black boy, and he stood watching the road. A band of +white-coated troopers was coming in a cloud of dust, and at the head of +them rode Dane Grey. + +"Has Captain Erskine Dale been here?" he demanded. + +Ephraim had his own reason for being on the good side of the questioner, +and did not even hesitate. + +"Yassuh--he jes' lef'! Dar he goes now!" With a curse Grey wheeled his +troopers. At that moment Firefly, with something like the waving flight +of a bluebird, was leaping the meadow fence into the woods. The black +boy looked after the troopers' dust. + +"Gawd!" he said again, with a grin that showed every magnificent tooth +in his head. "Jest as well try to ketch a streak o' lightning." And +quite undisturbed he turned to tell the news to old Mammy. + + + + +XXIV + + +Up the James rode Erskine, hiding in the woods by day and slipping +cautiously along the sandy road by night, circling about Tarleton's +camp-fires, or dashing at full speed past some careless sentinel. Often +he was fired at, often chased, but with a clear road in front of him he +had no fear of capture. On the third morning he came upon a ragged +sentinel--an American. Ten minutes later he got his first glimpse of +Lafayette, and then he was hailed joyfully by none other than Dave +Yandell, Captain Dave Yandell, shorn of his woodsman's dress and +panoplied in the trappings of war. + + * * * * * + +Cornwallis was coming on. The boy, he wrote, cannot escape me. But the +boy--Lafayette--did, and in time pursued and forced the Englishman into a +_cul-de-sac_. "I have given his lordship the disgrace of a retreat," +said Lafayette. And so--Yorktown! + +Late in August came the message that put Washington's great "soul in +arms." Rochambeau had landed six thousand soldiers in Connecticut, and +now Count de Grasse and a French fleet had sailed for the Chesapeake. +General Washington at once resorted to camouflage. He laid out camps +ostentatiously opposite New York and in plain sight of the enemy. He +made a feigned attack on their posts. Rochambeau moved south and reached +the Delaware before the British grasped the Yankee trick. Then it was +too late. The windows of Philadelphia were filled with ladies waving +handkerchiefs and crying bravoes when the tattered Continentals, their +clothes thick with dust but hats plumed with sprigs of green, marched +through amid their torn battle-flags and rumbling cannon. Behind +followed the French in "gay white uniforms faced with green," and +martial music throbbed the air. Not since poor Andr had devised the +"Mischianza" festival had Philadelphia seen such a pageant. Down the +Chesapeake they went in transports and were concentrated at Williamsburg +before the close of September. Cornwallis had erected works against the +boy, for he knew nothing of Washington and Count de Grasse, nor Mad +Anthony and General Nelson, who were south of the James to prevent +escape into North Carolina. + +"To your goodness," the boy wrote to Washington, "I am owning the most +beautiful prospect I may ever behold." + +Then came de Grasse, who drove off the British fleet, and the mouth of +the net was closed. + +Cornwallis heard the cannon and sent Clinton to appeal for help, but the +answer was Washington himself at the head of his army. And then the +joyous march. + +"'Tis our first campaign!" cried the French gayly, and the Continentals +joyfully answered: + +"'Tis our last!" + + * * * * * + +At Williamsburg the allies gathered, and with Washington's army came +Colonel Dale, now a general, and young Captain Harry Dale, who had +brought news from Philadelphia that was of great interest to Erskine +Dale. In that town Dane Grey had been a close intimate of Andr, and +that intimacy had been the cause of much speculation since. He had told +Dave of his mother and Early Morn, and Dave had told him gravely that he +must go get them after the campaign was over and bring them to the fort +in Kentucky. If Early Morn still refused to come, then he must bring his +mother, and he reckoned grimly that no mouth would open in a word that +could offend her. Erskine also told of Red Oaks and Dane Grey, but Dave +must tell nothing to the Dales--not yet, if ever. + +In mid-September Washington came, and General Dale had but one chance to +visit Barbara. General Dale was still weak from a wound and Barbara +tried unavailingly to keep him at home. Erskine's plea that he was too +busy to go with them aroused Harry's suspicions, that were confirmed by +Barbara's manner and reticence, and he went bluntly to the point: + +"What is the trouble, cousin, between you and Barbara?" + +"Trouble?" + +"Yes. You wouldn't go to Red Oaks and Barbara did not seem surprised. Is +Dane Grey concerned?" + +"Yes." + +Harry looked searchingly at his cousin: + +"I pray to God that I may soon meet him face to face." + +"And I," said Erskine quietly, "pray to God that you do not--not until +after I have met him first." Barbara had not told, he thought, nor +should he--not yet. And Harry, after a searching look at his cousin, +turned away. + +They marched next morning at daybreak. At sunset of the second day they +bivouacked within two miles of Yorktown and the siege began. The allied +line was a crescent, with each tip resting on the water--Lafayette +commanding the Americans on the right, the French on the left under +Rochambeau. De Grasse, with his fleet, was in the bay to cut off +approach by water. Washington himself put the match to the first gun, +and the mutual cannonade of three or four days began. The scene was +"sublime and stupendous." + +Bombshells were seen "crossing each other's path in the air, and were +visible in the form of a black ball by day, but in the night they +appeared like a fiery meteor, with a blazing tail most beautifully +brilliant. They ascended majestically from the mortar to a certain +altitude and gradually descended to the spot where they were destined to +execute their work of destruction. When a shell fell it wheeled around, +burrowed, and excavated the earth to a considerable extent and, +bursting, made dreadful havoc around. When they fell in the river they +threw up columns of water like spouting monsters of the deep. Two +British men-of-war lying in the river were struck with hot shot and set +on fire, and the result was full of terrible grandeur. The sails caught +and the flames ran to the tops of the masts, resembling immense torches. +One fled like a mountain of fire toward the bay and was burned to the +water's edge." + +General Nelson, observing that the gunners were not shooting at Nelson +House because it was his own, got off his horse and directed a gun at it +with his own hand. And at Washington's headquarters appeared the +venerable Secretary Nelson, who had left the town with the permission of +Cornwallis and now "related with a serene visage what had been the +effect of our batteries." It was nearly the middle of October that the +two redoubts projecting beyond the British lines and enfilading the +American intrenchments were taken by storm. One redoubt was left to +Lafayette and his Americans, the other to Baron de Viomenil, who claimed +that his grenadiers were the men for the matter in hand. Lafayette +stoutly argued the superiority of his Americans, who, led by Hamilton, +carried their redoubt first with the bayonet, and sent the Frenchman an +offer of help. The answer was: + +"I will be in mine in five minutes." And he was, Washington watching the +attack anxiously: + +"The work is done and well done." + +And then the surrender: + +The day was the 19th of October. The victors were drawn up in two lines +a mile long on the right and left of a road that ran through the autumn +fields south of Yorktown. Washington stood at the head of his army on +the right, Rochambeau at the head of the French on the left. Behind on +both sides was a great crowd of people to watch the ceremony. Slowly out +of Yorktown marched the British colors, cased drums beating a +significant English air: + +"The world turned topsyturvy." + +Lord Cornwallis was sick. General O'Hara bore my lord's sword. As he +approached, Washington saluted and pointed to General Lincoln, who had +been treated with indignity at Charleston. O'Hara handed the sword to +Lincoln. Lincoln at once handed it back and the surrender was over. +Between the lines the British marched on and stacked arms in a near-by +field. Some of them threw their muskets on the ground, and a British +colonel bit the hilt of his sword from rage. + +As Tarleton's legion went by, three pairs of eyes watched eagerly for +one face, but neither Harry nor Captain Dave Yandell saw Dane Grey--nor +did Erskine Dale. + + + + +XXV + + +To Harry and Dave, Dane Grey's absence was merely a mystery--to Erskine +it brought foreboding and sickening fear. General Dale's wound having +opened afresh, made travelling impossible, and Harry had a slight +bayonet-thrust in the shoulder. Erskine determined to save them all the +worry possible and to act now as the head of the family himself. He +announced that he must go straight back at once to Kentucky and Captain +Clark. Harry stormed unavailingly and General Dale pleaded with him to +stay, but gave reluctant leave. To Dave he told his fears and Dave +vehemently declared he, too, would go along, but Erskine would not hear +of it and set forth alone. + +Slowly enough he started, but with every mile suspicion and fear grew +the faster and he quickened Firefly's pace. The distance to Williamsburg +was soon covered, and skirting the town, he went on swiftly for Red +Oaks. + +Suppose he were too late, but even if he were not too late, what should +he do, what could he do? Firefly was sweeping into a little hollow now, +and above the beating of her hoofs in the sandy road, a clink of metal +reached his ears beyond the low hill ahead, and Erskine swerved aside +into the bushes. Some one was coming, and apparently out of the red ball +of the sun hanging over that hill sprang a horseman at a dead run--black +Ephraim on the horse he had saved from Tarleton's men. Erskine pushed +quickly out into the road. + +"Stop!" he cried, but the negro came thundering blindly on, as though he +meant to ride down anything in his way. Firefly swerved aside, and +Ephraim shot by, pulling in with both hands and shouting: + +"Marse Erskine! Yassuh, yassuh! Thank Gawd you'se come." When he wheeled +he came back at a gallop--nor did he stop. + +"Come on, Marse Erskine!" he cried. "No time to waste. Come on, suh!" + +With a few leaps Firefly was abreast, and neck and neck they ran, while +the darky's every word confirmed the instinct and reason that had led +Erskine where he was. + +"Yassuh, Miss Barbary gwine to run away wid dat mean white man. Yassuh, +dis very night." + +"When did he get here?" + +"Dis mawnin'. He been pesterin' her an' pleadin' wid her all day an' she +been cryin' her heart out, but Mammy say she's gwine wid him. 'Pears +like she can't he'p herse'f." + +"Is he alone?" + +"No, suh, he got an orficer an' four sojers wid him." + +"How did they get away?" + +"He say as how dey was on a scoutin' party an' 'scaped." + +"Does he know that Cornwallis has surrendered?" + +"Oh, yassuh, he tol' Miss Barbary dat. Dat's why he says he got to git +away right now an' she got to go wid him right now." + +"Did he say anything about General Dale and Mr. Harry?" + +"Yassuh, he say dat dey's all right an' dat dey an' you will be hot on +his tracks. Dat's why Mammy tol' me to ride like de debbil an' hurry you +on, suh." And Ephraim had ridden like the devil, for his horse was +lathered with foam and both were riding that way now, for the negro was +no mean horseman and the horse he had saved was a thoroughbred. + +"Dis arternoon," the negro went on, "he went ovah to dat cabin I tol' +you 'bout an' got dat American uniform. He gwine to tell folks on de way +dat dem udders is his prisoners an' he takin' dem to Richmond. Den dey +gwine to sep'rate an' he an' Miss Barbary gwine to git married somewhur +on de way an' dey goin' on an' sail fer England, fer he say if he git +captured folks'll won't let him be prisoner o' war--dey'll jes up an' +shoot him. An' dat skeer Miss Barbary mos' to death an' he'p make her go +wid him. Mammy heah'd ever' word dey say." + +Erskine's brain was working fast, but no plan would come. They would be +six against him, but no matter--he urged Firefly on. The red ball from +which Ephraim had leaped had gone down now. The chill autumn darkness +was settling, but the moon was rising full and glorious over the black +expanse of trees when the lights of Red Oaks first twinkled ahead. +Erskine pulled in. + +"Ephraim!" + +"Yassuh. You lemme go ahead. You jest wait in dat thicket next to de +corner o' de big gyarden. I'll ride aroun' through de fields an' come +into the barnyard by de back gate. Dey won't know I been gone. Den I'll +come to de thicket an' tell you de whole lay o' de land." + +Erskine nodded. + +"Hurry!" + +"Yassuh." + +The negro turned from the road through a gate, and Erskine heard the +thud of his horse's hoofs across the meadow turf. He rode on slowly, +hitched Firefly as close to the edge of the road as was safe, and crept +to the edge of the garden, where he could peer through the hedge. The +hall-door was open and the hallway lighted; so was the dining-room; and +there were lights in Barbara's room. There were no noises, not even of +animal life, and no figures moving about or in the house. What could he +do? One thing at least, no matter what happened to him--he could number +Dane Grey's days and make this night his last on earth. It would +probably be his own last night, too. Impatiently he crawled back to the +edge of the road. More quickly than he expected, he saw Ephraim's figure +slipping through the shadows toward him. + +"Dey's jus' through supper," he reported. "Miss Barbary didn't eat wid +'em. She's up in her room. Dat udder orficer been stormin' at Marse Grey +an' hurryin' him up. Mammy been holdin' de little Missus back all she +can. She say she got to make like she heppin' her pack. De sojers down +dar by de wharf playin' cards an' drinkin'. Dat udder man been drinkin' +hard. He got his head on de table now an' look like he gone to sleep." + +"Ephraim," said Erskine quickly, "go tell Mr. Grey that one of his men +wants to see him right away at the sun-dial. Tell him the man wouldn't +come to the house because he didn't want the others to know--that he has +something important to tell him. When he starts down the path you run +around the hedge and be on hand in the bushes." + +"Yassuh," and the boy showed his teeth in a comprehending smile. It was +not long before he saw Grey's tall figure easily emerge from the +hall-door and stop full in the light. He saw Ephraim slip around the +corner and Grey move to the end of the porch, doubtless in answer to the +black boy's whispered summons. For a moment the two figures were +motionless and then Erskine began to tingle acutely from head to foot. +Grey came swiftly down the great path, which was radiant with moonlight. +As Grey neared the dial Erskine moved toward him, keeping in a dark +shadow, but Grey saw him and called in a low tone but sharply: + +"Well, what is it?" With two paces more Erskine stepped out into the +moonlight with his cocked pistol at Grey's breast. + +"This," he said quietly. "Make no noise--and don't move." Grey was +startled, but he caught his control instantly and without fear. + +"You are a brave man, Mr. Grey, and so, for that matter, is--Benedict +Arnold." + +"Captain Grey," corrected Grey insolently. + +"I do not recognize your rank. To me you are merely Traitor Grey." + +"You are entitled to unusual freedom of speech--under the circumstances." + +[Illustration: "Make no noise, and don't move"] + +"I shall grant you the same freedom," Erskine replied quickly--"in a +moment. You are my prisoner, Mr. Grey. I could lead you to your proper +place at the end of a rope, but I have in mind another fate for you +which perhaps will be preferable to you and maybe one or two others. Mr. +Grey, I tried once to stab you--I knew no better and have been sorry ever +since. You once tried to murder me in the duel and you did know better. +Doubtless you have been sorry ever since--that you didn't succeed. Twice +you have said that you would fight me with anything, any time, any +place." Grey bowed slightly. "I shall ask you to make those words good +and I shall accordingly choose the weapons." Grey bowed again. +"Ephraim!" The boy stepped from the thicket. + +"Ah," breathed Grey, "that black devil!" + +"Ain' you gwine to shoot him, Marse Erskine?" + +"Ephraim!" said Erskine, "slip into the hall very quietly and bring me +the two rapiers on the wall." Grey's face lighted up. + +"And, Ephraim," he called, "slip into the dining-room and fill Captain +Kilburn's glass." He turned with a wicked smile. + +"Another glass and he will be less likely to interrupt. Believe me, +Captain Dale, I shall take even more care now than you that we shall not +be disturbed. I am delighted." And now Erskine bowed. + +"I know more of your career than you think, Grey. You have been a spy as +well as a traitor. And now you are crowning your infamy by weaving some +spell over my cousin and trying to carry her away in the absence of her +father and brother, to what unhappiness God only can know. I can hardly +hope that you appreciate the honor I am doing you." + +"Not as much as I appreciate your courage and the risk you are taking." + +Erskine smiled. + +"The risk is perhaps less than you think." + +"You have not been idle?" + +"I have learned more of my father's swords than I knew when we used them +last." + +"I am glad--it will be more interesting." Erskine looked toward the house +and moved impatiently. + +"My brother officer has dined too well," noted Grey placidly, "and the +rest of my--er--retinue are gambling. We are quite secure." + +"Ah!" Erskine breathed--he had seen the black boy run down the steps with +something under one arm and presently Ephraim was in the shadow of the +thicket: + +"Give one to Mr. Grey, Ephraim, and the other to me. I believe you said +on that other occasion that there was no choice of blades?" + +"Quite right," Grey answered, skilfully testing his bit of steel. + +"Keep well out of the way, Ephraim," warned Erskine, "and take this +pistol. You may need it, if I am worsted, to protect yourself." + +"Indeed, yes," returned Grey, "and kindly instruct him not to use it to +protect _you_." For answer Erskine sprang from the shadow--discarding +formal courtesies. + +"_En garde!_" he called sternly. + +The two shining blades clashed lightly and quivered against each other +in the moonlight like running drops of quicksilver. + +Grey was cautious at first, trying out his opponent's increase in skill: + +"You have made marked improvement." + +"Thank you," smiled Erskine. + +"Your wrist is much stronger." + +"Naturally." Grey leaped backward and parried just in time a vicious +thrust that was like a dart of lightning. + +"Ah! A Frenchman taught you that." + +"A Frenchman taught me all the little I know." + +"I wonder if he taught you how to meet this." + +"He did," answered Erskine, parrying easily and with an answering thrust +that turned Grey suddenly anxious. Constantly Grey manoeuvred to keep his +back to the moon, and just as constantly Erskine easily kept him where +the light shone fairly on both. Grey began to breathe heavily. + +"I think, too," said Erskine, "that my wind is a little better than +yours--would you like a short resting-spell?" + +From the shadow Ephraim chuckled, and Grey snapped: + +"Make that black devil----" + +"Keep quiet, Ephraim!" broke in Erskine sternly. Again Grey manoeuvred +for the moon, to no avail, and Erskine gave warning: + +"Try that again and I will put that moon in your eyes and keep it +there." Grey was getting angry now and was beginning to pant. + +"Your wind _is_ short," said Erskine with mock compassion. "I will give +you a little breathing-spell presently." + +Grey was not wasting his precious breath now and he made no answer. + +"Now!" said Erskine sharply, and Grey's blade flew from his hand and lay +like a streak of silver on the dewy grass. Grey rushed for it. + +"Damn you!" he raged, and wheeled furiously--patience, humor, and caution +quite gone--and they fought now in deadly silence. Ephraim saw the +British officer appear in the hall and walk unsteadily down the steps as +though he were coming down the path, but he dared not open his lips. +There was the sound of voices, and it was evident that the game had +ended in a quarrel and the players were coming up the river-bank toward +them. Erskine heard, but if Grey did he at first gave no sign--he was too +much concerned with the death that faced him. Suddenly Erskine knew that +Grey had heard, for the fear in his face gave way to a diabolic grin of +triumph and he lashed suddenly into defense--if he could protect himself +only a little longer! Erskine had delayed the finishing-stroke too long +and he must make it now. Grey gave way step by step--parrying only. The +blades flashed like tiny bits of lightning. Erskine's face, grim and +inexorable, brought the sick fear back into Grey's, and Erskine saw his +enemy's lips open. He lunged then, his blade went true, sank to the +hilt, and Grey's warped soul started on its way with a craven cry for +help. Erskine sprang back into the shadows and snatched his pistol from +Ephraim's hand: + +"Get out of the way now. Tell them I did it." + +Once he looked back. He saw Barbara at the hall-door with old Mammy +behind her. With a running leap he vaulted the hedge, and, hidden in the +bushes, Ephraim heard Firefly's hoofs beating ever more faintly the +sandy road. + + + + +XXVI + + +Yorktown broke the British heart, and General Dale, still weak from +wounds, went home to Red Oaks. It was not long before, with gentle +inquiry, he had pieced out the full story of Barbara and Erskine and +Dane Grey, and wisely he waited his chance with each phase of the +situation. Frankly he told her first of Grey's dark treachery, and the +girl listened with horrified silence, for she would as soon have +distrusted that beloved father as the heavenly Father in her prayers. +She left him when he finished the story and he let her go without +another word. All day she was in her room and at sunset she gave him her +answer, for she came to him dressed in white, knelt by his chair, and +put her head in his lap. And there was a rose in her hair. + +"I have never understood about myself and--and that man," she said, "and +I never will." + +"I do," said the general gently, "and I understand you through my sister +who was so like you. Erskine's father was as indignant as Harry is now, +and I am trying to act toward you as my father did toward her." The girl +pressed her lips to one of his hands. + +"I think I'd better tell you the whole story now," said General Dale, +and he told of Erskine's father, his wildness and his wanderings, his +marriage, and the capture of his wife and the little son by the Indians, +all of which she knew, and the girl wondered why he should be telling +her again. The general paused: + +"You know Erskine's mother was not killed. He found her." The girl +looked up amazed and incredulous. + +"Yes," he went on, "the white woman whom he found in the Indian village +was his mother." + +"Father!" She lifted her head quickly, leaned back with hands caught +tight in front of her, looked up into his face--her own crimsoning and +paling as she took in the full meaning of it all. Her eyes dropped. + +"Then," she said slowly, "that Indian girl--Early Morn--is his +half-sister. Oh, oh!" A great pity flooded her heart and eyes. "Why +didn't Erskine take them away from the Indians?" + +"His mother wouldn't leave them." And Barbara understood. + +"Poor thing--poor thing!" + +"I think Erskine is going to try now." + +"Did you tell him to bring them here?" The general put his hand on her +head. + +"I hoped you would say that. I did, but he shook his head." + +"Poor Erskine!" she whispered, and her tears came. Her father leaned +back and for a moment closed his eyes. + +"There is more," he said finally. "Erskine's father was the eldest +brother--and Red Oaks----" + +The girl sprang to her feet, startled, agonized, shamed: "Belongs to +Erskine," she finished with her face in her hands. "God pity me," she +whispered, "I drove him from his own home." + +"No," said the old general with a gentle smile. He was driving the barb +deep, but sooner or later it had to be done. + +"Look here!" He pulled an old piece of paper from his pocket and handed +it to her. Her wide eyes fell upon a rude boyish scrawl and a rude +drawing of a buffalo pierced by an arrow: + +"It make me laugh. I have no use. I give hole dam plantashun Barbara." + +"Oh!" gasped the girl and then--"where is he?" + +"Waiting at Williamsburg to get his discharge." She rushed swiftly down +the steps, calling: + +"Ephraim! Ephraim!" + +And ten minutes later the happy, grinning Ephraim, mounted on the +thoroughbred, was speeding ahead of a whirlwind of dust with a little +scented note in his battered slouch hat: + + "You said you would come whenever I wanted you. I want you to come + now. + + "Barbara." + +The girl would not go to bed, and the old general from his window saw +her like some white spirit of the night motionless on the porch. And +there through the long hours she sat. Once she rose and started down the +great path toward the sun-dial, moving slowly through the flowers and +moonlight until she was opposite a giant magnolia. Where the shadow of +it touched the light on the grass, she had last seen Grey's white face +and scarlet breast. With a shudder she turned back. The night whitened. +A catbird started the morning chorus. The dawn came and with it Ephraim. +The girl waited where she was. Ephraim took off his battered hat. + +"Marse Erskine done gone, Miss Barbary," he said brokenly. "He done gone +two days." + +The girl said nothing, and there the old general found her still +motionless--the torn bits of her own note and the torn bits of Erskine's +scrawling deed scattered about her feet. + + + + +XXVII + + +On the summit of Cumberland Gap Erskine Dale faced Firefly to the east +and looked his last on the forests that swept unbroken back to the river +James. It was all over for him back there and he turned to the wilder +depths, those endless leagues of shadowy woodlands, that he would never +leave again. Before him was one vast forest. The trees ran from +mountain-crest to river-bed, they filled valley and rolling plain, and +swept on in sombre and melancholy wastes to the Mississippi. Around him +were birches, pines, hemlocks, and balsam firs. He dropped down into +solemn, mysterious depths filled with oaks, chestnuts, hickories, +maples, beeches, walnuts, and gigantic poplars. The sun could not +penetrate the leafy-roofed archway of that desolate world. The tops of +the mighty trees merged overhead in a mass of tent-like foliage and the +spaces between the trunks were choked with underbrush. And he rode on +and on through the gray aisles of the forest in a dim light that was +like twilight at high noon. + +At Boonesborough he learned from the old ferryman that, while the war +might be coming to an end in Virginia, it was raging worse than ever in +Kentucky. There had been bloody Indian forays, bloody white reprisals, +fierce private wars, and even then the whole border was in a flame. +Forts had been pushed westward even beyond Lexington, and 1782 had been +Kentucky's year of blood. Erskine pushed on, and ever grew his +hopelessness. The British had drawn all the savages of the Northwest +into the war. As soon as the snow was off the ground the forays had +begun. Horses were stolen, cabins burned, and women and children were +carried off captive. The pioneers had been confined to their stockaded +forts, and only small bands of riflemen sallied out to patrol the +country. Old Jerome Sanders's fort was deserted. Old Jerome had been +killed. Twenty-three widows were at Harrodsburg filing the claims of +dead husbands, and among them were Polly Conrad and Honor Sanders. The +people were expecting an attack in great force from the Indians led by +the British. At the Blue Licks there had been a successful ambush by the +Indians and the whites had lost half their number, among them many brave +men and natural leaders of the settlements. Captain Clark was at the +mouth of Licking River and about to set out on an expedition and needed +men. + +Erskine, sure of a welcome, joined him and again rode forth with Clark +through the northern wilderness, and this time a thousand mounted +riflemen followed them. Clark had been stirred at last from his lethargy +by the tragedy of the Blue Licks and this expedition was one of reprisal +and revenge; and it was to be the last. The time was autumn and the corn +was ripe. The triumphant savages rested in their villages unsuspecting +and unafraid, and Clark fell upon them like a whirl-wind. Taken by +surprise, and startled and dismayed by such evidence of the quick +rebirth of power in the beaten whites, the Indians of every village fled +at their approach, and Clark put the torch not only to cabin and wigwam +but to the fields of standing corn. As winter was coming on, this would +be a sad blow, as Clark intended, to the savages. + +Erskine had told the big chief of his mother, and every man knew the +story and was on guard that she should come to no harm. A captured +Shawnee told them that the Shawnees had got word that the whites were +coming, and their women and old men had fled or were fleeing, all, +except in a village he had just left--he paused and pointed toward the +east where a few wisps of smoke were rising. Erskine turned: "Do you +know Kahtoo?" + +"He is in that village." + +Erskine hesitated: "And the white woman--Gray Dove?" + +"She, too, is there." + +"And Early Morn?" + +"Yes," grunted the savage. + +"What does he say?" asked Clark. + +"There is a white woman and her daughter in a village, there," said +Erskine, pointing in the direction of the smoke. + +Clark's voice was announcing the fact to his men. Hastily he selected +twenty. "See that no harm comes to them," he cried, and dashed forward. +Erskine in advance saw Black Wolf and a few bucks covering the retreat +of some fleeing women. They made a feeble resistance of a volley and +they too turned to flee. A white woman emerged from a tent and with +great dignity stood, peering with dim eyes. To Clark's amazement Erskine +rushed forward and took her in his arms. A moment later Erskine cried: + +"My sister, where is she?" + +The white woman's trembling lips opened, but before she could answer, a +harsh, angry voice broke in haughtily, and Erskine turned to see Black +Wolf stalking in, a prisoner between two stalwart woodsmen. + +"Early Morn is Black Wolf's squaw. She is gone--" He waved one hand +toward the forest. + +The insolence of the savage angered Clark, and not understanding what he +said, he asked angrily: + +"Who is this fellow?" + +"He is the husband of my half-sister," answered Erskine gravely. + +Clark looked dazed and uncomprehending: + +"And that woman?" + +"My mother," said Erskine gently. + +"Good God!" breathed Clark. He turned quickly and waved the open-mouthed +woodsmen away, and Erskine and his mother were left alone. A feeble +voice called from a tent near by. + +"Old Kahtoo!" said Erskine's mother. "He is dying and he talks of +nothing but you--go to him!" And Erskine went. The old man lay trembling +with palsy on a buffalo-robe, but the incredible spirit in his wasted +body was still burning in his eyes. + +"My son," said he, "I knew your voice. I said I should not die until I +had seen you again. It is well ... it is well," he repeated, and wearily +his eyes closed. And thus Erskine knew it would be. + + + + +XXVIII + + +That winter Erskine made his clearing on the land that Dave Yandell had +picked out for him, and in the centre of it threw up a rude log hut in +which to house his mother, for his remembrance of her made him believe +that she would prefer to live alone. He told his plans to none. + +In the early spring, when he brought his mother home, she said that +Black Wolf had escaped and gone farther into the wilderness--that Early +Morn had gone with him. His mother seemed ill and unhappy. Erskine, not +knowing that Barbara was on her way to find him, started on a +hunting-trip. In a few days Barbara arrived and found his mother unable +to leave her bed, and Lydia Noe sitting beside her. Harry had just been +there to say good-by before going to Virginia. + +[Illustration: To his bewilderment he found Barbara at his mother's +bedside] + + +Barbara was dismayed by Erskine's absence and his mother's look of +suffering and extreme weakness, and the touch of her cold fingers. There +was no way of reaching her son, she said--he did not know of her illness. +Barbara told her of Erskine's giving her his inheritance, and that she +had come to return it. Meanwhile Erskine, haunted by his mother's sad +face, had turned homeward. To his bewilderment, he found Barbara at his +mother's bedside. A glance at their faces told him that death was near. +His mother held out her hand to him while still holding Barbara's. As in +a dream, he bent over to kiss her, and with a last effort she joined +their hands, clasping both. A great peace transformed her face as she +slowly looked at Barbara and then up at Erskine. With a sigh her head +sank lower, and her lovely dimming eyes passed into the final dark. + +Two days later they were married. The woodsmen, old friends of +Erskine's, were awed by Barbara's daintiness, and there were none of the +rude jests they usually flung back and forth. With hearty handshakes +they said good-by and disappeared into the mighty forest. In the silence +that fell, Erskine spoke of the life before them, of its hardships and +dangers, and then of the safety and comfort of Virginia. Barbara smiled: + +"You choose the wilderness, and your choice is mine. We will leave the +same choice...." She flushed suddenly and bent her head. + +"To those who come after us," finished Erskine. + + + The End. + + + + + +End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of Erskine Dale--Pioneer, by John Fox + +*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK ERSKINE DALE--PIONEER *** + +***** This file should be named 36390-8.txt or 36390-8.zip ***** +This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: + https://www.gutenberg.org/3/6/3/9/36390/ + +Produced by Roger Frank and the Online Distributed +Proofreading Team at https://www.pgdp.net + + +Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions +will be renamed. + +Creating the works from public domain print editions means that no +one owns a United States copyright in these works, so the Foundation +(and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United States without +permission and without paying copyright royalties. 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Thus, we do not necessarily +keep eBooks in compliance with any particular paper edition. + + +Most people start at our Web site which has the main PG search facility: + + https://www.gutenberg.org + +This Web site includes information about Project Gutenberg-tm, +including how to make donations to the Project Gutenberg Literary +Archive Foundation, how to help produce our new eBooks, and how to +subscribe to our email newsletter to hear about new eBooks. diff --git a/36390-8.zip b/36390-8.zip Binary files differnew file mode 100644 index 0000000..fef3731 --- /dev/null +++ b/36390-8.zip diff --git a/36390-h.zip b/36390-h.zip Binary files differnew file mode 100644 index 0000000..39d4d81 --- /dev/null +++ b/36390-h.zip diff --git a/36390-h/36390-h.htm b/36390-h/36390-h.htm new file mode 100644 index 0000000..084071e --- /dev/null +++ b/36390-h/36390-h.htm @@ -0,0 +1,8944 @@ +<!DOCTYPE html PUBLIC "-//W3C//DTD XHTML 1.0 Strict//EN" +"http://www.w3.org/TR/xhtml1/DTD/xhtml1-strict.dtd"> +<html xmlns="http://www.w3.org/1999/xhtml" xml:lang="en" > +<head> + <meta http-equiv="Content-Type" content="text/html;charset=utf-8" /> + <meta content="Erskine Dale—Pioneer" name="DC.Title"/> + <meta content="John Fox, Jr." name="DC.Creator"/> + <meta content="en" name="DC.Language"/> + <meta content="1920" name="DC.Created"/> + <meta name="generator" content="ppgen (1.12) generated Jun 11, 2011 08:29 PM" /> + <title>Erskine Dale—Pioneer</title> + <style type="text/css"> + body {margin-left:10%; margin-right:10%;} + p {margin-top:1ex; margin-bottom:0; text-align:justify;} + .pagenum {display:inline; font-size:x-small; text-align:right; text-indent:0; + position:absolute; right:2%; padding:1px 3px; font-style:normal; + font-variant:normal; font-weight:normal; text-decoration:none; + background-color:inherit; border:1px solid #eee;} + .pncolor {color:silver;} + h1 {text-align:center; font-weight:normal;} + h2 {text-align:left; font-weight:normal;} + h1 {font-size:1.4em; margin-top:4em; margin-bottom:2em;} + h2 {font-size:1.2em; margin-top:4em; margin-bottom:2em;} + hr.pb {margin:30px 0; width:100%; border:none; border-top:thin dashed silver; clear:both;} + .sc {font-variant: small-caps;} + .center {margin-left:auto; margin-right:auto; text-align:center;} + .larger {font-size:larger;} + .smaller {font-size:smaller;} + .figcenter {margin: auto; text-align: center;} + table.c {margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;} + .caption {font-size: 80%;} + .sc {font-variant:small-caps} + div.center>:first-child {margin: .5em auto 0 auto;text-align:center;} + div.center p {margin: 0 auto; text-align:center;} + hr.tb {border:none; border-bottom: 1px solid black; margin: 20px auto; width:35%} + </style> +</head> +<body> + + +<pre> + +The Project Gutenberg EBook of Erskine Dale--Pioneer, by John Fox + +This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with +almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or +re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included +with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org + + +Title: Erskine Dale--Pioneer + +Author: John Fox + +Illustrator: F. C. Yohn + +Release Date: June 12, 2011 [EBook #36390] + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: UTF-8 + +*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK ERSKINE DALE--PIONEER *** + + + + +Produced by Roger Frank and the Online Distributed +Proofreading Team at https://www.pgdp.net + + + + + + +</pre> + +<div class='figcenter' style='padding-top: 1em; padding-bottom: 1em'> +<a name='i001' id='i001'></a> +<img src='images/icvr.jpg' alt='' width='60%' title=''/><br /> +</div> +<p> + <br /> + <br /> + <br /> +</p> +<div class='center'> +<p>ERSKINE DALE—PIONEER</p> +<p> </p> +<p>BY JOHN FOX, JR.</p> +</div> +<table class='c' summary=''><tr><td> +<p style='margin-top:0; margin-bottom:0'>  ERSKINE DALE—PIONEER</p> +<p style='margin-top:0; margin-bottom:0'>  THE HEART OF THE HILLS</p> +<p style='margin-top:0; margin-bottom:0'>  THE TRAIL OF THE LONESOME PINE</p> +<p style='margin-top:0; margin-bottom:0'>  THE LITTLE SHEPHERD OF KINGDOM COME</p> +<p style='margin-top:0; margin-bottom:0'>  CRITTENDEN. A Kentucky Story of Love and War</p> +<p style='margin-top:0; margin-bottom:0'>  THE KENTUCKIANS AND A KNIGHT OF THE CUMBERLAND</p> +<p style='margin-top:0; margin-bottom:0'>  A MOUNTAIN EUROPA AND A CUMBERLAND VENDETTA</p> +<p style='margin-top:0; margin-bottom:0'>  CHRISTMAS EVE ON LONESOME, HELL-FER-SARTAIN AND IN HAPPY VALLEY</p> +<p style='margin-top:0; margin-bottom:0'>  BLUE GRASS AND RHODODENDRON,  Outdoor Life in Kentucky</p> +</td></tr></table> +<div class='center'> +<p>CHARLES SCRIBNER’S SONS</p> +</div> +<p> + <br /> + <br /> + <br /> +</p> +<div><a name='ifpc' id='ifpc'></a></div> +<div class='figcenter' style='padding-top: 1em; padding-bottom: 1em'> +<a name='i002' id='i002'></a> +<img src="images/ifpc.jpg" alt="The third stayed behind a moment, bowed over her hand, and kissed it" width="60%" title=""/><br /> +<span class='caption'>The third stayed behind a moment, bowed<br/>over her hand, and kissed it</span> +</div> +<p> + <br /> + <br /> + <br /> +</p> +<div class='center'> +<p><span style='font-size:1.4em;font-weight:bold;'>ERSKINE DALE</span></p> +<p><span style='font-size:1.4em;font-weight:bold;'>PIONEER</span></p> +<p> </p> +<p>BY</p> +<p> </p> +<p><span style='font-size:larger;'>JOHN FOX, JR.</span></p> +<p> </p> +<p>ILLUSTRATED BY F. C. YOHN</p> +<p> </p> +<p>CHARLES SCRIBNER’S SONS</p> +<p><span style='font-size:smaller;'>NEW YORK 1920</span></p> +</div> +<p> + <br /> + <br /> + <br /> +</p> +<div class='center'> +<p> <span class='sc'>Copyright, 1919, 1920, by</span></p> +<p> CHARLES SCRIBNER’S SONS</p> +<p> </p> +<p> Published September, 1920</p> +</div> +<p> + <br /> + <br /> + <br /> +</p> +<p> +ILLUSTRATIONS +</p> +<table class='c' summary=''> +<tr><td valign='top' style='text-align:left; padding-right:1em;'>The third stayed behind a moment, bowed over her hand, and kissed it</td><td valign='top' style='text-align:right;'><a href='#ifpc'>Frontispiece</a></td></tr> +<tr><td valign='top' style='text-align:left; padding-right:1em;'>“The messenger is the son of a king”</td><td valign='top' style='text-align:right;'><a href='#i036'>36</a></td></tr> +<tr><td valign='top' style='text-align:left; padding-right:1em;'>“I don’t want nobody to take up for me”</td><td valign='top' style='text-align:right;'><a href='#i056'>56</a></td></tr> +<tr><td valign='top' style='text-align:left; padding-right:1em;'>“Four more days,” he cried, “and we’ll be there!”</td><td valign='top' style='text-align:right;'><a href='#i100'>100</a></td></tr> +<tr><td valign='top' style='text-align:left; padding-right:1em;'>“That is Kahtoo’s talk, but this is mine”</td><td valign='top' style='text-align:right;'><a href='#i132'>132</a></td></tr> +<tr><td valign='top' style='text-align:left; padding-right:1em;'>The sword blades clashed, Erskine whipping back and forth in a way to make a swordsman groan</td><td valign='top' style='text-align:right;'><a href='#i168'>168</a></td></tr> +<tr><td valign='top' style='text-align:left; padding-right:1em;'>“Make no noise, and don’t move”</td><td valign='top' style='text-align:right;'><a href='#i238'>238</a></td></tr> +<tr><td valign='top' style='text-align:left; padding-right:1em;'>To his bewilderment he found Barbara at his mother’s bedside</td><td valign='top' style='text-align:right;'><a href='#i256'>256</a></td></tr> +</table> +<p> + <br /> + <br /> + <br /> +</p> +<h1><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_3'></a>3</span>Erskine Dale—Pioneer</h1> +<h2><a name='chI' id='chI'></a>I</h2> +<p> +Streaks of red ran upward, and in answer +the great gray eye of the wilderness lifted +its mist-fringed lid. From the green depths +came the fluting of a lone wood-thrush. +Through them an owl flew on velvety wings +for his home in the heart of a primeval poplar. +A cougar leaped from the low limb of +an oak, missed, and a shuddering deer streaked +through a forest aisle, bounded into a little +clearing, stopped rigid, sniffed a deadlier +enemy, and whirled into the wilderness again. +Still deeper in the depths a boy with a bow +and arrow and naked, except for scalp-lock +and breech-clout, sprang from sleep and +again took flight along a buffalo trail. Again, +not far behind him, three grunting savages +were taking up the print of his moccasined +feet. +</p> +<p> +An hour before a red flare rose within +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_4'></a>4</span> +the staked enclosure that was reared in the +centre of the little clearing, and above it +smoke was soon rising. Before the first +glimmer of day the gates yawned a little and +three dim shapes appeared and moved leisurely +for the woods—each man with a long flintlock +rifle in the hollow of his arm, a hunting-knife +in his belt, and a coonskin cap on his +head. At either end of the stockade a watchtower +of oak became visible and in each a +sleepy sentinel yawned and sniffed the welcome +smell of frying venison below him. In +the pound at one end of the fort, and close +to the eastern side, a horse whinnied, and a +few minutes later when a boy slipped through +the gates with feed in his arms there was +more whinnying and the stamping of impatient +feet. +</p> +<p> +“Gol darn ye!” the boy yelled, “can’t ye +wait till a feller gits <em>his</em> breakfast?” +</p> +<p> +A voice deep, lazy, and resonant came +from the watch-tower above: +</p> +<p> +“Well, I’m purty hungry myself.” +</p> +<p> +“See any Injuns, Dave?” +</p> +<p> +“Not more’n a thousand or two, I reckon.” +The boy laughed: +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_5'></a>5</span> +</p> +<p> +“Well, I reckon you won’t see any while +I’m around—they’re afeerd o’ <em>me</em>.” +</p> +<p> +“I don’t blame ’em, Bud. I reckon that +blunderbuss o’ yours would come might’ +nigh goin’ through a pat o’ butter at twenty +yards.” The sentinel rose towering to the +full of his stature, stretched his mighty arms +with a yawn, and lightly leaped, rifle in hand, +into the enclosure. A girl climbing the rude +ladder to the tower stopped midway. +</p> +<p> +“Mornin’, Dave!” +</p> +<p> +“Mornin’, Polly!” +</p> +<p> +“I was comin’ to wake you up,” she smiled. +</p> +<p> +“I just waked up,” he yawned, humoring +the jest. +</p> +<p> +“You don’t seem to have much use for +this ladder.” +</p> +<p> +“Not unless I’m goin’ up; and I wouldn’t +then if I could jump as high as I can fall.” +He went toward her to help her down. +</p> +<p> +“I wouldn’t climb very high,” she said, +and scorning his hand with a tantalizing +little grimace she leaped as lightly as had he +to the ground. Two older women who sat +about a kettle of steaming clothes watched +her. +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_6'></a>6</span> +</p> +<p> +“Look at Polly Conrad, won’t ye? I declare +that gal——” +</p> +<p> +“Lyddy!” cried Polly, “bring Dave’s +breakfast!” +</p> +<p> +At the door of each log cabin, as solidly +built as a little fort, a hunter was cleaning a +long rifle. At the western angle two men were +strengthening the pickets of the palisade. +About the fire two mothers were suckling +babes at naked breasts. A boy was stringing +a bow, and another was hurling a small +tomahawk at an oaken post, while a third +who was carrying wood for the open fire +cried hotly: +</p> +<p> +“Come on here, you two, an’ he’p me with +this wood!” And grumbling they came, +for that fort harbored no idler, irrespective +of age or sex. +</p> +<p> +At the fire a tall girl rose, pushed a mass +of sunburned hair from her heated forehead, and +a flush not from the fire fused with her smile. +</p> +<p> +“I reckon Dave can walk this far—he +don’t look very puny.” +</p> +<p> +A voice vibrant with sarcasm rose from +one of the women about the steaming kettle. +</p> +<p> +“Honor!” she cried, “Honor Sanders!” +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_7'></a>7</span> +</p> +<p> +In a doorway near, a third girl was framed—deep-eyed, +deep-breasted. +</p> +<p> +“Honor!” cried the old woman, “stop +wastin’ yo’ time with that weavin’ in thar an’ +come out here an’ he’p these two gals to git +Dave his breakfast.” Dave Yandell laughed +loudly. +</p> +<p> +“Come on, Honor,” he called, but the girl +turned and the whir of a loom started again +like the humming of bees. Lydia Noe handed +the hunter a pan of deer-meat and corn +bread, and Polly poured him a cup of steaming +liquid made from sassafras leaves. Unheeding +for a moment the food in his lap, +Dave looked up into Polly’s black eyes, shifted +to Lydia, swerved to the door whence came +the whir of the loom. +</p> +<p> +“You are looking very handsome this +morning, Polly,” he said gravely, “and Lydia +is lovelier even than usual, and Honor is a +woodland dream.” He shook his head. +“No,” he said, “I really couldn’t.” +</p> +<p> +“Couldn’t what?” asked Polly, though +she knew some nonsense was coming. +</p> +<p> +“Be happy even with two, if t’other were +far away.” +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_8'></a>8</span> +</p> +<p> +“I reckon you’ll have to try some day—with +all of us far away,” said the gentle Lydia. +</p> +<p> +“No doubt, no doubt.” He fell upon his +breakfast. +</p> +<p> +“Purple, crimson, and gold—daughters of +the sun—such are not for the poor hunter—alack, +alack!” +</p> +<p> +“Poor boy!” said Lydia, and Polly looked +at her with quickening wonder. Rallying +Dave with soft-voiced mockery was a new +phase in Lydia. Dave gave his hunting-knife +a pathetic flourish. +</p> +<p> +“And when the Virginia gallants come, +where will poor Dave be?” +</p> +<p> +Polly’s answer cut with sarcasm, but not at +Dave. +</p> +<p> +“Dave will be busy cuttin’ wood an’ +killin’ food for ’em—an’ keepin’ ’em from +gettin’ scalped by Indians.” +</p> +<p> +“I wonder,” said Lydia, “if they’ll have +long hair like Dave?” Dave shook his long +locks with mock pride. +</p> +<p> +“Yes, but it won’t be their own an’ it’ll +be <em>powdered</em>.” +</p> +<p> +“Lord, I’d like to see the first Indian who +takes one of their scalps.” Polly laughed, +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_9'></a>9</span> +but there was a shudder in Lydia’s smile. +Dave rose. +</p> +<p> +“I’m goin’ to sleep till dinner—don’t let +anybody wake me,” he said, and at once +both the girls were serious and kind. +</p> +<p> +“We won’t, Dave.” +</p> +<p> +Cow-bells began to clang at the edge of the +forest. +</p> +<p> +“There they are,” cried Polly. “Come +on, Lyddy.” +</p> +<p> +The two girls picked up piggins and +squeezed through the opening between the +heavy gates. The young hunter entered a +door and within threw himself across a +rude bed, face down. +</p> +<p> +“Honor!” cried one of the old women, +“you go an’ git a bucket o’ water.” The +whir stopped instantly, the girl stepped with +a sort of slow majesty from the cabin, and, +entering the next, paused on the threshold +as her eyes caught the powerful figure stretched +on the bed and already in heavy sleep. As +she stepped softly for the bucket she could +not forbear another shy swift glance; she +felt the flush in her face and to conceal it she +turned her head angrily when she came out. +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_10'></a>10</span> +A few minutes later she was at the spring +and ladling water into her pail with a gourd. +Near by the other two girls were milking—each +with her forehead against the soft flank +of a dun-colored cow whose hoofs were stained +with the juice of wild strawberries. Honor +dipped lazily. When her bucket was full she +fell a-dreaming, and when the girls were +through with their task they turned to find +her with deep, unseeing eyes on the dark +wilderness. +</p> +<p> +“Boo!” cried Polly, startling her, and then +teasingly: +</p> +<p> +“Are you in love with Dave, too, Honor?” +</p> +<p> +The girl reddened. +</p> +<p> +“No,” she whipped out, “an’ I ain’t +goin’ to be.” And then she reddened again +angrily as Polly’s hearty laugh told her she +had given herself away. For a moment the +three stood like wood-nymphs about the +spring, vigorous, clear-eyed, richly dowered +with health and color and body and limb—typical +mothers-to-be of a wilderness race. +And as Honor turned abruptly for the fort, +a shot came from the woods followed by a +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_11'></a>11</span> +war-whoop that stopped the blood shuddering +in their veins. +</p> +<p> +“Oh, my God!” each cried, and catching +at their wet skirts they fled in terror through +the long grass. They heard the quick commotion +in the fort, heard sharp commands, +cries of warning, frantic calls for them to +hurry, saw strained faces at the gates, +saw Dave bound through and rush toward +them. And from the forest there was +nothing but its silence until that was +again broken—this time by a loud laugh—the +laugh of a white man. Then at the edge +of the wilderness appeared—the fool. Behind +him followed the other two who had +gone out that morning, one with a deer +swung about his shoulders, and all could +hear the oaths of both as they cursed the fool +in front who had given shot and war-whoop +to frighten women and make them run. +Dave stood still, but his lips, too, were busy +with curses, and from the fort came curses—an +avalanche of them. The sickly smile +passed from the face of the fellow, shame +took its place, and when he fronted the +terrible eyes of old Jerome Sanders at the +gate, that face grew white with fear. +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_12'></a>12</span> +</p> +<p> +“Thar ain’t an Injun in a hundred miles,” +he stammered, and then he shrank down as +though he were almost going to his knees, +when suddenly old Jerome slipped his long +rifle from his shoulder and fired past the fellow’s +head with a simultaneous roar of command: +</p> +<p> +“Git in—ever’body—git in—quick!” +</p> +<p> +From a watch-tower, too, a rifle had +cracked. A naked savage had bounded into +a spot of sunlight that quivered on the buffalo +trail a hundred yards deep in the forest and +leaped lithely aside into the bushes—both +rifles had missed. Deeper from the woods +came two war-whoops—real ones—and in +the silence that followed the gates were +swiftly closed and barred, and a keen-eyed +rifleman was at every port-hole in the fort. +From the tower old Jerome saw reeds begin +to shake in a cane-brake to the left of the +spring. +</p> +<p> +“Look thar!” he called, and three rifles, +with his own, covered the spot. A small +brown arm was thrust above the shaking +reeds, with the palm of the hand toward the +fort—the peace sign of the Indian—and a +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_13'></a>13</span> +moment later a naked boy sprang from the +cane-brake and ran toward the blockhouse, +with a bow and arrow in his left hand and +his right stretched above his head, its pleading +palm still outward. +</p> +<p> +“Don’t shoot!—don’t nobody shoot!” +shouted the old man. No shot came from +the fort, but from the woods came yells of +rage, and as the boy streaked through the +clearing an arrow whistled past his head. +</p> +<p> +“Let him in!” shouted Jerome, and as +Dave opened the gates another arrow hurtled +between the boy’s upraised arm and his +body and stuck quivering in one of its upright +bars. The boy slid through and stood +panting, shrinking, wild-eyed. The arrow +had grazed his skin, and when Dave lifted +his arm and looked at the oozing drops of +blood he gave a startled oath, for he saw a +flash of white under the loosened breech-clout +below. The boy understood. Quickly he +pushed the clout aside on his thigh that all +might see, nodded gravely, and proudly +tapped his breast. +</p> +<p> +“Paleface!” he half grunted, “white man!” +</p> +<p> +The wilds were quiet. The boy pointed +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_14'></a>14</span> +to them and held up three fingers to indicate +that there were only three red men there, +and shook his head to say there would be no +attack from them. Old Jerome studied the +little stranger closely, wondering what new +trick those red devils were trying now to +play. Mother Sanders and Mother Noe, the +boys of the fort, the gigantic brothers to +Lydia, Adam and Noel, the three girls had +gathered about him, as he stood with the +innocence of Eden before the fall. +</p> +<p> +“The fust thing to do,” said Mother +Sanders, “is to git some clothes for the little +heathen.” Whereat Lydia flushed and Dave +made an impatient gesture for silence. +</p> +<p> +“What’s your name?” The boy shook his +head and looked eagerly around. +</p> +<p> +“Français—French?” he asked, and in +turn the big woodsman shook his head—nobody +there spoke French. However, Dave +knew a little Shawnee, a good deal of the sign-language, +and the boy seemed to understand +a good many words in English; so that the +big woodsman pieced out his story with considerable +accuracy, and turned to tell it to +Jerome. The Indians had crossed the Big +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_15'></a>15</span> +River, were as many as the leaves, and meant +to attack the whites. For the first time they +had allowed the boy to go on a war-party. +Some one had treated him badly—he pointed +out the bruises of cuffs and kicks on his body. +The Indians called him White Arrow, and +he knew he was white from the girdle of untanned +skin under his breech-clout and because +the Indian boys taunted him. Asked +why he had come to the fort, he pointed again +to his bruises, put both hands against his +breast, and stretched them wide as though he +would seek shelter in the arms of his own race +and take them to his heart; and for the first +time a smile came to his face that showed him +plainly as a curious product of his race and +the savage forces that for years had been +moulding him. That smile could have never +come to the face of an Indian. No Indian +would ever have so lost himself in his own +emotions. No white man would have used +his gestures and the symbols of nature to +which he appealed. Only an Indian could +have shown such a cruel, vindictive, merciless +fire in his eyes when he told of his wrongs, +and when he saw tears in Lydia’s eyes, the +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_16'></a>16</span> +first burning in his life came to his own, and +brushing across them with fierce shame he +turned Indian stoic again and stood with his +arms folded over his bow and arrows at his +breast, looking neither to right nor left, as +though he were waiting for judgment at their +hands and cared little what his fate might be, +as perfect from head to foot as a statue of +the ancient little god, who, in him, had forsaken +the couches of love for the tents of war. +</p> +<h2><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_17'></a>17</span><a name='chII' id='chII'></a>II</h2> +<p> +All turned now to the duties of the day—Honor +to her loom, Polly to her distaff, and +Lydia to her spinning-wheel, for the clothes +of the women were home-spun, home-woven, +home-made. Old Jerome and Dave and the +older men gathered in one corner of the stockade +for a council of war. The boy had made +it plain that the attacking party was at least +two days behind the three Indians from whom +he had escaped, so that there was no danger +that day, and they could wait until night to +send messengers to warn the settlers outside +to seek safety within the fort. Meanwhile, +Jerome would despatch five men with Dave +to scout for the three Indians who might be +near by in the woods, and the boy, who saw +them slip out the rear gate of the fort, at +once knew their purpose, shook his head, +and waved his hand to say that his late +friends were gone back to hurry on the big +war-party to the attack, now that the whites +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_18'></a>18</span> +themselves knew their danger. Old Jerome +nodded that he understood, and nodded to +others his appreciation of the sense and keenness +of the lad, but he let the men go just the +same. From cabin door to cabin door the +boy went in turn—peeking in, but showing +no wonder, no surprise, and little interest +until Lydia again smiled at him. At her +door he paused longest, and even went within +and bent his ear to the bee-like hum of the +wheel. At the port-holes in the logs he +pointed and grunted his understanding and +appreciation, as he did when he climbed into +a blockhouse and saw how one story overlapped +the other and how through an opening +in the upper floor the defenders in the +tower might pour a destructive fire on attackers +breaking in below. When he came +down three boys, brothers to the three girls, +Bud Sanders, Jack Conrad, and Harry Noe, +were again busy with their games. They +had been shy with him as he with them, and +now he stood to one side while they, pretending +to be unconscious of his presence, watched +with sidelong glances the effect on him of +their prowess. All three threw the tomahawk +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_19'></a>19</span> +and shot arrows with great skill, but they did +not dent the impassive face of the little +stranger. +</p> +<p> +“Maybe he thinks he can do better,” said +Bud; “let’s let him try it.” +</p> +<p> +And he held forth the tomahawk and motioned +toward the post. The lad took it +gravely, gravely reached for the tomahawk +of each of the other two, and with slow dignity +walked several yards farther away from the +mark. Then he wheeled with such ferocity +in his face that the boys shrank aside, clutching +with some fear to one another’s arms, and +before they could quite recover, they were +gulping down wonder as the three weapons +whistled through the air and were quivering +close, side by side, in the post. +</p> +<p> +“Gee!” they said. Again the lad’s face +turned impassive as he picked up his bow and +three arrows and slowly walked toward the +wall of the stockade so that he was the full +width of the fort away. And then three +arrows hurtled past them in incredibly swift +succession and thudded into the post, each +just above a tomahawk. This time the three +onlookers were quite speechless, though their +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_20'></a>20</span> +mouths were open wide. Then they ran +toward him and had him show just how he +held tomahawk and bow and arrow, and all +three did much better with the new points he +gave them. Wondering then whether they +might not teach him something, Jack did +a standing broad jump and Bud a running +broad jump and Harry a hop, skip, and a +jump. The young stranger shook his head +but he tried and fell short in each event and +was greatly mortified. Again he shook his +head when Bud and Jack took backholds and +had a wrestling-match, but he tried with Jack +and was thumped hard to the earth. He +sprang to his feet looking angry, but all were +laughing, and he laughed too. +</p> +<p> +“Me big fool,” he said; and they showed +him how to feint and trip, and once he came +near throwing Bud. At rifle-shooting, too, +he was no match for the young pioneers, but +at last he led them with gestures and unintelligible +grunts to the far end of the stockade +and indicated a foot-race. The boy ran +like one of his own arrows, but he beat Bud +only a few feet, and Bud cried: +</p> +<p> +“I reckon if <em>I</em> didn’t have no clothes on, +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_21'></a>21</span> +he couldn’t ‘a’ done it”; and on the word +Mother Sanders appeared and cried to Bud +to bring the “Injun” to her cabin. She had +been unearthing clothes for the “little +heathen,” and Bud helped to put them on. +In a few minutes the lad reappeared in fringed +hunting shirt and trousers, wriggling in them +most uncomfortably, for they made him itch, +but at the same time wearing them proudly. +Mother Sanders approached with a hunting-knife. +</p> +<p> +“I’m goin’ to cut off that topknot so his +hair can ketch up,” she said, but the boy +scowled fearfully, turned, fled, and scaling +the stockade as nimbly as a squirrel, halted +on top with one leg over the other side. +</p> +<p> +“He thinks you air goin’ to take his scalp,” +shouted Bud. The three boys jumped up +and down in their glee, and even Mother +Sanders put her hands on her broad hips and +laughed with such loud heartiness that many +came to the cabin doors to see what the +matter was. It was no use for the boys to +point to their own heads and finger their own +shocks of hair, for the lad shook his head, +and outraged by their laughter kept his place +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_22'></a>22</span> +in sullen dignity a long while before he could +be persuaded to come down. +</p> +<p> +On the mighty wilderness the sun sank +slowly and old Jerome sat in the western tower +to watch alone. The silence out there was +oppressive and significant, for it meant that +the boy’s theory was right; the three Indians +had gone back for their fellows, and +when darkness came the old man sent runners +to the outlying cabins to warn the inmates +to take refuge within the fort. There was +no settler that was not accustomed to a soft +tapping on the wooden windows that startled +him wide awake. Then there was the noiseless +awakening of the household, noiseless +dressing of the children—the mere whisper +of “Indians” was enough to keep them quiet—and +the noiseless slipping through the wilderness +for the oak-picketed stockade. And +the gathering-in was none too soon. The +hooting of owls started before dawn. A +flaming arrow hissed from the woods, thudded +into the roof of one of the cabins, sputtered +feebly on a dew-drenched ridge-pole, and went +out. Savage war-whoops rent the air, and +the battle was on. All day the fight went +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_23'></a>23</span> +on. There were feints of attack in front and +rushes from the rear, and there were rushes +from all sides. The women loaded rifles and +cooked and cared for the wounded. Thrice +an Indian reached the wall of the stockade +and set a cabin on fire, but no one of the three +got back to the woods alive. The stranger +boy sat stoically in the centre of the enclosure +watching everything, and making no effort to +take part, except twice when he saw a gigantic +Indian brandishing his rifle at the edge of the +woods, encouraging his companions behind, +and each time he grunted and begged for a +gun. And Dave made out that the Indian +was the one who had treated the boy cruelly +and that the lad was after a personal revenge. +Late in the afternoon the ammunition began +to run low and the muddy discoloration of the +river showed that the red men had begun to +tunnel under the walls of the fort. And yet +a last sally was made just before sunset. A +body pushed against Dave in the tower and +Dave saw the stranger boy at his side with +his bow and arrow. A few minutes later he +heard a yell from the lad which rang high +over the din, and he saw the feathered tip of +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_24'></a>24</span> +an arrow shaking in the breast of the big Indian +who staggered and fell behind a bush. +Just at that moment there were yells from the +woods behind—the yells of white men that +were answered by joyful yells within the fort: +</p> +<p> +“The Virginians! The Virginians!” And +as the rescuers dashed into sight on horse and +afoot, Dave saw the lad leap the wall of the +stockade and disappear behind the fleeing Indians. +</p> +<p> +“Gone back to ’em,” he grunted to himself. +The gates were thrown open. Old Jerome +and his men rushed out, and besieged and +rescuers poured all their fire after the running +Indians, some of whom turned bravely to +empty their rifles once more. +</p> +<p> +“Git in! Git in, quick!” yelled old Joel. +He knew another volley would come as soon +as the Indians reached the cover of thick +woods, and come the volley did. Three men +fell—one the leader of the Virginians, whose +head flopped forward as he entered the gate +and was caught in old Joel’s arms. Not another +sound came from the woods, but again +Dave from the tower saw the cane-brush rustle +at the edge of a thicket, saw a hand +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_25'></a>25</span> +thrust upward with the palm of peace toward +the fort, and again the stranger boy emerged—this +time with a bloody scalp dangling in +his left hand. Dave sprang down and met +him at the gate. The boy shook his bow and +arrow proudly, pointed to a crisscross scar +on the scalp, and Dave made out from his +explanation that once before the lad had +tried to kill his tormentor and that the scar +was the sign. In the centre of the enclosure +the wounded Virginian lay, and when old +Jerome stripped the shirt from his breast he +shook his head gravely. The wounded man +opened his eyes just in time to see and he +smiled. +</p> +<p> +“I know it,” he said faintly, and then his +eyes caught the boy with the scalp, were fixed +steadily and began to widen. +</p> +<p> +“Who is that boy?” he asked sharply. +</p> +<p> +“Never mind now,” said old Joel soothingly, +“you must keep still!” The boy’s +eyes had begun to shift under the scrutiny +and he started away. +</p> +<p> +“Come back here!” commanded the +wounded man, and still searching the lad he +said sharply again: +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_26'></a>26</span> +</p> +<p> +“Who is that boy?” Nor would he have +his wound dressed or even take the cup of +water handed to him until old Joel briefly +told the story, when he lay back on the ground +and closed his eyes. +</p> +<p> +Darkness fell. In each tower a watcher +kept his eyes strained toward the black, +silent woods. The dying man was laid on +a rude bed within one cabin, and old Joel +lay on the floor of it close to the door. The +stranger lad refused to sleep indoors and +huddled himself in a blanket on the ground +in one corner of the stockade. Men, women, +and children fell to a deep and weary sleep. +In the centre the fire burned and there was +no sound on the air but the crackle of its +blazing. An hour later the boy in the corner +threw aside his blanket, and when, a moment +later, Lydia Noe, feverish and thirsty, rose +from her bed to get a drink of water outside +her door, she stopped short on the threshold. +The lad, stark naked but for his breech-clout +and swinging his bloody scalp over his head, +was stamping around the fire—dancing the +scalp-dance of the savage to a low, fierce, +guttural song. The boy saw her, saw her +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_27'></a>27</span> +face in the blaze, stricken white with fright +and horror, saw her too paralyzed to move +and he stopped, staring at her a moment +with savage rage, and went on again. Old +Joel’s body filled the next doorway. He +called out with a harsh oath, and again the +boy stopped. With another oath and a +threatening gesture Joel motioned to the corner +of the stockade, and with a flare of defiance +in his black eyes the lad stalked slowly +and proudly away. From behind him the +voice of the wounded man called, and old +Joel turned. There was a ghastly smile on +the Virginian’s pallid face. +</p> +<p> +“I saw it,” he said painfully. “That’s—that’s +my son!” +</p> +<h2><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_28'></a>28</span><a name='chIII' id='chIII'></a>III</h2> +<p> +From the sun-dial on the edge of the high +bank, straight above the brim of the majestic +yellow James, a noble path of thick grass +as broad as a modern highway ran hundreds +of yards between hedges of roses straight to +the open door of the great manor-house with +its wide verandas and mighty pillars set deep +back from the river in a grove of ancient +oaks. Behind the house spread a little kingdom, +divided into fields of grass, wheat, +tobacco, and corn, and dotted with whitewashed +cabins filled with slaves. Already +the house had been built a hundred years of +brick brought from England in the builder’s +own ships, it was said, and the second son +of the reigning generation, one Colonel Dale, +sat in the veranda alone. He was a royalist +officer, this second son, but his elder brother +had the spirit of daring and adventure that +should have been his, and he had been sitting +there four years before when that elder brother +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_29'></a>29</span> +came home from his first pioneering trip into +the wilds, to tell that his wife was dead and +their only son was a captive among the Indians. +Two years later still, word came that +the father, too, had met death from the +savages, and the little kingdom passed into +Colonel Dale’s hands. +</p> +<p> +Indentured servants, as well as blacks +from Africa, had labored on that path in +front of him; and up it had once stalked a +deputation of the great Powhatan’s red tribes. +Up that path had come the last of the early +colonial dames, in huge ruffs, high-heeled +shoes, and short skirts, with her husband, +who was the “head of a hundred,” with gold +on his clothes, and at once military commander, +civil magistrate, judge, and executive +of the community; had come officers in gold +lace, who had been rowed up in barges from +Jamestown; members of the worshipful House +of Burgesses; bluff planters in silk coats, the +governor and members of the council; distinguished +visitors from England, colonial +gentlemen and ladies. At the manor they +had got beef, bacon, brown loaves, Indian +corn-cakes, strong ales, and strong waters +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_30'></a>30</span> +(but no tea or coffee), and “drunk” pipes of +tobacco from lily-pots—jars of white earth—lighted +with splinters of juniper, or coals of +fire plucked from the fireplace with a pair of +silver tongs. And all was English still—books, +clothes, plates, knives, and forks; +the church, the Church of England; the +Governor, the representative of the King; +his Council, the English House of Lords; +the Burgesses, the English Parliament—socially +aristocratic, politically republican. For +ancient usage held that all “freemen” should +have a voice in the elections, have equal right +to say who the lawmakers and what the law. +The way was open as now. Any man could +get two thousand acres by service to the +colony, could build, plough, reap, save, buy +servants, and roll in his own coach to sit as +burgess. There was but one seat of learning—at +Williamsburg. What culture they had +they brought from England or got from parents +or minister. And always they had +seemed to prefer sword and stump to the pen. +They hated towns. At every wharf a long +shaky trestle ran from a warehouse out into +the river to load ships with tobacco for England +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_31'></a>31</span> +and to get in return all conveniences +and luxuries, and that was enough. In towns +men jostled and individual freedom was lost, +so, Ho! for the great sweeps of land and the +sway of a territorial lord! Englishmen they +were of Shakespeare’s time but living in +Virginia, and that is all they were—save +that the flower of liberty was growing faster +in the new-world soil. +</p> +<p> +The plantation went back to a patent +from the king in 1617, and by the grant +the first stout captain was to “enjoy his +landes in as large and ample manner to all +intentes and purposes as any Lord of any +manours in England doth hold his grounde.” +This gentleman was the only man after the +“Starving Time” to protest against the abandonment +of Jamestown in 1610. When, two +years later, he sent two henchmen as burgesses +to the first general assembly, that august +body would not allow them to sit unless the +captain would relinquish certain high privileges +in his grant. +</p> +<p> +“I hold my patent for service done,” the +captain answered grandiloquently, “which +noe newe or late comers can meritt or challenge,” and +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_32'></a>32</span> +only with the greatest difficulty +was he finally persuaded to surrender his +high authority. In that day the house was +built of wood, protected by a palisade, prescribed +by law, and the windows had stout +shutters. Everything within it had come +from England. The books were ponderous +folios, stout duodecimos encased in embossed +leather, and among them was a folio containing +Master William Shakespeare’s dramas, +collected by his fellow actors Heminge and +Condell. Later by many years a frame house +supplanted this primitive, fort-like homestead, +and early in the eighteenth century, +after several generations had been educated +in England, an heir built the noble manor as +it still stands—an accomplished gentleman +with lace collar, slashed doublet, and sable +silvered hair, a combination of scholar, courtier, +and soldier. And such had been the master +of the little kingdom ever since. +</p> +<p> +In the earliest days the highest and reddest +cedars in the world rose above the underbrush. +The wild vines were so full of grape +bunches that the very turf overflowed with +them. Deer, turkeys, and snow-white cranes +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_33'></a>33</span> +were in incredible abundance. The shores +were fringed with verdure. The Indians were +a “kind, loving people.” Englishmen called +it the “Good Land,” and found it “most +plentiful, sweet, wholesome, and fruitful of +all others.” The east was the ocean; Florida +was the south; the north was Nova Francia, +and the west unknown. Only the shores +touched the interior, which was an untravelled +realm of fairer fruits and flowers than in England; +green shores, majestic forests, and blue +mountains filled with gold and jewels. Bright +birds flitted, dusky maids danced and beckoned, +rivers ran over golden sand, and toward +the South Sea was the Fount of Youth, whose +waters made the aged young again. Bermuda +Islands were an enchanted den full of furies +and devils which all men did shun as hell and +perdition. And the feet of all who had made +history had trod that broad path to the +owner’s heart and home. +</p> +<p> +Down it now came a little girl—the flower +of all those dead and gone—and her coming +was just as though one of the flowers about her +had stepped from its gay company on one or +the other side of the path to make through +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_34'></a>34</span> +them a dainty, triumphal march as the fairest +of them all. At the dial she paused and +her impatient blue eyes turned to a bend of +the yellow river for the first glimpse of a gay +barge that soon must come. At the wharf +the song of negroes rose as they unloaded the +boat just from Richmond. She would go and +see if there was not a package for her mother +and perhaps a present for herself, so with +another look to the river bend she turned, +but she moved no farther. Instead, she gave +a little gasp, in which there was no fear, +though what she saw was surely startling +enough to have made her wheel in flight. Instead, +she gazed steadily into a pair of grave +black eyes that were fixed on her from under +a green branch that overhung the footpath, +and steadily she searched the figure standing +there, from the coonskin cap down the fringed +hunting-shirt and fringed breeches to the +moccasined feet. And still the strange figure +stood arms folded, motionless and silent. +Neither the attitude nor the silence was quite +pleasing, and the girl’s supple slenderness stiffened, +her arms went rigidly to her sides, and +a haughty little snap sent her undimpled +chin upward. +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_35'></a>35</span> +</p> +<p> +“What do you want?” +</p> +<p> +And still he looked, searching her in turn +from head to foot, for he was no more strange +to her than she was to him. +</p> +<p> +“Who are you and what do you want?” +</p> +<p> +It was a new way for a woman to speak +to a man; he in turn was not pleased, and a +gleam in his eyes showed it. +</p> +<p> +“I am the son of a king.” +</p> +<p> +She started to laugh, but grew puzzled, +for she had the blood of Pocahontas herself. +</p> +<p> +“You are an Indian?” +</p> +<p> +He shook his head, scorning to explain, +dropped his rifle to the hollow of his arm, +and, reaching for his belt where she saw the +buckhorn handle of a hunting-knife, came +toward her, but she did not flinch. Drawing +a letter from the belt, he handed it to her. It +was so worn and soiled that she took it daintily +and saw on it her father’s name. The boy +waved his hand toward the house far up the +path. +</p> +<p> +“He live here?” +</p> +<p> +“You wish to see him?” +</p> +<p> +The boy grunted assent, and with a shock +of resentment the little lady started up the +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_36'></a>36</span> +path with her head very high indeed. The +boy slipped noiselessly after her, his face unmoved, +but his eyes were darting right and +left to the flowers, trees, and bushes, to every +flitting, strange bird, the gray streak of a +scampering squirrel, and what he could not +see, his ears took in—the clanking chains of +work-horses, the whir of a quail, the screech +of a peacock, the songs of negroes from far-off +fields. +</p> +<p> +On the porch sat a gentleman in powdered +wig and knee-breeches, who, lifting his eyes +from a copy of <em>The Spectator</em> to give an order +to a negro servant, saw the two coming, +and the first look of bewilderment on his fine +face gave way to a tolerant smile. A stray +cat or dog, a crippled chicken, a neighbor’s +child, or a pickaninny—all these his little +daughter had brought in at one time or another +for a home, and now she had a strange +ward, indeed. He asked no question, for a +purpose very decided and definite was plainly +bringing the little lady on, and he would +not have to question. Swiftly she ran up +the steps, her mouth primly set, and handed +him a letter. +</p> +<div><a name='i036' id='i036'></a></div> +<div class='figcenter' style='padding-top: 1em; padding-bottom: 1em'> +<a name='i003' id='i003'></a> +<img src="images/i036.jpg" alt="“The messenger is the son of a king”" width="60%" title=""/><br /> +<span class='caption'>“The messenger is the son of a king”</span> +</div> +<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_37'></a>37</span></div> +<p> +“The messenger is the son of a king.” +</p> +<p> +“A what?” +</p> +<p> +“The son of a king,” she repeated gravely. +</p> +<p> +“Ah,” said the gentleman, humoring her, +“ask his highness to be seated.” +</p> +<p> +His highness was looking from one to the +other gravely and keenly. He did not quite +understand, but he knew gentle fun was being +poked at him, and he dropped sullenly on the +edge of the porch and stared in front of him. +The little girl saw that his moccasins were +much worn and that in one was a hole with +the edge blood-stained. And then she began +to watch her father’s face, which showed +that the contents of the letter were astounding +him. He rose quickly when he had finished +and put out his hand to the stranger. +</p> +<p> +“I am glad to see you, my boy,” he said +with great kindness. “Barbara, this is a +little kinsman of ours from Kentucky. He +was the adopted son of an Indian chief, but by +blood he is your own cousin. His name is +Erskine Dale.” +</p> +<h2><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_38'></a>38</span><a name='chIV' id='chIV'></a>IV</h2> +<p> +The little girl rose startled, but her breeding +was too fine for betrayal, and she went to +him with hand outstretched. The boy took +it as he had taken her father’s, limply and +without rising. The father frowned and smiled—how +could the lad have learned manners? +And then he, too, saw the hole in the moccasin +through which the bleeding had started again. +</p> +<p> +“You are hurt—you have walked a long +way?” +</p> +<p> +The lad shrugged his shoulders carelessly. +</p> +<p> +“Three days—I had to shoot horse.” +</p> +<p> +“Take him into the kitchen, Barbara, and +tell Hannah to wash his foot and bandage it.” +</p> +<p> +The boy looked uncomfortable and shook +his head, but the little girl was smiling and +she told him to come with such sweet imperiousness +that he rose helplessly. Old Hannah’s +eyes made a bewildered start! +</p> +<p> +“You go on back an’ wait for yo’ company, +little Miss; I’ll ‘tend to <em>him</em>!” +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_39'></a>39</span> +</p> +<p> +And when the boy still protested, she flared +up: +</p> +<p> +“Looky here, son, little Miss tell me to +wash yo’ foot, an’ I’se gwinter do it, ef I +got to tie you fust; now you keep still. +Whar you come from?” +</p> +<p> +His answer was a somewhat haughty grunt +that at once touched the quick instincts of +the old negress and checked further question. +Swiftly and silently she bound his foot, and +with great respect she led him to a little +room in one ell of the great house in which +was a tub of warm water. +</p> +<p> +“Ole marster say you been travellin’ an’ +mebbe you like to refresh yo’self wid a hot +bath. Dar’s some o’ little marster’s clothes +on de bed dar, an’ a pair o’ his shoes, an’ I +know dey’ll jus’ fit you snug. You’ll find all +de folks on de front po’ch when you git +through.” +</p> +<p> +She closed the door. Once, winter and +summer, the boy had daily plunged into the +river with his Indian companions, but he had +never had a bath in his life, and he did not +know what the word meant; yet he had +learned so much at the fort that he had no +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_40'></a>40</span> +trouble making out what the tub of water +was for. For the same reason he felt no surprise +when he picked up the clothes; he was +only puzzled how to get into them. He tried, +and struggling with the breeches he threw one +hand out to the wall to keep from falling and +caught a red cord with a bushy red tassel; +whereat there was a ringing that made him +spring away from it. A moment later there +was a knock at his door. +</p> +<p> +“Did you ring, suh?” asked a voice. What +that meant he did not know, and he made +no answer. The door was opened slightly and +a woolly head appeared. +</p> +<p> +“Do you want anything, suh?” +</p> +<p> +“No.” +</p> +<p> +“Den I reckon hit was anudder bell—Yassuh.” +</p> +<p> +The boy began putting on his own clothes. +</p> +<p> +Outside Colonel Dale and Barbara had +strolled down the big path to the sun-dial, +the colonel telling the story of the little +Kentucky kinsman—the little girl listening +and wide-eyed. +</p> +<p> +“Is he going to live here with us, papa?” +</p> +<p> +“Perhaps. You must be very nice to +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_41'></a>41</span> +him. He has lived a rude, rough life, but I +can see he is very sensitive.” +</p> +<p> +At the bend of the river there was the flash +of dripping oars, and the song of the black +oarsmen came across the yellow flood. +</p> +<p> +“There they come!” cried Barbara. And +from his window the little Kentuckian saw +the company coming up the path, brave with +gay clothes and smiles and gallantries. The +colonel walked with a grand lady at the head, +behind were the belles and beaux, and bringing +up the rear was Barbara, escorted by a +youth of his own age, who carried his hat +under his arm and bore himself as haughtily +as his elders. No sooner did he see them +mounting to the porch than there was the +sound of a horn in the rear, and looking out +of the other window the lad saw a coach and +four dash through the gate and swing around +the road that encircled the great trees, and +up to the rear portico, where there was a +joyous clamor of greetings. Where did all +those people come from? Were they going +to stay there and would he have to be among +them? All the men were dressed alike and +not one was dressed like him. Panic assailed him, and +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_42'></a>42</span> +once more he looked at the +clothes on the bed, and then without hesitation +walked through the hallway, and stopped +on the threshold of the front door. A quaint +figure he made there, and for the moment the +gay talk and laughter quite ceased. The +story of him already had been told, and already +was sweeping from cabin to cabin to +the farthest edge of the great plantation. +Mrs. General Willoughby lifted her lorgnettes +to study him curiously, the young ladies +turned a battery of searching but friendly rays +upon him, the young men regarded him with +tolerance and repressed amusement, and Barbara, +already his champion, turned her eyes +from one to the other of them, but always seeing +him. No son of Powhatan could have +stood there with more dignity, and young +Harry Dale’s face broke into a smile of welcome. +His father being indoors he went forward +with hand outstretched. +</p> +<p> +“I am your cousin Harry,” he said, and +taking him by the arm he led him on the +round of presentation. +</p> +<p> +“Mrs. Willoughby, may I present my cousin from Kentucky?” +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_43'></a>43</span> +</p> +<p> +“This is your cousin, Miss Katherine Dale; +another cousin, Miss Mary; and this is your +cousin Hugh.” +</p> +<p> +And the young ladies greeted him with +frank, eager interest, and the young gentlemen +suddenly repressed patronizing smiles +and gave him grave greeting, for if ever a +rapier flashed from a human head, it flashed +from the piercing black eye of that little Kentucky +backwoodsman when his cousin Hugh, +with a rather whimsical smile, bowed with +a politeness that was a trifle too elaborate. +Mrs. Willoughby still kept her lorgnettes on +him as he stood leaning against a pillar. +She noted the smallness of his hands and feet, +the lithe, perfect body, the clean cut of his +face, and she breathed: +</p> +<p> +“He is a Dale—and blood <em>does</em> tell.” +</p> +<p> +Nobody, not even she, guessed how the +lad’s heart was thumping with the effort to +conceal his embarrassment, but when a tinge +of color spread on each side of his set mouth +and his eyes began to waver uncertainly, Mrs. +Willoughby’s intuition was quick and kind. +</p> +<p> +“Barbara,” she asked, “have you shown +your cousin your ponies?” +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_44'></a>44</span> +</p> +<p> +The little girl saw her motive and laughed +merrily: +</p> +<p> +“Why, I haven’t had time to show him anything. +Come on, cousin.” +</p> +<p> +The boy followed her down the steps in +his noiseless moccasins, along a grass path +between hedges of ancient box, around an ell, +and past the kitchen and toward the stables. +In and behind the kitchen negroes of all ages +and both sexes were hurrying or lazing around, +and each turned to stare wonderingly after +the strange woodland figure of the little +hunter. Negroes were coming in from the +fields with horses and mules, negroes were +chopping and carrying wood, there were +negroes everywhere, and the lad had never +seen one before, but he showed no surprise. +At a gate the little girl called imperiously: +</p> +<p> +“Ephraim, bring out my ponies!” +</p> +<p> +And in a moment out came a sturdy little +slave whose head was all black skin, black +wool, and white teeth, leading two creamy-white +little horses that shook the lad’s composure +at last, for he knew ponies as far back +as he could remember, but he had never seen +the like of them. His hand almost trembled +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_45'></a>45</span> +when he ran it over their sleek coats, and +unconsciously he dropped into his Indian +speech and did not know it until the girl +asked laughingly: +</p> +<p> +“Why, what are you saying to my ponies?” +</p> +<p> +And he blushed, for the little girl’s artless +prattling and friendliness were already beginning +to make him quite human. +</p> +<p> +“That’s Injun talk.” +</p> +<p> +“Can you talk Indian—but, of course, +you can.” +</p> +<p> +“Better than English,” he smiled. +</p> +<p> +Hugh had followed them. +</p> +<p> +“Barbara, your mother wants you,” he +said, and the little girl turned toward the +house. The stranger was ill at ease with +Hugh and the latter knew it. +</p> +<p> +“It must be very exciting where you live.” +</p> +<p> +“How?” +</p> +<p> +“Oh, fighting Indians and shooting deer +and turkeys and buffalo. It must be great +fun.” +</p> +<p> +“Nobody does it for fun—it’s mighty hard +work.” +</p> +<p> +“My uncle—your father—used to tell us +about his wonderful adventures out there.” +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_46'></a>46</span> +</p> +<p> +“He had no chance to tell me.” +</p> +<p> +“But yours must have been more wonderful +than his.” +</p> +<p> +The boy gave the little grunt that was a +survival of his Indian life and turned to go +back to the house. +</p> +<p> +“But all this, I suppose, is as strange to +you.” +</p> +<p> +“More.” +</p> +<p> +Hugh was polite and apparently sincere +in interest, but the lad was vaguely disturbed +and he quickened his step. The +porch was empty when they turned the corner +of the house, but young Harry Dale came +running down the steps, his honest face alight, +and caught the little Kentuckian by the +arm. +</p> +<p> +“Get ready for supper, Hugh—come on, +cousin,” he said, and led the stranger to his +room and pointed to the clothes on the bed. +</p> +<p> +“Don’t they fit?” he asked smiling. +</p> +<p> +“I don’t know—I don’t know how to git +into ’em.” +</p> +<p> +Young Harry laughed joyously. +</p> +<p> +“Of course not. I wouldn’t know how +to put yours on either. You just wait,” +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_47'></a>47</span> +he cried, and disappeared to return quickly +with an armful of clothes. +</p> +<p> +“Take off your war-dress,” he said, “and +I’ll show you.” +</p> +<p> +With heart warming to such kindness, +and helpless against it, the lad obeyed like +a child and was dressed like a child. +</p> +<p> +“Now, I’ve got to hurry,” said Harry. +“I’ll come back for you. Just look at yourself,” +he called at the door. +</p> +<p> +And the stranger did look at the wonderful +vision that a great mirror as tall as himself +gave back. His eyes began to sting, and +he rubbed them with the back of his hand +and looked at the hand curiously. It was +moist. He had seen tears in a woman’s +eyes, but he did not know that they could +come to a man, and he felt ashamed. +</p> +<h2><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_48'></a>48</span><a name='chV' id='chV'></a>V</h2> +<p> +The boy stood at a window looking out +into the gathering dusk. His eye could +catch the last red glow on the yellow river. +Above that a purplish light rested on the +green expanse stretching westward—stretching +on and on through savage wilds to his +own wilds beyond the lonely Cumberlands. +Outside the window the multitude of flowers +was drinking in the dew and drooping restfully +to sleep. A multitude of strange birds +called and twittered from the trees. The +neighing of horses, the lowing of cattle, +the piping of roosting turkeys and motherly +clutter of roosting hens, the weird songs of +negroes, the sounds of busy preparation +through the house and from the kitchen—all +were sounds of peace and plenty, security +and service. And over in his own wilds at +that hour they were driving cows and horses +into the stockade. They were cooking their +rude supper in the open. A man had gone +to each of the watch-towers. From the +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_49'></a>49</span> +blackening woods came the curdling cry of +a panther and the hooting of owls. Away on +over the still westward wilds were the wigwams +of squaws, pappooses, braves, the red +men—red in skin, in blood, in heart, and red +with hate against the whites. +</p> +<p> +Perhaps they were circling a fire at that +moment in a frenzied war-dance—perhaps +the hooting at that moment, from the woods +around the fort was not the hooting of owls +at all. There all was hardship—danger; here +all was comfort and peace. If they could see +him now! See his room, his fire, his bed, his +clothes! They had told him to come, and +yet he felt now the shame of desertion. He +had come, but he would not stay long away. +The door opened, he turned, and Harry +Dale came eagerly in. +</p> +<p> +“Mother wants to see you.” +</p> +<p> +The two boys paused in the hall and Harry +pointed to a pair of crossed rapiers over the +mantelpiece. +</p> +<p> +“Those were your father’s,” he said; “he +was a wonderful fencer.” +</p> +<p> +The lad shook his head in ignorance, and +Harry smiled. +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_50'></a>50</span> +</p> +<p> +“I’ll show you to-morrow.” +</p> +<p> +At a door in the other ell Harry knocked +gently, and a voice that was low and sweet +but vibrant with imperiousness called: +</p> +<p> +“Come in!” +</p> +<p> +“Here he is, mother.” +</p> +<p> +The lad stepped into warmth, subtle fragrance, +and many candle lights. The great +lady was just rising from a chair in front of +her mirror, brocaded, powdered, and starred +with jewels. So brilliant a vision almost +stunned the little stranger and it took an +effort for him to lift his eyes to hers. +</p> +<p> +“Why, <em>this</em> is not the lad you told me of,” +she said. “Come here! Both of you.” +They came and the lady scrutinized them +comparingly. +</p> +<p> +“Actually you look alike—and, Harry, you +have no advantage, even if you are my own +son. I am glad you are here,” she said with +sudden soberness, and smiling tenderly she +put both hands on his shoulders, drew him +to her and kissed him, and again he felt in +his eyes that curious sting. +</p> +<p> +“Come, Harry!” With a gallant bow +Harry offered his left arm, and gathering the +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_51'></a>51</span> +little Kentuckian with her left, the regal +lady swept out. In the reception-room she +kept the boy by her side. Every man who +approached bowed, and soon the lad was bowing, +too. The ladies courtesied, the room was +soon filled, and amid the flash of smiles, +laughter, and gay banter the lad was much +bewildered, but his face showed it not at all. +Barbara almost cried out her astonishment +and pleasure when she saw what a handsome +figure he made in his new clothing, and all +her little friends were soon darting surreptitious +glances at him, and many whispered +questions and pleasing comments were passed +around. From under Hugh’s feet the ground +for the moment was quite taken away, so +much to the eye, at least, do clothes make +the man. Just then General Willoughby +bowed with noble dignity before Mrs. Dale, +and the two led the way to the dining-room. +</p> +<p> +“Harry,” she said, “you and Barbara take +care of your cousin.” +</p> +<p> +And almost without knowing it the young +Kentuckian bowed to Barbara, who courtesied +and took his arm. But for his own dignity +and hers, she would have liked to squeal +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_52'></a>52</span> +her delight. The table flashed with silver +and crystal on snowy-white damask and was +brilliant with colored candles. The little +woodsman saw the men draw back chairs +for the ladies, and he drew back Barbara’s +before Hugh, on the other side of her, could +forestall him. On his left was Harry, and +Harry he watched keenly—but no more +keenly than Hugh watched him. Every now +and then he would catch a pair of interested +eyes looking furtively at him, and he knew +his story was going the round of the table +among those who were not guests in the house. +The boy had never seen so many and so mysterious-looking +things to eat and drink. One +glass of wine he took, and the quick dizziness +that assailed him frightened him, and +he did not touch it again. Beyond Barbara, +Hugh leaned forward and lifted his glass to +him. He shook his head and Hugh flushed. +</p> +<p> +“Our Kentucky cousin is not very polite—he +is something of a barbarian—naturally.” +</p> +<p> +“He doesn’t understand,” said Barbara +quickly, who had noted the incident, and she +turned to her cousin. +</p> +<p> +“Papa says you <em>are</em> going to live with us +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_53'></a>53</span> +and you are going to study with Harry under +Mr. Brockton.” +</p> +<p> +“Our tutor,” explained Harry; “there he +is across there. He is an Englishman.” +</p> +<p> +“Tutor?” questioned the boy. +</p> +<p> +“School-teacher,” laughed Harry. +</p> +<p> +“Oh!” +</p> +<p> +“Haven’t you any school-teachers at +home?” +</p> +<p> +“No, I learned to read and write a little +from Dave and Lyddy.” +</p> +<p> +And then he had to tell who they were, +and he went on to tell them about Mother +Sanders and Honor and Bud and Jack and +Polly Conrad and Lydia and Dave, and all +the frontier folk, and the life they led, and +the Indian fights which thrilled Barbara and +Harry, and forced even Hugh to listen—though +once he laughed incredulously, and +in a way that of a sudden shut the boy’s lips +tight and made Barbara color and Harry +look grave. Hugh then turned to his wine +and began soon to look more flushed and +sulky. Shortly after the ladies left, Hugh +followed them, and Harry and the Kentuckian +moved toward the head of the table +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_54'></a>54</span> +where the men had gathered around Colonel +Dale. +</p> +<p> +“Yes,” said General Willoughby, “it looks +as though it might come.” +</p> +<p> +“With due deference to Mr. Brockton,” +said Colonel Dale, “it looks as though his +country would soon force us to some action.” +</p> +<p> +They were talking about impending war. +Far away as his wilds were, the boy had heard +some talk of war in them, and he listened +greedily to the quick fire of question and +argument directed to the Englishman, who +held his own with such sturdiness that Colonel +Dale, fearing the heat might become too great, +laughed and skilfully shifted the theme. +Through hall and doorways came now merry +sounds of fiddle and banjo. +</p> +<p> +“Come on, cousin,” said Harry; “can you +dance?” +</p> +<p> +“If your dances are as different as everything +else, I reckon not, but I can try.” +</p> +<p> +Near a doorway between parlor and hall +sat the fiddlers three. Gallant bows and +dainty courtesyings and nimble feet were +tripping measures quite new to the backwoodsman. +Barbara nodded, smiled, and +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_55'></a>55</span> +after the dance ran up to ask him to take part, +but he shook his head. Hugh had looked at +him as from a superior height, and the boy +noticed him frowning while Barbara was challenging +him to dance. The next dance was +even more of a mystery, for the dancers +glided by in couples, Mr. Byron’s diatribe not +having prevented the importation of the waltz +to the new world, but the next cleared his +face and set his feet to keeping time, for the +square dance had, of course, reached the wilds. +</p> +<p> +“I know that,” he said to Harry, who told +Barbara, and the little girl went up to him +again, and this time, flushing, he took place +with her on the floor. Hugh came up. +</p> +<p> +“Cousin Barbara, this is our dance, I believe,” +he said a little thickly. +</p> +<p> +The girl took him aside and Hugh went +surlily away. Harry saw the incident and +he looked after Hugh, frowning. The backwoodsman +conducted himself very well. He +was lithe and graceful and at first very dignified, +but as he grew in confidence he began +to execute steps that were new to that polite +land and rather boisterous, but Barbara +looked pleased and all onlookers seemed +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_56'></a>56</span> +greatly amused—all except Hugh. And when +the old fiddler sang out sonorously: +</p> +<p> +“Genelmen to right—cheat an’ swing!” +the boy cheated outrageously, cheated all but +his little partner, to whom each time he turned +with open loyalty, and Hugh was openly +sneering now and genuinely angry. +</p> +<p> +“You shall have the last dance,” whispered +Barbara, “the Virginia reel.” +</p> +<p> +“I know that dance,” said the boy. +</p> +<p> +And when that dance came and the dancers +were drawn in two lines, the boy who was +third from the end heard Harry’s low voice +behind him: +</p> +<p> +“He is my cousin and my guest and you +will answer to me.” +</p> +<p> +The lad wheeled, saw Harry with Hugh, +left his place, and went to them. He spoke +to Harry, but he looked at Hugh with a +sword-flash in each black eye: +</p> +<p> +“I don’t want nobody to take up for me.” +</p> +<p> +Again he wheeled and was in his place, +but Barbara saw and looked troubled, and +so did Colonel Dale. He went over to the +two boys and put his arm around Hugh’s +shoulder. +</p> +<div><a name='i056' id='i056'></a></div> +<div class='figcenter' style='padding-top: 1em; padding-bottom: 1em'> +<a name='i004' id='i004'></a> +<img src="images/i056.jpg" alt="“I don’t want nobody to take up for me”" width="60%" title=""/><br /> +<span class='caption'>“I don’t want nobody to take up for me”</span> +</div> +<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_57'></a>57</span></div> +<p> +“Tut, tut, my boys,” he said, with pleasant +firmness, and led Hugh away, and when +General Willoughby would have followed, +the colonel nodded him back with a smile, +and Hugh was seen no more that night. The +guests left with gayety, smiles, and laughter, +and every one gave the stranger a kindly +good-by. Again Harry went with him to his +room and the lad stopped again under the +crossed swords. +</p> +<p> +“You fight with ’em?” +</p> +<p> +“Yes, and with pistols.” +</p> +<p> +“I’ve never had a pistol. I want to learn +how to use <em>them</em>.” +</p> +<p> +Harry looked at him searchingly, but the +boy’s face gave hint of no more purpose than +when he first asked the same question. +</p> +<p> +“All right,” said Harry. +</p> +<p> +The lad blew out his candle, but he went +to his window instead of his bed. The moonlight +was brilliant—among the trees and on the +sleeping flowers and the slow run of the broad +river, and it was very still out there and very +lovely, but he had no wish to be out there. +With wind and storm and sun, moon and +stars, he had lived face to face all his life, but +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_58'></a>58</span> +here they were not the same. Trees, flowers, +house, people had reared some wall between +him and them, and they seemed now to be +very far away. Everybody had been kind +to him—all but Hugh. Veiled hostility he +had never known before and he could not +understand. Everybody had surely been +kind, and yet—he turned to his bed, and all +night his brain was flashing to and fro between +the reel of vivid pictures etched on it +in a day and the grim background that had +hitherto been his life beyond the hills. +</p> +<h2><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_59'></a>59</span><a name='chVI' id='chVI'></a>VI</h2> +<p> +From pioneer habit he awoke before dawn, +and for a moment the softness where he lay +puzzled him. There was no sound of anybody +stirring and he thought he must have +waked up in the middle of the night, but he +could smell the dawn and he started to spring +up. But there was nothing to be done, nothing +that he could do. He felt hot and stuffy, +though Harry had put up his windows, and +he could not lie there wide awake. He could +not go out in the heavy dew in the gay clothes +and fragile shoes he had taken off, so he slid +into his own buckskin clothes and moccasins +and out the still open front door and down +the path toward the river. Instinctively he +had picked up his rifle, bullet-pouch, and +powder-horn. Up the river to the right he +could faintly see dark woods, and he made +toward and plunged into them with his eyes +on the ground for signs of game, but he saw +tracks only of coon and skunk and fox, and +he grunted his disgust and loped ahead for +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_60'></a>60</span> +half an hour farther into the heart of the +woods. An hour later he loped back on his +own tracks. The cabins were awake now, +and every pickaninny who saw him showed +the whites of his eyes in terror and fled back +into his house. He came noiselessly behind a +negro woman at the kitchen-door and threw +three squirrels on the steps before her. She +turned, saw him, and gave a shriek, but recovered +herself and picked them up. Her +amazement grew as she looked them over, +for there was no sign of a bullet-wound, and +she went in to tell how the Injun boy must +naturally just “charm ’em right out o’ de +trees.” +</p> +<p> +At the front door Harry hailed him and +Barbara came running out. +</p> +<p> +“I forgot to get you another suit of clothes +last night,” he said, “and we were scared +this morning. We thought you had left us, +and Barbara there nearly cried.” Barbara +blushed now and did not deny. +</p> +<p> +“Come to breakfast!” she cried. +</p> +<p> +“Did you find anything to shoot?” Harry +asked. +</p> +<p> +“Nothin’ but some squirrels,” said the lad. +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_61'></a>61</span> +</p> +<p> +Colonel Dale soon came in. +</p> +<p> +“You’ve got the servants mystified,” he +said laughingly. “They think you’re a witch. +How <em>did</em> you kill those squirrels?” +</p> +<p> +“I couldn’t see their heads—so I barked +’em.” +</p> +<p> +“Barked?” +</p> +<p> +“I shot between the bark and the limb +right under the squirrel, an’ the shock kills +’em. Uncle Dan’l Boone showed me how to +do that.” +</p> +<p> +“Daniel Boone!” breathed Harry. “Do +you know Daniel Boone?” +</p> +<p> +“Shucks, Dave can beat him shootin’.” +</p> +<p> +And then Hugh came in, pale of face and +looking rather ashamed. He went straight +to the Kentuckian. +</p> +<p> +“I was rude to you last night and I owe +you an apology.” +</p> +<p> +He thrust out his hand and awkwardly the +boy rose and took it. +</p> +<p> +“And you’ll forgive me, too, Barbara?” +</p> +<p> +“Of course I will,” she said happily, but +holding up one finger of warning—should he +ever do it again. The rest of the guests +trooped in now, and some were going out on +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_62'></a>62</span> +horseback, some for a sail, and some visiting +up the river in a barge, and all were paired +off, even Harry. +</p> +<p> +“I’m going to drive Cousin Erskine over +the place with my ponies,” said Barbara, +“and——” +</p> +<p> +“I’m going back to bed,” interrupted Hugh, +“or read a little Latin and Greek with Mr. +Brockton.” There was impudence as well +as humor in this, for the tutor had given up +Hugh in despair long ago. +</p> +<p> +Barbara shook her head. +</p> +<p> +“You are going with us,” she said. +</p> +<p> +“I want Hugh to ride with me,” said +Colonel Dale, “and give Firefly a little exercise. +Nobody else can ride him.” +</p> +<p> +The Kentucky boy turned a challenging +eye, as did every young man at the table, +and Hugh felt very comfortable. While every +one was getting ready, Harry brought out two +foils and two masks on the porch a little later. +</p> +<p> +“We fight with those,” he said, pointing +to the crossed rapiers on the wall, “but we +practise with these. Hugh, there, is the +champion fencer,” he said, “and he’ll show +you.” +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_63'></a>63</span> +</p> +<p> +Harry helped the Kentucky boy to mask +and they crossed foils—Hugh giving instructions +all the time and nodding approval. +</p> +<p> +“You’ll learn—you’ll learn fast,” he said. +And over his shoulder to Harry: +</p> +<p> +“Why, his wrist is as strong as mine now, +and he’s got an eye like a weasel.” +</p> +<p> +With a twist he wrenched the foil from his +antagonist’s hand and clattered it on the +steps. The Kentuckian was bewildered and +his face flushed. He ran for the weapon. +</p> +<p> +“You can’t do that again.” +</p> +<p> +“I don’t believe I can,” laughed Hugh. +</p> +<p> +“Will you learn me some more?” asked the +boy eagerly. +</p> +<p> +“I surely will.” +</p> +<p> +A little later Barbara and her cousin were +trotting smartly along a sandy road through +the fields with the colonel and Hugh loping +in front of them. Firefly was a black mettlesome +gelding. He had reared and plunged +when Hugh mounted, and even now he was +champing his bit and leaping playfully at +times, but the lad sat him with an unconcern +of his capers that held the Kentucky boy’s +eyes. +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_64'></a>64</span> +</p> +<p> +“Gosh,” he said, “but Hugh can ride! +I wonder if he could stay on him bareback.” +</p> +<p> +“I suppose so,” Barbara said; “Hugh can +do anything.” +</p> +<p> +The summer fields of corn and grain waved +away on each side under the wind, innumerable +negroes were at work and song on either +side, great barns and whitewashed cabins +dotted the rich landscape which beyond the +plantation broke against woods of sombre +pines. For an hour they drove, the boy’s +bewildered eye missing few details and understanding +few, so foreign to him were all the +changes wrought by the hand, and he could +hardly have believed that this country was +once as wild as his own—that this was to be +impoverished and his own become even a +richer land. Many questions the little girl +asked—and some of his answers made her +shudder. +</p> +<p> +“Papa said last night that several of our +kinsfolk spoke of going to your country in a +party, and Harry and Hugh are crazy to go +with them. Papa said people would be +swarming over the Cumberland Mountains +before long.” +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_65'></a>65</span> +</p> +<p> +“I wish you’d come along.” +</p> +<p> +Barbara laughed. +</p> +<p> +“I wouldn’t like to lose my hair.” +</p> +<p> +“I’ll watch out for that,” said the boy +with such confident gravity that Barbara +turned to look at him. +</p> +<p> +“I believe you would,” she murmured. +And presently: +</p> +<p> +“What did the Indians call you?” +</p> +<p> +“White Arrow.” +</p> +<p> +“White Arrow. That’s lovely. Why?” +</p> +<p> +“I could outrun all the other boys.” +</p> +<p> +“Then you’ll have to run to-morrow when +we go to the fair at Williamsburg.” +</p> +<p> +“The fair?” +</p> +<p> +Barbara explained. +</p> +<p> +For an hour or more they had driven and +there was no end to the fields of tobacco and +grain. +</p> +<p> +“Are we still on your land?” +</p> +<p> +Barbara laughed. “Yes, we can’t drive +around the plantation and get back for dinner. +I think we’d better turn now.” +</p> +<p> +“Plan-ta-tion,” said the lad. “What’s +that?” +</p> +<p> +Barbara waved her whip. +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_66'></a>66</span> +</p> +<p> +“Why, all this—the land—the farm.” +</p> +<p> +“Oh!” +</p> +<p> +“It’s called Red Oaks—from those big +trees back of the house.” +</p> +<p> +“Oh. I know oaks—all of ’em.” +</p> +<p> +She wheeled the ponies and with fresh +zest they scampered for home. She even +let them run for a while, laughing and chatting +meanwhile, though the light wagon +swayed from side to side perilously as the boy +thought, and when, in his ignorance of the +discourtesy involved, he was on the point of +reaching for the reins, she spoke to them and +pulled them gently into a swift trot. Everybody +had gathered for the noonday dinner +when they swung around the great trees and +up to the back porch. The clamor of the +great bell gave its summons and the guests +began straggling in by couples from the garden. +Just as they were starting in the +Kentucky boy gave a cry and darted down the +path. A towering figure in coonskin cap and +hunter’s garb was halted at the sun-dial and +looking toward them. +</p> +<p> +“Now, I wonder who <em>that</em> is,” said Colonel +Dale. “Jupiter, but that boy can run!” +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_67'></a>67</span> +</p> +<p> +They saw the tall stranger stare wonderingly +at the boy and throw back his head and +laugh. Then the two came on together. The +boy was still flushed but the hunter’s face +was grave. +</p> +<p> +“This is Dave,” said the boy simply. +</p> +<p> +“Dave Yandell,” added the stranger, smiling +and taking off his cap. “I’ve been at +Williamsburg to register some lands and I +thought I’d come and see how this young man +is getting along.” +</p> +<p> +Colonel Dale went quickly to meet him with +outstretched hand. +</p> +<p> +“I’m glad you did,” he said heartily. +“Erskine has already told us about you. +You are just in time for dinner.” +</p> +<p> +“That’s mighty kind,” said Dave. And +the ladies, after he was presented, still looked +at him with much curiosity and great interest. +Truly, strange visitors were coming to Red +Oaks these days. +</p> +<p> +That night the subject of Hugh and Harry +going back home with the two Kentuckians +was broached to Colonel Dale, and to the wondering +delight of the two boys both fathers +seemed to consider it favorably. Mr. Brockton was +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_68'></a>68</span> +going to England for a visit, the +summer was coming on, and both fathers +thought it would be a great benefit to their +sons. Even Mrs. Dale, on whom the hunter +had made a most agreeable impression, smiled +and said she would already be willing to trust +her son with their new guest anywhere. +</p> +<p> +“I shall take good care of him, madam,” +said Dave with a bow. +</p> +<p> +Colonel Dale, too, was greatly taken with +the stranger, and he asked many questions +of the new land beyond the mountains. +There was dancing again that night, and the +hunter, towering a head above them all, +looked on with smiling interest. He even took +part in a square dance with Miss Jane Willoughby, +handling his great bulk with astonishing +grace and lightness of foot. Then +the elder gentlemen went into the drawing-room +to their port and pipes, and the boy +Erskine slipped after them and listened enthralled +to the talk of the coming war. +</p> +<p> +Colonel Dale had been in Hanover ten +years before, when one Patrick Henry voiced +the first intimation of independence in Virginia; +Henry, a country storekeeper—bankrupt; farmer—bankrupt; +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_69'></a>69</span> +storekeeper again, +and bankrupt again; an idler, hunter, fisher, +and story-teller—even a “barkeeper,” as Mr. +Jefferson once dubbed him, because Henry +had once helped his father-in-law to keep +tavern. That far back Colonel Dale had +heard Henry denounce the clergy, stigmatize +the king as a tyrant who had forfeited all +claim to obedience, and had seen the orator +caught up on the shoulders of the crowd and +amidst shouts of applause borne around the +court-house green. He had seen the same +Henry ride into Richmond two years later +on a lean horse: with papers in his saddle-pockets, +his expression grim, his tall figure +stooping, a peculiar twinkle in his small blue +eyes, his brown wig without powder, his coat +peach-blossom in color, his knee-breeches of +leather, and his stockings of yarn. The +speaker of the Burgesses was on a dais under +a red canopy supported by gilded rods, and +the clerk sat beneath with a mace on the +table before him, but Henry cried for liberty +or death, and the shouts of treason failed +then and there to save Virginia for the king. +The lad’s brain whirled. What did all this +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_70'></a>70</span> +mean? Who was this king and what had he +done? He had known but the one from whom +he had run away. And this talk of taxes +and Stamp Acts; and where was that strange +land, New England, whose people had made +tea of the salt water in Boston harbor? +Until a few days before he had never known +what tea was, and he didn’t like it. When he +got Dave alone he would learn and learn and +learn—everything. And then the young people +came quietly in and sat down quietly, +and Colonel Dale, divining what they wanted, +got Dave started on stories of the wild wilderness +that was his home—the first chapter in +the Iliad of Kentucky—the land of dark +forests and cane thickets that separated +Catawbas, Creeks, and Cherokees on the +south from Delawares, Wyandottes, and +Shawnees on the north, who fought one another, +and all of whom the whites must fight. +How Boone came and stayed two years in +the wilderness alone, and when found by his +brother was lying on his back in the woods +lustily singing hymns. How hunters and +surveyors followed; how the first fort was +built, and the first women stood on the banks +of the Kentucky River. He told of the perils +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_71'></a>71</span> +and hardships of the first journeys thither—fights +with wild beasts and wild men, chases, +hand-to-hand combats, escapes, and massacres—and +only the breathing of his listeners +could be heard, save the sound of his own +voice. And he came finally to the story of +the attack on the fort, the raising of a small +hand above the cane, palm outward, and the +swift dash of a slender brown body into the +fort, and then, seeing the boy’s face turn scarlet, +he did not tell how that same lad had +slipped back into the woods even while the +fight was going on, and slipped back with the +bloody scalp of his enemy, but ended with +the timely coming of the Virginians, led by +the lad’s father, who got his death-wound +at the very gate. The tense breathing of his +listeners culminated now in one general deep +breath. +</p> +<p> +Colonel Dale rose and turned to General +Willoughby. +</p> +<p> +“And <em>that’s</em> where he wants to take our +boys.” +</p> +<p> +“Oh, it’s much safer now,” said the hunter. +“We have had no trouble for some time, and +there’s no danger inside the fort.” +</p> +<p> +“I can imagine you keeping those boys +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_72'></a>72</span> +inside the fort when there’s so much going +on outside. Still—” Colonel Dale stopped +and the two boys took heart again. The +ladies rose to go to bed, and Mrs. Dale was +shaking her head very doubtfully, but she +smiled up at the tall hunter when she bade +him good night. +</p> +<p> +“I shall not take back what I said.” +</p> +<p> +“Thank you, madam,” said Dave, and he +bent his lips to her absurdly little white hand. +</p> +<p> +Colonel Dale escorted the boy and Dave to +their room. Mr. Yandell must go with them +to the fair at Williamsburg next morning, +and Mr. Yandell would go gladly. They +would spend the night there and go to the +Governor’s Ball. The next day there was a +county fair, and perhaps Mr. Henry would +speak again. Then Mr. Yandell must come +back with them to Red Oaks and pay them a +visit—no, the colonel would accept no excuse +whatever. +</p> +<p> +The boy plied Dave with questions about +the people in the wilderness and passed to +sleep. Dave lay awake a long time thinking +that war was sure to come. They were Americans +now, said Colonel Dale—not Virginians, +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_73'></a>73</span> +just as nearly a century later the same people +were to say: +</p> +<p> +“We are not Americans now—we are +Virginians.” +</p> +<h2><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_74'></a>74</span><a name='chVII' id='chVII'></a>VII</h2> +<p> +It was a merry cavalcade that swung +around the great oaks that spring morning +in 1774. Two coaches with outriders and +postilions led the way with their precious +freight—the elder ladies in the first coach, and +the second blossoming with flower-like faces +and starred with dancing eyes. Booted and +spurred, the gentlemen rode behind, and after +them rolled the baggage-wagons, drawn by +mules in jingling harness. Harry on a chestnut +sorrel and the young Kentuckian on a +high-stepping gray followed the second coach—Hugh +on Firefly champed the length of the +column. Colonel Dale and Dave brought up +the rear. The road was of sand and there +was little sound of hoof or wheel—only the +hum of voices, occasional sallies when a +neighbor joined them, and laughter from the +second coach as happy and care-free as the +singing of birds from trees by the roadside. +</p> +<p> +The capital had been moved from Jamestown +to the spot where Bacon had taken the +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_75'></a>75</span> +oath against England—then called Middle-Plantation, +and now Williamsburg. The +cavalcade wheeled into Gloucester Street, and +Colonel Dale pointed out to Dave the old +capitol at one end and William and Mary +College at the other. Mr. Henry had thundered +in the old capitol, the Burgesses had +their council-chamber there, and in the hall +there would be a ball that night. Near the +street was a great building which the colonel +pointed out as the governor’s palace, surrounded +by pleasure-grounds of full three +hundred acres and planted thick with linden-trees. +My Lord Dunmore lived there. Back +at the plantation Dave had read in an old +copy of <em>The Virginia Gazette</em>, amid advertisements +of shopkeepers, the arrival and departure +of ships, and poetical bits that sang of +Myrtilla, Florella, and other colonial belles, +how the town had made an illumination in +honor of the recent arrival of the elegant Lady +Dunmore and her three fine, sprightly daughters, +from whose every look flashed goodness of +heart. For them the gentlemen of the Burgesses +were to give a ball the next night. At +this season the planters came with their families to +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_76'></a>76</span> +the capitol, and the street was as +brilliant as a fancy-dress parade would be to +us now. It was filled with coaches and fours. +Maidens moved daintily along in silk and +lace, high-heeled shoes and clocked stockings. +Youths passed on spirited horses, college +students in academic dress swaggered through +the throng, and from his serene excellency’s +coach, drawn by six milk-white horses, my +lord bowed grimly to the grave lifting of +hats on either side of the street. +</p> +<p> +The cavalcade halted before a building +with a leaden bust of Sir Walter Raleigh over +the main doorway, the old Raleigh Tavern, +in the Apollo Room of which Mr. Jefferson had +rapturously danced with his Belinda, and +which was to become the Faneuil Hall of +Virginia. Both coaches were quickly surrounded +by bowing gentlemen, young gallants, +and frolicsome students. Dave, the +young Kentuckian, and Harry would be put +up at the tavern, and, for his own reasons, +Hugh elected to stay with them. With an +<em>au revoir</em> of white hands from the coaches, the +rest went on to the house of relatives and +friends. +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_77'></a>77</span> +</p> +<p> +Inside the tavern Hugh was soon surrounded +by fellow students and boon companions. +He pressed Dave and the boy to +drink with them, but Dave laughingly declined +and took the lad up to their room. +Below they could hear Hugh’s merriment +going on, and when he came up-stairs a while +later his face was flushed, he was in great +spirits, and was full of enthusiasm over a horserace +and cock-fight that he had arranged for +the afternoon. With him came a youth of +his own age with daredevil eyes and a suave +manner, one Dane Grey, to whom Harry +gave scant greeting. One patronizing look +from the stranger toward the Kentucky boy +and within the latter a fire of antagonism was +instantly kindled. With a word after the +two went out, Harry snorted his explanation: +</p> +<p> +“Tory!” +</p> +<p> +In the early afternoon coach and horsemen +moved out to an “old field.” Hugh was +missing from the Dale party, and General +Willoughby frowned when he noted his son’s +absence. When they arrived a most extraordinary +concert of sounds was filling the air. +On a platform stood twenty fiddlers in contest +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_78'></a>78</span> +for a fiddle—each sawing away for dear life +and each playing a different tune—a custom +that still survives in our own hills. After +this a “quire of ballads” was sung for. +Then a crowd of boys gathered to run one +hundred and twelve yards for a hat worth +twelve shillings, and Dave nudged his young +friend. A moment later Harry cried to Barbara: +</p> +<p> +“Look there!” +</p> +<p> +There was their young Indian lining up +with the runners, his face calm, but an eager +light in his eyes. At the word he started off +almost leisurely, until the whole crowd was +nearly ten yards ahead of him, and then a +yell of astonishment rose from the crowd. +The boy was skimming the grounds on wings. +Past one after another he flew, and laughing +and hardly out of breath he bounded over the +finish, with the first of the rest laboring with +bursting lungs ten yards behind. Hugh and +Dane Grey had appeared arm in arm and were +moving through the crowd with great gayety +and some boisterousness, and when the boy +appeared with his hat Grey shouted: +</p> +<p> +“Good for the little savage!” Erskine +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_79'></a>79</span> +wheeled furiously but Dave caught him by +the arm and led him back to Harry and Barbara, +who looked so pleased that the lad’s ill-humor +passed at once. +</p> +<p> +“Whut you reckon I c’n do with this hat?” +</p> +<p> +“Put it on!” smiled Barbara; but it was so +ludicrous surmounting his hunter’s garb that +she couldn’t help laughing aloud. Harry +looked uneasy, but it was evident that the +girl was the one person who could laugh at +the sensitive little woodsman with no offense. +</p> +<p> +“I reckon you’re right,” he said, and gravely +he handed it to Harry and gravely Harry +accepted it. Hugh and his friend had not +approached them, for Hugh had seen the frown +on his father’s face, but Erskine saw Grey +look long at Barbara, turn to question Hugh, +and again he began to burn within. +</p> +<p> +The wrestlers had now stepped forth to +battle for a pair of silver buckles, and the +boy in turn nudged Dave, but unavailingly. +The wrestling was good and Dave watched it +with keen interest. One huge bull-necked +fellow was easily the winner, but when the +silver buckles were in his hand, he boastfully +challenged anybody in the crowd. Dave +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_80'></a>80</span> +shouldered through the crowd and faced the +victor. +</p> +<p> +“I’ll try you once,” he said, and a shout of +approval rose. +</p> +<p> +The Dale party crowded close and my lord’s +coach appeared on the outskirts and stopped. +</p> +<p> +“Backholts or catch-as-catch-can?” asked +the victor sneeringly. +</p> +<p> +“As you please,” said Dave. +</p> +<p> +The bully rushed. Dave caught him +around the neck with his left arm, his right +swinging low, the bully was lifted from the +ground, crushed against Dave’s breast, the +wind went out of him with a grunt, and Dave +with a smile began swinging him to and fro +as though he were putting a child to sleep. +The spectators yelled their laughter and the +bully roared like a bull. Then Dave reached +around with his left hand, caught the bully’s +left wrist, pulled loose his hold, and with a +leftward twist of his own body tossed his antagonist +some several feet away. The bully +turned once in the air and lighted resoundingly +on his back. He got up dazed and sullen, +but breaking into a good-natured laugh, shook +his head and held forth the buckles to Dave. +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_81'></a>81</span> +</p> +<p> +“You won ’em,” Dave said. “They’re +yours. I wasn’t wrastling for them. You +challenged. We’ll shake hands.” +</p> +<p> +Then my Lord Dunmore sent for Dave +and asked him where he was from. +</p> +<p> +“And do you know the Indian country on +this side of the Cumberland?” asked his lordship. +</p> +<p> +“Very well.” +</p> +<p> +His lordship smiled thoughtfully. +</p> +<p> +“I may have need of you.” +</p> +<p> +Dave bowed: +</p> +<p> +“I am an American, my lord.” +</p> +<p> +His lordship flamed, but he controlled himself. +</p> +<p> +“You are at least an open enemy,” he +said, and gave orders to move on. +</p> +<p> +The horse-race was now on, and meanwhile +a pair of silk stockings, of one pistol’s value, +was yet to be conferred. Colonel Dale had +given Hugh permission to ride Firefly in the +race, but when he saw the lad’s condition he +peremptorily refused. +</p> +<p> +“And nobody else can ride him,” he said, +with much disappointment. +</p> +<p> +“Let me try!” cried Erskine. +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_82'></a>82</span> +</p> +<p> +“You!” Colonel Dale started to laugh, but +he caught Dave’s eye. +</p> +<p> +“Surely,” said Dave. The colonel hesitated. +</p> +<p> +“Very well—I will.” +</p> +<p> +At once the three went to the horse, and +the negro groom rolled his eyes when he +learned what his purpose was. +</p> +<p> +“Dis hoss’ll kill dat boy,” he muttered, +but the horse had already submitted his +haughty head to the lad’s hand and was +standing quietly. Even Colonel Dale showed +amazement and concern when the boy insisted +that the saddle be taken off, as he +wanted to ride bareback, and again Dave overcame +his scruples with a word of full confidence. +The boy had been riding pony-races +bareback, he explained, among the Indians, +as long as he had been able to sit a horse. +The astonishment of the crowd when they +saw Colonel Dale’s favorite horse enter the +course with a young Indian apparently on +him bareback will have to be imagined, but +when they recognized the rider as the lad +who had won the race, the betting through +psychological perversity was stronger than +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_83'></a>83</span> +ever on Firefly. Hugh even took an additional +bet with his friend Grey, who was quite +openly scornful. +</p> +<p> +“You bet on the horse now,” he said. +</p> +<p> +“On both,” said Hugh. +</p> +<p> +It was a pretty and a close race between +Firefly and a white-starred bay mare, and +they came down the course neck and neck +like two whirlwinds. A war-whoop so Indian-like +and curdling that it startled every old +frontiersman who heard it came suddenly +from one of the riders. Then Firefly stretched +ahead inch by inch, and another triumphant +savage yell heralded victory as the black +horse swept over the line a length ahead. +Dane Grey swore quite fearfully, for it was a +bet that he could ill afford to lose. He was +talking with Barbara when the boy came back +to the Dales, and something he was saying +made the girl color resentfully, and the lad +heard her say sharply: +</p> +<p> +“He is my cousin,” and she turned away +from the young gallant and gave the youthful +winner a glad smile. Just then a group of +four men stopped near, looked closely at the +little girl, and held a short consultation. One +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_84'></a>84</span> +of them came forward with a pair of silk +stockings in his hand. +</p> +<p> +“These are for the loveliest maiden present +here. The committee chooses you.” +</p> +<p> +And later he reported to his fellow members: +</p> +<p> +“It was like a red rose courtesying and +breathing thanks.” +</p> +<p> +Again Hugh and Dane Grey were missing +when the party started back to the town—they +were gone to bet on “Bacon’s Thunderbolts” +in a cock-fight. That night they still +were missing when the party went to see the +Virginia Comedians in a play by one Mr. +Congreve—they were gaming that night—and +next morning when the Kentucky lad +rose, he and Dave through his window saw +the two young roisterers approaching the +porch of the hotel—much dishevelled and all +but staggering with drink. +</p> +<p> +“I don’t like that young man,” said Dave, +“and he has a bad influence on Hugh.” +</p> +<p> +That morning news came from New England +that set the town a-quiver. England’s +answer to the Boston tea-party had been the +closing of Boston harbor. In the House of +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_85'></a>85</span> +Burgesses, the news was met with a burst +of indignation. The 1st of June was straight-way +set apart as a day of fasting, humiliation, +and prayer that God would avert the calamity +threatening the civil rights of America. In +the middle of the afternoon my lord’s coach +and six white horses swung from his great +yard and made for the capitol—my lord +sitting erect and haughty, his lips set with +the resolution to crush the spirit of the rebellion. +It must have been a notable scene, +for Nicholas, Bland, Lee, Harrison, Pendleton, +Henry, and Jefferson, and perhaps Washington, +were there. And my lord was far +from popular. He had hitherto girded himself +with all the trappings of etiquette, had +a court herald prescribe rules for the guidance +of Virginians in approaching his excellency, +had entertained little and, unlike his predecessors, +made no effort to establish cordial +relations with the people of the capitol. +The Burgesses were to give a great ball in +his honor that very night, and now he was +come to dissolve them. And dissolve them +he did. They bowed gravely and with no +protest. Shaking with anger my lord stalked +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_86'></a>86</span> +to his coach and six while they repaired to the +Apollo Room to prohibit the use of tea and +propose a general congress of the colonies. +And that ball came to pass. Haughty hosts +received their haughty guest with the finest +and gravest courtesy, bent low over my lady’s +hand, danced with her daughters, and wrung +from my lord’s reluctant lips the one grudging +word of comment: +</p> +<p> +“Gentlemen!” +</p> +<p> +And the ladies of his family bobbed their +heads sadly in confirmation, for the steel-like +barrier between them was so palpable +that it could have been touched that night, it +seemed, by the hand. +</p> +<p> +The two backwoodsmen had been dazzled +by the brilliance of it all, for the boy had stood +with Barbara, who had been allowed to look +on for a while. Again my lord had summoned +Dave to him and asked many questions about +the wilderness beyond the Cumberland, and +he even had the boy to come up and shake +hands, and asked him where he had learned +to ride so well. He lifted his eyebrows when +Dave answered for him and murmured with +surprise and interest: +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_87'></a>87</span> +</p> +<p> +“So—so!” +</p> +<p> +Before Barbara was sent home Hugh and +Dane Grey, dressed with great care, came in, +with an exaggeration of dignity and politeness +that fooled few others than themselves. Hugh, +catching Barbara’s sad and reproachful glance, +did not dare go near her, but Dane made +straight for her side when he entered the room—and +bowed with great gallantry. To the +boy he paid no attention whatever, and the +latter, fired with indignation and hate, turned +hastily away. But in a corner unseen he +could not withhold watching the two closely, +and he felt vaguely that he was watching a +frightened bird and a snake. The little girl’s +self-composure seemed quite to vanish, her +face flushed, her eyes were downcast, and her +whole attitude had a mature embarrassment +that was far beyond her years. The lad wondered +and was deeply disturbed. The half +overlooking and wholly contemptuous glance +that Grey had shot over his head had stung +him like a knife-cut, so like an actual knife +indeed that without knowing it his right hand +was then fumbling at his belt. Dave too was +noticing and so was Barbara’s mother and her +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_88'></a>88</span> +father, who knew very well that this smooth, +suave, bold, young daredevil was deliberately +leading Hugh into all the mischief he could +find. Nor did he leave the girl’s side until +she was taken home. Erskine, too, left then +and went back to the tavern and up to his +room. Then with his knife in his belt he went +down again and waited on the porch. Already +guests were coming back from the party and +it was not long before he saw Hugh and Dane +Grey half-stumbling up the steps. Erskine +rose. Grey confronted the lad dully for a +moment and then straightened. +</p> +<p> +“Here’s anuzzer one wants to fight,” he +said thickly. “My young friend, I will +oblige you anywhere with anything, at any +time—except to-night. You must regard zhat +as great honor, for I am not accustomed to +fight with savages.” +</p> +<p> +And he waved the boy away with such +an insolent gesture that the lad, knowing no +other desire with an enemy than to kill in any +way possible, snatched his knife from his belt. +He heard a cry of surprise and horror from +Hugh and a huge hand caught his upraised +wrist. +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_89'></a>89</span> +</p> +<p> +“Put it back!” said Dave sternly. +</p> +<p> +The dazed boy obeyed and Dave led him +up-stairs. +</p> +<h2><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_90'></a>90</span><a name='chVIII' id='chVIII'></a>VIII</h2> +<p> +Dave talked to the lad about the enormity +of his offense, but to Dave he was inclined to +defend himself and his action. Next morning, +however, when the party started back to +Red Oaks, Erskine felt a difference in the atmosphere +that made him uneasy. Barbara +alone seemed unchanged, and he was quick to +guess that she had not been told of the incident. +Hugh was distinctly distant and surly +for another reason as well. He had wanted +to ask young Grey to become one of their +party and his father had decisively forbidden +him—for another reason too than his influence +over Hugh: Grey and his family were Tories +and in high favor with Lord Dunmore. +</p> +<p> +As yet Dave had made no explanation or +excuse for his young friend, but he soon made +up his mind that it would be wise to offer the +best extenuation as soon as possible; which +was simply that the lad knew no better, had +not yet had the chance to learn, and on the +rage of impulse had acted just as he would +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_91'></a>91</span> +have done among the Indians, whose code +alone he knew. +</p> +<p> +The matter came to a head shortly after +their arrival at Red Oaks when Colonel Dale, +Harry, Hugh, and Dave were on the front +porch. The boy was standing behind the +box-hedge near the steps and Barbara had +just appeared in the doorway. +</p> +<p> +“Well, what was the trouble?” Colonel +Dale had just asked. +</p> +<p> +“He tried to stab Grey unarmed and without +warning,” said Hugh shortly. +</p> +<p> +At the moment, the boy caught sight of +Barbara. Her eyes, filled with scorn, met his +in one long, sad, withering look, and she turned +noiselessly back into the house. Noiselessly +too he melted into the garden, slipped down +to the river-bank, and dropped to the ground. +He knew at last what he had done. Nothing +was said to him when he came back to the +house and that night he scarcely opened his +lips. In silence he went to bed and next +morning he was gone. +</p> +<p> +The mystery was explained when Barbara +told how the boy too must have overheard +Hugh. +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_92'></a>92</span> +</p> +<p> +“He’s hurt,” said Dave, “and he’s gone +home.” +</p> +<p> +“On foot?” asked Colonel Dale incredulously. +</p> +<p> +“He can trot all day and make almost as +good time as a horse.” +</p> +<p> +“Why, he’ll starve.” +</p> +<p> +Dave laughed: +</p> +<p> +“He could get there on roots and herbs and +wild honey, but he’ll have fresh meat every +day. Still, I’ll have to try to overtake him. +I must go, anyhow.” +</p> +<p> +And he asked for his horse and went to +get ready for the journey. Ten minutes later +Hugh and Harry rushed joyously to his room. +</p> +<p> +“We’re going with you!” they cried, and +Dave was greatly pleased. An hour later all +were ready, and at the last moment Firefly +was led in, saddled and bridled, and with a +leading halter around his neck. +</p> +<p> +“Harry,” said Colonel Dale, “carry your +cousin my apologies and give him Firefly on +condition that he ride him back some day. +Tell him this home is his”—the speaker +halted, but went on gravely and firmly—“whenever +he pleases.” +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_93'></a>93</span> +</p> +<p> +“And give him my love,” said Barbara, +holding back her tears. +</p> +<p> +At the river-gate they turned to wave +a last good-by and disappeared in the woods. +At that hour the boy far over in the wilderness +ahead of them had cooked a squirrel +that he had shot for his breakfast and was +gnawing it to the bones. Soon he rose and +at a trot sped on toward his home beyond the +Cumberland. And with him, etched with +acid on the steel of his brain, sped two images—Barbara’s +face as he last saw it and the face +of young Dane Grey. +</p> +<p> +The boy’s tracks were easily to be seen +in the sandy road, and from them Dave judged +that he must have left long before daylight. +And he was travelling rapidly. They too +went as fast as they could, but Firefly led +badly and delayed them a good deal. Nobody +whom they questioned had laid eyes on +the boy, and apparently he had been slipping +into the bushes to avoid being seen. At sunset +Dave knew that they were not far behind +him, but when darkness hid the lad’s tracks +Dave stopped for the night. Again Erskine +had got the start by going on before day, and +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_94'></a>94</span> +it was the middle of the forenoon before Dave, +missing the tracks for a hundred yards, +halted and turned back to where a little +stream crossed the road and dismounted leading +his horse and scrutinizing the ground. +</p> +<p> +“Ah,” he said, “just what I expected. +He turned off here to make a bee-line for the +fort. He’s not far away now.” An hour +later he dismounted again and smiled: “We’re +pretty close now.” +</p> +<p> +Meanwhile Harry and Hugh were getting +little lessons in woodcraft. Dave pointed +out where the lad had broken a twig climbing +over a log, where the loose covering of +another log had been detached when he leaped +to it, and where he had entered the creek, the +toe of one moccasin pointing down-stream. +</p> +<p> +Then Dave laughed aloud: +</p> +<p> +“He’s seen us tracking him and he’s doubled +on us and is tracking us. I expect he’s looking +at us from somewhere around here.” +And he hallooed at the top of his voice, which +rang down the forest aisles. A war-whoop +answered almost in their ears that made the +blood leap in both the boys. Even Dave +wheeled with cocked rifle, and the lad stepped +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_95'></a>95</span> +from behind a bush scarcely ten feet behind +them. +</p> +<p> +“Well, by gum,” shouted Dave, “fooled +us, after all.” +</p> +<p> +A faint grin of triumph was on the lad’s +lips, but in his eyes was a waiting inquiry +directed at Harry and Hugh. They sprang +forward, both of them with their hands outstretched: +</p> +<p> +“We’re sorry!” +</p> +<p> +A few minutes later Hugh was transferring +his saddle from Firefly to his own horse, which +had gone a trifle lame. On Firefly, Harry +buckled the boy’s saddle and motioned for +him to climb up. The bewildered lad turned +to Dave, who laughed: +</p> +<p> +“It’s all right.” +</p> +<p> +“He’s your horse, cousin,” said Harry. +“My father sent him to you and says his +home is yours whenever you please. And +Barbara sent her love.” +</p> +<p> +At almost the same hour in the great house +on the James the old negress was carrying +from the boy’s room to Colonel Dale in the +library a kingly deed that the lad had left +behind him. It was a rude scrawl on a sheet +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_96'></a>96</span> +of paper, signed by the boy’s Indian name and +his totem mark—a buffalo pierced by an arrow. +</p> +<p> +“It make me laugh. I have no use. I give +hole dam plantashun Barbara.” +</p> +<p> +Thus read the scrawl! +</p> +<h2><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_97'></a>97</span><a name='chIX' id='chIX'></a>IX</h2> +<p> +Led by Dave, sometimes by the boy, the +four followed the course of rivers, upward, +always except when they descended some +mountain which they had to cross, and then +it was soon upward again. The two Virginia +lads found themselves, much to their chagrin, +as helpless as children, but they were apt +pupils and soon learned to make a fire with +flint and even with dry sticks of wood. On +the second day Harry brought down a buck, +and the swiftness and skill with which Dave +and the Kentucky boy skinned and cleaned +it greatly astonished the two young gentlemen +from the James. There Erskine had been +helpless, here these two were, and they were +as modest over the transposition as was the +Kentucky lad in the environment he had just +left. Once they saw a herd of buffalo and +they tied their horses and slipped toward +them. In his excitement Harry fired too +soon and the frightened herd thundered toward +them. +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_98'></a>98</span> +</p> +<p> +“Climb a tree!” shouted Erskine dropping +his rifle and skinning up a young hickory. +Like squirrels they obeyed and from their +perches they saw Dave in an open space ahead +of them dart for a tree too late. +</p> +<p> +The buffalo were making straight for them +through no purpose but to get away, and to +their horror they saw the big hunter squeezing +his huge body sidewise against a small tree and +the herd dashing under them and past him. +They could not see him for the shaggy bodies +rushing by, but when they passed, there was +Dave unhurt, though the tree on both sides +of him had been skinned of its bark by their +horns. +</p> +<p> +“Don’t do that again,” said Dave, and then +seeing the crestfallen terror on Harry’s face, +he smiled and patted the boy on the shoulder: +</p> +<p> +“You won’t again. You didn’t know. +You will next time.” +</p> +<p> +Three days later they reached the broad, +beautiful Holston River, passing over the +pine-crested, white-rocked summit of Clinch +Mountain, and came to the last outlying fort +of the western frontier. Next day they +started on the long, long wilderness trail +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_99'></a>99</span> +toward the Cumberland range. In the lowland +they found much holly and laurel and +rhododendron. Over Wallen’s Ridge they +followed a buffalo trail to a river that had +been called Beargrass because it was fringed +with spikes of white umbelliferous flowers +four feet high that were laden with honey and +beloved by Bruin of the sweet tooth. The +land was level down the valley. On the +third day therefrom the gray wall of the Cumberland +that ran with frowning inaccessibility +on their right gathered its flanks into steep +gray cliffs and dipped suddenly into Cumberland +Gap. Up this they climbed. On the +summit they went into camp, and next morning +Dave swept a long arm toward the wild +expanse to the west. +</p> +<p> +“Four more days,” he cried, “and we’ll +be there!” +</p> +<p> +The two boys looked with awe on the limitless +stretch of wooded wilds. It was still +Virginia, to be sure, but they felt that once +they started down they would be leaving +their own beloved State for a strange land of +unknown beasts and red men who peopled +that “dark and bloody ground.” +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_100'></a>100</span> +</p> +<p> +Before sunrise next morning they were +dropping down the steep and rocky trail. +Before noon they reached the beautiful Cumberland +River, and Dave told them that, below, +it ran over a great rocky cliff, tumbling +into foam and spray over mighty boulders +around which the Indians had to carry their +bark canoes. As they rode along the bank +of the stream the hills got lower and were +densely thicketed with laurel and rhododendron, +and impenetrable masses of cane-brake +filled every little valley curve. That night +they slept amid the rocky foot-hills of the +range, and next morning looked upon a vast +wilderness stretch of woods that undulated +to the gentle slopes of the hills, and that night +they were on the edge of the blue-grass land. +</p> +<p> +Toward sunset Dave, through a sixth sense, +had the uneasy feeling that he was not only +being followed but watched from the cliffs +alongside, and he observed that Erskine too +had more than once turned in his saddle or +lifted his eyes searchingly to the shaggy flanks +of the hills. Neither spoke to the other, but +that night when the hoot of an owl raised +Dave from his blanket, Erskine too was upright +with his rifle in his hand. For half an +hour they waited, and lay down again, only +to be awakened again by the snort of a horse, +when both sprang to their feet and crawled +out toward the sound. But the heavy silence +lay unbroken and they brought the horses +closer to the fire. +</p> +<div><a name='i100' id='i100'></a></div> +<div class='figcenter' style='padding-top: 1em; padding-bottom: 1em'> +<a name='i005' id='i005'></a> +<img src="images/i100.jpg" alt="“Four more days,” he cried, “and we’ll be there!”" width="60%" title=""/><br /> +<span class='caption'>“Four more days,” he cried, “and we’ll be there!”</span> +</div> +<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_101'></a>101</span></div> +<p> +“Now I <em>know</em> it was Indians,” said Dave; +“that hoss o’ mine can smell one further’n +a rattlesnake.” The boy nodded and they +took turns on watch while the two boys slept +on till daylight. The trail was broad enough +next morning for them to ride two abreast—Dave +and Erskine in advance. They had +scarcely gone a hundred yards when an Indian +stepped into the path twenty yards +ahead. Instinctively Dave threw his rifle up, +but Erskine caught his arm. The Indian +had lifted his hand—palm upward. “Shawnee!” +said the lad, as two more appeared +from the bushes. The eyes of the two tidewater +boys grew large, and both clinched +their guns convulsively. The Indian spokesman +paid no heed except to Erskine—and +only from the lad’s face, in which surprise was +succeeded by sorrow and then deep thoughtfulness, could +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_102'></a>102</span> +they guess what the guttural +speech meant, until Erskine turned to them. +</p> +<p> +They were not on the war-path against the +whites, he explained. His foster-father—Kahtoo, +the big chief, the king—was very ill, +and his message, brought by them, was that +Erskine should come back to the tribe and +become chief, as the chief’s only daughter was +dead and his only son had been killed by the +palefaces. They knew that in the fight at the +fort Erskine had killed the Shawnee, his tormentor, +for they knew the arrow, which +Erskine had not had time to withdraw. The +dead Shawnee’s brother—Crooked Lightning—was +with them. He it was who had recognized +the boy the day before, and they had +kept him from killing Erskine from the bushes. +At that moment a gigantic savage stepped +from the brush. The boy’s frame quivered, +straightened, grew rigid, but he met the malevolent +glare turned on him with emotionless +face and himself quietly began to speak while +Harry and Hugh and even Dave watched him +enthralled; for the lad was Indian now and +the old chief’s mantle was about his shoulders. +He sat his horse like a king and spoke as a +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_103'></a>103</span> +king. He thanked them for holding back +Crooked Lightning’s evil hand, but—contemptuously +he spat toward the huge savage—he +was not to die by that hand. He was +a paleface and the Indians had slain his white +mother. He had forgiven that, for he loved +the old chief and his foster mother and brother +and sister, and the tribe had always been kind +to him. Then they had killed his white +father and he had gone to visit his kindred +by the big waters, and now he loved <em>them</em>. +He had fled from the Shawnees because of +the cruelty of Crooked Lightning’s brother +whom he had slain. But if the Indians were +falling into evil ways and following evil counsels, +his heart was sad. +</p> +<p> +“I will come when the leaves fall,” he concluded, +“but Crooked Lightning must pitch +his lodge in the wilderness and be an outcast +from the tribe until he can show that his +heart is good.” And then with an imperious +gesture he waved his hand toward the +west: +</p> +<p> +“Now go!” +</p> +<p> +It was hard even for Dave to realize that +the lad, to all purposes, was actually then the +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_104'></a>104</span> +chief of a powerful tribe, and even he was a +little awed by the instant obedience of the +savages, who, without a word, melted into the +bushes and disappeared. Harry wished that +Barbara had been there to see, and Hugh was +open-mouthed with astonishment and wonder, +and Dave recovered himself with a little +chuckle only when without a word Erskine +clucked Firefly forward, quite unconsciously +taking the lead. And Dave humored him; nor +was it many hours before the lad ceased to be +chief, although he did not wholly become himself +again until they were near the fort. It was +nearing sunset and from a little hill Dave +pointed to a thin blue wisp of smoke rising +far ahead from the green expanse. +</p> +<p> +“There it is, boys!” he cried. All the +horses were tired except Firefly and with a +whoop Erskine darted forward and disappeared. +They followed as fast as they could +and they heard the report of the boy’s rifle +and the series of war-whoops with which he +was heralding his approach. Nobody in the +fort was fearful, for plainly it was no unfriendly +coming. All were gathered at the +big gate and there were many yells and cries +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_105'></a>105</span> +of welcome and wonder when the boy swept +into the clearing on a run, brandishing his +rifle above his head, and pulled his fiery black +horse up in front of them. +</p> +<p> +“Whar’d you steal that hoss?” shouted +Bud. +</p> +<p> +“Look at them clothes!” cried Jack Sanders. +And the women—Mother Sanders, +Mother Noe, and Lydia and Honor and Polly +Conrad—gathered about him, laughing, welcoming, +shaking hands, and asking questions. +</p> +<p> +“Where’s Dave?” That was the chief +question and asked by several voices at the +same time. The boy looked grave. +</p> +<p> +“Dave ain’t comin’ back,” he said, and +then seeing the look on Lydia’s face, he smiled: +“Dave—” He had no further to go, for Dave’s +rifle cracked and his voice rose from the woods, +and he and Harry and Hugh galloped into the +clearing. Then were there more whoopings +and greetings, and Lydia’s starting tears +turned to smiles. +</p> +<p> +Healthy, husky, rude, and crude these +people were, but hearty, kind, wholesome, +and hospitable to the last they had. Naturally +the young people and the two boys +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_106'></a>106</span> +from the James were mutually shy, but it was +plain that the shyness would soon wear off. +Before dark the men came in: old Jerome and +the Noe brothers and others who were strangers +even to Dave, for in his absence many +adventurers had come along the wilderness +trail and were arriving all the time. Already +Erskine and Bud had shown the two stranger +boys around the fort; had told them of the +last fight with the Indians, and pointed out the +outer walls pockmarked with bullet-holes. +Supper was in the open—the women serving +and the men seated about on buffalo-skins +and deer-hides. Several times Hugh +or Harry would spring up to help serve, +until Polly turned on Hugh sharply: +</p> +<p> +“You set still!” and then she smiled at +him. +</p> +<p> +“You’ll spile us—but I know a lot o’ +folks that might learn manners from you +two boys.” +</p> +<p> +Both were embarrassed. Dave laughed, +Bud Sanders grunted, and Erskine paid no +heed. All the time the interchange of news +and experiences was going on. Dave had +to tell about his trip and Erskine’s races—for +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_107'></a>107</span> +the lad would say nothing—and in turn +followed stories of killing buffalo, deer, panther, +and wildcat during his absence. Early +the women disappeared, soon the men began +to yawn and stretch, and the sentinels went +to the watch-towers, for there had been Indian +signs that day. This news thrilled the eastern +lads, and they too turned into the same +bed built out from the wall of one of the cabins +and covered with bearskins. And Harry, +just before his eyes closed, saw through the +open door Erskine seated alone by the dying +fire in deep thought—Erskine, the connecting-link +between the tide-water aristocrats and +these rude pioneers, between these backwoodsmen +and the savage enemies out in the black +encircling wilderness. And that boy’s brain +was in a turmoil—what was to be his fate, +there, here, or out there where he had promised +to go at the next falling of the leaves? +</p> +<h2><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_108'></a>108</span><a name='chX' id='chX'></a>X</h2> +<p> +The green of the wilderness dulled and burst +into the yellow of the buckeye, the scarlet of +maple, and the russet of oak. This glory in +turn dulled and the leaves, like petals of withered +flowers, began to drift to the earth. +Through the shower of them went Erskine +and Firefly, who had become as used to the +wilds as to the smiling banks of the far-away +James, for no longer did some strange scent +make his nostrils quiver or some strange +sound point his beautiful ears and make him +crouch and shudder, or some shadow or shaft +of light make him shy and leap like a deer +aside. And the two now were one in mutual +affection and a mutual understanding that +was uncanny. A brave picture the lad made +of those lone forerunners whose tent was the +wilderness and whose goal was the Pacific +slope. From his coonskin cap the bushy +tail hung like a plume; his deerskin hunting-shirt, +made by old Mother Sanders, was +beaded and fringed—fringed across the breast, +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_109'></a>109</span> +at the wrists, and at the hem, and girded by +a belt from which the horned handle of a +scalping-knife showed in front and the head +of a tomahawk behind; his powder-horn +swung under one shoulder and his bullet-pouch, +wadding, flint, and steel under the +other; his long rifle across his saddle-bow. +And fringed too were his breeches and beaded +were his moccasins. Dave had laughed at +him as a backwoods dandy and then checked +himself, so dignified was the boy and grave; +he was the son of a king again, and as such was +on his way in answer to the wish of a king. +For food he carried only a little sack of salt, +for his rifle would bring him meat and the +forest would give him nuts and fruit. When +the sun was nearing its highest, he “barked” +a squirrel from the trunk of a beech; toward +sunset a fat pheasant fluttered from the +ground to a low limb and he shot its head off +and camped for the night. Hickory-nuts, +walnuts, and chestnuts were abundant. Persimmons +and papaws were ripe, haws and +huckleberries were plentiful. There were wild +cherries and even wild plums, and when he +wished he could pluck a handful of wild grapes +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_110'></a>110</span> +from a vine by the trail and munch them as +he rode along. For something sweet he could +go to the pod of the honey-locust. +</p> +<p> +On the second day he reached the broad +buffalo trail that led to the salt-licks and on +to the river, and then memories came. He +remembered a place where the Indians had +camped after they had captured himself and +his mother. In his mind was a faint picture +of her sitting against a tree and weeping and +of an Indian striking her to make her stop and +of himself leaping at the savage like a little +wildcat, whereat the others laughed like +children. Farther on, next day, was the spot +where the Indians had separated them and +he saw his mother no more. They told him +that she had been taken back to the whites, +but he was told later that they had killed her +because in their flight from the whites she was +holding them back too much. Farther on +was a spot where they had hurried from the +trail and thrust him into a hollow log, barring +the exit with stones, and had left him for a +day and a night. +</p> +<p> +On the fourth day he reached the river +and swam it holding rifle and powder-horn +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_111'></a>111</span> +above his head. On the seventh he was nearing +the village where the sick chief lay, and +when he caught sight of the teepees in a little +creek bottom, he fired his rifle, and putting +Firefly into a gallop and with right hand high +swept into the village. Several bucks had +caught up bow or rifle at the report of the gun +and the clatter of hoofs, but their hands +relaxed when they saw his sign of peace. +The squaws gathered and there were grunts +of recognition and greeting when the boy +pulled up in their midst. The flaps of the +chief’s tent parted and his foster-mother +started toward him with a sudden stream of +tears and turned quickly back. The old +chief’s keen black eyes were waiting for her +and he spoke before she could open her lips: +</p> +<p> +“White Arrow! It is well. Here—at +once!” +</p> +<p> +Erskine had swung from his horse and followed. +The old chief measured him from +head to foot slowly and his face grew content: +</p> +<p> +“Show me the horse!” +</p> +<p> +The boy threw back the flaps of the tent +and with a gesture bade an Indian to lead +Firefly to and fro. The horse even thrust +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_112'></a>112</span> +his beautiful head over his master’s shoulder +and looked within, snorting gently. Kahtoo +waved dismissal: +</p> +<p> +“You must ride north soon to carry the +white wampum and a peace talk. And when +you go you must hurry back, for when the +sun is highest on the day after you return, my +spirit will pass.” +</p> +<p> +And thereupon he turned his face and went +back into sleep. Already his foster-mother +had unsaddled and tethered Firefly and given +him a feed of corn; and yet bucks, squaws, +girls, and pappooses were still gathered +around him, for some had not seen his like +before, and of the rest none failed to feel the +change that had taken place in him. Had +the lad in truth come to win and make good +his chieftainship, he could not have made +a better beginning, and there was not a maid +in camp in whose eyes there was not far more +than curiosity—young as he was. Just before +sunset rifle-shots sounded in the distance—the +hunters were coming in—and the accompanying +whoops meant great success. +Each of three bucks carried a deer over his +shoulders, and foremost of the three was +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_113'></a>113</span> +Crooked Lightning, who barely paused when +he saw Erskine, and then with an insolent +glare and grunt passed him and tossed his +deer at the feet of the squaws. The boy’s +hand slipped toward the handle of his tomahawk, +but some swift instinct kept him still. +The savage must have had good reason for +such open defiance, for the lad began to feel +that many others shared in his hostility and +he began to wonder and speculate. +</p> +<p> +Quickly the feast was prepared and the +boy ate apart—his foster-mother bringing +him food—but he could hear the story of the +day’s hunting and the allusions to the prowess +of Crooked Lightning’s son, Black Wolf, who +was Erskine’s age, and he knew they were +but slurs against himself. When the dance +began his mother pointed toward it, meaning +that he should take part, but he shook his +head—and his thoughts went backward to +his friends at the fort and on back to the big +house on the James, to Harry and Hugh—and +Barbara; and he wondered what they would +think if they could see him there; could see +the gluttonous feast and those naked savages +stamping around the fire with barbaric grunts +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_114'></a>114</span> +and cries to the thumping of a drum. Where +did he belong? +</p> +<p> +Fresh wood was thrown on the fire, and as +its light leaped upward the lad saw an aged +Indian emerge from one of two tents that +sat apart on a little rise—saw him lift both +hands toward the stars for a moment and then +return within. +</p> +<p> +“Who is that?” he asked. +</p> +<p> +“The new prophet,” said his mother. +“He has been but one moon here and has +much power over our young men.” +</p> +<p> +An armful of pine fagots was tossed on +the blaze, and in a whiter leap of light he saw +the face of a woman at the other tent—saw +her face and for a moment met her eyes before +she shrank back—and neither face nor +eyes belonged to an Indian. Startled, he +caught his mother by the wrist and all but +cried out: +</p> +<p> +“And that?” The old woman hesitated +and scowled: +</p> +<p> +“A paleface. Kahtoo bought her and +adopted her but”—the old woman gave a +little guttural cluck of triumph—“she dies +to-morrow. Kahtoo will burn her.” +</p> +<p> +“Burn her?” burst out the boy. +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_115'></a>115</span> +</p> +<p> +“The palefaces have killed many of Kahtoo’s +kin!” +</p> +<p> +A little later when he was passing near the +white woman’s tent a girl sat in front of it +pounding corn in a mortar. She looked up +at him and, staring, smiled. She had the skin +of the half-breed, and he stopped, startled by +that fact and her beauty—and went quickly +on. At old Kahtoo’s lodge he could not +help turning to look at her again, and this +time she rose quickly and slipped within the +tent. He turned to find his foster-mother +watching him. +</p> +<p> +“Who is that girl?” The old woman +looked displeased. +</p> +<p> +“Daughter of the white woman.” +</p> +<p> +“Does she know?” +</p> +<p> +“Neither knows.” +</p> +<p> +“What is her name?” +</p> +<p> +“Early Morn.” +</p> +<p> +Early Morn and daughter of the white +woman—he would like to know more of those +two, and he half turned, but the old Indian +woman caught him by the arm: +</p> +<p> +“Do not go there—you will only make +more trouble.” +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_116'></a>116</span> +</p> +<p> +He followed the flash of her eyes to the +edge of the firelight where a young Indian +stood watching and scowling: +</p> +<p> +“Who is that?” +</p> +<p> +“Black Wolf, son of Crooked Lightning.” +</p> +<p> +“Ah!” thought Erskine. +</p> +<p> +Within the old chief called faintly and the +Indian woman motioned the lad to go within. +The old man’s dim eyes had a new fire. +</p> +<p> +“Talk!” he commanded and motioned to +the ground, but the lad did not squat Indian +fashion, but stood straight with arms folded, +and the chief knew that a conflict was coming. +Narrowly he watched White Arrow’s face +and bearing—uneasily felt the strange new +power of him. +</p> +<p> +“I have been with my own people,” said +the lad simply, “the palefaces who have come +over the big mountains and have built forts +and planted corn, and they were kind to me. +I went over those mountains, on and on almost +to the big waters. I found my kin. They +are many and strong and rich. They have +big houses of stone such as I had never seen +nor heard of and they plant more corn than +all the Shawnees and Iroquois. They, too, +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_117'></a>117</span> +were kind to me. I came because you had +been kind and because you were sick and because +you had sent for me, and to keep my +word. +</p> +<p> +“I have seen Crooked Lightning. His +heart is bad. I have seen the new prophet. +I do not like him. And I have seen the white +woman that you are to burn to-morrow.” +The lad stopped. His every word had been +of defense or indictment and more than once +the old chief’s eyes shifted uneasily. +</p> +<p> +“Why did you leave us?” +</p> +<p> +“To see my people and because of Crooked +Lightning and his brother.” +</p> +<p> +“You fought us.” +</p> +<p> +“Only the brother, and I killed him.” +The dauntless mien of the boy, his steady +eyes, and his bold truthfulness, pleased the +old man. The lad must take his place as +chief. Now White Arrow turned questioner: +</p> +<p> +“I told you I would come when the leaves +fell and I am here. Why is Crooked Lightning +here? Why is the new prophet? Who +is the woman? What has she done that she +must die? What is the peace talk you wish +me to carry north?” +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_118'></a>118</span> +</p> +<p> +The old man hesitated long with closed +eyes. When he opened them the fire was +gone and they were dim again. +</p> +<p> +“The story of the prophet and Crooked +Lightning is too long,” he said wearily. “I +will tell to-morrow. The woman must die +because her people have slain mine. Besides, +she is growing blind and is a trouble. +You carry the white wampum to a council. +The Shawnees may join the British against +our enemies—the palefaces.” +</p> +<p> +“I will wait,” said the lad. “I will carry +the white wampum. If you war against the +paleface on this side of the mountain—I am +your enemy. If you war with the British +against them all—I am your enemy. And +the woman must not die.” +</p> +<p> +“I have spoken,” said the old man. +</p> +<p> +“<em>I</em> have spoken,” said the boy. He turned +to lie down and went to sleep. The old man +sat on, staring out at the stars. +</p> +<p> +Just outside the tent a figure slipped away +as noiselessly as a snake. When it rose and +emerged from the shadows the firelight showed +the malignant, triumphant face of Crooked +Lightning. +</p> +<h2><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_119'></a>119</span><a name='chXI' id='chXI'></a>XI</h2> +<p> +The Indian boys were plunging into the +river when Erskine appeared at the opening +of the old chief’s tent next morning, and when +they came out icicles were clinging to their +hair. He had forgotten the custom and +he shrugged his shoulders at his mother’s +inquiring look. But the next morning when +Crooked Lightning’s son Black Wolf passed +him with a taunting smile he changed his +mind. +</p> +<p> +“Wait!” he said. He turned, stripped +quickly to a breech-clout, pointed to a beech +down and across the river, challenging Black +Wolf to a race. Together they plunged in and +the boy’s white body clove through the water +like the arrow that he was. At the beech he +whipped about to meet the angry face of his +competitor ten yards behind. Half-way back +he was more than twenty yards ahead when +he heard a strangled cry. Perhaps it was a +ruse to cover the humiliation of defeat, but +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_120'></a>120</span> +when he saw bucks rushing for the river-bank +he knew that the icy water had brought a +cramp to Black Wolf, so he turned, caught the +lad by his topknot, towed him shoreward, +dropped him contemptuously, and stalked +back to his tent. The girl Early Morn stood +smiling at her lodge and her eyes followed his +white figure until it disappeared. His mother +had built a fire for him, and the old chief +looked pleased and proud. +</p> +<p> +“My spirit shall not pass,” he said, and +straightway he rose and dressed, and to the +astonishment of the tribe emerged from his +tent and walked firmly about the village until +he found Crooked Lightning. +</p> +<p> +“You would have Black Wolf chief,” he +said. “Very well. We shall see who can +show the better right—your son or White +Arrow”—a challenge that sent Crooked Lightning +to brood awhile in his tent, and then +secretly to consult the prophet. +</p> +<p> +Later the old chief talked long to White +Arrow. The prophet, he said, had been with +them but a little while. He claimed that the +Great Spirit had made revelations to him +alone. What manner of man was he, questioned the boy—did +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_121'></a>121</span> +he have ponies and pelts +and jerked meat? +</p> +<p> +“He is poor,” said the chief. “He has +only a wife and children and the tribe feeds +him.” +</p> +<p> +White Arrow himself grunted—it was the +first sign of his old life stirring within him. +</p> +<p> +“Why should the Great Spirit pick out +such a man to favor?” he asked. The chief +shook his head. +</p> +<p> +“He makes muzzi-neen for the young men, +shows them where to find game and they +find it.” +</p> +<p> +“But game is plentiful,” persisted the lad. +</p> +<p> +“You will hear him drumming in the woods +at night.” +</p> +<p> +“I heard him last night and I thought he +was a fool to frighten the game away.” +</p> +<p> +“Crooked Lightning has found much favor +with him, and in turn with the others, so that +I have not thought it wise to tell Crooked +Lightning that he must go. He has stirred +up the young men against me—and against +you. They were waiting for me to die.” +The boy looked thoughtful and the chief +waited. He had not reached the aim of his +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_122'></a>122</span> +speech and there was no need to put it in +words, for White Arrow understood. +</p> +<p> +“I will show them,” he said quietly. +</p> +<p> +When the two appeared outside, many +braves had gathered, for the whole village +knew what was in the wind. Should it be +a horse-race first? Crooked Lightning looked +at the boy’s thoroughbred and shook his head—Indian +ponies would as well try to outrun +an arrow, a bullet, a hurricane. +</p> +<p> +A foot-race? The old chief smiled when +Crooked Lightning shook his head again—no +brave in the tribe even could match the +speed that gave the lad his name. The bow +and arrow, the rifle, the tomahawk? Perhaps +the pole-dance of the Sioux? The last +suggestion seemed to make Crooked Lightning +angry, for a rumor was that Crooked +Lightning was a renegade Sioux and had been +shamed from the tribe because of his evasion +of that same pole-dance. Old Kahtoo had +humor as well as sarcasm. Tomahawks and +bows and arrows were brought out. Black +Wolf was half a head shorter, but stocky and +powerfully built. White Arrow’s sinews had +strengthened, but he had scarcely used bow +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_123'></a>123</span> +and tomahawk since he had left the tribe. +His tomahawk whistled more swiftly through +the air and buried itself deeper into the tree, +and his arrows flashed faster and were +harder to pull out. He had the power but +not the practice, and Black Wolf won with +great ease. When they came to the rifle, +Black Wolf was out of the game, for never +a bull’s-eye did White Arrow miss. +</p> +<p> +“To-morrow,” said the old chief, “they +shall hunt. Each shall take his bow and the +same number of arrows at sunrise and return +at sundown.... The next day they +shall do the same with the rifle. It is enough +for to-day.” +</p> +<p> +The first snow fell that night, and at dawn +the two lads started out—each with a bow +and a dozen arrows. Erskine’s woodcraft +had not suffered and the night’s story of the +wilderness was as plain to his keen eyes as a +printed page. Nothing escaped them, no +matter how minute the signs. Across the +patch where corn had been planted, field-mice +had left tracks like stitched seams. Crows +had been after crawfish along the edge of the +stream and a mink after minnows. A muskrat had crossed +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_124'></a>124</span> +the swamp beyond. In the +woods, wind-blown leaves had dotted and +dashed the snow like a stenographer’s notebook. +Here a squirrel had leaped along, his +tail showing occasionally in the snow, and +there was the four-pointed, triangle-track of +a cottontail. The wide-spreading toes of a +coon had made this tracery; moles had made +these snowy ridges over their galleries, and +this long line of stitched tracks was the trail +of the fearless skunk which came to a sudden +end in fur, feathers, and bones where the +great horned owl had swooped down on him, +the only creature that seems not to mind his +smell. Here was the print of a pheasant’s +wing, and buds and bits of twigs on the snow +were the scattered remnants of his breakfast. +Here was the spring hole that never freezes—the +drinking-cup for the little folks of the +woods. Here a hawk had been after a rabbit, +and the lengthening distance between his +triangles showed how he had speeded up in +flight. He had scudded under thick briers and +probably had gotten away. But where was the +big game? For two hours he tramped swiftly, +but never sign of deer, elk, bear, or buffalo. +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_125'></a>125</span> +</p> +<p> +And then an hour later he heard a snort +from a thick copse and the crash of an unseen +body in flight through the brush, and he +loped after its tracks. +</p> +<p> +Black Wolf came in at sunset with a bear +cub which he had found feeding apart from +its mother. He was triumphant, and Crooked +Lightning was scornful when White Arrow +appeared empty-handed. His left wrist was +bruised and swollen, and there was a gash the +length of his forearm. +</p> +<p> +“Follow my tracks back,” he said, “until +you come to the kill.” With a whoop two +Indians bounded away and in an hour returned +with a buck. +</p> +<p> +“I ran him down,” said White Arrow, +“and killed him with the knife. He horned +me,” and went into his tent. +</p> +<p> +The bruised wrist and wounded forearm +made no matter, for the rifle was the weapon +next day—but White Arrow went another +way to look for game. Each had twelve +bullets. Black Wolf came in with a deer and +one bullet. White Arrow told them where +they could find a deer, a bear, a buffalo, and +an elk, and he showed eight bullets in the +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_126'></a>126</span> +palm of his hand. And he noted now that +the Indian girl was always an intent observer +of each contest, and that she always went +swiftly back to her tent to tell his deeds to +the white woman within. +</p> +<p> +There was a feast and a dance that night, +and Kahtoo could have gone to his fathers and +left the lad, young as he was, as chief, but not +yet was he ready, and Crooked Lightning, +too, bided his time. +</p> +<h2><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_127'></a>127</span><a name='chXII' id='chXII'></a>XII</h2> +<p> +Dressed as an Indian, Erskine rode forth +next morning with a wampum belt and a talk +for the council north where the British were +to meet Shawnee, Iroquois, and Algonquin, +and urge them to enter the great war that +was just breaking forth. There was open +and angry protest against sending so young a +lad on so great a mission, but the old chief +haughtily brushed it aside: +</p> +<p> +“He is young but his feet are swift, his +arm is strong, his heart good, and his head +is old. He speaks the tongue of the paleface. +Besides, he is my son.” +</p> +<p> +One question the boy asked as he made +ready: +</p> +<p> +“The white woman must not be burned +while I am gone?” +</p> +<p> +“No,” promised the old chief. And so +White Arrow fared forth. Four days he +rode through the north woods, and on the +fifth he strode through the streets of a town +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_128'></a>128</span> +that was yet filled with great forest trees: a +town at which he had spent three winters +when the game was scarce and the tribe had +moved north for good. He lodged with no +chief but slept in the woods with his feet to +the fire. The next night he slipped to the +house of the old priest, Father André, who had +taught him some religion and a little French, +and the old man welcomed him as a son, +though he noted sadly his Indian dress and +was distressed when he heard the lad’s mission. +He was quickly relieved. +</p> +<p> +“I am no royalist,” he said. +</p> +<p> +“Nor am I,” said Erskine. “I came because +Kahtoo, who seemed nigh to death, +begged me to come. There is much intrigue +about him, and he could trust no other. I +am only a messenger and I shall speak his +talk; but my heart is with the Americans +and I shall fight with them.” The old priest +put his fingers to his lips: +</p> +<p> +“Sh-h-h! It is not wise. Are you not +known?” +</p> +<p> +Erskine hesitated. +</p> +<p> +Earlier that morning he had seen three +officers riding in. Following was a youth +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_129'></a>129</span> +not in uniform though he carried a sword. +On the contrary, he was dressed like an English +dandy, and then he found himself face +to face with Dane Grey. With no sign of +recognition the boy had met his eyes squarely +and passed on. +</p> +<p> +“There is but one man who does know +me and he did not recognize me. His name +is Dane Grey. I am wondering what he is +doing here. Can you find out for me and let +me know?” The old priest nodded and Erskine +slipped back to the woods. +</p> +<p> +At sunrise the great council began. On his +way Erskine met Grey, who apparently was +leaving with a band of traders for Detroit. +Again Erskine met his eyes and this time Grey +smiled: +</p> +<p> +“Aren’t you White Arrow?” Somehow +the tone with which he spoke the name was an +insult. +</p> +<p> +“Yes.” +</p> +<p> +“Then it’s true. We heard that you had +left your friends at the fort and become an +Indian again.” +</p> +<p> +“Yes?” +</p> +<p> +“So you are not only going to fight with +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_130'></a>130</span> +the Indians against the whites, but with the +British against America?” +</p> +<p> +“What I am going to do is no business of +yours,” Erskine said quietly, “but I hope we +shall not be on the same side. We may meet +again.” +</p> +<p> +Grey’s face was already red with drink and +it turned purple with anger. +</p> +<p> +“When you tried to stab me do you remember +what I said?” Erskine nodded contemptuously. +</p> +<p> +“Well, I repeat it. Whatever the side, +I’ll fight you anywhere at any time and in any +way you please.” +</p> +<p> +“Why not now?” +</p> +<p> +“This is not the time for private quarrels +and you know it.” +</p> +<p> +Erskine bowed slightly—an act that came +oddly from an Indian head-dress. +</p> +<p> +“I can wait—and I shall not forget. The +day will come.” +</p> +<p> +The old priest touched Erskine’s shoulder +as the angry youth rode away. +</p> +<p> +“I cannot make it out,” he said. “He +claims to represent an English fur company. +His talk is British but he told one man—last +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_131'></a>131</span> +night when he was drunk—that he could have +a commission in the American army.” +</p> +<p> +The council-fire was built, the flames +crackled and the smoke rolled upward and +swept through the leafless trees. Three British +agents sat on blankets and around them +the chiefs were ringed. All day the powwow +lasted. Each agent spoke and the burden of +his talk varied very little. +</p> +<p> +The American palefaces had driven the +Indian over the great wall. They were killing +his deer, buffalo, and elk, robbing him of +his land and pushing him ever backward. +They were many and they would become +more. The British were the Indian’s friends—the +Americans were his enemies and theirs; +could they choose to fight with their enemies +rather than with their friends? Each chief +answered in turn, and each cast forward his +wampum until only Erskine, who had sat +silent, remained, and Pontiac himself turned +to him. +</p> +<p> +“What says the son of Kahtoo?” +</p> +<p> +Even as he rose the lad saw creeping to the +outer ring his enemy Crooked Lightning, but +he appeared not to see. The whites looked +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_132'></a>132</span> +surprised when his boyish figure stood straight, +and they were amazed when he addressed the +traders in French, the agents in English, +and spoke to the feathered chiefs in their +own tongue. He cast the belt forward. +</p> +<p> +“That is Kahtoo’s talk, but this is mine.” +</p> +<p> +Who had driven the Indian from the great +waters to the great wall? The British. Who +were the Americans until now? British. +Why were the Americans fighting now? Because +the British, their kinsmen, would not +give them their rights. If the British would +drive the Indian to the great wall, would +they not go on doing what they charged the +Americans with doing now? If the Indians +must fight, why fight with the British to beat +the Americans, and then have to fight both +a later day? If the British would not treat +their own kinsmen fairly, was it likely that +they would treat the Indian fairly? They +had never done so yet. Would it not be +better for the Indian to make the white man +on his own land a friend rather than the white +man who lived more than a moon away across +the big seas? Only one gesture the lad made. +He lifted his hand high and paused. Crooked +Lightning had sprung to his feet with a hoarse +cry. Already the white men had grown uneasy, +for the chiefs had turned to the boy +with startled interest at his first sentence +and they could not know what he was saying. +But they looked relieved when Crooked Lightning +rose, for his was the only face in the +assembly that was hostile to the boy. With +a gesture Pontiac bade Crooked Lightning +speak. +</p> +<div><a name='i132' id='i132'></a></div> +<div class='figcenter' style='padding-top: 1em; padding-bottom: 1em'> +<a name='i006' id='i006'></a> +<img src="images/i132.jpg" alt="“That is Kahtoo’s talk, but this is mine”" width="60%" title=""/><br /> +<span class='caption'>“That is Kahtoo’s talk, but this is mine”</span> +</div> +<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_133'></a>133</span></div> +<p> +“The tongue of White Arrow is forked. I +have heard him say he would fight with the +Long Knives against the British and he would +fight with them even against his own tribe.” +One grunt of rage ran the round of three +circles and yet Pontiac stopped Crooked +Lightning and turned to the lad. Slowly the +boy’s uplifted hand came down. With a +bound he leaped through the head-dress of a +chief in the outer ring and sped away through +the village. Some started on foot after him, +some rushed to their ponies, and some sent +arrows and bullets after him. At the edge +of the village the boy gave a loud, clear call +and then another as he ran. Something black +sprang snorting from the edge of the woods +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_134'></a>134</span> +with pointed ears and searching eyes. Another +call came and like the swirling edge of +a hurricane-driven thunder-cloud Firefly swept +after his master. The boy ran to meet him, +caught one hand in his mane before he stopped, +swung himself up, and in a hail of arrows and +bullets swept out of sight. +</p> +<h2><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_135'></a>135</span><a name='chXIII' id='chXIII'></a>XIII</h2> +<p> +The sound of pursuit soon died away, but +Erskine kept Firefly at his best, for he knew +that Crooked Lightning would be quick and +fast on his trail. He guessed, too, that +Crooked Lightning had already told the tribe +what he had just told the council, and that +he and the prophet had already made all +use of the boy’s threat to Kahtoo in the +Shawnee town. He knew even that it might +cost him his life if he went back there, and +once or twice he started to turn through the +wilderness and go back to the fort. Winter +was on, and he had neither saddle nor bridle, +but neither fact bothered him. It was the +thought of the white woman who was to be +burned that kept him going and sent him +openly and fearlessly into the town. He +knew from the sullen looks that met him, +from the fear in the faces of his foster-mother +and the white woman who peered blindly +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_136'></a>136</span> +from her lodge, and from the triumphant +leer of the prophet that his every suspicion +was true, but all the more leisurely did he +swing from his horse, all the more haughtily +stalk to Kahtoo’s tent. And the old chief +looked very grave when the lad told the story +of the council and all that he had said and +done. +</p> +<p> +“The people are angry. They say you +are a traitor and a spy. They say you must +die. And I cannot help you. I am too old +and the prophet is too strong.” +</p> +<p> +“And the white woman?” +</p> +<p> +“She will not burn. Some fur traders +have been here. The white chief McGee sent +me a wampum belt and a talk. His messenger +brought much fire-water and he gave +me that”—he pointed to a silver-mounted +rifle—“and I promised that she should live. +But I cannot help you.” Erskine thought +quickly. He laid his rifle down, stepped +slowly outside, and stretched his arms with a +yawn. Then still leisurely he moved toward +his horse as though to take care of it. But +the braves were too keen and watchful and +they were not fooled by the fact that he had +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_137'></a>137</span> +left his rifle behind. Before he was close +enough to leap for Firefly’s back, three bucks +darted from behind a lodge and threw themselves +upon him. In a moment he was face +down on the ground, his hands were tied behind +his back, and when turned over he looked +up into the grinning face of Black Wolf, +who with the help of another brave dragged +him to a lodge and roughly threw him within, +and left him alone. On the way he saw his +foster-mother’s eyes flashing helplessly, saw +the girl Early Morn indignantly telling her +mother what was going on, and the white woman’s +face was wet with tears. He turned over +so that he could look through the tent-flaps. +Two bucks were driving a stake in the centre +of the space around which the lodges were +ringed. Two more were bringing fagots of +wood and it was plain what was going to become +of him. His foster-mother, who was +fiercely haranguing one of the chiefs, turned +angrily into Kahtoo’s lodge and he could see +the white woman rocking her body and wringing +her hands. Then the old chief appeared +and lifted his hands. +</p> +<p> +“Crooked Lightning will be very angry. +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_138'></a>138</span> +The prisoner is his—not yours. It is for him +to say what the punishment shall be—not +for you. Wait for him! Hold a council and +if you decide against him, though he is my +son—he shall die.” For a moment the preparations +ceased and all turned to the prophet, +who had appeared before his lodge. +</p> +<p> +“Kahtoo is right,” he said. “The Great +Spirit will not approve if White Arrow die +except by the will of the council—and Crooked +Lightning will be angry.” There was a chorus +of protesting grunts, but the preparations +ceased. The boy could feel the malevolence +in the prophet’s tone and he knew that the +impostor wanted to curry further favor with +Crooked Lightning and not rob him of the +joy of watching his victim’s torture. So the +braves went back to their fire-water, and soon +the boy’s foster-mother brought him something +to eat, but she could say nothing, for +Black Wolf had appointed himself sentinel +and sat rifle in hand at the door of the lodge. +</p> +<p> +Night came on. A wildcat screeched, a +panther screamed, and an elk bugled far +away. The drinking became more furious +and once Erskine saw a pale-brown arm +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_139'></a>139</span> +thrust from behind the lodge and place a +jug at the feet of Black Wolf, who grunted +and drank deep. The stars mounted into a +clear sky and the wind rose and made much +noise in the trees overhead. One by one the +braves went to drunken sleep about the fire. +The fire died down and by the last flickering +flame the lad saw Black Wolf’s chin sinking +sleepily to his chest. There was the slightest +rustle behind the tent. He felt something +groping for his hands and feet, felt the point +of a knife graze the skin of his wrist and ankles—felt +the thongs loosen and drop apart. +Noiselessly, inch by inch, he crept to the +wall of the tent, which was carefully lifted for +him. Outside he rose and waited. Like a +shadow the girl Early Morn stole before him +and like a shadow he followed. The loose +snow muffled their feet as the noise of the +wind had muffled his escape from the lodge, +and in a few minutes they were by the riverbank, +away from the town. The moon rose +and from the shadow of a beech the white +woman stepped forth with his rifle and +powder-horn and bullet-pouch and some food. +She pointed to his horse a little farther down. +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_140'></a>140</span> +He looked long and silently into the Indian +girl’s eyes and took the white woman’s shaking +hand. Once he looked back. The Indian +girl was stoic as stone. A bar of moonlight +showed the white woman’s face wet with tears. +</p> +<hr class='tb' /> +<p> +Again Dave Yandell from a watch-tower +saw a topknot rise above a patch of cane +now leafless and winter-bitten—saw a hand +lifted high above it with a palm of peace +toward him. And again an Indian youth +emerged, this time leading a black horse with +a drooping head. Both came painfully on, +staggering, it seemed, from wounds or weakness, +and Dave sprang from the tower and +rushed with others to the gate. He knew the +horse and there was dread in his heart; +perhaps the approaching Indian had slain +the boy, had stolen the horse, and was innocently +coming there for food. Well, he +thought grimly, revenge would be swift. +Still, fearing some trick, he would let no one +outside, but himself stood waiting with the +gate a little ajar. So gaunt were boy and +beast that it was plain that both were starving. +The boy’s face was torn with briers +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_141'></a>141</span> +and pinched with hunger and cold, but a +faint smile came from it. +</p> +<p> +“Don’t you know me, Dave?” he asked +weakly. +</p> +<p> +“My God! It’s White Arrow!” +</p> +<h2><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_142'></a>142</span><a name='chXIV' id='chXIV'></a>XIV</h2> +<p> +Straightway the lad sensed a curious +change in the attitude of the garrison. The +old warmth was absent. The atmosphere +was charged with suspicion, hostility. Old +Jerome was surly, his old playmates were +distant. Only Dave, Mother Sanders, and +Lydia were unchanged. The predominant +note was curiosity, and they started to ply +him with questions, but Dave took him to a +cabin, and Mother Sanders brought him something +to eat. +</p> +<p> +“Had a purty hard time,” stated Dave. +The boy nodded. +</p> +<p> +“I had only three bullets. Firefly went +lame and I had to lead him. I couldn’t eat +cane and Firefly couldn’t eat pheasant. I +got one from a hawk,” he explained. “What’s +the matter out there?” +</p> +<p> +“Nothin’,” said Dave gruffly and he made +the boy go to sleep. His story came when all +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_143'></a>143</span> +were around the fire at supper, and was listened +to with eagerness. Again the boy felt +the hostility and it made him resentful and +haughty and his story brief and terse. Most +fluid and sensitive natures have a chameleon +quality, no matter what stratum of adamant +be beneath. The boy was dressed like an +Indian, he looked like one, and he had brought +back, it seemed, the bearing of an Indian—his +wildness and stoicism. He spoke like a +chief in a council, and even in English his +phrasing and metaphors belonged to the red +man. No wonder they believed the stories +they had heard of him—but there was shame +in many faces and little doubt in any save one +before he finished. +</p> +<p> +He had gone to see his foster-mother and +his foster-father—old chief Kahtoo, the Shawnee—because +he had given his word. Kahtoo +thought he was dying and wanted him +to be chief when the Great Spirit called. +Kahtoo had once saved his life, had been kind, +and made him a son. That he could not +forget. An evil prophet had come to the +tribe and through his enemies, Crooked Lightning +and Black Wolf, had gained much influence. They were +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_144'></a>144</span> +to burn a captive white +woman as a sacrifice. He had stayed to +save her, to argue with old Kahtoo, and carry +the wampum and a talk to a big council with +the British. He had made his talk and—escaped. +He had gone back to his tribe, +had been tied, and was to be burned at the +stake. Again he had escaped with the help +of the white woman and her daughter. The +tribes had joined the British and even then +they were planning an early attack on this +very fort and all others. +</p> +<p> +The interest was tense and every face was +startled at this calm statement of their immediate +danger. Dave and Lydia looked triumphant +at this proof of their trust, but old +Jerome burst out: +</p> +<p> +“Why did you have to escape from the +council—and from the Shawnees?” The boy +felt the open distrust and he rose proudly. +</p> +<p> +“At the council I told the Indians that +they should be friends, not enemies, of the +Americans, and Crooked Lightning called +me a traitor. He had overheard my talk +with Kahtoo.” +</p> +<p> +“What was that?” asked Dave quickly. +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_145'></a>145</span> +</p> +<p> +“I told Kahtoo I would fight with the +Americans against the British and Indians; +and with <em>you</em> against <em>him</em>!” And he turned +away and went back to the cabin. +</p> +<p> +“What’d I tell ye!” cried Dave indignantly +and he followed the boy, who had gone to +his bunk, and put one big hand on his shoulder. +</p> +<p> +“They thought you’d turned Injun agin,” +he said, “but it’s all right now.” +</p> +<p> +“I know,” said the lad and with a muffled +sound that was half the grunt of an Indian +and half the sob of a white man turned his +face away. +</p> +<p> +Again Dave reached for the lad’s shoulder. +</p> +<p> +“Don’t blame ’em too much. I’ll tell +you now. Some fur traders came by here, +and one of ’em said you was goin’ to marry +an Injun girl named Early Morn; that you +was goin’ to stay with ’em and fight with ’em +alongside the British. Of course I knowed +better but——” +</p> +<p> +“Why,” interrupted Erskine, “they must +have been the same traders who came to the +Shawnee town and brought whiskey.” +</p> +<p> +“That’s what the feller said and why folks +here believed him.” +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_146'></a>146</span> +</p> +<p> +“Who was he?” demanded Erskine. +</p> +<p> +“You know him—Dane Grey.” +</p> +<p> +All tried to make amends straightway for +the injustice they had done him, but the boy’s +heart remained sore that their trust was so +little. Then, when they gathered all settlers +within the fort and made all preparations and +no Indians came, many seemed again to get +distrustful and the lad was not happy. +The winter was long and hard. A blizzard +had driven the game west and south and the +garrison was hard put to it for food. Every +day that the hunters went forth the boy was +among them and he did far more than his share +in the killing of game. But when winter was +breaking, more news came in of the war. +The flag that had been fashioned of a soldier’s +white shirt, an old blue army coat, and a red +petticoat was now the Stars and Stripes of the +American cause. Burgoyne had not cut off +New England, that “head of the rebellion,” +from the other colonies. On the contrary, +the Americans had beaten him at Saratoga +and marched his army off under those same +Stars and Stripes, and for the first time Erskine +heard of gallant Lafayette—how he had run +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_147'></a>147</span> +to Washington with the portentous news from +his king—that beautiful, passionate France +would now stretch forth her helping hand. +And Erskine learned what that news meant +to Washington’s “naked and starving” soldiers +dying on the frozen hillsides of Valley +Forge. Then George Rogers Clark had +passed the fort on his way to Williamsburg +to get money and men for his great venture +in the Northwest, and Erskine got a ready permission +to accompany him as soldier and +guide. After Clark was gone the lad got +restless; and one morning when the first +breath of spring came he mounted his horse, +in spite of arguments and protestations, and +set forth for Virginia on the wilderness trail. +He was going to join Clark, he said, but more +than Clark and the war were drawing him +to the outer world. What it was he hardly +knew, for he was not yet much given to searching +his heart or mind. He did know, however, +that some strange force had long been working +within him that was steadily growing +stronger, was surging now like a flame and +swinging him between strange moods of depression +and exultation. Perhaps it was but +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_148'></a>148</span> +the spirit of spring in his heart, but with his +mind’s eye he was ever seeing at the end of +his journey the face of his little cousin Barbara +Dale. +</p> +<h2><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_149'></a>149</span><a name='chXV' id='chXV'></a>XV</h2> +<p> +A striking figure the lad made riding into +the old capital one afternoon just before the +sun sank behind the western woods. Had +it been dusk he might have been thought to +be an Indian sprung magically from the wilds +and riding into civilization on a stolen thoroughbred. +Students no longer wandered +through the campus of William and Mary +College. Only an occasional maid in silk +and lace tripped along the street in high-heeled +shoes and clocked stockings, and no +coach and four was in sight. The governor’s +palace, in its great yard amid linden-trees, +was closed and deserted. My Lord Dunmore +was long in sad flight, as Erskine later learned, +and not in his coach with its six milk-white +horses. But there was the bust of Sir Walter +in front of Raleigh Tavern, and there he drew +up, before the steps where he was once nigh +to taking Dane Grey’s life. A negro servant +came forward to care for his horse, but a +coal-black young giant leaped around the +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_150'></a>150</span> +corner and seized the bridle with a welcoming +cry: +</p> +<p> +“Marse Erskine! But I knowed Firefly +fust.” It was Ephraim, the groom who had +brought out Barbara’s ponies, who had turned +the horse over to him for the race at the fair. +</p> +<p> +“I come frum de plantation fer ole marse,” +the boy explained. The host of the tavern +heard and came down to give his welcome, for +any Dale, no matter what his garb, could always +have the best in that tavern. More +than that, a bewigged solicitor, learning his +name, presented himself with the cheerful +news that he had quite a little sum of money +that had been confided to his keeping by +Colonel Dale for his nephew Erskine. A +strange deference seemed to be paid him +by everybody, which was a grateful change +from the suspicion he had left among his +pioneer friends. The little tavern was +thronged and the air charged with the spirit +of war. Indeed, nothing else was talked. +My Lord Dunmore had come to a sad and +unbemoaned end. He had stayed afar from +the battle-field of Point Pleasant and had left +stalwart General Lewis to fight Cornstalk and +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_151'></a>151</span> +his braves alone. Later my Lady Dunmore +and her sprightly daughters took refuge on a +man-of-war—whither my lord soon followed +them. His fleet ravaged the banks of the +rivers and committed every outrage. His +marines set fire to Norfolk, which was in ashes +when he weighed anchor and sailed away to +more depredations. When he intrenched himself +on Gwynn’s Island, that same stalwart +Lewis opened a heavy cannonade on fleet and +island, and sent a ball through the indignant +nobleman’s flag-ship. Next day he saw a +force making for the island in boats, and my +lord spread all sail; and so back to merry +England, and to Virginia no more. Meanwhile, +Mr. Washington had reached Boston +and started his duties under the Cambridge +elm. Several times during the talk Erskine +had heard mentioned the name of Dane +Grey. Young Grey had been with Dunmore +and not with Lewis at Point Pleasant, and +had been conspicuous at the palace through +much of the succeeding turmoil—the hint +being his devotion to one of the daughters, +since he was now an unquestioned loyalist. +</p> +<p> +Next morning Erskine rode forth along a +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_152'></a>152</span> +sandy road, amidst the singing of birds and +through a forest of tiny upshooting leaves, +for Red Oaks on the James. He had forsworn +Colonel Dale to secrecy as to the note +he had left behind giving his birthright to his +little cousin Barbara, and he knew the confidence +would be kept inviolate. He could +recall the road—every turn of it, for the woodsman’s +memory is faultless—and he could see +the merry cavalcade and hear the gay quips +and laughter of that other spring day long +ago, for to youth even the space of a year is +very long ago. But among the faces that blossomed +within the old coach, and nodded and +danced like flowers in a wind, his mind’s +eye was fixed on one alone. At the boat-landing +he hitched his horse to the low-swung +branch of an oak and took the path through +tangled rose-bushes and undergrowth along +the bank of the river, halting where it would +give him forth on the great, broad, grassy +way that led to the house among the oaks. +There was the sun-dial that had marked +every sunny hour since he had been away. +For a moment he stood there, and when he +stepped into the open he shrank back +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_153'></a>153</span> +hastily—a girl was coming through the opening of +boxwood from the house—coming slowly, +bareheaded, her hands clasped behind her, her +eyes downward. His heart throbbed as he +waited, throbbed the more when his ears +caught even the soft tread of her little feet, and +seemed to stop when she paused at the sun-dial, +and as before searched the river with her +eyes. And as before the song of negro oarsmen +came over the yellow flood, growing stronger as +they neared. Soon the girl fluttered a handkerchief +and from the single passenger in the +stern came an answering flutter of white and +a glad cry. At the bend of the river the boat +disappeared from Erskine’s sight under the +bank, and he watched the girl. How she +had grown! Her slim figure had rounded +and shot upward, and her white gown had +dropped to her dainty ankles. Now her face +was flushed and her eye flashed with excitement—it +was no mere kinsman in that boat, +and the boy’s heart began to throb again—throb +fiercely and with racking emotions that +he had never known before. A fiery-looking +youth sprang up the landing-steps, bowed +gallantly over the girl’s hand, and the two +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_154'></a>154</span> +turned up the path, the girl rosy with smiles +and the youth bending over her with a most +protecting and tender air. It was Dane Grey, +and the heart of the watcher turned mortal +sick. +</p> +<h2><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_155'></a>155</span><a name='chXVI' id='chXVI'></a>XVI</h2> +<p> +A long time Erskine sat motionless, wondering +what ailed him. He had never liked nor +trusted Grey; he believed he would have +trouble with him some day, but he had other +enemies and he did not feel toward them as +he did toward this dandy mincing up that +beautiful broad path. With a little grunt +he turned back along the path. Firefly whinnied +to him and nipped at him with playful +restlessness as though eager to be on his way +to the barn, and he stood awhile with one +arm across his saddle. Once he reached +upward to untie the reins, and with another +grunt strode back and went rapidly up the +path. Grey and Barbara had disappeared, +but a tall youth who sat behind one of the big +pillars saw him coming and rose, bewildered, +but not for long. Each recognized the other +swiftly, and Hugh came with stiff courtesy +forward. Erskine smiled: +</p> +<p> +“You don’t know me?” Hugh bowed: +</p> +<p> +“Quite well.” The woodsman drew himself up with quick +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_156'></a>156</span> +breath—paling without, +flaming within—but before he could speak +there was a quick step and an astonished cry +within the hall and Harry sprang out. +</p> +<p> +“Erskine! Erskine!” he shouted, and he +leaped down the steps with both hands +outstretched. “You here! You—you old +Indian—how did you get here?” He caught +Erskine by both hands and then fell to shaking +him by the shoulders. “Where’s your +horse?” And then he noticed the boy’s pale +and embarrassed face and his eyes shifting +to Hugh, who stood, still cold, still courteous, +and he checked some hot outburst at his +lips. +</p> +<p> +“I’m glad you’ve come, and I’m glad you’ve +come right now—where’s your horse?” +</p> +<p> +“I left him hitched at the landing,” Erskine +had to answer, and Harry looked puzzled: +</p> +<p> +“The landing! Why, what——” He +wheeled and shouted to a darky: +</p> +<p> +“Put Master Erskine’s horse in the barn +and feed him.” And he led Erskine within—to +the same room where he had slept before, +and poured out some water in a bowl. +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_157'></a>157</span> +</p> +<p> +“Take your time,” he said, and he went +back to the porch. Erskine could hear and +see him through the latticed blinds. +</p> +<p> +“Hugh,” said the lad in a low, cold voice, +“I am host here, and if you don’t like this +you can take that path.” +</p> +<p> +“You are right,” was the answer; “but +you wait until Uncle Harry gets home.” +</p> +<p> +The matter was quite plain to Erskine +within. The presence of Dane Grey made it +plain, and as Erskine dipped both hands into +the cold water he made up his mind to an +understanding with that young gentleman +that would be complete and final. And so +he was ready when he and Harry were on the +porch again and Barbara and Grey emerged +from the rose-bushes and came slowly up the +path. Harry looked worried, but Erskine sat +still, with a faint smile at his mouth and in his +eyes. Barbara saw him first and she did not +rush forward. Instead she stopped, with wide +eyes, a stifled cry, and a lifting of one hand +toward her heart. Grey saw too, flushed +rather painfully, and calmed himself. Erskine +had sprung down the steps. +</p> +<p> +“Why, have I changed so much?” he cried. +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_158'></a>158</span> +“Hugh didn’t seem to know me, either.” +His voice was gay, friendly, even affectionate, +but his eyes danced with strange lights that +puzzled the girl. +</p> +<p> +“Of course I knew you,” she faltered, paling +a little but gathering herself rather haughtily—a +fact that Erskine seemed not to notice. +“You took me by surprise and you have +changed—but I don’t know how much.” +The significance of this too seemed to pass +Erskine by, for he bent over Barbara’s hand +and kissed it. +</p> +<p> +“Never to you, my dear cousin,” he said +gallantly, and then he bowed to Dane Grey, +not offering to shake hands. +</p> +<p> +“Of course I know Mr. Grey.” To say +that the gentleman was dumfounded is to +put it mildly—this wild Indian playing the +courtier with exquisite impudence and doing +it well! Harry seemed like to burst with +restrained merriment, and Barbara was sorely +put to it to keep her poise. The great dinner-bell +from behind the house boomed its summons +to the woods and fields. +</p> +<p> +“Come on,” called Harry. “I imagine +you’re hungry, cousin.” +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_159'></a>159</span> +</p> +<p> +“I am,” said Erskine. “I’ve had nothing +to eat since—since early morn.” Barbara’s +eyes flashed upward and Grey was +plainly startled. Was there a slight stress +on those two words? Erskine’s face was as +expressionless as bronze. Harry had bolted +into the hall. +</p> +<p> +Mrs. Dale was visiting down the river, so +Barbara sat in her mother’s place, with Erskine +at her right, Grey to her left, Hugh next +to him, and Harry at the head. Harry did +not wait long. +</p> +<p> +“Now, you White Arrow, you Big Chief, +tell us the story. Where have you been, +what have you been doing, and what do you +mean to do? I’ve heard a good deal, but I +want it all.” +</p> +<p> +Grey began to look uncomfortable, and so, +in truth, did Barbara. +</p> +<p> +“What have you heard?” asked Erskine +quietly. +</p> +<p> +“Never mind,” interposed Barbara quickly; +“you tell us.” +</p> +<p> +“Well,” began Erskine slowly, “you remember +that day we met some Indians who +told me that old Kahtoo, my foster-father, was +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_160'></a>160</span> +ill, and that he wanted to see me before he +died? I went exactly as I would have gone +had white men given the same message from +Colonel Dale, and even for better reasons. A +bad prophet was stirring up trouble in the +tribe against the old chief. An enemy of mine, +Crooked Lightning, was helping him. He +wanted his son, Black Wolf, as chief, and the +old chief wanted me. I heard the Indians +were going to join the British. I didn’t want +to be chief, but I did want influence in the +tribe, so I stayed. There was a white woman +in the camp and an Indian girl named Early +Morn. I told the old chief that I would fight +with the whites against the Indians and with +the whites against them both. Crooked +Lightning overheard me, and you can imagine +what use he made of what I said. I +took the wampum belt for the old chief to the +powwow between the Indians and the British, +and I found I could do nothing. I met Mr. +Grey there.” He bowed slightly to Dane and +then looked at him steadily. “I was told that +he was there in the interest of an English +fur company. When I found I could do nothing +with the Indians, I told the council what +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_161'></a>161</span> +I had told the old chief.” He paused. Barbara’s +face was pale and she was breathing +hard. She had not looked at Grey, but Harry +had been watching him covertly and he did +not look comfortable. Erskine paused. +</p> +<p> +“What!” shouted Harry. “You told both +that you would fight with the whites against +both! What’d they do to you?” +</p> +<p> +Erskine smiled. +</p> +<p> +“Well, here I am. I jumped over the heads +of the outer ring and ran. Firefly heard me +calling him. I had left his halter loose. He +broke away. I jumped on him, and you know +nothing can catch Firefly.” +</p> +<p> +“Didn’t they shoot at you?” +</p> +<p> +“Of course.” Again he paused. +</p> +<p> +“Well,” said Harry impatiently, “that isn’t +the end.” +</p> +<p> +“I went back to the camp. Crooked Lightning +followed me and they tied me and were +going to burn me at the stake.” +</p> +<p> +“Good heavens!” breathed Barbara. +</p> +<p> +“How’d you get away?” +</p> +<p> +“The Indian girl, Early Morn, slipped +under the tent and cut me loose. The white +woman got my gun, and Firefly—you know +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_162'></a>162</span> +nothing can catch Firefly.” The silence was +intense. Hugh looked dazed, Barbara was +on the point of tears, Harry was triumphant, +and Grey was painfully flushed. +</p> +<p> +“And you want to know what I am going +to do now?” Erskine went on. “I’m going +with Captain George Rogers Clark—with what +command are you, Mr. Grey?” +</p> +<p> +“That’s a secret,” he smiled coolly. “I’ll +let you know later,” and Barbara, with an +inward sigh of relief, rose quickly, but would +not leave them behind. +</p> +<p> +“But the white woman?” questioned Harry. +“Why doesn’t she leave the Indians?” +</p> +<p> +“Early Morn—a half-breed—is her daughter,” +said Erskine simply. +</p> +<p> +“Oh!” and Harry questioned no further. +</p> +<p> +“Early Morn was the best-looking Indian +girl I ever saw,” said Erskine, “and the bravest.” +For the first time Grey glanced at Barbara. +“She saved my life,” Erskine went +on gravely, “and mine is hers whenever she +needs it.” Harry reached over and gripped +his hand. +</p> +<p> +As yet not one word had been said of Grey’s +misdoing, but Barbara’s cool disdain made +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_163'></a>163</span> +him shamed and hot, and in her eyes was the +sorrow of her injustice to Erskine. In the +hallway she excused herself with a courtesy, +Hugh went to the stables, Harry disappeared +for a moment, and the two were left alone. +With smouldering fire Erskine turned to +Grey. +</p> +<p> +“It seems you have been amusing yourself +with my kinspeople at my expense.” Grey +drew himself up in haughty silence. Erskine +went on: +</p> +<p> +“I have known some liars who were not +cowards.” +</p> +<p> +“You forget yourself.” +</p> +<p> +“No—nor you.” +</p> +<p> +“You remember a promise I made you +once?” +</p> +<p> +“Twice,” corrected Erskine. Grey’s eyes +flashed upward to the crossed rapiers on the +wall. +</p> +<p> +“Precisely,” answered Erskine, “and +when?” +</p> +<p> +“At the first opportunity.” +</p> +<p> +“From this moment I shall be waiting for +nothing else.” +</p> +<p> +Barbara, reappearing, heard their last +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_164'></a>164</span> +words, and she came forward pale and with +piercing eyes: +</p> +<p> +“Cousin Erskine, I want to apologize to +you for my little faith. I hope you will forgive +me. Mr. Grey, your horse will be at +the door at once. I wish you a safe journey—to +your command.” Grey bowed and +turned—furious. +</p> +<p> +Erskine was on the porch when Grey came +out to mount his horse. +</p> +<p> +“You will want seconds?” asked Grey. +</p> +<p> +“They might try to stop us—no!” +</p> +<p> +“I shall ride slowly,” Grey said. Erskine +bowed. +</p> +<p> +“I shall not.” +</p> +<h2><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_165'></a>165</span><a name='chXVII' id='chXVII'></a>XVII</h2> +<p> +Nor did he. Within half an hour Barbara, +passing through the hall, saw that the +rapiers were gone from the wall and she +stopped, with the color fled from her face +and her hand on her heart. At that moment +Ephraim dashed in from the kitchen. +</p> +<p> +“Miss Barbary, somebody gwine to git +killed. I was wukkin’ in de ole field an’ +Marse Grey rid by cussin’ to hisself. Jist +now Marse Erskine went tearin’ by de landin’ +wid a couple o’ swords under his arm.” His +eyes too went to the wall. “Yes, bless Gawd, +dey’s gone!” Barbara flew out the door. +</p> +<p> +In a few moments she had found Harry +and Hugh. Even while their horses were +being saddled her father rode up. +</p> +<p> +“It’s murder,” cried Harry, “and Grey +knows it. Erskine knows nothing about a +rapier.” +</p> +<p> +Without a word Colonel Dale wheeled his +tired horse and soon Harry and Hugh dashed +after him. Barbara walked back to the +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_166'></a>166</span> +house, wringing her hands, but on the porch +she sat quietly in the agony of waiting that +was the rôle of women in those days. +</p> +<p> +Meanwhile, at a swift gallop Firefly was +skimming along the river road. Grey had +kept his word and more: he had not only ridden +slowly but he had stopped and was waiting +at an oak-tree that was a corner-stone +between two plantations. +</p> +<p> +“That I may not kill you on your own +land,” he said. +</p> +<p> +Erskine started. “The consideration is +deeper than you know.” +</p> +<p> +They hitched their horses, and Erskine +followed into a pleasant glade—a grassy +glade through which murmured a little stream. +Erskine dropped the rapiers on the sward. +</p> +<p> +“Take your choice,” he said. +</p> +<p> +“There is none,” said Grey, picking up the +one nearer to him. “I know them both.” +Grey took off his coat while Erskine waited. +Grey made the usual moves of courtesy and +still Erskine waited, wonderingly, with the +point of the rapier on the ground. +</p> +<p> +“When you are ready,” he said, “will +you please let me know?” +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_167'></a>167</span> +</p> +<p> +“Ready!” answered Grey, and he lunged +forward. Erskine merely whipped at his +blade so that the clang of it whined on the +air to the breaking-point and sprang backward. +He was as quick as an eyelash and +lithe as a panther, and yet Grey almost +laughed aloud. All Erskine did was to whip +the thrusting blade aside and leap out of +danger like a flash of light. It was like an +inexpert boxer flailing according to rules unknown—and +Grey’s face flamed and actually +turned anxious. Then, as a kindly fate would +have it, Erskine’s blade caught in Grey’s +guard by accident, and the powerful wrist +behind it seeking merely to wrench the weapon +loose tore Grey’s rapier from his grasp +and hurled it ten feet away. There is no +greater humiliation for the expert swordsman, +and not for nothing had Erskine suffered +the shame of that long-ago day when +a primitive instinct had led him to thrusting +his knife into this same enemy’s breast. +Now, with his sword’s point on the earth, he +waited courteously for Grey to recover his +weapon. +</p> +<p> +Again a kindly fate intervened. Even +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_168'></a>168</span> +as Grey rushed for his sword, Erskine heard +the beat of horses’ hoofs. As he snatched it +from the ground and turned, with a wicked +smile over his grinding teeth, came Harry’s +shout, and as he rushed for Erskine, Colonel +Dale swung from his horse. The sword-blades +clashed, Erskine whipping back and forth in a +way to make a swordsman groan—and Colonel +Dale had Erskine by the wrist and was between +them. +</p> +<p> +“How dare you, sir?” cried Grey hotly. +</p> +<p> +“Just a moment, young gentleman,” said +Colonel Dale calmly. +</p> +<p> +“Let us alone, Uncle Harry—I——” +</p> +<p> +“Just a moment,” repeated the colonel +sternly. “Mr. Grey, do you think it quite +fair that you with your skill should fight a +man who knows nothing about foils?” +</p> +<p> +“There was no other way,” Grey said +sullenly. +</p> +<p> +“And you could not wait, I presume?” +Grey did not answer. +</p> +<p> +“Now, hear what I have to say, and if you +both do not agree, the matter will be arranged +to your entire satisfaction, Mr. Grey. I have +but one question to ask. Your country is at +war. She needs every man for her defense. +Do you not both think your lives belong to +your country and that it is selfish and unpatriotic +just now to risk them in any other +cause?” He waited for his meaning to sink +in, and sink it did. +</p> +<div><a name='i168' id='i168'></a></div> +<div class='figcenter' style='padding-top: 1em; padding-bottom: 1em'> +<a name='i007' id='i007'></a> +<img src="images/i168.jpg" alt="The sword blades clashed, Erskine whipping back and forth in a way to make a swordsman groan" width="60%" title=""/><br /> +<span class='caption'>The sword blades clashed, Erskine whipping back<br/>and forth in a way to make a swordsman groan</span> +</div> +<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_169'></a>169</span></div> +<p> +“Colonel Dale, your nephew grossly insulted +me, and your daughter showed me the +door. I made no defense to him nor to her, +but I will to you. I merely repeated what I +had been told and I believed it true. Now +that I hear it is not true, I agree with you, sir, +and I am willing to express my regrets and +apologies.” +</p> +<p> +“That is better,” said Colonel Dale heartily, +and he turned to Erskine, but Erskine was +crying hotly: +</p> +<p> +“And I express neither.” +</p> +<p> +“Very well,” sneered Grey coldly. “Perhaps +we may meet when your relatives are +not present to protect you.” +</p> +<p> +“Uncle Harry——” Erskine implored, but +Grey was turning toward his horse. +</p> +<p> +“After all, Colonel Dale is right.” +</p> +<p> +“Yes,” assented Erskine helplessly, and +then—“it is possible that we shall not always +be on the same side.” +</p> +<p> +“So I thought,” returned Grey with lifted +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_170'></a>170</span> +eyebrows, “when I heard what I did about +you!” Both Harry and Hugh had to catch +Erskine by an arm then, and they led him +struggling away. Grey mounted his horse, +lifted his hat, and was gone. Colonel Dale +picked up the swords. +</p> +<p> +“Now,” he said, “enough, of all this—let +it be forgotten.” +</p> +<p> +And he laughed. +</p> +<p> +“You’ll have to confess, Erskine—he has a +quick tongue and you must think only of his +temptation to use it.” +</p> +<p> +Erskine did not answer. +</p> +<p> +As they rode back Colonel Dale spoke of +the war. It was about to move into Virginia, +he said, and when it did—— Both Harry +and Hugh interrupted him with a glad shout: +</p> +<p> +“We can go!” Colonel Dale nodded sadly. +</p> +<p> +Suddenly all pulled their horses in simultaneously +and raised their eyes, for all heard +the coming of a horse in a dead run. Around +a thicketed curve of the road came Barbara, +with her face white and her hair streaming behind +her. She pulled her pony in but a few +feet in front of them, with her burning eyes on +Erskine alone. +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_171'></a>171</span> +</p> +<p> +“Have you killed him—have you killed +him? If you have—” She stopped helpless, +and all were so amazed that none could answer. +Erskine shook his head. There was +a flash of relief in the girl’s white face, its +recklessness gave way to sudden shame, and, +without a word, she wheeled and was away +again—Harry flying after her. No one spoke. +Colonel Dale looked aghast and Erskine’s +heart again turned sick. +</p> +<h2><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_172'></a>172</span><a name='chXVIII' id='chXVIII'></a>XVIII</h2> +<p> +The sun was close to the uneven sweep of +the wilderness. Through its slanting rays +the river poured like a flood of gold. The +negroes were on the way singing from the +fields. Cries, chaffing, and the musical clanking +of trace-chains came from the barnyard. +Hungry cattle were lowing and full-uddered +mothers were mooing answers to bawling +calves. A peacock screamed from a distant +tree and sailed forth, full-spread—a great +gleaming winged jewel of the air. In crises +the nerves tighten like violin strings, the +memory-plates turn abnormally sensitive—and +Erskine was not to forget that hour. +</p> +<p> +The house was still and not a soul was in +sight as the three, still silent, walked up the +great path. When they were near the portico +Harry came out. He looked worried and +anxious. +</p> +<p> +“Where’s Barbara?” asked her father. +</p> +<p> +“Locked in her room.” +</p> +<p> +“Let her alone,” said Colonel Dale gently. +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_173'></a>173</span> +Like brother and cousin, Harry and Hugh +were merely irritated by the late revelation, +but the father was shocked that his child was +no longer a child. Erskine remembered the +girl as she waited for Grey’s coming at the +sun-dial, her face as she walked with him up +the path. For a moment the two boys stood +in moody silence. Harry took the rapiers in +and put them in their place on the wall. +Hugh quietly disappeared. Erskine, with a +word of apology, went to his room, and Colonel +Dale sat down on the porch alone. +</p> +<p> +As the dusk gathered, Erskine, looking +gloomily through his window, saw the girl +flutter like a white moth past the box-hedge +and down the path. A moment later he saw +the tall form of Colonel Dale follow her—and +both passed from sight. On the thick turf +the colonel’s feet too were noiseless, and when +Barbara stopped at the sun-dial he too paused. +Her hands were caught tight and her drawn +young face was lifted to the yellow disk just +rising from the far forest gloom. She was +unhappy, and the colonel’s heart ached sorely, +for any unhappiness of hers always trebled +his own. +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_174'></a>174</span> +</p> +<p> +“Little girl!” he called, and no lover’s +voice could have been more gentle. “Come +here!” +</p> +<p> +She turned and saw him, with arms outstretched, +the low moon lighting all the +tenderness in his fine old face, and she flew +to him and fell to weeping on his breast. In +wise silence he stroked her hair until she +grew a little calmer. +</p> +<p> +“What’s the matter, little daughter?” +</p> +<p> +“I—I—don’t know.” +</p> +<p> +“I understand. You were quite right to +send him away, but you did not want him +harmed.” +</p> +<p> +“I—I—didn’t want anybody harmed.” +</p> +<p> +“I know. It’s too bad, but none of us +seem quite to trust him.” +</p> +<p> +“That’s it,” she sobbed; “I don’t either, +and yet——” +</p> +<p> +“I know. I know. My little girl must be +wise and brave, and maybe it will all pass and +she will be glad. But she must be brave. +Mother is not well and she must not be made +unhappy too. She must not know. Can’t +my little girl come back to the house now? +She must be hostess and this is Erskine’s last +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_175'></a>175</span> +night.” She looked up, brushing away her +tears. +</p> +<p> +“His last night?” Ah, wise old colonel! +</p> +<p> +“Yes—he goes to-morrow to join Captain +Clark at Williamsburg on his foolish campaign +in the Northwest. We might never +see him again.” +</p> +<p> +“Oh, father!” +</p> +<p> +“Well, it isn’t that bad, but my little girl +must be very nice to him. He seems to be +very unhappy, too.” +</p> +<p> +Barbara looked thoughtful, but there was +no pretense of not understanding. +</p> +<p> +“I’m sorry,” she said. She took her +father’s arm, and when they reached the +steps Erskine saw her smiling. And smiling, +almost gay, she was at supper, sitting with +exquisite dignity in her mother’s place. +Harry and Hugh looked amazed, and her +father, who knew the bit of tempered steel +she was, smiled his encouragement proudly. +Of Erskine, who sat at her right, she asked +many questions about the coming campaign. +Captain Clark had said he would go with a +hundred men if he could get no more. The +rallying-point would be the fort in Kentucky +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_176'></a>176</span> +where he had first come back to his own +people, and Dave Yandell would be captain +of a company. He himself was going as +guide, though he hoped to act as soldier as +well. Perhaps they might bring back the +Hair-Buyer, General Hamilton, a prisoner to +Williamsburg, and then he would join Harry +and Hugh in the militia if the war came south +and Virginia were invaded, as some prophesied, +by Tarleton’s White Rangers, who had +been ravaging the Carolinas. After supper +the little lady excused herself with a smiling +courtesy to go to her mother, and Erskine +found himself in the moonlight on the big +portico with Colonel Dale alone. +</p> +<p> +“Erskine,” he said, “you make it very +difficult for me to keep your secret. Hugh +alone seems to suspect—he must have got +the idea from Grey, but I have warned him to +say nothing. The others seem not to have +thought of the matter at all. It was a boyish +impulse of generosity which you may regret——” +</p> +<p> +“Never,” interrupted the boy. “I have +no use—less than ever now.” +</p> +<p> +“Nevertheless,” the colonel went on, “I +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_177'></a>177</span> +regard myself as merely your steward, and +I must tell you one thing. Mr. Jefferson, as +you know, is always at open war with people +like us. His hand is against coach and four, +silver plate, and aristocrat. He is fighting +now against the law that gives property to +the eldest son, and he will pass the bill. His +argument is rather amusing. He says if you +will show him that the eldest son eats more, +wears more, and does more work than his +brothers, he will grant that that son is entitled +to more. He wants to blot out all +distinctions of class. He can’t do that, but +he will pass this bill.” +</p> +<p> +“I hope he will,” muttered Erskine. +</p> +<p> +“Barbara would not accept your sacrifice +nor would any of us, and it is only fair that +I should warn you that some day, if you +should change your mind, and I were no +longer living, you might be too late.” +</p> +<p> +“Please don’t, Uncle Harry. It is done—done. +Of course, it wasn’t fair for me to +consider Barbara alone, but she will be fair +and you understand. I wish you would regard +the whole matter as though I didn’t +exist.” +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_178'></a>178</span> +</p> +<p> +“I can’t do that, my boy. I am your +steward and when you want anything you +have only to let me know!” Erskine shook +his head. +</p> +<p> +“I don’t want anything—I need very +little, and when I’m in the woods, as I expect +to be most of the time, I need nothing at all.” +Colonel Dale rose. +</p> +<p> +“I wish you would go to college at Williamsburg +for a year or two to better fit yourself—in +case——” +</p> +<p> +“I’d like to go—to learn to fence,” smiled +the boy, and the colonel smiled too. +</p> +<p> +“You’ll certainly need to know that, if +you are going to be as reckless as you were today.” +Erskine’s eyes darkened. +</p> +<p> +“Uncle Harry, you may think me foolish, +but I don’t like or trust Grey. What was he +doing with those British traders out in the +Northwest?—he was not buying furs. It’s +absurd. Why was he hand in glove with +Lord Dunmore?” +</p> +<p> +“Lord Dunmore had a daughter,” was the +dry reply, and Erskine flung out a gesture +that made words unnecessary. Colonel Dale +crossed the porch and put his hand on the +lad’s shoulders. +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_179'></a>179</span> +</p> +<p> +“Erskine,” he said, “don’t worry—and—don’t +give up hope. Be patient, wait, come +back to us. Go to William and Mary. Fit +yourself to be one of us in all ways. Then +everything may yet come out in the only way +that would be fitting and right.” The boy +blushed, and the colonel went on earnestly: +</p> +<p> +“I can think of nothing in the world that +would make me quite so happy.” +</p> +<p> +“It’s no use,” the boy said tremblingly, +“but I’ll never forget what you have just +said as long as I live, and, no matter what +becomes of me, I’ll love Barbara as long as I +live. But, even if things were otherwise, +I’d never risk making her unhappy even by +trying. I’m not fit for her nor for this life. +I’ll never forget the goodness of all of you to +me—I can’t explain—but I can’t get over my +life in the woods and among the Indians. +Why, but for all of you I might have gone +back to them—I would yet. I can’t explain, +but I get choked and I can’t breathe—such +a longing for the woods comes over me and +I can’t help me. I must <em>go</em>—and nothing +can hold me.” +</p> +<p> +“Your father was that way,” said Colonel +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_180'></a>180</span> +Dale sadly. “You may get over it, but he +never did. And it must be harder for you +because of your early associations. Blow +out the lights in the hall. You needn’t bolt +the door. Good night, and God bless you.” +And the kindly gentleman was gone. +</p> +<p> +Erskine sat where he was. The house +was still and there were no noises from the +horses and cattle in the barn—none from +roosting peacock, turkey, and hen. From +the far-away quarters came faintly the merry, +mellow notes of a fiddle, and farther still the +song of some courting negro returning home. +A drowsy bird twittered in an ancient elm +at the corner of the house. The flowers +drooped in the moonlight which bathed the +great path, streamed across the great river, +and on up to its source in the great yellow +disk floating in majestic serenity high in the +cloudless sky. And that path, those flowers, +that house, the barn, the cattle, sheep, and +hogs, those grain-fields and grassy acres, +even those singing black folk, were all—all +his if he but said the words. The thought +was no temptation—it was a mighty wonder +that such a thing could be. And that was +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_181'></a>181</span> +all it was—a wonder—to him, but to them it +was the world. Without it all, what would +they do? Perhaps Mr. Jefferson might soon +solve the problem for him. Perhaps he might +not return from that wild campaign against +the British and the Indians—he might get +killed. And then a thought gripped him and +held him fast—<em>he need not come back</em>. That +mighty wilderness beyond the mountains +was his real home—out there was his real life. +He need not come back, and they would +never know. Then came a thought that almost +made him groan. There was a light +step in the hall, and Barbara came swiftly +out and dropped on the topmost step with her +chin in both hands. Almost at once she +seemed to feel his presence, for she turned her +head quickly. +</p> +<p> +“Erskine!” As quickly he rose, embarrassed +beyond speech. +</p> +<p> +“Come here! Why, you look guilty—what +have you been thinking?” He was +startled by her intuition, but he recovered +himself swiftly. +</p> +<p> +“I suppose I will always feel guilty if I +have made you unhappy.” +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_182'></a>182</span> +</p> +<p> +“You haven’t made me unhappy. I don’t +know what you have made me. Papa says +a girl does not understand and no man can, +but he does better than anybody. You saw +how I felt if you had killed him, but you don’t +know how I would have felt if he had killed +you. I don’t myself.” +</p> +<p> +She began patting her hands gently and +helplessly together, and again she dropped her +chin into them with her eyes lifted to the +moon. +</p> +<p> +“I shall be very unhappy when you are +gone. I wish you were not going, but I +know that you are—you can’t help it.” +Again he was startled. +</p> +<p> +“Whenever you look at that moon over in +that dark wilderness, I wish you would please +think of your little cousin—will you?” She +turned eagerly and he was too moved to +speak—he only bowed his head as for a +prayer or a benediction. +</p> +<p> +“You don’t know how often our thoughts +will cross, and that will be a great comfort +to me. Sometimes I am afraid. There is a +wild strain on my mother’s side, and it is in +me. Papa knows it and he is wise—so +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_183'></a>183</span> +wise—I am afraid I may sometimes do something +very foolish, and it won’t be <em>me</em> at all. It +will be somebody that died long ago.” She +put both her hands over both his and held +them tight. +</p> +<p> +“I never, never distrusted you. I trust +you more than anybody else in the whole +world except my father, and he might be +away or”—she gave a little sob—“he might +get killed. I want you to make me a promise.” +</p> +<p> +“Anything,” said the boy huskily. +</p> +<p> +“I want you to promise me that, no matter +when, no matter where you are, if I need you +and send for you you will come.” And +Indian-like he put his forehead on both her +little hands. +</p> +<p> +“Thank you. I must go now.” Bewildered +and dazed, the boy rose and awkwardly +put out his hand. +</p> +<p> +“Kiss me good-by.” She put her arms +about his neck, and for the first time in his +life the boy’s lips met a woman’s. For a +moment she put her face against his and at +his ear was a whisper. +</p> +<p> +“Good-by, Erskine!” And she was +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_184'></a>184</span> +gone—swiftly—leaving the boy in a dizzy world +of falling stars through which a white light +leaped to heights his soul had never dreamed. +</p> +<h2><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_185'></a>185</span><a name='chXIX' id='chXIX'></a>XIX</h2> +<p> +With the head of that column of stalwart +backwoodsmen went Dave Yandell and Erskine +Dale. A hunting-party of four Shawnees +heard their coming through the woods, and, +lying like snakes in the undergrowth, peered +out and saw them pass. Then they rose, and +Crooked Lightning looked at Black Wolf +and, with a grunt of angry satisfaction, led +the way homeward. And to the village they +bore the news that White Arrow had made +good his word and, side by side with the big +chief of the Long Knives, was leading a war-party +against his tribe and kinsmen. And +Early Morn carried the news to her mother, +who lay sick in a wigwam. +</p> +<p> +The miracle went swiftly, and Kaskaskia +fell. Stealthily a cordon of hunters surrounded +the little town. The rest stole to +the walls of the fort. Lights flickered from +within, the sounds of violins and dancing +feet came through crevice and window. +Clark’s tall figure stole noiselessly into the +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_186'></a>186</span> +great hall, where the Creoles were making +merry and leaned silently with folded arms +against the doorpost, looking on at the revels +with a grave smile. The light from the +torches flickered across his face, and an Indian +lying on the floor sprang to his feet with +a curdling war-whoop. Women screamed and +men rushed toward the door. The stranger +stood motionless and his grim smile was unchanged. +</p> +<p> +“Dance on!” he commanded courteously, +“but remember,” he added sternly, “you +dance under Virginia and not Great Britain!” +</p> +<p> +There was a great noise behind him. +Men dashed into the fort, and Rocheblave +and his officers were prisoners. By daylight +Clark had the town disarmed. The French, +Clark said next day, could take the oath of +allegiance to the Republic, or depart with +their families in peace. As for their church, +he had nothing to do with any church save +to protect it from insult. So that the people +who had heard terrible stories of the wild +woodsmen and who expected to be killed +or made slaves, joyfully became Americans. +They even gave Clark a volunteer company +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_187'></a>187</span> +to march with him upon Cahokia, and that +village, too, soon became American. Father +Gibault volunteered to go to Vincennes. +Vincennes gathered in the church to hear him, +and then flung the Stars and Stripes to the +winds of freedom above the fort. Clark sent +one captain there to take command. With +a handful of hardy men who could have been +controlled only by him, the dauntless one +had conquered a land as big as any European +kingdom. Now he had to govern and +protect it. He had to keep loyal an alien +race and hold his own against the British +and numerous tribes of Indians, bloodthirsty, +treacherous, and deeply embittered against +all Americans. He was hundreds of miles +from any American troops; farther still from +the seat of government, and could get no advice +or help for perhaps a year. +</p> +<p> +And those Indians poured into Cahokia—a +horde of them from every tribe between +the Great Lakes and the Mississippi—chiefs +and warriors of every importance; but not +before Clark had formed and drilled four +companies of volunteer Creoles. +</p> +<p> +“Watch him!” said Dave, and Erskine did, +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_188'></a>188</span> +marvelling at the man’s knowledge of the +Indian. He did not live in the fort, but always +on guard, always seemingly confident, +stayed openly in town while the savages, sullen +and grotesque, strutted in full war panoply +through the straggling streets, inquisitive +and insolent, their eyes burning with the lust +of plunder and murder. For days he sat in +the midst of the ringed warriors and listened. +On the second day Erskine saw Kahtoo in +the throng and Crooked Lightning and Black +Wolf. After dusk that day he felt the fringe +of his hunting-shirt plucked, and an Indian, +with face hidden in a blanket, whispered as he +passed. +</p> +<p> +“Tell the big chief,” he said in Shawnee, +“to be on guard to-morrow night.” He knew +it was some kindly tribesman, and he wheeled +and went to Clark, who smiled. Already the +big chief had guards concealed in his little +house, who seized the attacking Indians, +while two minutes later the townspeople were +under arms. The captives were put in irons, +and Erskine saw among them the crestfallen +faces of Black Wolf and Crooked Lightning. +The Indians pleaded that they were trying to +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_189'></a>189</span> +test the friendship of the French for Clark, +but Clark, refusing all requests for their release, +remained silent, haughty, indifferent, +fearless. He still refused to take refuge in +the fort, and called in a number of ladies and +gentlemen to his house, where they danced +all night amid the council-fires of the bewildered +savages. Next morning he stood in the +centre of their ringed warriors with the tasselled +shirts of his riflemen massed behind +him, released the captive chiefs, and handed +them the bloody war belt of wampum. +</p> +<p> +“I scorn your hostility and treachery. +You deserve death but you shall leave in +safety. In three days I shall begin war on +you. If you Indians do not want your +women and children killed—stop killing ours. +We shall see who can make that war belt the +most bloody. While you have been in my +camp you have had food and fire-water, but +now that I have finished, you must depart +speedily.” +</p> +<p> +The captive chief spoke and so did old +Kahtoo, with his eyes fixed sadly but proudly +on his adopted son. They had listened to +bad birds and been led astray by the +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_190'></a>190</span> +British—henceforth they would be friendly with the +Americans. But Clark was not satisfied. +</p> +<p> +“I come as a warrior,” he said haughtily; +“I shall be a friend to the friendly. If you +choose war I shall send so many warriors +from the Thirteen Council-Fires that your +land shall be darkened and you shall hear no +sounds but that of the birds who live on +blood.” And then he handed forth two belts +of peace and war, and they eagerly took the +belt of peace. The treaty followed next day +and Clark insisted that two of the prisoners +should be put to death; and as the two +selected came forward Erskine saw Black +Wolf was one. He whispered with Clark and +Kahtoo, and Crooked Lightning saw the big +chief with his hand on Erskine’s shoulder +and heard him forgive the two and tell them +to depart. And thus peace was won. +</p> +<p> +Straightway old Kahtoo pushed through +the warriors and, plucking the big chief by +the sleeve, pointed to Erskine. +</p> +<p> +“That is my son,” he said, “and I want +him to go home with me.” +</p> +<p> +“He shall go,” said Clark quickly, “but he +shall return, whenever it pleases him, to me.” +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_191'></a>191</span> +</p> +<p> +And so Erskine went forth one morning at +dawn, and his coming into the Shawnee camp +was like the coming of a king. Early Morn +greeted him with glowing eyes, his foster-mother +brought him food, looking proudly +upon him, and old Kahtoo harangued his +braves around the council-pole, while the +prophet and Crooked Lightning sulked in +their tents. +</p> +<p> +“My son spoke words of truth,” he proclaimed +sonorously. “He warned us against +the king over the waters and told us to make +friends with the Americans. We did not heed +his words, and so he brought the great chief +of the Long Knives, who stood without fear +among warriors more numerous than leaves +and spoke the same words to all. We are +friends of the Long Knives. My son is the +true prophet. Bring out the false one and +Crooked Lightning and Black Wolf, whose +life my son saved though the two were enemies. +My son shall do with them as he +pleases.” +</p> +<p> +Many young braves sprang willingly forward +and the three were haled before Erskine. +Old Kahtoo waved his hand toward them and +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_192'></a>192</span> +sat down. Erskine rose and fixed his eyes +sternly on the cowering prophet: +</p> +<p> +“He shall go forth from the village and +shall never return. For his words work mischief, +he does foolish things, and his drumming +frightens the game. He is a false prophet +and he must go.” He turned to Crooked +Lightning: +</p> +<p> +“The Indians have made peace with the +Long Knives and White Arrow would make +peace with any Indian, though an enemy. +Crooked Lightning shall go or stay, as he +pleases. Black Wolf shall stay, for the tribe +will need him as a hunter and a warrior +against the English foes of the Long Knives. +White Arrow does not ask another to spare +an enemy’s life and then take it away himself.” +</p> +<p> +The braves grunted approval. Black Wolf +and Crooked Lightning averted their faces +and the prophet shambled uneasily away. +Again old Kahtoo proclaimed sonorously, +“It is well!” and went back with Erskine to +his tent. There he sank wearily on a buffalo-skin +and plead with the boy to stay with them +as chief in his stead. He was very old, and +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_193'></a>193</span> +now that peace was made with the Long +Knives he was willing to die. If Erskine +would but give his promise, he would never +rise again from where he lay. +</p> +<p> +Erskine shook his head and the old man +sorrowfully turned his face. +</p> +<h2><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_194'></a>194</span><a name='chXX' id='chXX'></a>XX</h2> +<p> +And yet Erskine lingered on and on at +the village. Of the white woman he had +learned little other than that she had been +bought from another tribe and adopted by +old Kahtoo; but it was plain that since the +threatened burning of her she had been held +in high respect by the whole tribe. He began +to wonder about her and whether she +might not wish to go back to her own people. +He had never talked with her, but he never +moved about the camp that he did not feel +her eyes upon him. And Early Morn’s big +soft eyes, too, never seemed to leave him. +She brought him food, she sat at the door of +his tent, she followed him about the village +and bore herself openly as his slave. At +last old Kahtoo, who would not give up his +great hope, plead with him to marry her, and +while he was talking the girl stood at the +door of the tent and interrupted them. Her +mother’s eyes were growing dim, she said. +Her mother wanted to talk with White Arrow and look +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_195'></a>195</span> +upon his face before her sight +should altogether pass. Nor could Erskine +know that the white woman wanted to look +into the eyes of the man she hoped would become +her daughter’s husband, but Kahtoo +did, and he bade Erskine go. His foster-mother, +coming upon the scene, scowled, but +Erskine rose and went to the white woman’s +tent. She sat just inside the opening, with a +blanket across the lower half of her face, nor +did she look at him. Instead she plied him +with questions, and listened eagerly to his +every word, and drew from him every detail +of his life as far back as he could remember. +Poor soul, it was the first opportunity for +many years that she had had to talk with any +white person who had been in the Eastern +world, and freely and frankly he held nothing +back. She had drawn her blanket close across +her face while he was telling of his capture +by the Indians and his life among them, his +escape and the death of his father, and she +was crying when he finished. He even told +her a little of Barbara, and when in turn he +questioned her, she told little, and his own +native delicacy made him understand. She, +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_196'></a>196</span> +too, had been captured with a son who would +have been about Erskine’s age, but her boy +and her husband had been killed. She had +been made a slave and—now she drew the +blanket across her eyes—after the birth of her +daughter she felt she could never go back to +her own people. Then her Indian husband +had been killed and old Kahtoo had bought +and adopted her, and she had not been forced +to marry again. Now it was too late to leave +the Indians. She loved her daughter; she +would not subject her or herself to humiliation +among the whites, and, anyhow, there +was no one to whom she could go. And +Erskine read deep into the woman’s heart +and his own was made sad. Her concern +was with her daughter—what would become +of her? Many a young brave, besides Black +Wolf, had put his heart at her little feet, but +she would have none of them. And so Erskine +was the heaven-sent answer to the +mother’s prayers—that was the thought behind +her mournful eyes. +</p> +<p> +All the while the girl had crouched near, +looking at Erskine with doglike eyes, and +when he rose to go the woman dropped the +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_197'></a>197</span> +blanket from her face and got to her feet. +Shyly she lifted her hands, took his face between +them, bent close, and studied it searchingly: +</p> +<p> +“What is your name?” +</p> +<p> +“Erskine Dale.” +</p> +<p> +Without a word she turned back into her +tent. +</p> +<p> +At dusk Erskine stood by the river’s brim, +with his eyes lifted to a rising moon and his +thoughts with Barbara on the bank of the +James. Behind him he heard a rustle and, +turning, he saw the girl, her breast throbbing +and her eyes burning with a light he had +never seen before. +</p> +<p> +“Black Wolf will kill you,” she whispered. +“Black Wolf wants Early Morn and he knows +that Early Morn wants White Arrow.” Erskine +put both hands on her shoulders and +looked down into her eyes. She trembled, +and when his arms went about her she surged +closer to him and the touch of her warm, +supple body went through him like fire. And +then with a triumphant smile she sprang back. +</p> +<p> +“Black Wolf will see,” she whispered, and +fled. Erskine sank to the ground, with his +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_198'></a>198</span> +head in his hands. The girl ran back to her +tent, and the mother, peering at the flushed +face and shining eyes, clove to the truth. +She said nothing, but when the girl was asleep +and faintly smiling, the white woman sat +staring out into the moonlit woods, softly +beating her breast. +</p> +<h2><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_199'></a>199</span><a name='chXXI' id='chXXI'></a>XXI</h2> +<p> +Erskine had given Black Wolf his life, +and the young brave had accepted the debt +and fretted under it sorely. Erskine knew it, +and all his kindness had been of little avail, +for Black Wolf sulked sullenly by the fire or +at his wigwam door. And when Erskine had +begun to show some heed to Early Morn a +fierce jealousy seized the savage, and his old +hatred was reborn a thousandfold more strong—and +that, too, Erskine now knew. Meat +ran low and a hunting-party went abroad. +Game was scarce and only after the second +day was there a kill. Erskine had sighted +a huge buck, had fired quickly and at close +range. Wounded, the buck had charged, +Erskine’s knife was twisted in his belt, and +the buck was upon him before he could get +it out. He tried to dart for a tree, stumbled, +turned, and caught the infuriated beast by +the horns. He uttered no cry, but the angry +bellow of the stag reached the ears of Black +Wolf through the woods, and he darted +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_200'></a>200</span> +toward the sound. And he came none too +soon. Erskine heard the crack of a rifle, the +stag toppled over, and he saw Black Wolf +standing over him with a curiously triumphant +look on his saturnine face. In Erskine, when +he rose, the white man was predominant, and +he thrust out his hand, but Black Wolf ignored +it. +</p> +<p> +“White Arrow gave Black Wolf his life. +The debt is paid.” +</p> +<p> +Erskine looked at his enemy, nodded, and +the two bore the stag away. +</p> +<p> +Instantly a marked change was plain in +Black Wolf. He told the story of the fight +with the buck to all. Boldly he threw off +the mantle of shame, stalked haughtily +through the village, and went back to open +enmity with Erskine. At dusk a day or two +later, when he was coming down the path +from the white woman’s wigwam, Black Wolf +confronted him, scowling. +</p> +<p> +“Early Morn shall belong to Black Wolf,” +he said insolently. Erskine met his baleful, +half-drunken eyes scornfully. +</p> +<p> +“We will leave that to Early Morn,” he +said coolly, and then thundered suddenly: +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_201'></a>201</span> +</p> +<p> +“Out of my way!” +</p> +<p> +Black Wolf hesitated and gave way, but +ever thereafter Erskine was on guard. +</p> +<p> +In the white woman, too, Erskine now saw +a change. Once she had encouraged him to +stay with the Indians; now she lost no opportunity +to urge against it. She had heard +that Hamilton would try to retake Vincennes, +that he was forming a great force with which +to march south, sweep through Kentucky, +batter down the wooden forts, and force the +Kentuckians behind the great mountain wall. +Erskine would be needed by the whites, who +would never understand or trust him if he +should stay with the Indians. All this she +spoke one day when Erskine came to her tent +to talk. Her face had blanched, she had +argued passionately that he must go, and +Erskine was sorely puzzled. The girl, too, +had grown rebellious and disobedient, for the +change in her mother was plain also to her, +and she could not understand. Moreover, +Erskine’s stubbornness grew, and he began +to flame within at the stalking insolence of +Black Wolf, who slipped through the shadows +of day and the dusk to spy on the two whereever they +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_202'></a>202</span> +came together. And one day when +the sun was midway, and in the open of the +village, the clash came. Black Wolf darted +forth from his wigwam, his eyes bloodshot +with rage and drink, and his hunting-knife +in his hand. A cry from Early Morn warned +Erskine and he wheeled. As Black Wolf +made a vicious slash at him he sprang aside, +and with his fist caught the savage in the jaw. +Black Wolf fell heavily and Erskine was upon +him with his own knife at his enemy’s throat. +</p> +<p> +“Stop them!” old Kahtoo cried sternly, +but it was the terrified shriek of the white +woman that stayed Erskine’s hand. Two +young braves disarmed the fallen Indian, and +Kahtoo looked inquiringly at his adopted son. +</p> +<p> +“Turn him loose!” Erskine scorned. “I +have no fear of him. He is a woman and +drunk, but next time I shall kill him.” +</p> +<p> +The white woman had run down, caught +Early Morn, and was leading her back to her +tent. From inside presently came low, passionate +pleading from the woman and an occasional +sob from the girl. And when an +hour later, at dusk, Erskine turned upward +toward the tent, the girl gave a horrified +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_203'></a>203</span> +cry, flashed from the tent, and darted for the +high cliff over the river. +</p> +<p> +“Catch her!” cried the mother. “Quick!” +Erskine fled after her, overtook her with her +hands upraised for the plunge on the very edge +of the cliff, and half carried her, struggling +and sobbing, back to the tent. Within the +girl dropped in a weeping heap, and with +her face covered, and the woman turned to +Erskine, agonized. +</p> +<p> +“I told her,” she whispered, “and she was +going to kill herself. You are my son!” +</p> +<hr class='tb' /> +<p> +Still sleepless at dawn, the boy rode Firefly +into the woods. At sunset he came in, gaunt +with brooding and hunger. His foster-mother +brought him food, but he would not touch it. +The Indian woman stared at him with keen +suspicion, and presently old Kahtoo, passing +slowly, bent on him the same look, but asked +no question. Erskine gave no heed to either, +but his mother, watching from her wigwam, +understood and grew fearful. Quickly +she stepped outside and called him, and he +rose and went to her bewildered; she was +smiling. +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_204'></a>204</span> +</p> +<p> +“They are watching,” she said, and Erskine, +too, understood, and kept his back toward +the watchers. +</p> +<p> +“I have decided,” he said. “You and <em>she</em> +must leave here and go with me.” +</p> +<p> +His mother pretended much displeasure. +“She will not leave, and I will not leave +her”—her lips trembled—“and I would have +gone long ago but——” +</p> +<p> +“I understand,” interrupted Erskine, “but +you will go now with your son.” +</p> +<p> +The poor woman had to scowl. +</p> +<p> +“No, and you must not tell them. They +will never let me go, and they will use me to +keep you here. <em>You</em> must go at once. She +will never leave this tent as long as you are +here, and if you stay she will die, or kill herself. +Some day——” She turned abruptly and +went back into her tent. Erskine wheeled +and went to old Kahtoo. +</p> +<p> +“You want Early Morn?” asked the old +man. “You shall have her.” +</p> +<p> +“No,” said the boy, “I am going back to +the big chief.” +</p> +<p> +“You are my son and I am old and +weak.” +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_205'></a>205</span> +</p> +<p> +“I am a soldier and must obey the big chief’s +commands, as must you.” +</p> +<p> +“I shall live,” said the old man wearily, +“until you come again.” +</p> +<p> +Erskine nodded and went for his horse. +Black Wolf watched him with malignant +satisfaction, but said nothing—nor did +Crooked Lightning. Erskine turned once as +he rode away. His mother was standing +outside her wigwam. Mournfully she waved +her hand. Behind her and within the tent +he could see Early Morn with both hands at +her breast. +</p> +<h2><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_206'></a>206</span><a name='chXXII' id='chXXII'></a>XXII</h2> +<p> +Dawned 1781. +</p> +<p> +The war was coming into Virginia at +last. Virginia falling would thrust a great +wedge through the centre of the Confederacy, +feed the British armies and end the +fight. Cornwallis was to drive the wedge, +and never had the opening seemed easier. +Virginia was drained of her fighting men, +and south of the mountains was protected +only by a militia, for the most part, of old +men and boys. North and South ran despair. +The soldiers had no pay, little food, and only +old worn-out coats, tattered linen overalls, +and one blanket between three men, to protect +them from drifting snow and icy wind. +Even the great Washington was near despair, +and in foreign help his sole hope lay. Already +the traitor, Arnold, had taken Richmond, +burned warehouses, and returned, but +little harassed, to Portsmouth. +</p> +<p> +In April, “the proudest man,” as Mr. Jefferson said, +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_207'></a>207</span> +“of the proudest nation on earth,” +one General Phillips, marching northward, +paused opposite Richmond, and looked with +amaze at the troop-crowned hills north of +the river. Up there was a beardless French +youth of twenty-three, with the epaulets of a +major-general. +</p> +<p> +“He will not cross—hein?” said the Marquis +de Lafayette. “Very well!” And they +had a race for Petersburg, which the Britisher +reached first, and straightway fell ill of a fever +at “Bollingbrook.” A cannonade from the +Appomattox hills saluted him. +</p> +<p> +“They will not let me die in peace,” said +General Phillips, but he passed, let us hope, +to it, and Benedict Arnold succeeded him. +</p> +<p> +Cornwallis was coming on. Tarleton’s +white rangers were bedevilling the land, and +it was at this time that Erskine Dale once +more rode Firefly to the river James. +</p> +<p> +The boy had been two years in the wilds. +When he left the Shawnee camp winter was +setting in, that terrible winter of ‘79—of +deep snow and hunger and cold. When he +reached Kaskaskia, Captain Clark had gone +to Kentucky, and Erskine found bad news. +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_208'></a>208</span> +Hamilton and Hay had taken Vincennes. +There Captain Helm’s Creoles, as soon as they +saw the redcoats, slipped away from him to +surrender their arms to the British, and thus +deserted by all, he and the two or three Americans +with him had to give up the fort. The +French reswore allegiance to Britain. Hamilton +confiscated their liquor and broke up +their billiard-tables. He let his Indians scatter +to their villages, and with his regulars, +volunteers, white Indian leaders, and red +auxiliaries went into winter quarters. One +band of Shawnees he sent to Ohio to scout +and take scalps in the settlements. In the +spring he would sweep Kentucky and destroy +all the settlements west of the Alleghanies. +So Erskine and Dave went for Clark; and +that trip neither ever forgot. Storms had +followed each other since late November +and the snow lay deep. Cattle and horses +perished, deer and elk were found dead in +the woods, and buffalo came at nightfall to +old Jerome Sanders’s fort for food and companionship +with his starving herd. Corn +gave out and no johnny-cakes were baked on +long boards in front of the fire. There was +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_209'></a>209</span> +no salt or vegetable food; nothing but the +flesh of lean wild game. The only fat was +with the bears in the hollows of trees, and +every hunter was searching hollow trees. +The breast of the wild turkey served for bread. +Yet, while the frontiersmen remained crowded +in the stockades and the men hunted and the +women made clothes of tanned deer-hides, +buffalo-wool cloth, and nettle-bark linen, and +both hollowed “noggins” out of the knot of a +tree, Clark made his amazing march to Vincennes, +recaptured it by the end of February, +and sent Hamilton to Williamsburg a prisoner. +Erskine plead to be allowed to take him there, +but Clark would not let him go. Permanent +garrisons were placed at Vincennes and Cahokia, +and at Kaskaskia. Erskine stayed to +help make peace with the Indians, punish +marauders and hunting bands, so that by the +end of the year Clark might sit at the Falls +of the Ohio as a shield for the west and a sure +guarantee that the whites would never be +forced to abandon wild Kentucky. +</p> +<p> +The two years in the wilderness had left +their mark on Erskine. He was tall, lean, +swarthy, gaunt, and yet he was not all woodsman, for +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_210'></a>210</span> +his born inheritance as gentleman +had been more than emphasized by his association +with Clark and certain Creole officers +in the Northwest, who had improved his +French and gratified one pet wish of his life +since his last visit to the James—they had +taught him to fence. His mother he had not +seen again, but he had learned that she was +alive and not yet blind. Of Early Morn he +had heard nothing at all. Once a traveller +had brought word of Dane Grey. Grey was +in Philadelphia and prominent in the gay +doings of that city. He had taken part in +a brilliant pageant called the “Mischianza,” +which was staged by André, and was reported +a close friend of that ill-fated young gentleman. +</p> +<p> +After the fight at Piqua, with Clark Erskine +put forth for old Jerome Sanders’s +fort. He found the hard days of want over. +There was not only corn in plenty but wheat, +potatoes, pumpkins, turnips, melons. They +tapped maple-trees for sugar and had sown +flax. Game was plentiful, and cattle, horses, +and hogs had multiplied on cane and buffalo +clover. Indeed, it was a comparatively peaceful fall, +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_211'></a>211</span> +and though Clark plead with him, +Erskine stubbornly set his face for Virginia. +</p> +<p> +Honor Sanders and Polly Conrad had married, +but Lydia Noe was still firm against the +wooing of every young woodsman who came +to the fort; and when Erskine bade her good-by +and she told him to carry her love to Dave +Yandell, he knew for whom she would wait +forever if need be. +</p> +<p> +There were many, many travellers on the +Wilderness Road now, and Colonel Dale’s +prophecy was coming true. The settlers were +pouring in and the long, long trail was now +no lonesome way. +</p> +<p> +At Williamsburg Erskine learned many +things. Colonel Dale, now a general, was +still with Washington and Harry was with +him. Hugh was with the Virginia militia and +Dave with Lafayette. +</p> +<p> +Tarleton’s legion of rangers in their white +uniforms were scourging Virginia as they had +scourged the Carolinas. Through the James +River country they had gone with fire and +sword, burning houses, carrying off horses, +destroying crops, burning grain in the mills, +laying plantations to waste. Barbara’s +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_212'></a>212</span> +mother was dead. Her neighbors had moved +to safety, but Barbara, he heard, still lived +with old Mammy and Ephraim at Red +Oaks, unless that, too, had been recently +put to the torch. Where, then, would he +find her? +</p> +<h2><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_213'></a>213</span><a name='chXXIII' id='chXXIII'></a>XXIII</h2> +<p> +Down the river Erskine rode with a sad +heart. At the place where he had fought +with Grey he pulled Firefly to a sudden halt. +There was the boundary of Red Oaks and +there started a desolation that ran as far as +his eye could reach. Red Oaks had not been +spared, and he put Firefly to a fast gallop, with +eyes strained far ahead and his heart beating +with agonized foreboding and savage rage. +Soon over a distant clump of trees he could see +the chimneys of Barbara’s home—his home, he +thought helplessly—and perhaps those chimneys +were all that was left. And then he saw +the roof and the upper windows and the cap +of the big columns unharmed, untouched, and +he pulled Firefly in again, with overwhelming +relief, and wondered at the miracle. Again he +started and again pulled in when he caught +sight of three horses hitched near the stiles. +Turning quickly from the road, he hid Firefly +in the underbrush. Very quietly he slipped +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_214'></a>214</span> +along the path by the river, and, pushing +aside through the rose-bushes, lay down where +unseen he could peer through the closely +matted hedge. He had not long to wait. +A white uniform issued from the great hall +door and another and another—and after +them Barbara—smiling. The boy’s blood +ran hot—smiling at her enemies. Two officers +bowed, Barbara courtesied, and they +wheeled on their heels and descended the +steps. The third stayed behind a moment, +bowed over her hand and kissed it. The +watcher’s blood turned then to liquid fire. +Great God, at what price was that noble +old house left standing? Grimly, swiftly Erskine +turned, sliding through the bushes like +a snake to the edge of the road along which +they must pass. He would fight the three, +for his life was worth nothing now. He heard +them laughing, talking at the stiles. He +heard them speak Barbara’s name, and two +seemed to be bantering the third, whose +answering laugh seemed acquiescent and +triumphant. They were coming now. The +boy had his pistols out, primed and cocked. +He was rising on his knees, just about to +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_215'></a>215</span> +leap to his feet and out into the road, when he +fell back into a startled, paralyzed, inactive +heap. Glimpsed through an opening in the +bushes, the leading trooper in the uniform of +Tarleton’s legion was none other than Dane +Grey, and Erskine’s brain had worked quicker +than his angry heart. This was a mystery +that must be solved before his pistols spoke. +He rose crouching as the troopers rode away. +At the bend of the road he saw Grey turn +with a gallant sweep of his tricornered hat, +and, swerving his head cautiously, he saw +Barbara answer with a wave of her handkerchief. +If Tarleton’s men were around he +would better leave Firefly where he was in +the woods for a while. A jay-bird gave out +a flutelike note above his head; Erskine +never saw a jay-bird perched cockily on a +branch that he did not think of Grey; but +Grey was brave—so, too, was a jay-bird. A +startled gasp behind him made him wheel, +pistol once more in hand, to find a negro, +mouth wide open and staring at him from the +road. +</p> +<p> +“Marse Erskine!” he gasped. It was +Ephraim, the boy who had led Barbara’s +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_216'></a>216</span> +white ponies out long, long ago, now a tall, +muscular lad with an ebony face and dazzling +teeth. “Whut you doin’ hyeh, suh? Whar’ +yo’ hoss? Gawd, I’se sutn’ly glad to see +yuh.” Erskine pointed to an oak. +</p> +<p> +“Right by that tree. Put him in the stable +and feed him.” +</p> +<p> +The negro shook his head. +</p> +<p> +“No, suh. I’ll take de feed down to him. +Too many redcoats messin’ round heah. +You bettah go in de back way—dey might +see yuh.” +</p> +<p> +“How is Miss Barbara?” +</p> +<p> +The negro’s eyes shifted. +</p> +<p> +“She’s well. Yassuh, she’s well as common.” +</p> +<p> +“Wasn’t one of those soldiers who just rode +away Mr. Dane Grey?” +</p> +<p> +The negro hesitated. +</p> +<p> +“Yassuh.” +</p> +<p> +“What’s he doing in a British uniform?” +</p> +<p> +The boy shifted his great shoulders uneasily +and looked aside. +</p> +<p> +“I don’t know, suh—I don’t know nuttin’.” +</p> +<p> +Erskine knew he was lying, but respected +his loyalty. +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_217'></a>217</span> +</p> +<p> +“Go tell Miss Barbara I’m here and then +feed my horse.” +</p> +<p> +“Yassuh.” +</p> +<p> +Ephraim went swiftly and Erskine followed +along the hedge and through the rose-bushes +to the kitchen door, where Barbara’s faithful +old Mammy was waiting for him with a +smile of welcome but with deep trouble in +her eyes. +</p> +<p> +“I done tol’ Miss Barbary, suh. She’s +waitin’ fer yuh in de hall.” +</p> +<p> +Barbara, standing in the hall doorway, +heard his step. +</p> +<p> +“Erskine!” she cried softly, and she came +to meet him, with both hands outstretched, +and raised her lovely face to be kissed. +“What are you doing here?” +</p> +<p> +“I am on my way to join General Lafayette.” +</p> +<p> +“But you will be captured. It is dangerous. +The country is full of British soldiers.” +</p> +<p> +“So I know,” Erskine said dryly. +</p> +<p> +“When did you get here?” +</p> +<p> +“Twenty minutes ago. I would not have +been welcome just then. I waited in the +hedge. I saw you had company.” +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_218'></a>218</span> +</p> +<p> +“Did you see them?” she faltered. +</p> +<p> +“I even recognized one of them.” Barbara +sank into a chair, her elbow on one arm, +her chin in her hand, her face turned, her +eyes looking outdoors. She said nothing, but +the toe of her slipper began to tap the floor +gently. There was no further use for indirection +or concealment. +</p> +<p> +“Barbara,” Erskine said with some sternness, +and his tone quickened the tapping of +the slipper and made her little mouth tighten, +“what does all this mean?” +</p> +<p> +“Did you see,” she answered, without +looking at him, “that the crops were all destroyed +and the cattle and horses were all +gone?” +</p> +<p> +“Why did they spare the house?” The +girl’s bosom rose with one quick, defiant intake +of breath, and for a moment she held it. +</p> +<p> +“Dane Grey saved our home.” +</p> +<p> +“How?” +</p> +<p> +“He had known Colonel Tarleton in London +and had done something for him over +there.” +</p> +<p> +“How did he get in communication with +Colonel Tarleton when he was an officer in +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_219'></a>219</span> +the American army?” The girl would not +answer. +</p> +<p> +“Was he taken prisoner?” Still she was +silent, for the sarcasm in Erskine’s voice was +angering her. +</p> +<p> +“He fought once under Benedict Arnold—perhaps +he is fighting with him now.” +</p> +<p> +“No!” she cried hotly. +</p> +<p> +“Then he must be a——” +</p> +<p> +She did not allow him to utter the word. +</p> +<p> +“Why Mr. Grey is in British uniform is his +secret—not mine.” +</p> +<p> +“And why he is here is—yours.” +</p> +<p> +“Exactly!” she flamed. “You are a soldier. +Learn what you want to know from +him. You are my cousin, but you are going +beyond the rights of blood. I won’t stand +it—I won’t stand it—from anybody.” +</p> +<p> +“I don’t understand you, Barbara—I don’t +know you. That last time it was Grey, you—and +now—” He paused and, in spite of herself, +her eyes flashed toward the door. Erskine +saw it, drew himself erect, bowed and +strode straight out. Nor did the irony of +the situation so much as cross his mind—that +he should be turned from his own home by the +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_220'></a>220</span> +woman he loved and to whom he had given +that home. Nor did he look back—else he +might have seen her sink, sobbing, to the floor. +</p> +<hr class='tb' /> +<p> +When he turned the corner of the house +old Mammy and Ephraim were waiting for +him at the kitchen door. +</p> +<p> +“Get Firefly, Ephraim!” he said sharply. +</p> +<p> +“Yassuh!” +</p> +<p> +At the first sight of his face Mammy had +caught her hands together at her breast. +</p> +<p> +“You ain’t gwine, Marse Erskine,” she +said tremulously. “You ain’t gwine away?” +</p> +<p> +“Yes, Mammy—I must.” +</p> +<p> +“You an’ Miss Barbary been quoilin’, +Marse Erskine—you been quoilin’”—and +without waiting for an answer she went on +passionately: “Ole Marse an’ young Marse +an’ Marse Hugh done gone, de niggahs all +gone, an’ nobody lef’ but me an’ Ephraim—nobody +lef’ but me an’ Ephraim—to give dat +little chile one crumb o’ comfort. Nobody +come to de house but de redcoats an’ dat mean +Dane Grey, an’ ev’y time he come he leave +Miss Barbary cryin’ her little heart out. +’Tain’t Miss Barbary in dar—hit’s some other +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_221'></a>221</span> +pusson. She ain’t de same pusson—no, suh. +An’ lemme tell yu—lemme tell yu—ef some o’ +de men folks doan come back heah somehow +an’ look out fer dat little gal—she’s a-gwine +to run away wid dat mean low-down man +whut just rid away from heah in a white uniform.” +She had startled Erskine now and +she knew it. +</p> +<p> +“Dat man has got little Missus plum’ +witched, I tell ye—plum’ witched. Hit’s +jes like a snake wid a catbird.” +</p> +<p> +“Men have to fight, Mammy——” +</p> +<p> +“I doan keer nothin’ ’bout de war.” +</p> +<p> +“I’d be captured if I stayed here——” +</p> +<p> +“All I keer ’bout is my chile in dar——” +</p> +<p> +“But we’ll drive out the redcoats and the +whitecoats and I’ll come straight here——” +</p> +<p> +“An’ all de men folks leavin’ her heah wid +nobody but black Ephraim an’ her ole +Mammy.” The old woman stopped her fiery +harangue to listen: +</p> +<p> +“Dar now, heah dat? My chile hollerin’ +fer her ole Mammy.” She turned her unwieldy +body toward the faint cry that Erskine’s +heart heard better than his ears, and +Erskine hurried away. +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_222'></a>222</span> +</p> +<p> +“Ephraim,” he said as he swung upon +Firefly, “you and Mammy keep a close +watch, and if I’m needed here, come for me +yourself and come fast.” +</p> +<p> +“Yassuh. Marse Grey is sutn’ly up to +some devilmint no which side he fightin’ fer. +I got a gal oveh on the aige o’ de Grey plantation +an’ she tel’ me dat Marse Dane Grey +don’t wear dat white uniform all de time.” +</p> +<p> +“What’s that—what’s that?” asked Erskine. +</p> +<p> +“No, suh. She say he got an udder uniform, +same as yose, an’ he keeps it at her +uncle Sam’s cabin an’ she’s seed him go dar +in white an’ come out in our uniform, an’ +al’ays at night, Marse Erskine—al’ays at +night.” +</p> +<p> +The negro cocked his ear suddenly: +</p> +<p> +“Take to de woods quick, Marse Erskine. +Horses comin’ down the road.” +</p> +<p> +But the sound of coming hoof-beats had +reached the woodsman’s ears some seconds +before the black man heard them, and already +Erskine had wheeled away. And Ephraim +saw Firefly skim along the edge of a +blackened meadow behind its hedge of low +trees. +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_223'></a>223</span> +</p> +<p> +“Gawd!” said the black boy, and he stood +watching the road. A band of white-coated +troopers was coming in a cloud of dust, and +at the head of them rode Dane Grey. +</p> +<p> +“Has Captain Erskine Dale been here?” +he demanded. +</p> +<p> +Ephraim had his own reason for being on +the good side of the questioner, and did not +even hesitate. +</p> +<p> +“Yassuh—he jes’ lef’! Dar he goes now!” +With a curse Grey wheeled his troopers. At +that moment Firefly, with something like +the waving flight of a bluebird, was leaping +the meadow fence into the woods. The +black boy looked after the troopers’ dust. +</p> +<p> +“Gawd!” he said again, with a grin that +showed every magnificent tooth in his head. +“Jest as well try to ketch a streak o’ lightning.” +And quite undisturbed he turned to +tell the news to old Mammy. +</p> +<h2><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_224'></a>224</span><a name='chXXIV' id='chXXIV'></a>XXIV</h2> +<p> +Up the James rode Erskine, hiding in the +woods by day and slipping cautiously along +the sandy road by night, circling about Tarleton’s +camp-fires, or dashing at full speed +past some careless sentinel. Often he was +fired at, often chased, but with a clear road +in front of him he had no fear of capture. +On the third morning he came upon a ragged +sentinel—an American. Ten minutes later +he got his first glimpse of Lafayette, and +then he was hailed joyfully by none other +than Dave Yandell, Captain Dave Yandell, +shorn of his woodsman’s dress and panoplied +in the trappings of war. +</p> +<hr class='tb' /> +<p> +Cornwallis was coming on. The boy, he +wrote, cannot escape me. But the boy—Lafayette—did, +and in time pursued and +forced the Englishman into a <em>cul-de-sac</em>. “I +have given his lordship the disgrace of a retreat,” +said Lafayette. And so—Yorktown! +</p> +<p> +Late in August came the message that put +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_225'></a>225</span> +Washington’s great “soul in arms.” Rochambeau +had landed six thousand soldiers +in Connecticut, and now Count de Grasse +and a French fleet had sailed for the Chesapeake. +General Washington at once resorted +to camouflage. He laid out camps ostentatiously +opposite New York and in plain sight +of the enemy. He made a feigned attack on +their posts. Rochambeau moved south and +reached the Delaware before the British +grasped the Yankee trick. Then it was too +late. The windows of Philadelphia were +filled with ladies waving handkerchiefs and +crying bravoes when the tattered Continentals, +their clothes thick with dust but +hats plumed with sprigs of green, marched +through amid their torn battle-flags and +rumbling cannon. Behind followed the +French in “gay white uniforms faced with +green,” and martial music throbbed the air. +Not since poor André had devised the “Mischianza” +festival had Philadelphia seen such +a pageant. Down the Chesapeake they went +in transports and were concentrated at Williamsburg +before the close of September. +Cornwallis had erected works against the +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_226'></a>226</span> +boy, for he knew nothing of Washington and +Count de Grasse, nor Mad Anthony and +General Nelson, who were south of the James +to prevent escape into North Carolina. +</p> +<p> +“To your goodness,” the boy wrote to +Washington, “I am owning the most beautiful +prospect I may ever behold.” +</p> +<p> +Then came de Grasse, who drove off the +British fleet, and the mouth of the net was +closed. +</p> +<p> +Cornwallis heard the cannon and sent +Clinton to appeal for help, but the answer +was Washington himself at the head of his +army. And then the joyous march. +</p> +<p> +“’Tis our first campaign!” cried the French +gayly, and the Continentals joyfully answered: +</p> +<p> +“’Tis our last!” +</p> +<hr class='tb' /> +<p> +At Williamsburg the allies gathered, and +with Washington’s army came Colonel Dale, +now a general, and young Captain Harry +Dale, who had brought news from Philadelphia +that was of great interest to Erskine +Dale. In that town Dane Grey had been a +close intimate of André, and that intimacy +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_227'></a>227</span> +had been the cause of much speculation since. +He had told Dave of his mother and Early +Morn, and Dave had told him gravely that +he must go get them after the campaign was +over and bring them to the fort in Kentucky. +If Early Morn still refused to come, then he +must bring his mother, and he reckoned grimly +that no mouth would open in a word that +could offend her. Erskine also told of Red +Oaks and Dane Grey, but Dave must tell +nothing to the Dales—not yet, if ever. +</p> +<p> +In mid-September Washington came, and +General Dale had but one chance to visit +Barbara. General Dale was still weak from +a wound and Barbara tried unavailingly to +keep him at home. Erskine’s plea that he +was too busy to go with them aroused Harry’s +suspicions, that were confirmed by Barbara’s +manner and reticence, and he went bluntly +to the point: +</p> +<p> +“What is the trouble, cousin, between you +and Barbara?” +</p> +<p> +“Trouble?” +</p> +<p> +“Yes. You wouldn’t go to Red Oaks and +Barbara did not seem surprised. Is Dane +Grey concerned?” +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_228'></a>228</span> +</p> +<p> +“Yes.” +</p> +<p> +Harry looked searchingly at his cousin: +</p> +<p> +“I pray to God that I may soon meet him +face to face.” +</p> +<p> +“And I,” said Erskine quietly, “pray to +God that you do not—not until after I have +met him first.” Barbara had not told, he +thought, nor should he—not yet. And Harry, +after a searching look at his cousin, turned +away. +</p> +<p> +They marched next morning at daybreak. +At sunset of the second day they bivouacked +within two miles of Yorktown and the siege +began. The allied line was a crescent, with +each tip resting on the water—Lafayette commanding +the Americans on the right, the +French on the left under Rochambeau. De +Grasse, with his fleet, was in the bay to +cut off approach by water. Washington himself +put the match to the first gun, and the +mutual cannonade of three or four days began. +The scene was “sublime and stupendous.” +</p> +<p> +Bombshells were seen “crossing each other’s +path in the air, and were visible in the form +of a black ball by day, but in the night they +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_229'></a>229</span> +appeared like a fiery meteor, with a blazing +tail most beautifully brilliant. They ascended +majestically from the mortar to a certain altitude +and gradually descended to the spot +where they were destined to execute their +work of destruction. When a shell fell it +wheeled around, burrowed, and excavated +the earth to a considerable extent and, bursting, +made dreadful havoc around. When +they fell in the river they threw up columns +of water like spouting monsters of the deep. +Two British men-of-war lying in the river +were struck with hot shot and set on fire, +and the result was full of terrible grandeur. +The sails caught and the flames ran to the +tops of the masts, resembling immense torches. +One fled like a mountain of fire toward the +bay and was burned to the water’s edge.” +</p> +<p> +General Nelson, observing that the gunners +were not shooting at Nelson House because +it was his own, got off his horse and directed +a gun at it with his own hand. And at +Washington’s headquarters appeared the venerable +Secretary Nelson, who had left the +town with the permission of Cornwallis and +now “related with a serene visage what had +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_230'></a>230</span> +been the effect of our batteries.” It was +nearly the middle of October that the two +redoubts projecting beyond the British lines +and enfilading the American intrenchments +were taken by storm. One redoubt was left +to Lafayette and his Americans, the other to +Baron de Viomenil, who claimed that his +grenadiers were the men for the matter in +hand. Lafayette stoutly argued the superiority +of his Americans, who, led by Hamilton, +carried their redoubt first with the bayonet, +and sent the Frenchman an offer of help. +The answer was: +</p> +<p> +“I will be in mine in five minutes.” And +he was, Washington watching the attack +anxiously: +</p> +<p> +“The work is done and well done.” +</p> +<p> +And then the surrender: +</p> +<p> +The day was the 19th of October. The +victors were drawn up in two lines a mile +long on the right and left of a road that ran +through the autumn fields south of Yorktown. +Washington stood at the head of his +army on the right, Rochambeau at the head +of the French on the left. Behind on both +sides was a great crowd of people to watch +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_231'></a>231</span> +the ceremony. Slowly out of Yorktown +marched the British colors, cased drums beating +a significant English air: +</p> +<p> +“The world turned topsyturvy.” +</p> +<p> +Lord Cornwallis was sick. General O’Hara +bore my lord’s sword. As he approached, +Washington saluted and pointed to General +Lincoln, who had been treated with indignity +at Charleston. O’Hara handed the sword to +Lincoln. Lincoln at once handed it back and +the surrender was over. Between the lines +the British marched on and stacked arms in +a near-by field. Some of them threw their +muskets on the ground, and a British colonel +bit the hilt of his sword from rage. +</p> +<p> +As Tarleton’s legion went by, three pairs of +eyes watched eagerly for one face, but neither +Harry nor Captain Dave Yandell saw Dane +Grey—nor did Erskine Dale. +</p> +<h2><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_232'></a>232</span><a name='chXXV' id='chXXV'></a>XXV</h2> +<p> +To Harry and Dave, Dane Grey’s absence +was merely a mystery—to Erskine it brought +foreboding and sickening fear. General Dale’s +wound having opened afresh, made travelling +impossible, and Harry had a slight bayonet-thrust +in the shoulder. Erskine determined +to save them all the worry possible and to +act now as the head of the family himself. +He announced that he must go straight back +at once to Kentucky and Captain Clark. +Harry stormed unavailingly and General +Dale pleaded with him to stay, but gave reluctant +leave. To Dave he told his fears +and Dave vehemently declared he, too, would +go along, but Erskine would not hear of it +and set forth alone. +</p> +<p> +Slowly enough he started, but with every +mile suspicion and fear grew the faster and +he quickened Firefly’s pace. The distance to +Williamsburg was soon covered, and skirting +the town, he went on swiftly for Red Oaks. +</p> +<p> +Suppose he were too late, but even if he were +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_233'></a>233</span> +not too late, what should he do, what could +he do? Firefly was sweeping into a little +hollow now, and above the beating of her +hoofs in the sandy road, a clink of metal +reached his ears beyond the low hill ahead, +and Erskine swerved aside into the bushes. +Some one was coming, and apparently out of +the red ball of the sun hanging over that hill +sprang a horseman at a dead run—black +Ephraim on the horse he had saved from +Tarleton’s men. Erskine pushed quickly out +into the road. +</p> +<p> +“Stop!” he cried, but the negro came +thundering blindly on, as though he meant +to ride down anything in his way. Firefly +swerved aside, and Ephraim shot by, pulling +in with both hands and shouting: +</p> +<p> +“Marse Erskine! Yassuh, yassuh! Thank +Gawd you’se come.” When he wheeled he +came back at a gallop—nor did he stop. +</p> +<p> +“Come on, Marse Erskine!” he cried. +“No time to waste. Come on, suh!” +</p> +<p> +With a few leaps Firefly was abreast, and +neck and neck they ran, while the darky’s +every word confirmed the instinct and reason +that had led Erskine where he was. +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_234'></a>234</span> +</p> +<p> +“Yassuh, Miss Barbary gwine to run away +wid dat mean white man. Yassuh, dis very +night.” +</p> +<p> +“When did he get here?” +</p> +<p> +“Dis mawnin’. He been pesterin’ her an’ +pleadin’ wid her all day an’ she been cryin’ +her heart out, but Mammy say she’s gwine +wid him. ‘Pears like she can’t he’p herse’f.” +</p> +<p> +“Is he alone?” +</p> +<p> +“No, suh, he got an orficer an’ four sojers +wid him.” +</p> +<p> +“How did they get away?” +</p> +<p> +“He say as how dey was on a scoutin’ +party an’ ‘scaped.” +</p> +<p> +“Does he know that Cornwallis has surrendered?” +</p> +<p> +“Oh, yassuh, he tol’ Miss Barbary dat. +Dat’s why he says he got to git away right +now an’ she got to go wid him right now.” +</p> +<p> +“Did he say anything about General Dale +and Mr. Harry?” +</p> +<p> +“Yassuh, he say dat dey’s all right an’ dat +dey an’ you will be hot on his tracks. Dat’s +why Mammy tol’ me to ride like de debbil +an’ hurry you on, suh.” And Ephraim had +ridden like the devil, for his horse was lathered with +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_235'></a>235</span> +foam and both were riding that +way now, for the negro was no mean horseman +and the horse he had saved was a +thoroughbred. +</p> +<p> +“Dis arternoon,” the negro went on, “he +went ovah to dat cabin I tol’ you ‘bout an’ +got dat American uniform. He gwine to tell +folks on de way dat dem udders is his prisoners +an’ he takin’ dem to Richmond. Den +dey gwine to sep’rate an’ he an’ Miss Barbary +gwine to git married somewhur on de +way an’ dey goin’ on an’ sail fer England, +fer he say if he git captured folks’ll won’t let +him be prisoner o’ war—dey’ll jes up an’ +shoot him. An’ dat skeer Miss Barbary +mos’ to death an’ he’p make her go wid him. +Mammy heah’d ever’ word dey say.” +</p> +<p> +Erskine’s brain was working fast, but no +plan would come. They would be six against +him, but no matter—he urged Firefly on. +The red ball from which Ephraim had leaped +had gone down now. The chill autumn darkness +was settling, but the moon was rising +full and glorious over the black expanse of +trees when the lights of Red Oaks first +twinkled ahead. Erskine pulled in. +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_236'></a>236</span> +</p> +<p> +“Ephraim!” +</p> +<p> +“Yassuh. You lemme go ahead. You +jest wait in dat thicket next to de corner o’ +de big gyarden. I’ll ride aroun’ through de +fields an’ come into the barnyard by de back +gate. Dey won’t know I been gone. Den +I’ll come to de thicket an’ tell you de whole +lay o’ de land.” +</p> +<p> +Erskine nodded. +</p> +<p> +“Hurry!” +</p> +<p> +“Yassuh.” +</p> +<p> +The negro turned from the road through a +gate, and Erskine heard the thud of his horse’s +hoofs across the meadow turf. He rode on +slowly, hitched Firefly as close to the edge of +the road as was safe, and crept to the edge of +the garden, where he could peer through the +hedge. The hall-door was open and the hallway +lighted; so was the dining-room; and +there were lights in Barbara’s room. There +were no noises, not even of animal life, and +no figures moving about or in the house. +What could he do? One thing at least, no +matter what happened to him—he could +number Dane Grey’s days and make this +night his last on earth. It would probably +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_237'></a>237</span> +be his own last night, too. Impatiently he +crawled back to the edge of the road. More +quickly than he expected, he saw Ephraim’s +figure slipping through the shadows toward +him. +</p> +<p> +“Dey’s jus’ through supper,” he reported. +“Miss Barbary didn’t eat wid ’em. She’s +up in her room. Dat udder orficer been +stormin’ at Marse Grey an’ hurryin’ him up. +Mammy been holdin’ de little Missus back +all she can. She say she got to make like +she heppin’ her pack. De sojers down dar +by de wharf playin’ cards an’ drinkin’. Dat +udder man been drinkin’ hard. He got his +head on de table now an’ look like he gone +to sleep.” +</p> +<p> +“Ephraim,” said Erskine quickly, “go tell +Mr. Grey that one of his men wants to see +him right away at the sun-dial. Tell him the +man wouldn’t come to the house because he +didn’t want the others to know—that he has +something important to tell him. When he +starts down the path you run around the +hedge and be on hand in the bushes.” +</p> +<p> +“Yassuh,” and the boy showed his teeth in +a comprehending smile. It was not long before he saw +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_238'></a>238</span> +Grey’s tall figure easily emerge +from the hall-door and stop full in the light. +He saw Ephraim slip around the corner and +Grey move to the end of the porch, doubtless +in answer to the black boy’s whispered summons. +For a moment the two figures were +motionless and then Erskine began to tingle +acutely from head to foot. Grey came swiftly +down the great path, which was radiant with +moonlight. As Grey neared the dial Erskine +moved toward him, keeping in a dark shadow, +but Grey saw him and called in a low tone +but sharply: +</p> +<p> +“Well, what is it?” With two paces more +Erskine stepped out into the moonlight with +his cocked pistol at Grey’s breast. +</p> +<p> +“This,” he said quietly. “Make no noise—and +don’t move.” Grey was startled, but +he caught his control instantly and without +fear. +</p> +<p> +“You are a brave man, Mr. Grey, and so, +for that matter, is—Benedict Arnold.” +</p> +<p> +“Captain Grey,” corrected Grey insolently. +</p> +<p> +“I do not recognize your rank. To me you +are merely Traitor Grey.” +</p> +<p> +“You are entitled to unusual freedom of +speech—under the circumstances.” +</p> +<div><a name='i238' id='i238'></a></div> +<div class='figcenter' style='padding-top: 1em; padding-bottom: 1em'> +<a name='i008' id='i008'></a> +<img src="images/i238.jpg" alt="“Make no noise, and don’t move”" width="60%" title=""/><br /> +<span class='caption'>“Make no noise, and don’t move”</span> +</div> +<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_239'></a>239</span></div> +<p> +“I shall grant you the same freedom,” +Erskine replied quickly—“in a moment. You +are my prisoner, Mr. Grey. I could lead you +to your proper place at the end of a rope, +but I have in mind another fate for you +which perhaps will be preferable to you and +maybe one or two others. Mr. Grey, I tried +once to stab you—I knew no better and have +been sorry ever since. You once tried to +murder me in the duel and you did know +better. Doubtless you have been sorry ever +since—that you didn’t succeed. Twice you +have said that you would fight me with anything, +any time, any place.” Grey bowed +slightly. “I shall ask you to make those +words good and I shall accordingly choose the +weapons.” Grey bowed again. “Ephraim!” +The boy stepped from the thicket. +</p> +<p> +“Ah,” breathed Grey, “that black devil!” +</p> +<p> +“Ain’ you gwine to shoot him, Marse Erskine?” +</p> +<p> +“Ephraim!” said Erskine, “slip into the +hall very quietly and bring me the two rapiers +on the wall.” Grey’s face lighted up. +</p> +<p> +“And, Ephraim,” he called, “slip into the +dining-room and fill Captain Kilburn’s glass.” +He turned with a wicked smile. +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_240'></a>240</span> +</p> +<p> +“Another glass and he will be less likely to +interrupt. Believe me, Captain Dale, I shall +take even more care now than you that we +shall not be disturbed. I am delighted.” +And now Erskine bowed. +</p> +<p> +“I know more of your career than you +think, Grey. You have been a spy as well +as a traitor. And now you are crowning your +infamy by weaving some spell over my cousin +and trying to carry her away in the absence +of her father and brother, to what unhappiness +God only can know. I can hardly hope +that you appreciate the honor I am doing +you.” +</p> +<p> +“Not as much as I appreciate your courage +and the risk you are taking.” +</p> +<p> +Erskine smiled. +</p> +<p> +“The risk is perhaps less than you think.” +</p> +<p> +“You have not been idle?” +</p> +<p> +“I have learned more of my father’s swords +than I knew when we used them last.” +</p> +<p> +“I am glad—it will be more interesting.” +Erskine looked toward the house and moved +impatiently. +</p> +<p> +“My brother officer has dined too well,” +noted Grey placidly, “and the rest of my—er—retinue +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_241'></a>241</span> +are gambling. We are quite secure.” +</p> +<p> +“Ah!” Erskine breathed—he had seen the +black boy run down the steps with something +under one arm and presently Ephraim was +in the shadow of the thicket: +</p> +<p> +“Give one to Mr. Grey, Ephraim, and the +other to me. I believe you said on that other +occasion that there was no choice of blades?” +</p> +<p> +“Quite right,” Grey answered, skilfully testing +his bit of steel. +</p> +<p> +“Keep well out of the way, Ephraim,” +warned Erskine, “and take this pistol. You +may need it, if I am worsted, to protect yourself.” +</p> +<p> +“Indeed, yes,” returned Grey, “and kindly +instruct him not to use it to protect <em>you</em>.” +For answer Erskine sprang from the shadow—discarding +formal courtesies. +</p> +<p> +“<em>En garde!</em>” he called sternly. +</p> +<p> +The two shining blades clashed lightly and +quivered against each other in the moonlight +like running drops of quicksilver. +</p> +<p> +Grey was cautious at first, trying out his +opponent’s increase in skill: +</p> +<p> +“You have made marked improvement.” +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_242'></a>242</span> +</p> +<p> +“Thank you,” smiled Erskine. +</p> +<p> +“Your wrist is much stronger.” +</p> +<p> +“Naturally.” Grey leaped backward and +parried just in time a vicious thrust that was +like a dart of lightning. +</p> +<p> +“Ah! A Frenchman taught you that.” +</p> +<p> +“A Frenchman taught me all the little I +know.” +</p> +<p> +“I wonder if he taught you how to meet +this.” +</p> +<p> +“He did,” answered Erskine, parrying +easily and with an answering thrust that +turned Grey suddenly anxious. Constantly +Grey manœuvred to keep his back to the +moon, and just as constantly Erskine easily +kept him where the light shone fairly on both. +Grey began to breathe heavily. +</p> +<p> +“I think, too,” said Erskine, “that my +wind is a little better than yours—would you +like a short resting-spell?” +</p> +<p> +From the shadow Ephraim chuckled, and +Grey snapped: +</p> +<p> +“Make that black devil——” +</p> +<p> +“Keep quiet, Ephraim!” broke in Erskine +sternly. Again Grey manœuvred for the +moon, to no avail, and Erskine gave warning: +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_243'></a>243</span> +</p> +<p> +“Try that again and I will put that moon +in your eyes and keep it there.” Grey was +getting angry now and was beginning to pant. +</p> +<p> +“Your wind <em>is</em> short,” said Erskine with +mock compassion. “I will give you a little +breathing-spell presently.” +</p> +<p> +Grey was not wasting his precious breath +now and he made no answer. +</p> +<p> +“Now!” said Erskine sharply, and Grey’s +blade flew from his hand and lay like a streak +of silver on the dewy grass. Grey rushed +for it. +</p> +<p> +“Damn you!” he raged, and wheeled furiously—patience, +humor, and caution quite +gone—and they fought now in deadly silence. +Ephraim saw the British officer appear in the +hall and walk unsteadily down the steps as +though he were coming down the path, but +he dared not open his lips. There was the +sound of voices, and it was evident that the +game had ended in a quarrel and the players +were coming up the river-bank toward them. +Erskine heard, but if Grey did he at first gave +no sign—he was too much concerned with the +death that faced him. Suddenly Erskine +knew that Grey had heard, for the fear in his +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_244'></a>244</span> +face gave way to a diabolic grin of triumph +and he lashed suddenly into defense—if he +could protect himself only a little longer! +Erskine had delayed the finishing-stroke too +long and he must make it now. Grey gave +way step by step—parrying only. The blades +flashed like tiny bits of lightning. Erskine’s +face, grim and inexorable, brought the sick +fear back into Grey’s, and Erskine saw his +enemy’s lips open. He lunged then, his blade +went true, sank to the hilt, and Grey’s warped +soul started on its way with a craven cry for +help. Erskine sprang back into the shadows +and snatched his pistol from Ephraim’s hand: +</p> +<p> +“Get out of the way now. Tell them I +did it.” +</p> +<p> +Once he looked back. He saw Barbara at +the hall-door with old Mammy behind her. +With a running leap he vaulted the hedge, +and, hidden in the bushes, Ephraim heard +Firefly’s hoofs beating ever more faintly the +sandy road. +</p> +<h2><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_245'></a>245</span><a name='chXXVI' id='chXXVI'></a>XXVI</h2> +<p> +Yorktown broke the British heart, and +General Dale, still weak from wounds, went +home to Red Oaks. It was not long before, +with gentle inquiry, he had pieced out the +full story of Barbara and Erskine and Dane +Grey, and wisely he waited his chance with +each phase of the situation. Frankly he told +her first of Grey’s dark treachery, and the +girl listened with horrified silence, for she +would as soon have distrusted that beloved +father as the heavenly Father in her prayers. +She left him when he finished the story and +he let her go without another word. All day +she was in her room and at sunset she gave +him her answer, for she came to him dressed +in white, knelt by his chair, and put her head +in his lap. And there was a rose in her hair. +</p> +<p> +“I have never understood about myself +and—and that man,” she said, “and I never +will.” +</p> +<p> +“I do,” said the general gently, “and I understand +you through my sister who was so +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_246'></a>246</span> +like you. Erskine’s father was as indignant +as Harry is now, and I am trying to act +toward you as my father did toward her.” +The girl pressed her lips to one of his hands. +</p> +<p> +“I think I’d better tell you the whole story +now,” said General Dale, and he told of Erskine’s +father, his wildness and his wanderings, +his marriage, and the capture of his +wife and the little son by the Indians, all of +which she knew, and the girl wondered why +he should be telling her again. The general +paused: +</p> +<p> +“You know Erskine’s mother was not +killed. He found her.” The girl looked up +amazed and incredulous. +</p> +<p> +“Yes,” he went on, “the white woman +whom he found in the Indian village was his +mother.” +</p> +<p> +“Father!” She lifted her head quickly, +leaned back with hands caught tight in front +of her, looked up into his face—her own crimsoning +and paling as she took in the full +meaning of it all. Her eyes dropped. +</p> +<p> +“Then,” she said slowly, “that Indian girl—Early +Morn—is his half-sister. Oh, oh!” +A great pity flooded her heart and eyes. +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_247'></a>247</span> +“Why didn’t Erskine take them away from +the Indians?” +</p> +<p> +“His mother wouldn’t leave them.” And +Barbara understood. +</p> +<p> +“Poor thing—poor thing!” +</p> +<p> +“I think Erskine is going to try now.” +</p> +<p> +“Did you tell him to bring them here?” +The general put his hand on her head. +</p> +<p> +“I hoped you would say that. I did, but +he shook his head.” +</p> +<p> +“Poor Erskine!” she whispered, and her +tears came. Her father leaned back and for +a moment closed his eyes. +</p> +<p> +“There is more,” he said finally. “Erskine’s +father was the eldest brother—and +Red Oaks——” +</p> +<p> +The girl sprang to her feet, startled, agonized, +shamed: “Belongs to Erskine,” she +finished with her face in her hands. “God +pity me,” she whispered, “I drove him from +his own home.” +</p> +<p> +“No,” said the old general with a gentle +smile. He was driving the barb deep, but +sooner or later it had to be done. +</p> +<p> +“Look here!” He pulled an old piece of +paper from his pocket and handed it to her. +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_248'></a>248</span> +Her wide eyes fell upon a rude boyish scrawl +and a rude drawing of a buffalo pierced by +an arrow: +</p> +<p> +“It make me laugh. I have no use. I +give hole dam plantashun Barbara.” +</p> +<p> +“Oh!” gasped the girl and then—“where +is he?” +</p> +<p> +“Waiting at Williamsburg to get his discharge.” +She rushed swiftly down the steps, +calling: +</p> +<p> +“Ephraim! Ephraim!” +</p> +<p> +And ten minutes later the happy, grinning +Ephraim, mounted on the thoroughbred, +was speeding ahead of a whirlwind of +dust with a little scented note in his battered +slouch hat: +</p> +<p style='margin-left: 2em;margin-right: 2em;'> +“You said you would come whenever I +wanted you. I want you to come now. +</p> +<p style='text-align:right; margin-top:0; margin-bottom:0; margin-right:2em;;'>“<span class='sc'>Barbara.</span>”</p> +<p> +The girl would not go to bed, and the old +general from his window saw her like some +white spirit of the night motionless on the +porch. And there through the long hours +she sat. Once she rose and started down the +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_249'></a>249</span> +great path toward the sun-dial, moving slowly +through the flowers and moonlight until she +was opposite a giant magnolia. Where the +shadow of it touched the light on the grass, +she had last seen Grey’s white face and scarlet +breast. With a shudder she turned back. +The night whitened. A catbird started the +morning chorus. The dawn came and with +it Ephraim. The girl waited where she was. +Ephraim took off his battered hat. +</p> +<p> +“Marse Erskine done gone, Miss Barbary,” +he said brokenly. “He done gone two days.” +</p> +<p> +The girl said nothing, and there the old +general found her still motionless—the torn +bits of her own note and the torn bits of Erskine’s +scrawling deed scattered about her +feet. +</p> +<h2><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_250'></a>250</span><a name='chXXVII' id='chXXVII'></a>XXVII</h2> +<p> +On the summit of Cumberland Gap Erskine +Dale faced Firefly to the east and looked +his last on the forests that swept unbroken +back to the river James. It was all over for +him back there and he turned to the wilder +depths, those endless leagues of shadowy +woodlands, that he would never leave again. +Before him was one vast forest. The trees +ran from mountain-crest to river-bed, they +filled valley and rolling plain, and swept on +in sombre and melancholy wastes to the +Mississippi. Around him were birches, pines, +hemlocks, and balsam firs. He dropped down +into solemn, mysterious depths filled with +oaks, chestnuts, hickories, maples, beeches, +walnuts, and gigantic poplars. The sun could +not penetrate the leafy-roofed archway of +that desolate world. The tops of the mighty +trees merged overhead in a mass of tent-like +foliage and the spaces between the trunks +were choked with underbrush. And he rode +on and on through the gray aisles of the forest +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_251'></a>251</span> +in a dim light that was like twilight at high +noon. +</p> +<p> +At Boonesborough he learned from the old +ferryman that, while the war might be coming +to an end in Virginia, it was raging worse +than ever in Kentucky. There had been +bloody Indian forays, bloody white reprisals, +fierce private wars, and even then the whole +border was in a flame. Forts had been pushed +westward even beyond Lexington, and 1782 +had been Kentucky’s year of blood. Erskine +pushed on, and ever grew his hopelessness. +The British had drawn all the savages of the +Northwest into the war. As soon as the +snow was off the ground the forays had begun. +Horses were stolen, cabins burned, and +women and children were carried off captive. +The pioneers had been confined to their stockaded +forts, and only small bands of riflemen +sallied out to patrol the country. Old Jerome +Sanders’s fort was deserted. Old Jerome had +been killed. Twenty-three widows were at +Harrodsburg filing the claims of dead husbands, +and among them were Polly Conrad +and Honor Sanders. The people were expecting +an attack in great force from the +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_252'></a>252</span> +Indians led by the British. At the Blue +Licks there had been a successful ambush by +the Indians and the whites had lost half their +number, among them many brave men and +natural leaders of the settlements. Captain +Clark was at the mouth of Licking River +and about to set out on an expedition and +needed men. +</p> +<p> +Erskine, sure of a welcome, joined him and +again rode forth with Clark through the +northern wilderness, and this time a thousand +mounted riflemen followed them. Clark had +been stirred at last from his lethargy by the +tragedy of the Blue Licks and this expedition +was one of reprisal and revenge; and it was +to be the last. The time was autumn and +the corn was ripe. The triumphant savages +rested in their villages unsuspecting and unafraid, +and Clark fell upon them like a whirl-wind. +Taken by surprise, and startled and +dismayed by such evidence of the quick rebirth +of power in the beaten whites, the Indians +of every village fled at their approach, +and Clark put the torch not only to cabin +and wigwam but to the fields of standing +corn. As winter was coming on, this would +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_253'></a>253</span> +be a sad blow, as Clark intended, to the +savages. +</p> +<p> +Erskine had told the big chief of his mother, +and every man knew the story and was on +guard that she should come to no harm. A +captured Shawnee told them that the Shawnees +had got word that the whites were coming, +and their women and old men had fled +or were fleeing, all, except in a village he had +just left—he paused and pointed toward the +east where a few wisps of smoke were rising. +Erskine turned: “Do you know Kahtoo?” +</p> +<p> +“He is in that village.” +</p> +<p> +Erskine hesitated: “And the white woman—Gray +Dove?” +</p> +<p> +“She, too, is there.” +</p> +<p> +“And Early Morn?” +</p> +<p> +“Yes,” grunted the savage. +</p> +<p> +“What does he say?” asked Clark. +</p> +<p> +“There is a white woman and her daughter +in a village, there,” said Erskine, pointing +in the direction of the smoke. +</p> +<p> +Clark’s voice was announcing the fact to +his men. Hastily he selected twenty. “See +that no harm comes to them,” he cried, and +dashed forward. Erskine in advance saw +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_254'></a>254</span> +Black Wolf and a few bucks covering the retreat +of some fleeing women. They made a +feeble resistance of a volley and they too +turned to flee. A white woman emerged +from a tent and with great dignity stood, +peering with dim eyes. To Clark’s amazement +Erskine rushed forward and took her +in his arms. A moment later Erskine cried: +</p> +<p> +“My sister, where is she?” +</p> +<p> +The white woman’s trembling lips opened, +but before she could answer, a harsh, angry +voice broke in haughtily, and Erskine turned +to see Black Wolf stalking in, a prisoner between +two stalwart woodsmen. +</p> +<p> +“Early Morn is Black Wolf’s squaw. She +is gone—” He waved one hand toward the +forest. +</p> +<p> +The insolence of the savage angered Clark, +and not understanding what he said, he asked +angrily: +</p> +<p> +“Who is this fellow?” +</p> +<p> +“He is the husband of my half-sister,” answered +Erskine gravely. +</p> +<p> +Clark looked dazed and uncomprehending: +</p> +<p> +“And that woman?” +</p> +<p> +“My mother,” said Erskine gently. +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_255'></a>255</span> +</p> +<p> +“Good God!” breathed Clark. He turned +quickly and waved the open-mouthed woodsmen +away, and Erskine and his mother were +left alone. A feeble voice called from a tent +near by. +</p> +<p> +“Old Kahtoo!” said Erskine’s mother. +“He is dying and he talks of nothing but you—go +to him!” And Erskine went. The old +man lay trembling with palsy on a buffalo-robe, +but the incredible spirit in his wasted +body was still burning in his eyes. +</p> +<p> +“My son,” said he, “I knew your voice. +I said I should not die until I had seen you +again. It is well ... it is well,” he repeated, +and wearily his eyes closed. And thus Erskine +knew it would be. +</p> +<h2><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_256'></a>256</span><a name='chXXVIII' id='chXXVIII'></a>XXVIII</h2> +<p> +That winter Erskine made his clearing on +the land that Dave Yandell had picked out +for him, and in the centre of it threw up a +rude log hut in which to house his mother, +for his remembrance of her made him believe +that she would prefer to live alone. He told +his plans to none. +</p> +<p> +In the early spring, when he brought his +mother home, she said that Black Wolf had +escaped and gone farther into the wilderness—that +Early Morn had gone with him. His +mother seemed ill and unhappy. Erskine, +not knowing that Barbara was on her way +to find him, started on a hunting-trip. In a +few days Barbara arrived and found his mother +unable to leave her bed, and Lydia Noe sitting +beside her. Harry had just been there +to say good-by before going to Virginia. +</p> +<div><a name='i256' id='i256'></a></div> +<div class='figcenter' style='padding-top: 1em; padding-bottom: 1em'> +<a name='i009' id='i009'></a> +<img src="images/i256.jpg" alt="To his bewilderment he found Barbara at his mother’s bedside" width="60%" title=""/><br /> +<span class='caption'>To his bewilderment he found Barbara at his mother’s bedside</span> +</div> +<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_257'></a>257</span></div> +<p> +Barbara was dismayed by Erskine’s absence +and his mother’s look of suffering and +extreme weakness, and the touch of her cold +fingers. There was no way of reaching her +son, she said—he did not know of her illness. +Barbara told her of Erskine’s giving her his +inheritance, and that she had come to return it. +Meanwhile Erskine, haunted by his +mother’s sad face, had turned homeward. +To his bewilderment, he found Barbara at +his mother’s bedside. A glance at their faces +told him that death was near. His mother +held out her hand to him while still holding +Barbara’s. As in a dream, he bent over to +kiss her, and with a last effort she joined their +hands, clasping both. A great peace transformed +her face as she slowly looked at Barbara +and then up at Erskine. With a sigh +her head sank lower, and her lovely dimming +eyes passed into the final dark. +</p> +<p> +Two days later they were married. The +woodsmen, old friends of Erskine’s, were awed +by Barbara’s daintiness, and there were none +of the rude jests they usually flung back and +forth. With hearty handshakes they said +good-by and disappeared into the mighty +forest. In the silence that fell, Erskine spoke +of the life before them, of its hardships and +dangers, and then of the safety and comfort +of Virginia. Barbara smiled: +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_258'></a>258</span> +</p> +<p> +“You choose the wilderness, and your +choice is mine. We will leave the same +choice....” She flushed suddenly and bent +her head. +</p> +<p> +“To those who come after us,” finished +Erskine. +</p> +<div class='center'> +<p> </p> +<p><span class='sc'>The End.</span></p> +</div> + + + + + + + +<pre> + + + + + +End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of Erskine Dale--Pioneer, by John Fox + +*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK ERSKINE DALE--PIONEER *** + +***** This file should be named 36390-h.htm or 36390-h.zip ***** +This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: + https://www.gutenberg.org/3/6/3/9/36390/ + +Produced by Roger Frank and the Online Distributed +Proofreading Team at https://www.pgdp.net + + +Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions +will be renamed. + +Creating the works from public domain print editions means that no +one owns a United States copyright in these works, so the Foundation +(and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United States without +permission and without paying copyright royalties. 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You may copy it, give it away or +re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included +with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org + + +Title: Erskine Dale--Pioneer + +Author: John Fox + +Illustrator: F. C. Yohn + +Release Date: June 12, 2011 [EBook #36390] + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: ASCII + +*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK ERSKINE DALE--PIONEER *** + + + + +Produced by Roger Frank and the Online Distributed +Proofreading Team at https://www.pgdp.net + + + + + + ERSKINE DALE--PIONEER + + BY JOHN FOX, JR. + + ERSKINE DALE--PIONEER + THE HEART OF THE HILLS + THE TRAIL OF THE LONESOME PINE + THE LITTLE SHEPHERD OF KINGDOM COME + CRITTENDEN. A Kentucky Story of Love and War + THE KENTUCKIANS AND A KNIGHT OF THE CUMBERLAND + A MOUNTAIN EUROPA AND A CUMBERLAND VENDETTA + CHRISTMAS EVE ON LONESOME, HELL-FER-SARTAIN AND IN HAPPY VALLEY + BLUE GRASS AND RHODODENDRON, Outdoor Life in Kentucky + + CHARLES SCRIBNER'S SONS + + + + +[Illustration: The third stayed behind a moment, bowed over her hand, +and kissed it] + + + + + ERSKINE DALE + PIONEER + + BY + + JOHN FOX, JR. + + ILLUSTRATED BY F. C. YOHN + + CHARLES SCRIBNER'S SONS + NEW YORK 1920 + + + + + Copyright, 1919, 1920, by + CHARLES SCRIBNER'S SONS + + Published September, 1920 + + + + +ILLUSTRATIONS + + The third stayed behind a moment, bowed over her hand, + and kissed it Frontispiece + + "The messenger is the son of a king" 36 + + "I don't want nobody to take up for me" 56 + + "Four more days," he cried, "and we'll be there!" 100 + + "That is Kahtoo's talk, but this is mine" 132 + + The sword blades clashed, Erskine whipping back and forth + in a way to make a swordsman groan 168 + + "Make no noise, and don't move" 238 + + To his bewilderment he found Barbara at his mother's bedside 256 + + + + +ERSKINE DALE--PIONEER + + + + +I + + +Streaks of red ran upward, and in answer the great gray eye of the +wilderness lifted its mist-fringed lid. From the green depths came the +fluting of a lone wood-thrush. Through them an owl flew on velvety wings +for his home in the heart of a primeval poplar. A cougar leaped from the +low limb of an oak, missed, and a shuddering deer streaked through a +forest aisle, bounded into a little clearing, stopped rigid, sniffed a +deadlier enemy, and whirled into the wilderness again. Still deeper in +the depths a boy with a bow and arrow and naked, except for scalp-lock +and breech-clout, sprang from sleep and again took flight along a +buffalo trail. Again, not far behind him, three grunting savages were +taking up the print of his moccasined feet. + +An hour before a red flare rose within the staked enclosure that was +reared in the centre of the little clearing, and above it smoke was soon +rising. Before the first glimmer of day the gates yawned a little and +three dim shapes appeared and moved leisurely for the woods--each man +with a long flintlock rifle in the hollow of his arm, a hunting-knife in +his belt, and a coonskin cap on his head. At either end of the stockade +a watchtower of oak became visible and in each a sleepy sentinel yawned +and sniffed the welcome smell of frying venison below him. In the pound +at one end of the fort, and close to the eastern side, a horse whinnied, +and a few minutes later when a boy slipped through the gates with feed +in his arms there was more whinnying and the stamping of impatient feet. + +"Gol darn ye!" the boy yelled, "can't ye wait till a feller gits _his_ +breakfast?" + +A voice deep, lazy, and resonant came from the watch-tower above: + +"Well, I'm purty hungry myself." + +"See any Injuns, Dave?" + +"Not more'n a thousand or two, I reckon." The boy laughed: + +"Well, I reckon you won't see any while I'm around--they're afeerd o' +_me_." + +"I don't blame 'em, Bud. I reckon that blunderbuss o' yours would come +might' nigh goin' through a pat o' butter at twenty yards." The sentinel +rose towering to the full of his stature, stretched his mighty arms with +a yawn, and lightly leaped, rifle in hand, into the enclosure. A girl +climbing the rude ladder to the tower stopped midway. + +"Mornin', Dave!" + +"Mornin', Polly!" + +"I was comin' to wake you up," she smiled. + +"I just waked up," he yawned, humoring the jest. + +"You don't seem to have much use for this ladder." + +"Not unless I'm goin' up; and I wouldn't then if I could jump as high as +I can fall." He went toward her to help her down. + +"I wouldn't climb very high," she said, and scorning his hand with a +tantalizing little grimace she leaped as lightly as had he to the +ground. Two older women who sat about a kettle of steaming clothes +watched her. + +"Look at Polly Conrad, won't ye? I declare that gal----" + +"Lyddy!" cried Polly, "bring Dave's breakfast!" + +At the door of each log cabin, as solidly built as a little fort, a +hunter was cleaning a long rifle. At the western angle two men were +strengthening the pickets of the palisade. About the fire two mothers +were suckling babes at naked breasts. A boy was stringing a bow, and +another was hurling a small tomahawk at an oaken post, while a third who +was carrying wood for the open fire cried hotly: + +"Come on here, you two, an' he'p me with this wood!" And grumbling they +came, for that fort harbored no idler, irrespective of age or sex. + +At the fire a tall girl rose, pushed a mass of sunburned hair from her +heated forehead, and a flush not from the fire fused with her smile. + +"I reckon Dave can walk this far--he don't look very puny." + +A voice vibrant with sarcasm rose from one of the women about the +steaming kettle. + +"Honor!" she cried, "Honor Sanders!" + +In a doorway near, a third girl was framed--deep-eyed, deep-breasted. + +"Honor!" cried the old woman, "stop wastin' yo' time with that weavin' +in thar an' come out here an' he'p these two gals to git Dave his +breakfast." Dave Yandell laughed loudly. + +"Come on, Honor," he called, but the girl turned and the whir of a loom +started again like the humming of bees. Lydia Noe handed the hunter a +pan of deer-meat and corn bread, and Polly poured him a cup of steaming +liquid made from sassafras leaves. Unheeding for a moment the food in +his lap, Dave looked up into Polly's black eyes, shifted to Lydia, +swerved to the door whence came the whir of the loom. + +"You are looking very handsome this morning, Polly," he said gravely, +"and Lydia is lovelier even than usual, and Honor is a woodland dream." +He shook his head. "No," he said, "I really couldn't." + +"Couldn't what?" asked Polly, though she knew some nonsense was coming. + +"Be happy even with two, if t'other were far away." + +"I reckon you'll have to try some day--with all of us far away," said the +gentle Lydia. + +"No doubt, no doubt." He fell upon his breakfast. + +"Purple, crimson, and gold--daughters of the sun--such are not for the +poor hunter--alack, alack!" + +"Poor boy!" said Lydia, and Polly looked at her with quickening wonder. +Rallying Dave with soft-voiced mockery was a new phase in Lydia. Dave +gave his hunting-knife a pathetic flourish. + +"And when the Virginia gallants come, where will poor Dave be?" + +Polly's answer cut with sarcasm, but not at Dave. + +"Dave will be busy cuttin' wood an' killin' food for 'em--an' keepin' 'em +from gettin' scalped by Indians." + +"I wonder," said Lydia, "if they'll have long hair like Dave?" Dave +shook his long locks with mock pride. + +"Yes, but it won't be their own an' it'll be _powdered_." + +"Lord, I'd like to see the first Indian who takes one of their scalps." +Polly laughed, but there was a shudder in Lydia's smile. Dave rose. + +"I'm goin' to sleep till dinner--don't let anybody wake me," he said, and +at once both the girls were serious and kind. + +"We won't, Dave." + +Cow-bells began to clang at the edge of the forest. + +"There they are," cried Polly. "Come on, Lyddy." + +The two girls picked up piggins and squeezed through the opening between +the heavy gates. The young hunter entered a door and within threw +himself across a rude bed, face down. + +"Honor!" cried one of the old women, "you go an' git a bucket o' water." +The whir stopped instantly, the girl stepped with a sort of slow majesty +from the cabin, and, entering the next, paused on the threshold as her +eyes caught the powerful figure stretched on the bed and already in +heavy sleep. As she stepped softly for the bucket she could not forbear +another shy swift glance; she felt the flush in her face and to conceal +it she turned her head angrily when she came out. A few minutes later +she was at the spring and ladling water into her pail with a gourd. Near +by the other two girls were milking--each with her forehead against the +soft flank of a dun-colored cow whose hoofs were stained with the juice +of wild strawberries. Honor dipped lazily. When her bucket was full she +fell a-dreaming, and when the girls were through with their task they +turned to find her with deep, unseeing eyes on the dark wilderness. + +"Boo!" cried Polly, startling her, and then teasingly: + +"Are you in love with Dave, too, Honor?" + +The girl reddened. + +"No," she whipped out, "an' I ain't goin' to be." And then she reddened +again angrily as Polly's hearty laugh told her she had given herself +away. For a moment the three stood like wood-nymphs about the spring, +vigorous, clear-eyed, richly dowered with health and color and body and +limb--typical mothers-to-be of a wilderness race. And as Honor turned +abruptly for the fort, a shot came from the woods followed by a +war-whoop that stopped the blood shuddering in their veins. + +"Oh, my God!" each cried, and catching at their wet skirts they fled in +terror through the long grass. They heard the quick commotion in the +fort, heard sharp commands, cries of warning, frantic calls for them to +hurry, saw strained faces at the gates, saw Dave bound through and rush +toward them. And from the forest there was nothing but its silence until +that was again broken--this time by a loud laugh--the laugh of a white +man. Then at the edge of the wilderness appeared--the fool. Behind him +followed the other two who had gone out that morning, one with a deer +swung about his shoulders, and all could hear the oaths of both as they +cursed the fool in front who had given shot and war-whoop to frighten +women and make them run. Dave stood still, but his lips, too, were busy +with curses, and from the fort came curses--an avalanche of them. The +sickly smile passed from the face of the fellow, shame took its place, +and when he fronted the terrible eyes of old Jerome Sanders at the gate, +that face grew white with fear. + +"Thar ain't an Injun in a hundred miles," he stammered, and then he +shrank down as though he were almost going to his knees, when suddenly +old Jerome slipped his long rifle from his shoulder and fired past the +fellow's head with a simultaneous roar of command: + +"Git in--ever'body--git in--quick!" + +From a watch-tower, too, a rifle had cracked. A naked savage had bounded +into a spot of sunlight that quivered on the buffalo trail a hundred +yards deep in the forest and leaped lithely aside into the bushes--both +rifles had missed. Deeper from the woods came two war-whoops--real +ones--and in the silence that followed the gates were swiftly closed and +barred, and a keen-eyed rifleman was at every port-hole in the fort. +From the tower old Jerome saw reeds begin to shake in a cane-brake to +the left of the spring. + +"Look thar!" he called, and three rifles, with his own, covered the +spot. A small brown arm was thrust above the shaking reeds, with the +palm of the hand toward the fort--the peace sign of the Indian--and a +moment later a naked boy sprang from the cane-brake and ran toward the +blockhouse, with a bow and arrow in his left hand and his right +stretched above his head, its pleading palm still outward. + +"Don't shoot!--don't nobody shoot!" shouted the old man. No shot came +from the fort, but from the woods came yells of rage, and as the boy +streaked through the clearing an arrow whistled past his head. + +"Let him in!" shouted Jerome, and as Dave opened the gates another arrow +hurtled between the boy's upraised arm and his body and stuck quivering +in one of its upright bars. The boy slid through and stood panting, +shrinking, wild-eyed. The arrow had grazed his skin, and when Dave +lifted his arm and looked at the oozing drops of blood he gave a +startled oath, for he saw a flash of white under the loosened +breech-clout below. The boy understood. Quickly he pushed the clout +aside on his thigh that all might see, nodded gravely, and proudly +tapped his breast. + +"Paleface!" he half grunted, "white man!" + +The wilds were quiet. The boy pointed to them and held up three fingers +to indicate that there were only three red men there, and shook his head +to say there would be no attack from them. Old Jerome studied the little +stranger closely, wondering what new trick those red devils were trying +now to play. Mother Sanders and Mother Noe, the boys of the fort, the +gigantic brothers to Lydia, Adam and Noel, the three girls had gathered +about him, as he stood with the innocence of Eden before the fall. + +"The fust thing to do," said Mother Sanders, "is to git some clothes for +the little heathen." Whereat Lydia flushed and Dave made an impatient +gesture for silence. + +"What's your name?" The boy shook his head and looked eagerly around. + +"Francais--French?" he asked, and in turn the big woodsman shook his +head--nobody there spoke French. However, Dave knew a little Shawnee, a +good deal of the sign-language, and the boy seemed to understand a good +many words in English; so that the big woodsman pieced out his story +with considerable accuracy, and turned to tell it to Jerome. The Indians +had crossed the Big River, were as many as the leaves, and meant to +attack the whites. For the first time they had allowed the boy to go on +a war-party. Some one had treated him badly--he pointed out the bruises +of cuffs and kicks on his body. The Indians called him White Arrow, and +he knew he was white from the girdle of untanned skin under his +breech-clout and because the Indian boys taunted him. Asked why he had +come to the fort, he pointed again to his bruises, put both hands +against his breast, and stretched them wide as though he would seek +shelter in the arms of his own race and take them to his heart; and for +the first time a smile came to his face that showed him plainly as a +curious product of his race and the savage forces that for years had +been moulding him. That smile could have never come to the face of an +Indian. No Indian would ever have so lost himself in his own emotions. +No white man would have used his gestures and the symbols of nature to +which he appealed. Only an Indian could have shown such a cruel, +vindictive, merciless fire in his eyes when he told of his wrongs, and +when he saw tears in Lydia's eyes, the first burning in his life came to +his own, and brushing across them with fierce shame he turned Indian +stoic again and stood with his arms folded over his bow and arrows at +his breast, looking neither to right nor left, as though he were waiting +for judgment at their hands and cared little what his fate might be, as +perfect from head to foot as a statue of the ancient little god, who, in +him, had forsaken the couches of love for the tents of war. + + + + +II + + +All turned now to the duties of the day--Honor to her loom, Polly to her +distaff, and Lydia to her spinning-wheel, for the clothes of the women +were home-spun, home-woven, home-made. Old Jerome and Dave and the older +men gathered in one corner of the stockade for a council of war. The boy +had made it plain that the attacking party was at least two days behind +the three Indians from whom he had escaped, so that there was no danger +that day, and they could wait until night to send messengers to warn the +settlers outside to seek safety within the fort. Meanwhile, Jerome would +despatch five men with Dave to scout for the three Indians who might be +near by in the woods, and the boy, who saw them slip out the rear gate +of the fort, at once knew their purpose, shook his head, and waved his +hand to say that his late friends were gone back to hurry on the big +war-party to the attack, now that the whites themselves knew their +danger. Old Jerome nodded that he understood, and nodded to others his +appreciation of the sense and keenness of the lad, but he let the men go +just the same. From cabin door to cabin door the boy went in +turn--peeking in, but showing no wonder, no surprise, and little interest +until Lydia again smiled at him. At her door he paused longest, and even +went within and bent his ear to the bee-like hum of the wheel. At the +port-holes in the logs he pointed and grunted his understanding and +appreciation, as he did when he climbed into a blockhouse and saw how +one story overlapped the other and how through an opening in the upper +floor the defenders in the tower might pour a destructive fire on +attackers breaking in below. When he came down three boys, brothers to +the three girls, Bud Sanders, Jack Conrad, and Harry Noe, were again +busy with their games. They had been shy with him as he with them, and +now he stood to one side while they, pretending to be unconscious of his +presence, watched with sidelong glances the effect on him of their +prowess. All three threw the tomahawk and shot arrows with great skill, +but they did not dent the impassive face of the little stranger. + +"Maybe he thinks he can do better," said Bud; "let's let him try it." + +And he held forth the tomahawk and motioned toward the post. The lad +took it gravely, gravely reached for the tomahawk of each of the other +two, and with slow dignity walked several yards farther away from the +mark. Then he wheeled with such ferocity in his face that the boys +shrank aside, clutching with some fear to one another's arms, and before +they could quite recover, they were gulping down wonder as the three +weapons whistled through the air and were quivering close, side by side, +in the post. + +"Gee!" they said. Again the lad's face turned impassive as he picked up +his bow and three arrows and slowly walked toward the wall of the +stockade so that he was the full width of the fort away. And then three +arrows hurtled past them in incredibly swift succession and thudded into +the post, each just above a tomahawk. This time the three onlookers were +quite speechless, though their mouths were open wide. Then they ran +toward him and had him show just how he held tomahawk and bow and arrow, +and all three did much better with the new points he gave them. +Wondering then whether they might not teach him something, Jack did a +standing broad jump and Bud a running broad jump and Harry a hop, skip, +and a jump. The young stranger shook his head but he tried and fell +short in each event and was greatly mortified. Again he shook his head +when Bud and Jack took backholds and had a wrestling-match, but he tried +with Jack and was thumped hard to the earth. He sprang to his feet +looking angry, but all were laughing, and he laughed too. + +"Me big fool," he said; and they showed him how to feint and trip, and +once he came near throwing Bud. At rifle-shooting, too, he was no match +for the young pioneers, but at last he led them with gestures and +unintelligible grunts to the far end of the stockade and indicated a +foot-race. The boy ran like one of his own arrows, but he beat Bud only +a few feet, and Bud cried: + +"I reckon if _I_ didn't have no clothes on, he couldn't 'a' done it"; +and on the word Mother Sanders appeared and cried to Bud to bring the +"Injun" to her cabin. She had been unearthing clothes for the "little +heathen," and Bud helped to put them on. In a few minutes the lad +reappeared in fringed hunting shirt and trousers, wriggling in them most +uncomfortably, for they made him itch, but at the same time wearing them +proudly. Mother Sanders approached with a hunting-knife. + +"I'm goin' to cut off that topknot so his hair can ketch up," she said, +but the boy scowled fearfully, turned, fled, and scaling the stockade as +nimbly as a squirrel, halted on top with one leg over the other side. + +"He thinks you air goin' to take his scalp," shouted Bud. The three boys +jumped up and down in their glee, and even Mother Sanders put her hands +on her broad hips and laughed with such loud heartiness that many came +to the cabin doors to see what the matter was. It was no use for the +boys to point to their own heads and finger their own shocks of hair, +for the lad shook his head, and outraged by their laughter kept his +place in sullen dignity a long while before he could be persuaded to +come down. + +On the mighty wilderness the sun sank slowly and old Jerome sat in the +western tower to watch alone. The silence out there was oppressive and +significant, for it meant that the boy's theory was right; the three +Indians had gone back for their fellows, and when darkness came the old +man sent runners to the outlying cabins to warn the inmates to take +refuge within the fort. There was no settler that was not accustomed to +a soft tapping on the wooden windows that startled him wide awake. Then +there was the noiseless awakening of the household, noiseless dressing +of the children--the mere whisper of "Indians" was enough to keep them +quiet--and the noiseless slipping through the wilderness for the +oak-picketed stockade. And the gathering-in was none too soon. The +hooting of owls started before dawn. A flaming arrow hissed from the +woods, thudded into the roof of one of the cabins, sputtered feebly on a +dew-drenched ridge-pole, and went out. Savage war-whoops rent the air, +and the battle was on. All day the fight went on. There were feints of +attack in front and rushes from the rear, and there were rushes from all +sides. The women loaded rifles and cooked and cared for the wounded. +Thrice an Indian reached the wall of the stockade and set a cabin on +fire, but no one of the three got back to the woods alive. The stranger +boy sat stoically in the centre of the enclosure watching everything, +and making no effort to take part, except twice when he saw a gigantic +Indian brandishing his rifle at the edge of the woods, encouraging his +companions behind, and each time he grunted and begged for a gun. And +Dave made out that the Indian was the one who had treated the boy +cruelly and that the lad was after a personal revenge. Late in the +afternoon the ammunition began to run low and the muddy discoloration of +the river showed that the red men had begun to tunnel under the walls of +the fort. And yet a last sally was made just before sunset. A body +pushed against Dave in the tower and Dave saw the stranger boy at his +side with his bow and arrow. A few minutes later he heard a yell from +the lad which rang high over the din, and he saw the feathered tip of an +arrow shaking in the breast of the big Indian who staggered and fell +behind a bush. Just at that moment there were yells from the woods +behind--the yells of white men that were answered by joyful yells within +the fort: + +"The Virginians! The Virginians!" And as the rescuers dashed into sight +on horse and afoot, Dave saw the lad leap the wall of the stockade and +disappear behind the fleeing Indians. + +"Gone back to 'em," he grunted to himself. The gates were thrown open. +Old Jerome and his men rushed out, and besieged and rescuers poured all +their fire after the running Indians, some of whom turned bravely to +empty their rifles once more. + +"Git in! Git in, quick!" yelled old Joel. He knew another volley would +come as soon as the Indians reached the cover of thick woods, and come +the volley did. Three men fell--one the leader of the Virginians, whose +head flopped forward as he entered the gate and was caught in old Joel's +arms. Not another sound came from the woods, but again Dave from the +tower saw the cane-brush rustle at the edge of a thicket, saw a hand +thrust upward with the palm of peace toward the fort, and again the +stranger boy emerged--this time with a bloody scalp dangling in his left +hand. Dave sprang down and met him at the gate. The boy shook his bow +and arrow proudly, pointed to a crisscross scar on the scalp, and Dave +made out from his explanation that once before the lad had tried to kill +his tormentor and that the scar was the sign. In the centre of the +enclosure the wounded Virginian lay, and when old Jerome stripped the +shirt from his breast he shook his head gravely. The wounded man opened +his eyes just in time to see and he smiled. + +"I know it," he said faintly, and then his eyes caught the boy with the +scalp, were fixed steadily and began to widen. + +"Who is that boy?" he asked sharply. + +"Never mind now," said old Joel soothingly, "you must keep still!" The +boy's eyes had begun to shift under the scrutiny and he started away. + +"Come back here!" commanded the wounded man, and still searching the lad +he said sharply again: + +"Who is that boy?" Nor would he have his wound dressed or even take the +cup of water handed to him until old Joel briefly told the story, when +he lay back on the ground and closed his eyes. + +Darkness fell. In each tower a watcher kept his eyes strained toward the +black, silent woods. The dying man was laid on a rude bed within one +cabin, and old Joel lay on the floor of it close to the door. The +stranger lad refused to sleep indoors and huddled himself in a blanket +on the ground in one corner of the stockade. Men, women, and children +fell to a deep and weary sleep. In the centre the fire burned and there +was no sound on the air but the crackle of its blazing. An hour later +the boy in the corner threw aside his blanket, and when, a moment later, +Lydia Noe, feverish and thirsty, rose from her bed to get a drink of +water outside her door, she stopped short on the threshold. The lad, +stark naked but for his breech-clout and swinging his bloody scalp over +his head, was stamping around the fire--dancing the scalp-dance of the +savage to a low, fierce, guttural song. The boy saw her, saw her face in +the blaze, stricken white with fright and horror, saw her too paralyzed +to move and he stopped, staring at her a moment with savage rage, and +went on again. Old Joel's body filled the next doorway. He called out +with a harsh oath, and again the boy stopped. With another oath and a +threatening gesture Joel motioned to the corner of the stockade, and +with a flare of defiance in his black eyes the lad stalked slowly and +proudly away. From behind him the voice of the wounded man called, and +old Joel turned. There was a ghastly smile on the Virginian's pallid +face. + +"I saw it," he said painfully. "That's--that's my son!" + + + + +III + + +From the sun-dial on the edge of the high bank, straight above the brim +of the majestic yellow James, a noble path of thick grass as broad as a +modern highway ran hundreds of yards between hedges of roses straight to +the open door of the great manor-house with its wide verandas and mighty +pillars set deep back from the river in a grove of ancient oaks. Behind +the house spread a little kingdom, divided into fields of grass, wheat, +tobacco, and corn, and dotted with whitewashed cabins filled with +slaves. Already the house had been built a hundred years of brick +brought from England in the builder's own ships, it was said, and the +second son of the reigning generation, one Colonel Dale, sat in the +veranda alone. He was a royalist officer, this second son, but his elder +brother had the spirit of daring and adventure that should have been +his, and he had been sitting there four years before when that elder +brother came home from his first pioneering trip into the wilds, to tell +that his wife was dead and their only son was a captive among the +Indians. Two years later still, word came that the father, too, had met +death from the savages, and the little kingdom passed into Colonel +Dale's hands. + +Indentured servants, as well as blacks from Africa, had labored on that +path in front of him; and up it had once stalked a deputation of the +great Powhatan's red tribes. Up that path had come the last of the early +colonial dames, in huge ruffs, high-heeled shoes, and short skirts, with +her husband, who was the "head of a hundred," with gold on his clothes, +and at once military commander, civil magistrate, judge, and executive +of the community; had come officers in gold lace, who had been rowed up +in barges from Jamestown; members of the worshipful House of Burgesses; +bluff planters in silk coats, the governor and members of the council; +distinguished visitors from England, colonial gentlemen and ladies. At +the manor they had got beef, bacon, brown loaves, Indian corn-cakes, +strong ales, and strong waters (but no tea or coffee), and "drunk" pipes +of tobacco from lily-pots--jars of white earth--lighted with splinters of +juniper, or coals of fire plucked from the fireplace with a pair of +silver tongs. And all was English still--books, clothes, plates, knives, +and forks; the church, the Church of England; the Governor, the +representative of the King; his Council, the English House of Lords; the +Burgesses, the English Parliament--socially aristocratic, politically +republican. For ancient usage held that all "freemen" should have a +voice in the elections, have equal right to say who the lawmakers and +what the law. The way was open as now. Any man could get two thousand +acres by service to the colony, could build, plough, reap, save, buy +servants, and roll in his own coach to sit as burgess. There was but one +seat of learning--at Williamsburg. What culture they had they brought +from England or got from parents or minister. And always they had seemed +to prefer sword and stump to the pen. They hated towns. At every wharf a +long shaky trestle ran from a warehouse out into the river to load ships +with tobacco for England and to get in return all conveniences and +luxuries, and that was enough. In towns men jostled and individual +freedom was lost, so, Ho! for the great sweeps of land and the sway of a +territorial lord! Englishmen they were of Shakespeare's time but living +in Virginia, and that is all they were--save that the flower of liberty +was growing faster in the new-world soil. + +The plantation went back to a patent from the king in 1617, and by the +grant the first stout captain was to "enjoy his landes in as large and +ample manner to all intentes and purposes as any Lord of any manours in +England doth hold his grounde." This gentleman was the only man after +the "Starving Time" to protest against the abandonment of Jamestown in +1610. When, two years later, he sent two henchmen as burgesses to the +first general assembly, that august body would not allow them to sit +unless the captain would relinquish certain high privileges in his +grant. + +"I hold my patent for service done," the captain answered +grandiloquently, "which noe newe or late comers can meritt or +challenge," and only with the greatest difficulty was he finally +persuaded to surrender his high authority. In that day the house was +built of wood, protected by a palisade, prescribed by law, and the +windows had stout shutters. Everything within it had come from England. +The books were ponderous folios, stout duodecimos encased in embossed +leather, and among them was a folio containing Master William +Shakespeare's dramas, collected by his fellow actors Heminge and +Condell. Later by many years a frame house supplanted this primitive, +fort-like homestead, and early in the eighteenth century, after several +generations had been educated in England, an heir built the noble manor +as it still stands--an accomplished gentleman with lace collar, slashed +doublet, and sable silvered hair, a combination of scholar, courtier, +and soldier. And such had been the master of the little kingdom ever +since. + +In the earliest days the highest and reddest cedars in the world rose +above the underbrush. The wild vines were so full of grape bunches that +the very turf overflowed with them. Deer, turkeys, and snow-white cranes +were in incredible abundance. The shores were fringed with verdure. The +Indians were a "kind, loving people." Englishmen called it the "Good +Land," and found it "most plentiful, sweet, wholesome, and fruitful of +all others." The east was the ocean; Florida was the south; the north +was Nova Francia, and the west unknown. Only the shores touched the +interior, which was an untravelled realm of fairer fruits and flowers +than in England; green shores, majestic forests, and blue mountains +filled with gold and jewels. Bright birds flitted, dusky maids danced +and beckoned, rivers ran over golden sand, and toward the South Sea was +the Fount of Youth, whose waters made the aged young again. Bermuda +Islands were an enchanted den full of furies and devils which all men +did shun as hell and perdition. And the feet of all who had made history +had trod that broad path to the owner's heart and home. + +Down it now came a little girl--the flower of all those dead and gone--and +her coming was just as though one of the flowers about her had stepped +from its gay company on one or the other side of the path to make +through them a dainty, triumphal march as the fairest of them all. At +the dial she paused and her impatient blue eyes turned to a bend of the +yellow river for the first glimpse of a gay barge that soon must come. +At the wharf the song of negroes rose as they unloaded the boat just +from Richmond. She would go and see if there was not a package for her +mother and perhaps a present for herself, so with another look to the +river bend she turned, but she moved no farther. Instead, she gave a +little gasp, in which there was no fear, though what she saw was surely +startling enough to have made her wheel in flight. Instead, she gazed +steadily into a pair of grave black eyes that were fixed on her from +under a green branch that overhung the footpath, and steadily she +searched the figure standing there, from the coonskin cap down the +fringed hunting-shirt and fringed breeches to the moccasined feet. And +still the strange figure stood arms folded, motionless and silent. +Neither the attitude nor the silence was quite pleasing, and the girl's +supple slenderness stiffened, her arms went rigidly to her sides, and a +haughty little snap sent her undimpled chin upward. + +"What do you want?" + +And still he looked, searching her in turn from head to foot, for he was +no more strange to her than she was to him. + +"Who are you and what do you want?" + +It was a new way for a woman to speak to a man; he in turn was not +pleased, and a gleam in his eyes showed it. + +"I am the son of a king." + +She started to laugh, but grew puzzled, for she had the blood of +Pocahontas herself. + +"You are an Indian?" + +He shook his head, scorning to explain, dropped his rifle to the hollow +of his arm, and, reaching for his belt where she saw the buckhorn handle +of a hunting-knife, came toward her, but she did not flinch. Drawing a +letter from the belt, he handed it to her. It was so worn and soiled +that she took it daintily and saw on it her father's name. The boy waved +his hand toward the house far up the path. + +"He live here?" + +"You wish to see him?" + +The boy grunted assent, and with a shock of resentment the little lady +started up the path with her head very high indeed. The boy slipped +noiselessly after her, his face unmoved, but his eyes were darting right +and left to the flowers, trees, and bushes, to every flitting, strange +bird, the gray streak of a scampering squirrel, and what he could not +see, his ears took in--the clanking chains of work-horses, the whir of a +quail, the screech of a peacock, the songs of negroes from far-off +fields. + +On the porch sat a gentleman in powdered wig and knee-breeches, who, +lifting his eyes from a copy of _The Spectator_ to give an order to a +negro servant, saw the two coming, and the first look of bewilderment on +his fine face gave way to a tolerant smile. A stray cat or dog, a +crippled chicken, a neighbor's child, or a pickaninny--all these his +little daughter had brought in at one time or another for a home, and +now she had a strange ward, indeed. He asked no question, for a purpose +very decided and definite was plainly bringing the little lady on, and +he would not have to question. Swiftly she ran up the steps, her mouth +primly set, and handed him a letter. + +[Illustration: "The messenger is the son of a king"] + +"The messenger is the son of a king." + +"A what?" + +"The son of a king," she repeated gravely. + +"Ah," said the gentleman, humoring her, "ask his highness to be seated." + +His highness was looking from one to the other gravely and keenly. He +did not quite understand, but he knew gentle fun was being poked at him, +and he dropped sullenly on the edge of the porch and stared in front of +him. The little girl saw that his moccasins were much worn and that in +one was a hole with the edge blood-stained. And then she began to watch +her father's face, which showed that the contents of the letter were +astounding him. He rose quickly when he had finished and put out his +hand to the stranger. + +"I am glad to see you, my boy," he said with great kindness. "Barbara, +this is a little kinsman of ours from Kentucky. He was the adopted son +of an Indian chief, but by blood he is your own cousin. His name is +Erskine Dale." + + + + +IV + + +The little girl rose startled, but her breeding was too fine for +betrayal, and she went to him with hand outstretched. The boy took it as +he had taken her father's, limply and without rising. The father frowned +and smiled--how could the lad have learned manners? And then he, too, saw +the hole in the moccasin through which the bleeding had started again. + +"You are hurt--you have walked a long way?" + +The lad shrugged his shoulders carelessly. + +"Three days--I had to shoot horse." + +"Take him into the kitchen, Barbara, and tell Hannah to wash his foot +and bandage it." + +The boy looked uncomfortable and shook his head, but the little girl was +smiling and she told him to come with such sweet imperiousness that he +rose helplessly. Old Hannah's eyes made a bewildered start! + +"You go on back an' wait for yo' company, little Miss; I'll 'tend to +_him_!" + +And when the boy still protested, she flared up: + +"Looky here, son, little Miss tell me to wash yo' foot, an' I'se gwinter +do it, ef I got to tie you fust; now you keep still. Whar you come +from?" + +His answer was a somewhat haughty grunt that at once touched the quick +instincts of the old negress and checked further question. Swiftly and +silently she bound his foot, and with great respect she led him to a +little room in one ell of the great house in which was a tub of warm +water. + +"Ole marster say you been travellin' an' mebbe you like to refresh +yo'self wid a hot bath. Dar's some o' little marster's clothes on de bed +dar, an' a pair o' his shoes, an' I know dey'll jus' fit you snug. +You'll find all de folks on de front po'ch when you git through." + +She closed the door. Once, winter and summer, the boy had daily plunged +into the river with his Indian companions, but he had never had a bath +in his life, and he did not know what the word meant; yet he had learned +so much at the fort that he had no trouble making out what the tub of +water was for. For the same reason he felt no surprise when he picked up +the clothes; he was only puzzled how to get into them. He tried, and +struggling with the breeches he threw one hand out to the wall to keep +from falling and caught a red cord with a bushy red tassel; whereat +there was a ringing that made him spring away from it. A moment later +there was a knock at his door. + +"Did you ring, suh?" asked a voice. What that meant he did not know, and +he made no answer. The door was opened slightly and a woolly head +appeared. + +"Do you want anything, suh?" + +"No." + +"Den I reckon hit was anudder bell--Yassuh." + +The boy began putting on his own clothes. + +Outside Colonel Dale and Barbara had strolled down the big path to the +sun-dial, the colonel telling the story of the little Kentucky +kinsman--the little girl listening and wide-eyed. + +"Is he going to live here with us, papa?" + +"Perhaps. You must be very nice to him. He has lived a rude, rough life, +but I can see he is very sensitive." + +At the bend of the river there was the flash of dripping oars, and the +song of the black oarsmen came across the yellow flood. + +"There they come!" cried Barbara. And from his window the little +Kentuckian saw the company coming up the path, brave with gay clothes +and smiles and gallantries. The colonel walked with a grand lady at the +head, behind were the belles and beaux, and bringing up the rear was +Barbara, escorted by a youth of his own age, who carried his hat under +his arm and bore himself as haughtily as his elders. No sooner did he +see them mounting to the porch than there was the sound of a horn in the +rear, and looking out of the other window the lad saw a coach and four +dash through the gate and swing around the road that encircled the great +trees, and up to the rear portico, where there was a joyous clamor of +greetings. Where did all those people come from? Were they going to stay +there and would he have to be among them? All the men were dressed alike +and not one was dressed like him. Panic assailed him, and once more he +looked at the clothes on the bed, and then without hesitation walked +through the hallway, and stopped on the threshold of the front door. A +quaint figure he made there, and for the moment the gay talk and +laughter quite ceased. The story of him already had been told, and +already was sweeping from cabin to cabin to the farthest edge of the +great plantation. Mrs. General Willoughby lifted her lorgnettes to study +him curiously, the young ladies turned a battery of searching but +friendly rays upon him, the young men regarded him with tolerance and +repressed amusement, and Barbara, already his champion, turned her eyes +from one to the other of them, but always seeing him. No son of Powhatan +could have stood there with more dignity, and young Harry Dale's face +broke into a smile of welcome. His father being indoors he went forward +with hand outstretched. + +"I am your cousin Harry," he said, and taking him by the arm he led him +on the round of presentation. + +"Mrs. Willoughby, may I present my cousin from Kentucky?" + +"This is your cousin, Miss Katherine Dale; another cousin, Miss Mary; +and this is your cousin Hugh." + +And the young ladies greeted him with frank, eager interest, and the +young gentlemen suddenly repressed patronizing smiles and gave him grave +greeting, for if ever a rapier flashed from a human head, it flashed +from the piercing black eye of that little Kentucky backwoodsman when +his cousin Hugh, with a rather whimsical smile, bowed with a politeness +that was a trifle too elaborate. Mrs. Willoughby still kept her +lorgnettes on him as he stood leaning against a pillar. She noted the +smallness of his hands and feet, the lithe, perfect body, the clean cut +of his face, and she breathed: + +"He is a Dale--and blood _does_ tell." + +Nobody, not even she, guessed how the lad's heart was thumping with the +effort to conceal his embarrassment, but when a tinge of color spread on +each side of his set mouth and his eyes began to waver uncertainly, Mrs. +Willoughby's intuition was quick and kind. + +"Barbara," she asked, "have you shown your cousin your ponies?" + +The little girl saw her motive and laughed merrily: + +"Why, I haven't had time to show him anything. Come on, cousin." + +The boy followed her down the steps in his noiseless moccasins, along a +grass path between hedges of ancient box, around an ell, and past the +kitchen and toward the stables. In and behind the kitchen negroes of all +ages and both sexes were hurrying or lazing around, and each turned to +stare wonderingly after the strange woodland figure of the little +hunter. Negroes were coming in from the fields with horses and mules, +negroes were chopping and carrying wood, there were negroes everywhere, +and the lad had never seen one before, but he showed no surprise. At a +gate the little girl called imperiously: + +"Ephraim, bring out my ponies!" + +And in a moment out came a sturdy little slave whose head was all black +skin, black wool, and white teeth, leading two creamy-white little +horses that shook the lad's composure at last, for he knew ponies as far +back as he could remember, but he had never seen the like of them. His +hand almost trembled when he ran it over their sleek coats, and +unconsciously he dropped into his Indian speech and did not know it +until the girl asked laughingly: + +"Why, what are you saying to my ponies?" + +And he blushed, for the little girl's artless prattling and friendliness +were already beginning to make him quite human. + +"That's Injun talk." + +"Can you talk Indian--but, of course, you can." + +"Better than English," he smiled. + +Hugh had followed them. + +"Barbara, your mother wants you," he said, and the little girl turned +toward the house. The stranger was ill at ease with Hugh and the latter +knew it. + +"It must be very exciting where you live." + +"How?" + +"Oh, fighting Indians and shooting deer and turkeys and buffalo. It must +be great fun." + +"Nobody does it for fun--it's mighty hard work." + +"My uncle--your father--used to tell us about his wonderful adventures out +there." + +"He had no chance to tell me." + +"But yours must have been more wonderful than his." + +The boy gave the little grunt that was a survival of his Indian life and +turned to go back to the house. + +"But all this, I suppose, is as strange to you." + +"More." + +Hugh was polite and apparently sincere in interest, but the lad was +vaguely disturbed and he quickened his step. The porch was empty when +they turned the corner of the house, but young Harry Dale came running +down the steps, his honest face alight, and caught the little Kentuckian +by the arm. + +"Get ready for supper, Hugh--come on, cousin," he said, and led the +stranger to his room and pointed to the clothes on the bed. + +"Don't they fit?" he asked smiling. + +"I don't know--I don't know how to git into 'em." + +Young Harry laughed joyously. + +"Of course not. I wouldn't know how to put yours on either. You just +wait," he cried, and disappeared to return quickly with an armful of +clothes. + +"Take off your war-dress," he said, "and I'll show you." + +With heart warming to such kindness, and helpless against it, the lad +obeyed like a child and was dressed like a child. + +"Now, I've got to hurry," said Harry. "I'll come back for you. Just look +at yourself," he called at the door. + +And the stranger did look at the wonderful vision that a great mirror as +tall as himself gave back. His eyes began to sting, and he rubbed them +with the back of his hand and looked at the hand curiously. It was +moist. He had seen tears in a woman's eyes, but he did not know that +they could come to a man, and he felt ashamed. + + + + +V + + +The boy stood at a window looking out into the gathering dusk. His eye +could catch the last red glow on the yellow river. Above that a purplish +light rested on the green expanse stretching westward--stretching on and +on through savage wilds to his own wilds beyond the lonely Cumberlands. +Outside the window the multitude of flowers was drinking in the dew and +drooping restfully to sleep. A multitude of strange birds called and +twittered from the trees. The neighing of horses, the lowing of cattle, +the piping of roosting turkeys and motherly clutter of roosting hens, +the weird songs of negroes, the sounds of busy preparation through the +house and from the kitchen--all were sounds of peace and plenty, security +and service. And over in his own wilds at that hour they were driving +cows and horses into the stockade. They were cooking their rude supper +in the open. A man had gone to each of the watch-towers. From the +blackening woods came the curdling cry of a panther and the hooting of +owls. Away on over the still westward wilds were the wigwams of squaws, +pappooses, braves, the red men--red in skin, in blood, in heart, and red +with hate against the whites. + +Perhaps they were circling a fire at that moment in a frenzied +war-dance--perhaps the hooting at that moment, from the woods around the +fort was not the hooting of owls at all. There all was hardship--danger; +here all was comfort and peace. If they could see him now! See his room, +his fire, his bed, his clothes! They had told him to come, and yet he +felt now the shame of desertion. He had come, but he would not stay long +away. The door opened, he turned, and Harry Dale came eagerly in. + +"Mother wants to see you." + +The two boys paused in the hall and Harry pointed to a pair of crossed +rapiers over the mantelpiece. + +"Those were your father's," he said; "he was a wonderful fencer." + +The lad shook his head in ignorance, and Harry smiled. + +"I'll show you to-morrow." + +At a door in the other ell Harry knocked gently, and a voice that was +low and sweet but vibrant with imperiousness called: + +"Come in!" + +"Here he is, mother." + +The lad stepped into warmth, subtle fragrance, and many candle lights. +The great lady was just rising from a chair in front of her mirror, +brocaded, powdered, and starred with jewels. So brilliant a vision +almost stunned the little stranger and it took an effort for him to lift +his eyes to hers. + +"Why, _this_ is not the lad you told me of," she said. "Come here! Both +of you." They came and the lady scrutinized them comparingly. + +"Actually you look alike--and, Harry, you have no advantage, even if you +are my own son. I am glad you are here," she said with sudden soberness, +and smiling tenderly she put both hands on his shoulders, drew him to +her and kissed him, and again he felt in his eyes that curious sting. + +"Come, Harry!" With a gallant bow Harry offered his left arm, and +gathering the little Kentuckian with her left, the regal lady swept out. +In the reception-room she kept the boy by her side. Every man who +approached bowed, and soon the lad was bowing, too. The ladies +courtesied, the room was soon filled, and amid the flash of smiles, +laughter, and gay banter the lad was much bewildered, but his face +showed it not at all. Barbara almost cried out her astonishment and +pleasure when she saw what a handsome figure he made in his new +clothing, and all her little friends were soon darting surreptitious +glances at him, and many whispered questions and pleasing comments were +passed around. From under Hugh's feet the ground for the moment was +quite taken away, so much to the eye, at least, do clothes make the man. +Just then General Willoughby bowed with noble dignity before Mrs. Dale, +and the two led the way to the dining-room. + +"Harry," she said, "you and Barbara take care of your cousin." + +And almost without knowing it the young Kentuckian bowed to Barbara, who +courtesied and took his arm. But for his own dignity and hers, she would +have liked to squeal her delight. The table flashed with silver and +crystal on snowy-white damask and was brilliant with colored candles. +The little woodsman saw the men draw back chairs for the ladies, and he +drew back Barbara's before Hugh, on the other side of her, could +forestall him. On his left was Harry, and Harry he watched keenly--but no +more keenly than Hugh watched him. Every now and then he would catch a +pair of interested eyes looking furtively at him, and he knew his story +was going the round of the table among those who were not guests in the +house. The boy had never seen so many and so mysterious-looking things +to eat and drink. One glass of wine he took, and the quick dizziness +that assailed him frightened him, and he did not touch it again. Beyond +Barbara, Hugh leaned forward and lifted his glass to him. He shook his +head and Hugh flushed. + +"Our Kentucky cousin is not very polite--he is something of a +barbarian--naturally." + +"He doesn't understand," said Barbara quickly, who had noted the +incident, and she turned to her cousin. + +"Papa says you _are_ going to live with us and you are going to study +with Harry under Mr. Brockton." + +"Our tutor," explained Harry; "there he is across there. He is an +Englishman." + +"Tutor?" questioned the boy. + +"School-teacher," laughed Harry. + +"Oh!" + +"Haven't you any school-teachers at home?" + +"No, I learned to read and write a little from Dave and Lyddy." + +And then he had to tell who they were, and he went on to tell them about +Mother Sanders and Honor and Bud and Jack and Polly Conrad and Lydia and +Dave, and all the frontier folk, and the life they led, and the Indian +fights which thrilled Barbara and Harry, and forced even Hugh to +listen--though once he laughed incredulously, and in a way that of a +sudden shut the boy's lips tight and made Barbara color and Harry look +grave. Hugh then turned to his wine and began soon to look more flushed +and sulky. Shortly after the ladies left, Hugh followed them, and Harry +and the Kentuckian moved toward the head of the table where the men had +gathered around Colonel Dale. + +"Yes," said General Willoughby, "it looks as though it might come." + +"With due deference to Mr. Brockton," said Colonel Dale, "it looks as +though his country would soon force us to some action." + +They were talking about impending war. Far away as his wilds were, the +boy had heard some talk of war in them, and he listened greedily to the +quick fire of question and argument directed to the Englishman, who held +his own with such sturdiness that Colonel Dale, fearing the heat might +become too great, laughed and skilfully shifted the theme. Through hall +and doorways came now merry sounds of fiddle and banjo. + +"Come on, cousin," said Harry; "can you dance?" + +"If your dances are as different as everything else, I reckon not, but I +can try." + +Near a doorway between parlor and hall sat the fiddlers three. Gallant +bows and dainty courtesyings and nimble feet were tripping measures +quite new to the backwoodsman. Barbara nodded, smiled, and after the +dance ran up to ask him to take part, but he shook his head. Hugh had +looked at him as from a superior height, and the boy noticed him +frowning while Barbara was challenging him to dance. The next dance was +even more of a mystery, for the dancers glided by in couples, Mr. +Byron's diatribe not having prevented the importation of the waltz to +the new world, but the next cleared his face and set his feet to keeping +time, for the square dance had, of course, reached the wilds. + +"I know that," he said to Harry, who told Barbara, and the little girl +went up to him again, and this time, flushing, he took place with her on +the floor. Hugh came up. + +"Cousin Barbara, this is our dance, I believe," he said a little +thickly. + +The girl took him aside and Hugh went surlily away. Harry saw the +incident and he looked after Hugh, frowning. The backwoodsman conducted +himself very well. He was lithe and graceful and at first very +dignified, but as he grew in confidence he began to execute steps that +were new to that polite land and rather boisterous, but Barbara looked +pleased and all onlookers seemed greatly amused--all except Hugh. And +when the old fiddler sang out sonorously: + +"Genelmen to right--cheat an' swing!" the boy cheated outrageously, +cheated all but his little partner, to whom each time he turned with +open loyalty, and Hugh was openly sneering now and genuinely angry. + +"You shall have the last dance," whispered Barbara, "the Virginia reel." + +"I know that dance," said the boy. + +And when that dance came and the dancers were drawn in two lines, the +boy who was third from the end heard Harry's low voice behind him: + +"He is my cousin and my guest and you will answer to me." + +The lad wheeled, saw Harry with Hugh, left his place, and went to them. +He spoke to Harry, but he looked at Hugh with a sword-flash in each +black eye: + +"I don't want nobody to take up for me." + +Again he wheeled and was in his place, but Barbara saw and looked +troubled, and so did Colonel Dale. He went over to the two boys and put +his arm around Hugh's shoulder. + +[Illustration: "I don't want nobody to take up for me"] + +"Tut, tut, my boys," he said, with pleasant firmness, and led Hugh away, +and when General Willoughby would have followed, the colonel nodded him +back with a smile, and Hugh was seen no more that night. The guests left +with gayety, smiles, and laughter, and every one gave the stranger a +kindly good-by. Again Harry went with him to his room and the lad +stopped again under the crossed swords. + +"You fight with 'em?" + +"Yes, and with pistols." + +"I've never had a pistol. I want to learn how to use _them_." + +Harry looked at him searchingly, but the boy's face gave hint of no more +purpose than when he first asked the same question. + +"All right," said Harry. + +The lad blew out his candle, but he went to his window instead of his +bed. The moonlight was brilliant--among the trees and on the sleeping +flowers and the slow run of the broad river, and it was very still out +there and very lovely, but he had no wish to be out there. With wind and +storm and sun, moon and stars, he had lived face to face all his life, +but here they were not the same. Trees, flowers, house, people had +reared some wall between him and them, and they seemed now to be very +far away. Everybody had been kind to him--all but Hugh. Veiled hostility +he had never known before and he could not understand. Everybody had +surely been kind, and yet--he turned to his bed, and all night his brain +was flashing to and fro between the reel of vivid pictures etched on it +in a day and the grim background that had hitherto been his life beyond +the hills. + + + + +VI + + +From pioneer habit he awoke before dawn, and for a moment the softness +where he lay puzzled him. There was no sound of anybody stirring and he +thought he must have waked up in the middle of the night, but he could +smell the dawn and he started to spring up. But there was nothing to be +done, nothing that he could do. He felt hot and stuffy, though Harry had +put up his windows, and he could not lie there wide awake. He could not +go out in the heavy dew in the gay clothes and fragile shoes he had +taken off, so he slid into his own buckskin clothes and moccasins and +out the still open front door and down the path toward the river. +Instinctively he had picked up his rifle, bullet-pouch, and powder-horn. +Up the river to the right he could faintly see dark woods, and he made +toward and plunged into them with his eyes on the ground for signs of +game, but he saw tracks only of coon and skunk and fox, and he grunted +his disgust and loped ahead for half an hour farther into the heart of +the woods. An hour later he loped back on his own tracks. The cabins +were awake now, and every pickaninny who saw him showed the whites of +his eyes in terror and fled back into his house. He came noiselessly +behind a negro woman at the kitchen-door and threw three squirrels on +the steps before her. She turned, saw him, and gave a shriek, but +recovered herself and picked them up. Her amazement grew as she looked +them over, for there was no sign of a bullet-wound, and she went in to +tell how the Injun boy must naturally just "charm 'em right out o' de +trees." + +At the front door Harry hailed him and Barbara came running out. + +"I forgot to get you another suit of clothes last night," he said, "and +we were scared this morning. We thought you had left us, and Barbara +there nearly cried." Barbara blushed now and did not deny. + +"Come to breakfast!" she cried. + +"Did you find anything to shoot?" Harry asked. + +"Nothin' but some squirrels," said the lad. + +Colonel Dale soon came in. + +"You've got the servants mystified," he said laughingly. "They think +you're a witch. How _did_ you kill those squirrels?" + +"I couldn't see their heads--so I barked 'em." + +"Barked?" + +"I shot between the bark and the limb right under the squirrel, an' the +shock kills 'em. Uncle Dan'l Boone showed me how to do that." + +"Daniel Boone!" breathed Harry. "Do you know Daniel Boone?" + +"Shucks, Dave can beat him shootin'." + +And then Hugh came in, pale of face and looking rather ashamed. He went +straight to the Kentuckian. + +"I was rude to you last night and I owe you an apology." + +He thrust out his hand and awkwardly the boy rose and took it. + +"And you'll forgive me, too, Barbara?" + +"Of course I will," she said happily, but holding up one finger of +warning--should he ever do it again. The rest of the guests trooped in +now, and some were going out on horseback, some for a sail, and some +visiting up the river in a barge, and all were paired off, even Harry. + +"I'm going to drive Cousin Erskine over the place with my ponies," said +Barbara, "and----" + +"I'm going back to bed," interrupted Hugh, "or read a little Latin and +Greek with Mr. Brockton." There was impudence as well as humor in this, +for the tutor had given up Hugh in despair long ago. + +Barbara shook her head. + +"You are going with us," she said. + +"I want Hugh to ride with me," said Colonel Dale, "and give Firefly a +little exercise. Nobody else can ride him." + +The Kentucky boy turned a challenging eye, as did every young man at the +table, and Hugh felt very comfortable. While every one was getting +ready, Harry brought out two foils and two masks on the porch a little +later. + +"We fight with those," he said, pointing to the crossed rapiers on the +wall, "but we practise with these. Hugh, there, is the champion fencer," +he said, "and he'll show you." + +Harry helped the Kentucky boy to mask and they crossed foils--Hugh giving +instructions all the time and nodding approval. + +"You'll learn--you'll learn fast," he said. And over his shoulder to +Harry: + +"Why, his wrist is as strong as mine now, and he's got an eye like a +weasel." + +With a twist he wrenched the foil from his antagonist's hand and +clattered it on the steps. The Kentuckian was bewildered and his face +flushed. He ran for the weapon. + +"You can't do that again." + +"I don't believe I can," laughed Hugh. + +"Will you learn me some more?" asked the boy eagerly. + +"I surely will." + +A little later Barbara and her cousin were trotting smartly along a +sandy road through the fields with the colonel and Hugh loping in front +of them. Firefly was a black mettlesome gelding. He had reared and +plunged when Hugh mounted, and even now he was champing his bit and +leaping playfully at times, but the lad sat him with an unconcern of his +capers that held the Kentucky boy's eyes. + +"Gosh," he said, "but Hugh can ride! I wonder if he could stay on him +bareback." + +"I suppose so," Barbara said; "Hugh can do anything." + +The summer fields of corn and grain waved away on each side under the +wind, innumerable negroes were at work and song on either side, great +barns and whitewashed cabins dotted the rich landscape which beyond the +plantation broke against woods of sombre pines. For an hour they drove, +the boy's bewildered eye missing few details and understanding few, so +foreign to him were all the changes wrought by the hand, and he could +hardly have believed that this country was once as wild as his own--that +this was to be impoverished and his own become even a richer land. Many +questions the little girl asked--and some of his answers made her +shudder. + +"Papa said last night that several of our kinsfolk spoke of going to +your country in a party, and Harry and Hugh are crazy to go with them. +Papa said people would be swarming over the Cumberland Mountains before +long." + +"I wish you'd come along." + +Barbara laughed. + +"I wouldn't like to lose my hair." + +"I'll watch out for that," said the boy with such confident gravity that +Barbara turned to look at him. + +"I believe you would," she murmured. And presently: + +"What did the Indians call you?" + +"White Arrow." + +"White Arrow. That's lovely. Why?" + +"I could outrun all the other boys." + +"Then you'll have to run to-morrow when we go to the fair at +Williamsburg." + +"The fair?" + +Barbara explained. + +For an hour or more they had driven and there was no end to the fields +of tobacco and grain. + +"Are we still on your land?" + +Barbara laughed. "Yes, we can't drive around the plantation and get back +for dinner. I think we'd better turn now." + +"Plan-ta-tion," said the lad. "What's that?" + +Barbara waved her whip. + +"Why, all this--the land--the farm." + +"Oh!" + +"It's called Red Oaks--from those big trees back of the house." + +"Oh. I know oaks--all of 'em." + +She wheeled the ponies and with fresh zest they scampered for home. She +even let them run for a while, laughing and chatting meanwhile, though +the light wagon swayed from side to side perilously as the boy thought, +and when, in his ignorance of the discourtesy involved, he was on the +point of reaching for the reins, she spoke to them and pulled them +gently into a swift trot. Everybody had gathered for the noonday dinner +when they swung around the great trees and up to the back porch. The +clamor of the great bell gave its summons and the guests began +straggling in by couples from the garden. Just as they were starting in +the Kentucky boy gave a cry and darted down the path. A towering figure +in coonskin cap and hunter's garb was halted at the sun-dial and looking +toward them. + +"Now, I wonder who _that_ is," said Colonel Dale. "Jupiter, but that boy +can run!" + +They saw the tall stranger stare wonderingly at the boy and throw back +his head and laugh. Then the two came on together. The boy was still +flushed but the hunter's face was grave. + +"This is Dave," said the boy simply. + +"Dave Yandell," added the stranger, smiling and taking off his cap. +"I've been at Williamsburg to register some lands and I thought I'd come +and see how this young man is getting along." + +Colonel Dale went quickly to meet him with outstretched hand. + +"I'm glad you did," he said heartily. "Erskine has already told us about +you. You are just in time for dinner." + +"That's mighty kind," said Dave. And the ladies, after he was presented, +still looked at him with much curiosity and great interest. Truly, +strange visitors were coming to Red Oaks these days. + +That night the subject of Hugh and Harry going back home with the two +Kentuckians was broached to Colonel Dale, and to the wondering delight +of the two boys both fathers seemed to consider it favorably. Mr. +Brockton was going to England for a visit, the summer was coming on, and +both fathers thought it would be a great benefit to their sons. Even +Mrs. Dale, on whom the hunter had made a most agreeable impression, +smiled and said she would already be willing to trust her son with their +new guest anywhere. + +"I shall take good care of him, madam," said Dave with a bow. + +Colonel Dale, too, was greatly taken with the stranger, and he asked +many questions of the new land beyond the mountains. There was dancing +again that night, and the hunter, towering a head above them all, looked +on with smiling interest. He even took part in a square dance with Miss +Jane Willoughby, handling his great bulk with astonishing grace and +lightness of foot. Then the elder gentlemen went into the drawing-room +to their port and pipes, and the boy Erskine slipped after them and +listened enthralled to the talk of the coming war. + +Colonel Dale had been in Hanover ten years before, when one Patrick +Henry voiced the first intimation of independence in Virginia; Henry, a +country storekeeper--bankrupt; farmer--bankrupt; storekeeper again, and +bankrupt again; an idler, hunter, fisher, and story-teller--even a +"barkeeper," as Mr. Jefferson once dubbed him, because Henry had once +helped his father-in-law to keep tavern. That far back Colonel Dale had +heard Henry denounce the clergy, stigmatize the king as a tyrant who had +forfeited all claim to obedience, and had seen the orator caught up on +the shoulders of the crowd and amidst shouts of applause borne around +the court-house green. He had seen the same Henry ride into Richmond two +years later on a lean horse: with papers in his saddle-pockets, his +expression grim, his tall figure stooping, a peculiar twinkle in his +small blue eyes, his brown wig without powder, his coat peach-blossom in +color, his knee-breeches of leather, and his stockings of yarn. The +speaker of the Burgesses was on a dais under a red canopy supported by +gilded rods, and the clerk sat beneath with a mace on the table before +him, but Henry cried for liberty or death, and the shouts of treason +failed then and there to save Virginia for the king. The lad's brain +whirled. What did all this mean? Who was this king and what had he done? +He had known but the one from whom he had run away. And this talk of +taxes and Stamp Acts; and where was that strange land, New England, +whose people had made tea of the salt water in Boston harbor? Until a +few days before he had never known what tea was, and he didn't like it. +When he got Dave alone he would learn and learn and learn--everything. +And then the young people came quietly in and sat down quietly, and +Colonel Dale, divining what they wanted, got Dave started on stories of +the wild wilderness that was his home--the first chapter in the Iliad of +Kentucky--the land of dark forests and cane thickets that separated +Catawbas, Creeks, and Cherokees on the south from Delawares, Wyandottes, +and Shawnees on the north, who fought one another, and all of whom the +whites must fight. How Boone came and stayed two years in the wilderness +alone, and when found by his brother was lying on his back in the woods +lustily singing hymns. How hunters and surveyors followed; how the first +fort was built, and the first women stood on the banks of the Kentucky +River. He told of the perils and hardships of the first journeys +thither--fights with wild beasts and wild men, chases, hand-to-hand +combats, escapes, and massacres--and only the breathing of his listeners +could be heard, save the sound of his own voice. And he came finally to +the story of the attack on the fort, the raising of a small hand above +the cane, palm outward, and the swift dash of a slender brown body into +the fort, and then, seeing the boy's face turn scarlet, he did not tell +how that same lad had slipped back into the woods even while the fight +was going on, and slipped back with the bloody scalp of his enemy, but +ended with the timely coming of the Virginians, led by the lad's father, +who got his death-wound at the very gate. The tense breathing of his +listeners culminated now in one general deep breath. + +Colonel Dale rose and turned to General Willoughby. + +"And _that's_ where he wants to take our boys." + +"Oh, it's much safer now," said the hunter. "We have had no trouble for +some time, and there's no danger inside the fort." + +"I can imagine you keeping those boys inside the fort when there's so +much going on outside. Still--" Colonel Dale stopped and the two boys +took heart again. The ladies rose to go to bed, and Mrs. Dale was +shaking her head very doubtfully, but she smiled up at the tall hunter +when she bade him good night. + +"I shall not take back what I said." + +"Thank you, madam," said Dave, and he bent his lips to her absurdly +little white hand. + +Colonel Dale escorted the boy and Dave to their room. Mr. Yandell must +go with them to the fair at Williamsburg next morning, and Mr. Yandell +would go gladly. They would spend the night there and go to the +Governor's Ball. The next day there was a county fair, and perhaps Mr. +Henry would speak again. Then Mr. Yandell must come back with them to +Red Oaks and pay them a visit--no, the colonel would accept no excuse +whatever. + +The boy plied Dave with questions about the people in the wilderness and +passed to sleep. Dave lay awake a long time thinking that war was sure +to come. They were Americans now, said Colonel Dale--not Virginians, just +as nearly a century later the same people were to say: + +"We are not Americans now--we are Virginians." + + + + +VII + + +It was a merry cavalcade that swung around the great oaks that spring +morning in 1774. Two coaches with outriders and postilions led the way +with their precious freight--the elder ladies in the first coach, and the +second blossoming with flower-like faces and starred with dancing eyes. +Booted and spurred, the gentlemen rode behind, and after them rolled the +baggage-wagons, drawn by mules in jingling harness. Harry on a chestnut +sorrel and the young Kentuckian on a high-stepping gray followed the +second coach--Hugh on Firefly champed the length of the column. Colonel +Dale and Dave brought up the rear. The road was of sand and there was +little sound of hoof or wheel--only the hum of voices, occasional sallies +when a neighbor joined them, and laughter from the second coach as happy +and care-free as the singing of birds from trees by the roadside. + +The capital had been moved from Jamestown to the spot where Bacon had +taken the oath against England--then called Middle-Plantation, and now +Williamsburg. The cavalcade wheeled into Gloucester Street, and Colonel +Dale pointed out to Dave the old capitol at one end and William and Mary +College at the other. Mr. Henry had thundered in the old capitol, the +Burgesses had their council-chamber there, and in the hall there would +be a ball that night. Near the street was a great building which the +colonel pointed out as the governor's palace, surrounded by +pleasure-grounds of full three hundred acres and planted thick with +linden-trees. My Lord Dunmore lived there. Back at the plantation Dave +had read in an old copy of _The Virginia Gazette_, amid advertisements +of shopkeepers, the arrival and departure of ships, and poetical bits +that sang of Myrtilla, Florella, and other colonial belles, how the town +had made an illumination in honor of the recent arrival of the elegant +Lady Dunmore and her three fine, sprightly daughters, from whose every +look flashed goodness of heart. For them the gentlemen of the Burgesses +were to give a ball the next night. At this season the planters came +with their families to the capitol, and the street was as brilliant as a +fancy-dress parade would be to us now. It was filled with coaches and +fours. Maidens moved daintily along in silk and lace, high-heeled shoes +and clocked stockings. Youths passed on spirited horses, college +students in academic dress swaggered through the throng, and from his +serene excellency's coach, drawn by six milk-white horses, my lord bowed +grimly to the grave lifting of hats on either side of the street. + +The cavalcade halted before a building with a leaden bust of Sir Walter +Raleigh over the main doorway, the old Raleigh Tavern, in the Apollo +Room of which Mr. Jefferson had rapturously danced with his Belinda, and +which was to become the Faneuil Hall of Virginia. Both coaches were +quickly surrounded by bowing gentlemen, young gallants, and frolicsome +students. Dave, the young Kentuckian, and Harry would be put up at the +tavern, and, for his own reasons, Hugh elected to stay with them. With +an _au revoir_ of white hands from the coaches, the rest went on to the +house of relatives and friends. + +Inside the tavern Hugh was soon surrounded by fellow students and boon +companions. He pressed Dave and the boy to drink with them, but Dave +laughingly declined and took the lad up to their room. Below they could +hear Hugh's merriment going on, and when he came up-stairs a while later +his face was flushed, he was in great spirits, and was full of +enthusiasm over a horserace and cock-fight that he had arranged for the +afternoon. With him came a youth of his own age with daredevil eyes and +a suave manner, one Dane Grey, to whom Harry gave scant greeting. One +patronizing look from the stranger toward the Kentucky boy and within +the latter a fire of antagonism was instantly kindled. With a word after +the two went out, Harry snorted his explanation: + +"Tory!" + +In the early afternoon coach and horsemen moved out to an "old field." +Hugh was missing from the Dale party, and General Willoughby frowned +when he noted his son's absence. When they arrived a most extraordinary +concert of sounds was filling the air. On a platform stood twenty +fiddlers in contest for a fiddle--each sawing away for dear life and each +playing a different tune--a custom that still survives in our own hills. +After this a "quire of ballads" was sung for. Then a crowd of boys +gathered to run one hundred and twelve yards for a hat worth twelve +shillings, and Dave nudged his young friend. A moment later Harry cried +to Barbara: + +"Look there!" + +There was their young Indian lining up with the runners, his face calm, +but an eager light in his eyes. At the word he started off almost +leisurely, until the whole crowd was nearly ten yards ahead of him, and +then a yell of astonishment rose from the crowd. The boy was skimming +the grounds on wings. Past one after another he flew, and laughing and +hardly out of breath he bounded over the finish, with the first of the +rest laboring with bursting lungs ten yards behind. Hugh and Dane Grey +had appeared arm in arm and were moving through the crowd with great +gayety and some boisterousness, and when the boy appeared with his hat +Grey shouted: + +"Good for the little savage!" Erskine wheeled furiously but Dave caught +him by the arm and led him back to Harry and Barbara, who looked so +pleased that the lad's ill-humor passed at once. + +"Whut you reckon I c'n do with this hat?" + +"Put it on!" smiled Barbara; but it was so ludicrous surmounting his +hunter's garb that she couldn't help laughing aloud. Harry looked +uneasy, but it was evident that the girl was the one person who could +laugh at the sensitive little woodsman with no offense. + +"I reckon you're right," he said, and gravely he handed it to Harry and +gravely Harry accepted it. Hugh and his friend had not approached them, +for Hugh had seen the frown on his father's face, but Erskine saw Grey +look long at Barbara, turn to question Hugh, and again he began to burn +within. + +The wrestlers had now stepped forth to battle for a pair of silver +buckles, and the boy in turn nudged Dave, but unavailingly. The +wrestling was good and Dave watched it with keen interest. One huge +bull-necked fellow was easily the winner, but when the silver buckles +were in his hand, he boastfully challenged anybody in the crowd. Dave +shouldered through the crowd and faced the victor. + +"I'll try you once," he said, and a shout of approval rose. + +The Dale party crowded close and my lord's coach appeared on the +outskirts and stopped. + +"Backholts or catch-as-catch-can?" asked the victor sneeringly. + +"As you please," said Dave. + +The bully rushed. Dave caught him around the neck with his left arm, his +right swinging low, the bully was lifted from the ground, crushed +against Dave's breast, the wind went out of him with a grunt, and Dave +with a smile began swinging him to and fro as though he were putting a +child to sleep. The spectators yelled their laughter and the bully +roared like a bull. Then Dave reached around with his left hand, caught +the bully's left wrist, pulled loose his hold, and with a leftward twist +of his own body tossed his antagonist some several feet away. The bully +turned once in the air and lighted resoundingly on his back. He got up +dazed and sullen, but breaking into a good-natured laugh, shook his head +and held forth the buckles to Dave. + +"You won 'em," Dave said. "They're yours. I wasn't wrastling for them. +You challenged. We'll shake hands." + +Then my Lord Dunmore sent for Dave and asked him where he was from. + +"And do you know the Indian country on this side of the Cumberland?" +asked his lordship. + +"Very well." + +His lordship smiled thoughtfully. + +"I may have need of you." + +Dave bowed: + +"I am an American, my lord." + +His lordship flamed, but he controlled himself. + +"You are at least an open enemy," he said, and gave orders to move on. + +The horse-race was now on, and meanwhile a pair of silk stockings, of +one pistol's value, was yet to be conferred. Colonel Dale had given Hugh +permission to ride Firefly in the race, but when he saw the lad's +condition he peremptorily refused. + +"And nobody else can ride him," he said, with much disappointment. + +"Let me try!" cried Erskine. + +"You!" Colonel Dale started to laugh, but he caught Dave's eye. + +"Surely," said Dave. The colonel hesitated. + +"Very well--I will." + +At once the three went to the horse, and the negro groom rolled his eyes +when he learned what his purpose was. + +"Dis hoss'll kill dat boy," he muttered, but the horse had already +submitted his haughty head to the lad's hand and was standing quietly. +Even Colonel Dale showed amazement and concern when the boy insisted +that the saddle be taken off, as he wanted to ride bareback, and again +Dave overcame his scruples with a word of full confidence. The boy had +been riding pony-races bareback, he explained, among the Indians, as +long as he had been able to sit a horse. The astonishment of the crowd +when they saw Colonel Dale's favorite horse enter the course with a +young Indian apparently on him bareback will have to be imagined, but +when they recognized the rider as the lad who had won the race, the +betting through psychological perversity was stronger than ever on +Firefly. Hugh even took an additional bet with his friend Grey, who was +quite openly scornful. + +"You bet on the horse now," he said. + +"On both," said Hugh. + +It was a pretty and a close race between Firefly and a white-starred bay +mare, and they came down the course neck and neck like two whirlwinds. A +war-whoop so Indian-like and curdling that it startled every old +frontiersman who heard it came suddenly from one of the riders. Then +Firefly stretched ahead inch by inch, and another triumphant savage yell +heralded victory as the black horse swept over the line a length ahead. +Dane Grey swore quite fearfully, for it was a bet that he could ill +afford to lose. He was talking with Barbara when the boy came back to +the Dales, and something he was saying made the girl color resentfully, +and the lad heard her say sharply: + +"He is my cousin," and she turned away from the young gallant and gave +the youthful winner a glad smile. Just then a group of four men stopped +near, looked closely at the little girl, and held a short consultation. +One of them came forward with a pair of silk stockings in his hand. + +"These are for the loveliest maiden present here. The committee chooses +you." + +And later he reported to his fellow members: + +"It was like a red rose courtesying and breathing thanks." + +Again Hugh and Dane Grey were missing when the party started back to the +town--they were gone to bet on "Bacon's Thunderbolts" in a cock-fight. +That night they still were missing when the party went to see the +Virginia Comedians in a play by one Mr. Congreve--they were gaming that +night--and next morning when the Kentucky lad rose, he and Dave through +his window saw the two young roisterers approaching the porch of the +hotel--much dishevelled and all but staggering with drink. + +"I don't like that young man," said Dave, "and he has a bad influence on +Hugh." + +That morning news came from New England that set the town a-quiver. +England's answer to the Boston tea-party had been the closing of Boston +harbor. In the House of Burgesses, the news was met with a burst of +indignation. The 1st of June was straight-way set apart as a day of +fasting, humiliation, and prayer that God would avert the calamity +threatening the civil rights of America. In the middle of the afternoon +my lord's coach and six white horses swung from his great yard and made +for the capitol--my lord sitting erect and haughty, his lips set with the +resolution to crush the spirit of the rebellion. It must have been a +notable scene, for Nicholas, Bland, Lee, Harrison, Pendleton, Henry, and +Jefferson, and perhaps Washington, were there. And my lord was far from +popular. He had hitherto girded himself with all the trappings of +etiquette, had a court herald prescribe rules for the guidance of +Virginians in approaching his excellency, had entertained little and, +unlike his predecessors, made no effort to establish cordial relations +with the people of the capitol. The Burgesses were to give a great ball +in his honor that very night, and now he was come to dissolve them. And +dissolve them he did. They bowed gravely and with no protest. Shaking +with anger my lord stalked to his coach and six while they repaired to +the Apollo Room to prohibit the use of tea and propose a general +congress of the colonies. And that ball came to pass. Haughty hosts +received their haughty guest with the finest and gravest courtesy, bent +low over my lady's hand, danced with her daughters, and wrung from my +lord's reluctant lips the one grudging word of comment: + +"Gentlemen!" + +And the ladies of his family bobbed their heads sadly in confirmation, +for the steel-like barrier between them was so palpable that it could +have been touched that night, it seemed, by the hand. + +The two backwoodsmen had been dazzled by the brilliance of it all, for +the boy had stood with Barbara, who had been allowed to look on for a +while. Again my lord had summoned Dave to him and asked many questions +about the wilderness beyond the Cumberland, and he even had the boy to +come up and shake hands, and asked him where he had learned to ride so +well. He lifted his eyebrows when Dave answered for him and murmured +with surprise and interest: + +"So--so!" + +Before Barbara was sent home Hugh and Dane Grey, dressed with great +care, came in, with an exaggeration of dignity and politeness that +fooled few others than themselves. Hugh, catching Barbara's sad and +reproachful glance, did not dare go near her, but Dane made straight for +her side when he entered the room--and bowed with great gallantry. To the +boy he paid no attention whatever, and the latter, fired with +indignation and hate, turned hastily away. But in a corner unseen he +could not withhold watching the two closely, and he felt vaguely that he +was watching a frightened bird and a snake. The little girl's +self-composure seemed quite to vanish, her face flushed, her eyes were +downcast, and her whole attitude had a mature embarrassment that was far +beyond her years. The lad wondered and was deeply disturbed. The half +overlooking and wholly contemptuous glance that Grey had shot over his +head had stung him like a knife-cut, so like an actual knife indeed that +without knowing it his right hand was then fumbling at his belt. Dave +too was noticing and so was Barbara's mother and her father, who knew +very well that this smooth, suave, bold, young daredevil was +deliberately leading Hugh into all the mischief he could find. Nor did +he leave the girl's side until she was taken home. Erskine, too, left +then and went back to the tavern and up to his room. Then with his knife +in his belt he went down again and waited on the porch. Already guests +were coming back from the party and it was not long before he saw Hugh +and Dane Grey half-stumbling up the steps. Erskine rose. Grey confronted +the lad dully for a moment and then straightened. + +"Here's anuzzer one wants to fight," he said thickly. "My young friend, +I will oblige you anywhere with anything, at any time--except to-night. +You must regard zhat as great honor, for I am not accustomed to fight +with savages." + +And he waved the boy away with such an insolent gesture that the lad, +knowing no other desire with an enemy than to kill in any way possible, +snatched his knife from his belt. He heard a cry of surprise and horror +from Hugh and a huge hand caught his upraised wrist. + +"Put it back!" said Dave sternly. + +The dazed boy obeyed and Dave led him up-stairs. + + + + +VIII + + +Dave talked to the lad about the enormity of his offense, but to Dave he +was inclined to defend himself and his action. Next morning, however, +when the party started back to Red Oaks, Erskine felt a difference in +the atmosphere that made him uneasy. Barbara alone seemed unchanged, and +he was quick to guess that she had not been told of the incident. Hugh +was distinctly distant and surly for another reason as well. He had +wanted to ask young Grey to become one of their party and his father had +decisively forbidden him--for another reason too than his influence over +Hugh: Grey and his family were Tories and in high favor with Lord +Dunmore. + +As yet Dave had made no explanation or excuse for his young friend, but +he soon made up his mind that it would be wise to offer the best +extenuation as soon as possible; which was simply that the lad knew no +better, had not yet had the chance to learn, and on the rage of impulse +had acted just as he would have done among the Indians, whose code alone +he knew. + +The matter came to a head shortly after their arrival at Red Oaks when +Colonel Dale, Harry, Hugh, and Dave were on the front porch. The boy was +standing behind the box-hedge near the steps and Barbara had just +appeared in the doorway. + +"Well, what was the trouble?" Colonel Dale had just asked. + +"He tried to stab Grey unarmed and without warning," said Hugh shortly. + +At the moment, the boy caught sight of Barbara. Her eyes, filled with +scorn, met his in one long, sad, withering look, and she turned +noiselessly back into the house. Noiselessly too he melted into the +garden, slipped down to the river-bank, and dropped to the ground. He +knew at last what he had done. Nothing was said to him when he came back +to the house and that night he scarcely opened his lips. In silence he +went to bed and next morning he was gone. + +The mystery was explained when Barbara told how the boy too must have +overheard Hugh. + +"He's hurt," said Dave, "and he's gone home." + +"On foot?" asked Colonel Dale incredulously. + +"He can trot all day and make almost as good time as a horse." + +"Why, he'll starve." + +Dave laughed: + +"He could get there on roots and herbs and wild honey, but he'll have +fresh meat every day. Still, I'll have to try to overtake him. I must +go, anyhow." + +And he asked for his horse and went to get ready for the journey. Ten +minutes later Hugh and Harry rushed joyously to his room. + +"We're going with you!" they cried, and Dave was greatly pleased. An +hour later all were ready, and at the last moment Firefly was led in, +saddled and bridled, and with a leading halter around his neck. + +"Harry," said Colonel Dale, "carry your cousin my apologies and give him +Firefly on condition that he ride him back some day. Tell him this home +is his"--the speaker halted, but went on gravely and firmly--"whenever he +pleases." + +"And give him my love," said Barbara, holding back her tears. + +At the river-gate they turned to wave a last good-by and disappeared in +the woods. At that hour the boy far over in the wilderness ahead of them +had cooked a squirrel that he had shot for his breakfast and was gnawing +it to the bones. Soon he rose and at a trot sped on toward his home +beyond the Cumberland. And with him, etched with acid on the steel of +his brain, sped two images--Barbara's face as he last saw it and the face +of young Dane Grey. + +The boy's tracks were easily to be seen in the sandy road, and from them +Dave judged that he must have left long before daylight. And he was +travelling rapidly. They too went as fast as they could, but Firefly led +badly and delayed them a good deal. Nobody whom they questioned had laid +eyes on the boy, and apparently he had been slipping into the bushes to +avoid being seen. At sunset Dave knew that they were not far behind him, +but when darkness hid the lad's tracks Dave stopped for the night. Again +Erskine had got the start by going on before day, and it was the middle +of the forenoon before Dave, missing the tracks for a hundred yards, +halted and turned back to where a little stream crossed the road and +dismounted leading his horse and scrutinizing the ground. + +"Ah," he said, "just what I expected. He turned off here to make a +bee-line for the fort. He's not far away now." An hour later he +dismounted again and smiled: "We're pretty close now." + +Meanwhile Harry and Hugh were getting little lessons in woodcraft. Dave +pointed out where the lad had broken a twig climbing over a log, where +the loose covering of another log had been detached when he leaped to +it, and where he had entered the creek, the toe of one moccasin pointing +down-stream. + +Then Dave laughed aloud: + +"He's seen us tracking him and he's doubled on us and is tracking us. I +expect he's looking at us from somewhere around here." And he hallooed +at the top of his voice, which rang down the forest aisles. A war-whoop +answered almost in their ears that made the blood leap in both the boys. +Even Dave wheeled with cocked rifle, and the lad stepped from behind a +bush scarcely ten feet behind them. + +"Well, by gum," shouted Dave, "fooled us, after all." + +A faint grin of triumph was on the lad's lips, but in his eyes was a +waiting inquiry directed at Harry and Hugh. They sprang forward, both of +them with their hands outstretched: + +"We're sorry!" + +A few minutes later Hugh was transferring his saddle from Firefly to his +own horse, which had gone a trifle lame. On Firefly, Harry buckled the +boy's saddle and motioned for him to climb up. The bewildered lad turned +to Dave, who laughed: + +"It's all right." + +"He's your horse, cousin," said Harry. "My father sent him to you and +says his home is yours whenever you please. And Barbara sent her love." + +At almost the same hour in the great house on the James the old negress +was carrying from the boy's room to Colonel Dale in the library a kingly +deed that the lad had left behind him. It was a rude scrawl on a sheet +of paper, signed by the boy's Indian name and his totem mark--a buffalo +pierced by an arrow. + +"It make me laugh. I have no use. I give hole dam plantashun Barbara." + +Thus read the scrawl! + + + + +IX + + +Led by Dave, sometimes by the boy, the four followed the course of +rivers, upward, always except when they descended some mountain which +they had to cross, and then it was soon upward again. The two Virginia +lads found themselves, much to their chagrin, as helpless as children, +but they were apt pupils and soon learned to make a fire with flint and +even with dry sticks of wood. On the second day Harry brought down a +buck, and the swiftness and skill with which Dave and the Kentucky boy +skinned and cleaned it greatly astonished the two young gentlemen from +the James. There Erskine had been helpless, here these two were, and +they were as modest over the transposition as was the Kentucky lad in +the environment he had just left. Once they saw a herd of buffalo and +they tied their horses and slipped toward them. In his excitement Harry +fired too soon and the frightened herd thundered toward them. + +"Climb a tree!" shouted Erskine dropping his rifle and skinning up a +young hickory. Like squirrels they obeyed and from their perches they +saw Dave in an open space ahead of them dart for a tree too late. + +The buffalo were making straight for them through no purpose but to get +away, and to their horror they saw the big hunter squeezing his huge +body sidewise against a small tree and the herd dashing under them and +past him. They could not see him for the shaggy bodies rushing by, but +when they passed, there was Dave unhurt, though the tree on both sides +of him had been skinned of its bark by their horns. + +"Don't do that again," said Dave, and then seeing the crestfallen terror +on Harry's face, he smiled and patted the boy on the shoulder: + +"You won't again. You didn't know. You will next time." + +Three days later they reached the broad, beautiful Holston River, +passing over the pine-crested, white-rocked summit of Clinch Mountain, +and came to the last outlying fort of the western frontier. Next day +they started on the long, long wilderness trail toward the Cumberland +range. In the lowland they found much holly and laurel and rhododendron. +Over Wallen's Ridge they followed a buffalo trail to a river that had +been called Beargrass because it was fringed with spikes of white +umbelliferous flowers four feet high that were laden with honey and +beloved by Bruin of the sweet tooth. The land was level down the valley. +On the third day therefrom the gray wall of the Cumberland that ran with +frowning inaccessibility on their right gathered its flanks into steep +gray cliffs and dipped suddenly into Cumberland Gap. Up this they +climbed. On the summit they went into camp, and next morning Dave swept +a long arm toward the wild expanse to the west. + +"Four more days," he cried, "and we'll be there!" + +The two boys looked with awe on the limitless stretch of wooded wilds. +It was still Virginia, to be sure, but they felt that once they started +down they would be leaving their own beloved State for a strange land of +unknown beasts and red men who peopled that "dark and bloody ground." + +Before sunrise next morning they were dropping down the steep and rocky +trail. Before noon they reached the beautiful Cumberland River, and Dave +told them that, below, it ran over a great rocky cliff, tumbling into +foam and spray over mighty boulders around which the Indians had to +carry their bark canoes. As they rode along the bank of the stream the +hills got lower and were densely thicketed with laurel and rhododendron, +and impenetrable masses of cane-brake filled every little valley curve. +That night they slept amid the rocky foot-hills of the range, and next +morning looked upon a vast wilderness stretch of woods that undulated to +the gentle slopes of the hills, and that night they were on the edge of +the blue-grass land. + +Toward sunset Dave, through a sixth sense, had the uneasy feeling that +he was not only being followed but watched from the cliffs alongside, +and he observed that Erskine too had more than once turned in his saddle +or lifted his eyes searchingly to the shaggy flanks of the hills. +Neither spoke to the other, but that night when the hoot of an owl +raised Dave from his blanket, Erskine too was upright with his rifle in +his hand. For half an hour they waited, and lay down again, only to be +awakened again by the snort of a horse, when both sprang to their feet +and crawled out toward the sound. But the heavy silence lay unbroken and +they brought the horses closer to the fire. + +[Illustration: "Four more days," he cried, "and we'll be there!"] + +"Now I _know_ it was Indians," said Dave; "that hoss o' mine can smell +one further'n a rattlesnake." The boy nodded and they took turns on +watch while the two boys slept on till daylight. The trail was broad +enough next morning for them to ride two abreast--Dave and Erskine in +advance. They had scarcely gone a hundred yards when an Indian stepped +into the path twenty yards ahead. Instinctively Dave threw his rifle up, +but Erskine caught his arm. The Indian had lifted his hand--palm upward. +"Shawnee!" said the lad, as two more appeared from the bushes. The eyes +of the two tidewater boys grew large, and both clinched their guns +convulsively. The Indian spokesman paid no heed except to Erskine--and +only from the lad's face, in which surprise was succeeded by sorrow and +then deep thoughtfulness, could they guess what the guttural speech +meant, until Erskine turned to them. + +They were not on the war-path against the whites, he explained. His +foster-father--Kahtoo, the big chief, the king--was very ill, and his +message, brought by them, was that Erskine should come back to the tribe +and become chief, as the chief's only daughter was dead and his only son +had been killed by the palefaces. They knew that in the fight at the +fort Erskine had killed the Shawnee, his tormentor, for they knew the +arrow, which Erskine had not had time to withdraw. The dead Shawnee's +brother--Crooked Lightning--was with them. He it was who had recognized +the boy the day before, and they had kept him from killing Erskine from +the bushes. At that moment a gigantic savage stepped from the brush. The +boy's frame quivered, straightened, grew rigid, but he met the +malevolent glare turned on him with emotionless face and himself quietly +began to speak while Harry and Hugh and even Dave watched him +enthralled; for the lad was Indian now and the old chief's mantle was +about his shoulders. He sat his horse like a king and spoke as a king. +He thanked them for holding back Crooked Lightning's evil hand, +but--contemptuously he spat toward the huge savage--he was not to die by +that hand. He was a paleface and the Indians had slain his white mother. +He had forgiven that, for he loved the old chief and his foster mother +and brother and sister, and the tribe had always been kind to him. Then +they had killed his white father and he had gone to visit his kindred by +the big waters, and now he loved _them_. He had fled from the Shawnees +because of the cruelty of Crooked Lightning's brother whom he had slain. +But if the Indians were falling into evil ways and following evil +counsels, his heart was sad. + +"I will come when the leaves fall," he concluded, "but Crooked Lightning +must pitch his lodge in the wilderness and be an outcast from the tribe +until he can show that his heart is good." And then with an imperious +gesture he waved his hand toward the west: + +"Now go!" + +It was hard even for Dave to realize that the lad, to all purposes, was +actually then the chief of a powerful tribe, and even he was a little +awed by the instant obedience of the savages, who, without a word, +melted into the bushes and disappeared. Harry wished that Barbara had +been there to see, and Hugh was open-mouthed with astonishment and +wonder, and Dave recovered himself with a little chuckle only when +without a word Erskine clucked Firefly forward, quite unconsciously +taking the lead. And Dave humored him; nor was it many hours before the +lad ceased to be chief, although he did not wholly become himself again +until they were near the fort. It was nearing sunset and from a little +hill Dave pointed to a thin blue wisp of smoke rising far ahead from the +green expanse. + +"There it is, boys!" he cried. All the horses were tired except Firefly +and with a whoop Erskine darted forward and disappeared. They followed +as fast as they could and they heard the report of the boy's rifle and +the series of war-whoops with which he was heralding his approach. +Nobody in the fort was fearful, for plainly it was no unfriendly coming. +All were gathered at the big gate and there were many yells and cries of +welcome and wonder when the boy swept into the clearing on a run, +brandishing his rifle above his head, and pulled his fiery black horse +up in front of them. + +"Whar'd you steal that hoss?" shouted Bud. + +"Look at them clothes!" cried Jack Sanders. And the women--Mother +Sanders, Mother Noe, and Lydia and Honor and Polly Conrad--gathered about +him, laughing, welcoming, shaking hands, and asking questions. + +"Where's Dave?" That was the chief question and asked by several voices +at the same time. The boy looked grave. + +"Dave ain't comin' back," he said, and then seeing the look on Lydia's +face, he smiled: "Dave--" He had no further to go, for Dave's rifle +cracked and his voice rose from the woods, and he and Harry and Hugh +galloped into the clearing. Then were there more whoopings and +greetings, and Lydia's starting tears turned to smiles. + +Healthy, husky, rude, and crude these people were, but hearty, kind, +wholesome, and hospitable to the last they had. Naturally the young +people and the two boys from the James were mutually shy, but it was +plain that the shyness would soon wear off. Before dark the men came in: +old Jerome and the Noe brothers and others who were strangers even to +Dave, for in his absence many adventurers had come along the wilderness +trail and were arriving all the time. Already Erskine and Bud had shown +the two stranger boys around the fort; had told them of the last fight +with the Indians, and pointed out the outer walls pockmarked with +bullet-holes. Supper was in the open--the women serving and the men +seated about on buffalo-skins and deer-hides. Several times Hugh or +Harry would spring up to help serve, until Polly turned on Hugh sharply: + +"You set still!" and then she smiled at him. + +"You'll spile us--but I know a lot o' folks that might learn manners from +you two boys." + +Both were embarrassed. Dave laughed, Bud Sanders grunted, and Erskine +paid no heed. All the time the interchange of news and experiences was +going on. Dave had to tell about his trip and Erskine's races--for the +lad would say nothing--and in turn followed stories of killing buffalo, +deer, panther, and wildcat during his absence. Early the women +disappeared, soon the men began to yawn and stretch, and the sentinels +went to the watch-towers, for there had been Indian signs that day. This +news thrilled the eastern lads, and they too turned into the same bed +built out from the wall of one of the cabins and covered with bearskins. +And Harry, just before his eyes closed, saw through the open door +Erskine seated alone by the dying fire in deep thought--Erskine, the +connecting-link between the tide-water aristocrats and these rude +pioneers, between these backwoodsmen and the savage enemies out in the +black encircling wilderness. And that boy's brain was in a turmoil--what +was to be his fate, there, here, or out there where he had promised to +go at the next falling of the leaves? + + + + +X + + +The green of the wilderness dulled and burst into the yellow of the +buckeye, the scarlet of maple, and the russet of oak. This glory in turn +dulled and the leaves, like petals of withered flowers, began to drift +to the earth. Through the shower of them went Erskine and Firefly, who +had become as used to the wilds as to the smiling banks of the far-away +James, for no longer did some strange scent make his nostrils quiver or +some strange sound point his beautiful ears and make him crouch and +shudder, or some shadow or shaft of light make him shy and leap like a +deer aside. And the two now were one in mutual affection and a mutual +understanding that was uncanny. A brave picture the lad made of those +lone forerunners whose tent was the wilderness and whose goal was the +Pacific slope. From his coonskin cap the bushy tail hung like a plume; +his deerskin hunting-shirt, made by old Mother Sanders, was beaded and +fringed--fringed across the breast, at the wrists, and at the hem, and +girded by a belt from which the horned handle of a scalping-knife showed +in front and the head of a tomahawk behind; his powder-horn swung under +one shoulder and his bullet-pouch, wadding, flint, and steel under the +other; his long rifle across his saddle-bow. And fringed too were his +breeches and beaded were his moccasins. Dave had laughed at him as a +backwoods dandy and then checked himself, so dignified was the boy and +grave; he was the son of a king again, and as such was on his way in +answer to the wish of a king. For food he carried only a little sack of +salt, for his rifle would bring him meat and the forest would give him +nuts and fruit. When the sun was nearing its highest, he "barked" a +squirrel from the trunk of a beech; toward sunset a fat pheasant +fluttered from the ground to a low limb and he shot its head off and +camped for the night. Hickory-nuts, walnuts, and chestnuts were +abundant. Persimmons and papaws were ripe, haws and huckleberries were +plentiful. There were wild cherries and even wild plums, and when he +wished he could pluck a handful of wild grapes from a vine by the trail +and munch them as he rode along. For something sweet he could go to the +pod of the honey-locust. + +On the second day he reached the broad buffalo trail that led to the +salt-licks and on to the river, and then memories came. He remembered a +place where the Indians had camped after they had captured himself and +his mother. In his mind was a faint picture of her sitting against a +tree and weeping and of an Indian striking her to make her stop and of +himself leaping at the savage like a little wildcat, whereat the others +laughed like children. Farther on, next day, was the spot where the +Indians had separated them and he saw his mother no more. They told him +that she had been taken back to the whites, but he was told later that +they had killed her because in their flight from the whites she was +holding them back too much. Farther on was a spot where they had hurried +from the trail and thrust him into a hollow log, barring the exit with +stones, and had left him for a day and a night. + +On the fourth day he reached the river and swam it holding rifle and +powder-horn above his head. On the seventh he was nearing the village +where the sick chief lay, and when he caught sight of the teepees in a +little creek bottom, he fired his rifle, and putting Firefly into a +gallop and with right hand high swept into the village. Several bucks +had caught up bow or rifle at the report of the gun and the clatter of +hoofs, but their hands relaxed when they saw his sign of peace. The +squaws gathered and there were grunts of recognition and greeting when +the boy pulled up in their midst. The flaps of the chief's tent parted +and his foster-mother started toward him with a sudden stream of tears +and turned quickly back. The old chief's keen black eyes were waiting +for her and he spoke before she could open her lips: + +"White Arrow! It is well. Here--at once!" + +Erskine had swung from his horse and followed. The old chief measured +him from head to foot slowly and his face grew content: + +"Show me the horse!" + +The boy threw back the flaps of the tent and with a gesture bade an +Indian to lead Firefly to and fro. The horse even thrust his beautiful +head over his master's shoulder and looked within, snorting gently. +Kahtoo waved dismissal: + +"You must ride north soon to carry the white wampum and a peace talk. +And when you go you must hurry back, for when the sun is highest on the +day after you return, my spirit will pass." + +And thereupon he turned his face and went back into sleep. Already his +foster-mother had unsaddled and tethered Firefly and given him a feed of +corn; and yet bucks, squaws, girls, and pappooses were still gathered +around him, for some had not seen his like before, and of the rest none +failed to feel the change that had taken place in him. Had the lad in +truth come to win and make good his chieftainship, he could not have +made a better beginning, and there was not a maid in camp in whose eyes +there was not far more than curiosity--young as he was. Just before +sunset rifle-shots sounded in the distance--the hunters were coming +in--and the accompanying whoops meant great success. Each of three bucks +carried a deer over his shoulders, and foremost of the three was Crooked +Lightning, who barely paused when he saw Erskine, and then with an +insolent glare and grunt passed him and tossed his deer at the feet of +the squaws. The boy's hand slipped toward the handle of his tomahawk, +but some swift instinct kept him still. The savage must have had good +reason for such open defiance, for the lad began to feel that many +others shared in his hostility and he began to wonder and speculate. + +Quickly the feast was prepared and the boy ate apart--his foster-mother +bringing him food--but he could hear the story of the day's hunting and +the allusions to the prowess of Crooked Lightning's son, Black Wolf, who +was Erskine's age, and he knew they were but slurs against himself. When +the dance began his mother pointed toward it, meaning that he should +take part, but he shook his head--and his thoughts went backward to his +friends at the fort and on back to the big house on the James, to Harry +and Hugh--and Barbara; and he wondered what they would think if they +could see him there; could see the gluttonous feast and those naked +savages stamping around the fire with barbaric grunts and cries to the +thumping of a drum. Where did he belong? + +Fresh wood was thrown on the fire, and as its light leaped upward the +lad saw an aged Indian emerge from one of two tents that sat apart on a +little rise--saw him lift both hands toward the stars for a moment and +then return within. + +"Who is that?" he asked. + +"The new prophet," said his mother. "He has been but one moon here and +has much power over our young men." + +An armful of pine fagots was tossed on the blaze, and in a whiter leap +of light he saw the face of a woman at the other tent--saw her face and +for a moment met her eyes before she shrank back--and neither face nor +eyes belonged to an Indian. Startled, he caught his mother by the wrist +and all but cried out: + +"And that?" The old woman hesitated and scowled: + +"A paleface. Kahtoo bought her and adopted her but"--the old woman gave a +little guttural cluck of triumph--"she dies to-morrow. Kahtoo will burn +her." + +"Burn her?" burst out the boy. + +"The palefaces have killed many of Kahtoo's kin!" + +A little later when he was passing near the white woman's tent a girl +sat in front of it pounding corn in a mortar. She looked up at him and, +staring, smiled. She had the skin of the half-breed, and he stopped, +startled by that fact and her beauty--and went quickly on. At old +Kahtoo's lodge he could not help turning to look at her again, and this +time she rose quickly and slipped within the tent. He turned to find his +foster-mother watching him. + +"Who is that girl?" The old woman looked displeased. + +"Daughter of the white woman." + +"Does she know?" + +"Neither knows." + +"What is her name?" + +"Early Morn." + +Early Morn and daughter of the white woman--he would like to know more of +those two, and he half turned, but the old Indian woman caught him by +the arm: + +"Do not go there--you will only make more trouble." + +He followed the flash of her eyes to the edge of the firelight where a +young Indian stood watching and scowling: + +"Who is that?" + +"Black Wolf, son of Crooked Lightning." + +"Ah!" thought Erskine. + +Within the old chief called faintly and the Indian woman motioned the +lad to go within. The old man's dim eyes had a new fire. + +"Talk!" he commanded and motioned to the ground, but the lad did not +squat Indian fashion, but stood straight with arms folded, and the chief +knew that a conflict was coming. Narrowly he watched White Arrow's face +and bearing--uneasily felt the strange new power of him. + +"I have been with my own people," said the lad simply, "the palefaces +who have come over the big mountains and have built forts and planted +corn, and they were kind to me. I went over those mountains, on and on +almost to the big waters. I found my kin. They are many and strong and +rich. They have big houses of stone such as I had never seen nor heard +of and they plant more corn than all the Shawnees and Iroquois. They, +too, were kind to me. I came because you had been kind and because you +were sick and because you had sent for me, and to keep my word. + +"I have seen Crooked Lightning. His heart is bad. I have seen the new +prophet. I do not like him. And I have seen the white woman that you are +to burn to-morrow." The lad stopped. His every word had been of defense +or indictment and more than once the old chief's eyes shifted uneasily. + +"Why did you leave us?" + +"To see my people and because of Crooked Lightning and his brother." + +"You fought us." + +"Only the brother, and I killed him." The dauntless mien of the boy, his +steady eyes, and his bold truthfulness, pleased the old man. The lad +must take his place as chief. Now White Arrow turned questioner: + +"I told you I would come when the leaves fell and I am here. Why is +Crooked Lightning here? Why is the new prophet? Who is the woman? What +has she done that she must die? What is the peace talk you wish me to +carry north?" + +The old man hesitated long with closed eyes. When he opened them the +fire was gone and they were dim again. + +"The story of the prophet and Crooked Lightning is too long," he said +wearily. "I will tell to-morrow. The woman must die because her people +have slain mine. Besides, she is growing blind and is a trouble. You +carry the white wampum to a council. The Shawnees may join the British +against our enemies--the palefaces." + +"I will wait," said the lad. "I will carry the white wampum. If you war +against the paleface on this side of the mountain--I am your enemy. If +you war with the British against them all--I am your enemy. And the woman +must not die." + +"I have spoken," said the old man. + +"_I_ have spoken," said the boy. He turned to lie down and went to +sleep. The old man sat on, staring out at the stars. + +Just outside the tent a figure slipped away as noiselessly as a snake. +When it rose and emerged from the shadows the firelight showed the +malignant, triumphant face of Crooked Lightning. + + + + +XI + + +The Indian boys were plunging into the river when Erskine appeared at +the opening of the old chief's tent next morning, and when they came out +icicles were clinging to their hair. He had forgotten the custom and he +shrugged his shoulders at his mother's inquiring look. But the next +morning when Crooked Lightning's son Black Wolf passed him with a +taunting smile he changed his mind. + +"Wait!" he said. He turned, stripped quickly to a breech-clout, pointed +to a beech down and across the river, challenging Black Wolf to a race. +Together they plunged in and the boy's white body clove through the +water like the arrow that he was. At the beech he whipped about to meet +the angry face of his competitor ten yards behind. Half-way back he was +more than twenty yards ahead when he heard a strangled cry. Perhaps it +was a ruse to cover the humiliation of defeat, but when he saw bucks +rushing for the river-bank he knew that the icy water had brought a +cramp to Black Wolf, so he turned, caught the lad by his topknot, towed +him shoreward, dropped him contemptuously, and stalked back to his tent. +The girl Early Morn stood smiling at her lodge and her eyes followed his +white figure until it disappeared. His mother had built a fire for him, +and the old chief looked pleased and proud. + +"My spirit shall not pass," he said, and straightway he rose and +dressed, and to the astonishment of the tribe emerged from his tent and +walked firmly about the village until he found Crooked Lightning. + +"You would have Black Wolf chief," he said. "Very well. We shall see who +can show the better right--your son or White Arrow"--a challenge that sent +Crooked Lightning to brood awhile in his tent, and then secretly to +consult the prophet. + +Later the old chief talked long to White Arrow. The prophet, he said, +had been with them but a little while. He claimed that the Great Spirit +had made revelations to him alone. What manner of man was he, questioned +the boy--did he have ponies and pelts and jerked meat? + +"He is poor," said the chief. "He has only a wife and children and the +tribe feeds him." + +White Arrow himself grunted--it was the first sign of his old life +stirring within him. + +"Why should the Great Spirit pick out such a man to favor?" he asked. +The chief shook his head. + +"He makes muzzi-neen for the young men, shows them where to find game +and they find it." + +"But game is plentiful," persisted the lad. + +"You will hear him drumming in the woods at night." + +"I heard him last night and I thought he was a fool to frighten the game +away." + +"Crooked Lightning has found much favor with him, and in turn with the +others, so that I have not thought it wise to tell Crooked Lightning +that he must go. He has stirred up the young men against me--and against +you. They were waiting for me to die." The boy looked thoughtful and the +chief waited. He had not reached the aim of his speech and there was no +need to put it in words, for White Arrow understood. + +"I will show them," he said quietly. + +When the two appeared outside, many braves had gathered, for the whole +village knew what was in the wind. Should it be a horse-race first? +Crooked Lightning looked at the boy's thoroughbred and shook his +head--Indian ponies would as well try to outrun an arrow, a bullet, a +hurricane. + +A foot-race? The old chief smiled when Crooked Lightning shook his head +again--no brave in the tribe even could match the speed that gave the lad +his name. The bow and arrow, the rifle, the tomahawk? Perhaps the +pole-dance of the Sioux? The last suggestion seemed to make Crooked +Lightning angry, for a rumor was that Crooked Lightning was a renegade +Sioux and had been shamed from the tribe because of his evasion of that +same pole-dance. Old Kahtoo had humor as well as sarcasm. Tomahawks and +bows and arrows were brought out. Black Wolf was half a head shorter, +but stocky and powerfully built. White Arrow's sinews had strengthened, +but he had scarcely used bow and tomahawk since he had left the tribe. +His tomahawk whistled more swiftly through the air and buried itself +deeper into the tree, and his arrows flashed faster and were harder to +pull out. He had the power but not the practice, and Black Wolf won with +great ease. When they came to the rifle, Black Wolf was out of the game, +for never a bull's-eye did White Arrow miss. + +"To-morrow," said the old chief, "they shall hunt. Each shall take his +bow and the same number of arrows at sunrise and return at sundown.... +The next day they shall do the same with the rifle. It is enough for +to-day." + +The first snow fell that night, and at dawn the two lads started +out--each with a bow and a dozen arrows. Erskine's woodcraft had not +suffered and the night's story of the wilderness was as plain to his +keen eyes as a printed page. Nothing escaped them, no matter how minute +the signs. Across the patch where corn had been planted, field-mice had +left tracks like stitched seams. Crows had been after crawfish along the +edge of the stream and a mink after minnows. A muskrat had crossed the +swamp beyond. In the woods, wind-blown leaves had dotted and dashed the +snow like a stenographer's notebook. Here a squirrel had leaped along, +his tail showing occasionally in the snow, and there was the +four-pointed, triangle-track of a cottontail. The wide-spreading toes of +a coon had made this tracery; moles had made these snowy ridges over +their galleries, and this long line of stitched tracks was the trail of +the fearless skunk which came to a sudden end in fur, feathers, and +bones where the great horned owl had swooped down on him, the only +creature that seems not to mind his smell. Here was the print of a +pheasant's wing, and buds and bits of twigs on the snow were the +scattered remnants of his breakfast. Here was the spring hole that never +freezes--the drinking-cup for the little folks of the woods. Here a hawk +had been after a rabbit, and the lengthening distance between his +triangles showed how he had speeded up in flight. He had scudded under +thick briers and probably had gotten away. But where was the big game? +For two hours he tramped swiftly, but never sign of deer, elk, bear, or +buffalo. + +And then an hour later he heard a snort from a thick copse and the crash +of an unseen body in flight through the brush, and he loped after its +tracks. + +Black Wolf came in at sunset with a bear cub which he had found feeding +apart from its mother. He was triumphant, and Crooked Lightning was +scornful when White Arrow appeared empty-handed. His left wrist was +bruised and swollen, and there was a gash the length of his forearm. + +"Follow my tracks back," he said, "until you come to the kill." With a +whoop two Indians bounded away and in an hour returned with a buck. + +"I ran him down," said White Arrow, "and killed him with the knife. He +horned me," and went into his tent. + +The bruised wrist and wounded forearm made no matter, for the rifle was +the weapon next day--but White Arrow went another way to look for game. +Each had twelve bullets. Black Wolf came in with a deer and one bullet. +White Arrow told them where they could find a deer, a bear, a buffalo, +and an elk, and he showed eight bullets in the palm of his hand. And he +noted now that the Indian girl was always an intent observer of each +contest, and that she always went swiftly back to her tent to tell his +deeds to the white woman within. + +There was a feast and a dance that night, and Kahtoo could have gone to +his fathers and left the lad, young as he was, as chief, but not yet was +he ready, and Crooked Lightning, too, bided his time. + + + + +XII + + +Dressed as an Indian, Erskine rode forth next morning with a wampum belt +and a talk for the council north where the British were to meet Shawnee, +Iroquois, and Algonquin, and urge them to enter the great war that was +just breaking forth. There was open and angry protest against sending so +young a lad on so great a mission, but the old chief haughtily brushed +it aside: + +"He is young but his feet are swift, his arm is strong, his heart good, +and his head is old. He speaks the tongue of the paleface. Besides, he +is my son." + +One question the boy asked as he made ready: + +"The white woman must not be burned while I am gone?" + +"No," promised the old chief. And so White Arrow fared forth. Four days +he rode through the north woods, and on the fifth he strode through the +streets of a town that was yet filled with great forest trees: a town at +which he had spent three winters when the game was scarce and the tribe +had moved north for good. He lodged with no chief but slept in the woods +with his feet to the fire. The next night he slipped to the house of the +old priest, Father Andre, who had taught him some religion and a little +French, and the old man welcomed him as a son, though he noted sadly his +Indian dress and was distressed when he heard the lad's mission. He was +quickly relieved. + +"I am no royalist," he said. + +"Nor am I," said Erskine. "I came because Kahtoo, who seemed nigh to +death, begged me to come. There is much intrigue about him, and he could +trust no other. I am only a messenger and I shall speak his talk; but my +heart is with the Americans and I shall fight with them." The old priest +put his fingers to his lips: + +"Sh-h-h! It is not wise. Are you not known?" + +Erskine hesitated. + +Earlier that morning he had seen three officers riding in. Following was +a youth not in uniform though he carried a sword. On the contrary, he +was dressed like an English dandy, and then he found himself face to +face with Dane Grey. With no sign of recognition the boy had met his +eyes squarely and passed on. + +"There is but one man who does know me and he did not recognize me. His +name is Dane Grey. I am wondering what he is doing here. Can you find +out for me and let me know?" The old priest nodded and Erskine slipped +back to the woods. + +At sunrise the great council began. On his way Erskine met Grey, who +apparently was leaving with a band of traders for Detroit. Again Erskine +met his eyes and this time Grey smiled: + +"Aren't you White Arrow?" Somehow the tone with which he spoke the name +was an insult. + +"Yes." + +"Then it's true. We heard that you had left your friends at the fort and +become an Indian again." + +"Yes?" + +"So you are not only going to fight with the Indians against the whites, +but with the British against America?" + +"What I am going to do is no business of yours," Erskine said quietly, +"but I hope we shall not be on the same side. We may meet again." + +Grey's face was already red with drink and it turned purple with anger. + +"When you tried to stab me do you remember what I said?" Erskine nodded +contemptuously. + +"Well, I repeat it. Whatever the side, I'll fight you anywhere at any +time and in any way you please." + +"Why not now?" + +"This is not the time for private quarrels and you know it." + +Erskine bowed slightly--an act that came oddly from an Indian head-dress. + +"I can wait--and I shall not forget. The day will come." + +The old priest touched Erskine's shoulder as the angry youth rode away. + +"I cannot make it out," he said. "He claims to represent an English fur +company. His talk is British but he told one man--last night when he was +drunk--that he could have a commission in the American army." + +The council-fire was built, the flames crackled and the smoke rolled +upward and swept through the leafless trees. Three British agents sat on +blankets and around them the chiefs were ringed. All day the powwow +lasted. Each agent spoke and the burden of his talk varied very little. + +The American palefaces had driven the Indian over the great wall. They +were killing his deer, buffalo, and elk, robbing him of his land and +pushing him ever backward. They were many and they would become more. +The British were the Indian's friends--the Americans were his enemies and +theirs; could they choose to fight with their enemies rather than with +their friends? Each chief answered in turn, and each cast forward his +wampum until only Erskine, who had sat silent, remained, and Pontiac +himself turned to him. + +"What says the son of Kahtoo?" + +Even as he rose the lad saw creeping to the outer ring his enemy Crooked +Lightning, but he appeared not to see. The whites looked surprised when +his boyish figure stood straight, and they were amazed when he addressed +the traders in French, the agents in English, and spoke to the feathered +chiefs in their own tongue. He cast the belt forward. + +"That is Kahtoo's talk, but this is mine." + +Who had driven the Indian from the great waters to the great wall? The +British. Who were the Americans until now? British. Why were the +Americans fighting now? Because the British, their kinsmen, would not +give them their rights. If the British would drive the Indian to the +great wall, would they not go on doing what they charged the Americans +with doing now? If the Indians must fight, why fight with the British to +beat the Americans, and then have to fight both a later day? If the +British would not treat their own kinsmen fairly, was it likely that +they would treat the Indian fairly? They had never done so yet. Would it +not be better for the Indian to make the white man on his own land a +friend rather than the white man who lived more than a moon away across +the big seas? Only one gesture the lad made. He lifted his hand high and +paused. Crooked Lightning had sprung to his feet with a hoarse cry. +Already the white men had grown uneasy, for the chiefs had turned to the +boy with startled interest at his first sentence and they could not know +what he was saying. But they looked relieved when Crooked Lightning +rose, for his was the only face in the assembly that was hostile to the +boy. With a gesture Pontiac bade Crooked Lightning speak. + +[Illustration: "That is Kahtoo's talk, but this is mine"] + +"The tongue of White Arrow is forked. I have heard him say he would +fight with the Long Knives against the British and he would fight with +them even against his own tribe." One grunt of rage ran the round of +three circles and yet Pontiac stopped Crooked Lightning and turned to +the lad. Slowly the boy's uplifted hand came down. With a bound he +leaped through the head-dress of a chief in the outer ring and sped away +through the village. Some started on foot after him, some rushed to +their ponies, and some sent arrows and bullets after him. At the edge of +the village the boy gave a loud, clear call and then another as he ran. +Something black sprang snorting from the edge of the woods with pointed +ears and searching eyes. Another call came and like the swirling edge of +a hurricane-driven thunder-cloud Firefly swept after his master. The boy +ran to meet him, caught one hand in his mane before he stopped, swung +himself up, and in a hail of arrows and bullets swept out of sight. + + + + +XIII + + +The sound of pursuit soon died away, but Erskine kept Firefly at his +best, for he knew that Crooked Lightning would be quick and fast on his +trail. He guessed, too, that Crooked Lightning had already told the +tribe what he had just told the council, and that he and the prophet had +already made all use of the boy's threat to Kahtoo in the Shawnee town. +He knew even that it might cost him his life if he went back there, and +once or twice he started to turn through the wilderness and go back to +the fort. Winter was on, and he had neither saddle nor bridle, but +neither fact bothered him. It was the thought of the white woman who was +to be burned that kept him going and sent him openly and fearlessly into +the town. He knew from the sullen looks that met him, from the fear in +the faces of his foster-mother and the white woman who peered blindly +from her lodge, and from the triumphant leer of the prophet that his +every suspicion was true, but all the more leisurely did he swing from +his horse, all the more haughtily stalk to Kahtoo's tent. And the old +chief looked very grave when the lad told the story of the council and +all that he had said and done. + +"The people are angry. They say you are a traitor and a spy. They say +you must die. And I cannot help you. I am too old and the prophet is too +strong." + +"And the white woman?" + +"She will not burn. Some fur traders have been here. The white chief +McGee sent me a wampum belt and a talk. His messenger brought much +fire-water and he gave me that"--he pointed to a silver-mounted +rifle--"and I promised that she should live. But I cannot help you." +Erskine thought quickly. He laid his rifle down, stepped slowly outside, +and stretched his arms with a yawn. Then still leisurely he moved toward +his horse as though to take care of it. But the braves were too keen and +watchful and they were not fooled by the fact that he had left his rifle +behind. Before he was close enough to leap for Firefly's back, three +bucks darted from behind a lodge and threw themselves upon him. In a +moment he was face down on the ground, his hands were tied behind his +back, and when turned over he looked up into the grinning face of Black +Wolf, who with the help of another brave dragged him to a lodge and +roughly threw him within, and left him alone. On the way he saw his +foster-mother's eyes flashing helplessly, saw the girl Early Morn +indignantly telling her mother what was going on, and the white woman's +face was wet with tears. He turned over so that he could look through +the tent-flaps. Two bucks were driving a stake in the centre of the +space around which the lodges were ringed. Two more were bringing fagots +of wood and it was plain what was going to become of him. His +foster-mother, who was fiercely haranguing one of the chiefs, turned +angrily into Kahtoo's lodge and he could see the white woman rocking her +body and wringing her hands. Then the old chief appeared and lifted his +hands. + +"Crooked Lightning will be very angry. The prisoner is his--not yours. It +is for him to say what the punishment shall be--not for you. Wait for +him! Hold a council and if you decide against him, though he is my +son--he shall die." For a moment the preparations ceased and all turned +to the prophet, who had appeared before his lodge. + +"Kahtoo is right," he said. "The Great Spirit will not approve if White +Arrow die except by the will of the council--and Crooked Lightning will +be angry." There was a chorus of protesting grunts, but the preparations +ceased. The boy could feel the malevolence in the prophet's tone and he +knew that the impostor wanted to curry further favor with Crooked +Lightning and not rob him of the joy of watching his victim's torture. +So the braves went back to their fire-water, and soon the boy's +foster-mother brought him something to eat, but she could say nothing, +for Black Wolf had appointed himself sentinel and sat rifle in hand at +the door of the lodge. + +Night came on. A wildcat screeched, a panther screamed, and an elk +bugled far away. The drinking became more furious and once Erskine saw a +pale-brown arm thrust from behind the lodge and place a jug at the feet +of Black Wolf, who grunted and drank deep. The stars mounted into a +clear sky and the wind rose and made much noise in the trees overhead. +One by one the braves went to drunken sleep about the fire. The fire +died down and by the last flickering flame the lad saw Black Wolf's chin +sinking sleepily to his chest. There was the slightest rustle behind the +tent. He felt something groping for his hands and feet, felt the point +of a knife graze the skin of his wrist and ankles--felt the thongs loosen +and drop apart. Noiselessly, inch by inch, he crept to the wall of the +tent, which was carefully lifted for him. Outside he rose and waited. +Like a shadow the girl Early Morn stole before him and like a shadow he +followed. The loose snow muffled their feet as the noise of the wind had +muffled his escape from the lodge, and in a few minutes they were by the +riverbank, away from the town. The moon rose and from the shadow of a +beech the white woman stepped forth with his rifle and powder-horn and +bullet-pouch and some food. She pointed to his horse a little farther +down. He looked long and silently into the Indian girl's eyes and took +the white woman's shaking hand. Once he looked back. The Indian girl was +stoic as stone. A bar of moonlight showed the white woman's face wet +with tears. + + * * * * * + +Again Dave Yandell from a watch-tower saw a topknot rise above a patch +of cane now leafless and winter-bitten--saw a hand lifted high above it +with a palm of peace toward him. And again an Indian youth emerged, this +time leading a black horse with a drooping head. Both came painfully on, +staggering, it seemed, from wounds or weakness, and Dave sprang from the +tower and rushed with others to the gate. He knew the horse and there +was dread in his heart; perhaps the approaching Indian had slain the +boy, had stolen the horse, and was innocently coming there for food. +Well, he thought grimly, revenge would be swift. Still, fearing some +trick, he would let no one outside, but himself stood waiting with the +gate a little ajar. So gaunt were boy and beast that it was plain that +both were starving. The boy's face was torn with briers and pinched with +hunger and cold, but a faint smile came from it. + +"Don't you know me, Dave?" he asked weakly. + +"My God! It's White Arrow!" + + + + +XIV + + +Straightway the lad sensed a curious change in the attitude of the +garrison. The old warmth was absent. The atmosphere was charged with +suspicion, hostility. Old Jerome was surly, his old playmates were +distant. Only Dave, Mother Sanders, and Lydia were unchanged. The +predominant note was curiosity, and they started to ply him with +questions, but Dave took him to a cabin, and Mother Sanders brought him +something to eat. + +"Had a purty hard time," stated Dave. The boy nodded. + +"I had only three bullets. Firefly went lame and I had to lead him. I +couldn't eat cane and Firefly couldn't eat pheasant. I got one from a +hawk," he explained. "What's the matter out there?" + +"Nothin'," said Dave gruffly and he made the boy go to sleep. His story +came when all were around the fire at supper, and was listened to with +eagerness. Again the boy felt the hostility and it made him resentful +and haughty and his story brief and terse. Most fluid and sensitive +natures have a chameleon quality, no matter what stratum of adamant be +beneath. The boy was dressed like an Indian, he looked like one, and he +had brought back, it seemed, the bearing of an Indian--his wildness and +stoicism. He spoke like a chief in a council, and even in English his +phrasing and metaphors belonged to the red man. No wonder they believed +the stories they had heard of him--but there was shame in many faces and +little doubt in any save one before he finished. + +He had gone to see his foster-mother and his foster-father--old chief +Kahtoo, the Shawnee--because he had given his word. Kahtoo thought he was +dying and wanted him to be chief when the Great Spirit called. Kahtoo +had once saved his life, had been kind, and made him a son. That he +could not forget. An evil prophet had come to the tribe and through his +enemies, Crooked Lightning and Black Wolf, had gained much influence. +They were to burn a captive white woman as a sacrifice. He had stayed to +save her, to argue with old Kahtoo, and carry the wampum and a talk to a +big council with the British. He had made his talk and--escaped. He had +gone back to his tribe, had been tied, and was to be burned at the +stake. Again he had escaped with the help of the white woman and her +daughter. The tribes had joined the British and even then they were +planning an early attack on this very fort and all others. + +The interest was tense and every face was startled at this calm +statement of their immediate danger. Dave and Lydia looked triumphant at +this proof of their trust, but old Jerome burst out: + +"Why did you have to escape from the council--and from the Shawnees?" The +boy felt the open distrust and he rose proudly. + +"At the council I told the Indians that they should be friends, not +enemies, of the Americans, and Crooked Lightning called me a traitor. He +had overheard my talk with Kahtoo." + +"What was that?" asked Dave quickly. + +"I told Kahtoo I would fight with the Americans against the British and +Indians; and with _you_ against _him_!" And he turned away and went back +to the cabin. + +"What'd I tell ye!" cried Dave indignantly and he followed the boy, who +had gone to his bunk, and put one big hand on his shoulder. + +"They thought you'd turned Injun agin," he said, "but it's all right +now." + +"I know," said the lad and with a muffled sound that was half the grunt +of an Indian and half the sob of a white man turned his face away. + +Again Dave reached for the lad's shoulder. + +"Don't blame 'em too much. I'll tell you now. Some fur traders came by +here, and one of 'em said you was goin' to marry an Injun girl named +Early Morn; that you was goin' to stay with 'em and fight with 'em +alongside the British. Of course I knowed better but----" + +"Why," interrupted Erskine, "they must have been the same traders who +came to the Shawnee town and brought whiskey." + +"That's what the feller said and why folks here believed him." + +"Who was he?" demanded Erskine. + +"You know him--Dane Grey." + +All tried to make amends straightway for the injustice they had done +him, but the boy's heart remained sore that their trust was so little. +Then, when they gathered all settlers within the fort and made all +preparations and no Indians came, many seemed again to get distrustful +and the lad was not happy. The winter was long and hard. A blizzard had +driven the game west and south and the garrison was hard put to it for +food. Every day that the hunters went forth the boy was among them and +he did far more than his share in the killing of game. But when winter +was breaking, more news came in of the war. The flag that had been +fashioned of a soldier's white shirt, an old blue army coat, and a red +petticoat was now the Stars and Stripes of the American cause. Burgoyne +had not cut off New England, that "head of the rebellion," from the +other colonies. On the contrary, the Americans had beaten him at +Saratoga and marched his army off under those same Stars and Stripes, +and for the first time Erskine heard of gallant Lafayette--how he had run +to Washington with the portentous news from his king--that beautiful, +passionate France would now stretch forth her helping hand. And Erskine +learned what that news meant to Washington's "naked and starving" +soldiers dying on the frozen hillsides of Valley Forge. Then George +Rogers Clark had passed the fort on his way to Williamsburg to get money +and men for his great venture in the Northwest, and Erskine got a ready +permission to accompany him as soldier and guide. After Clark was gone +the lad got restless; and one morning when the first breath of spring +came he mounted his horse, in spite of arguments and protestations, and +set forth for Virginia on the wilderness trail. He was going to join +Clark, he said, but more than Clark and the war were drawing him to the +outer world. What it was he hardly knew, for he was not yet much given +to searching his heart or mind. He did know, however, that some strange +force had long been working within him that was steadily growing +stronger, was surging now like a flame and swinging him between strange +moods of depression and exultation. Perhaps it was but the spirit of +spring in his heart, but with his mind's eye he was ever seeing at the +end of his journey the face of his little cousin Barbara Dale. + + + + +XV + + +A striking figure the lad made riding into the old capital one afternoon +just before the sun sank behind the western woods. Had it been dusk he +might have been thought to be an Indian sprung magically from the wilds +and riding into civilization on a stolen thoroughbred. Students no +longer wandered through the campus of William and Mary College. Only an +occasional maid in silk and lace tripped along the street in high-heeled +shoes and clocked stockings, and no coach and four was in sight. The +governor's palace, in its great yard amid linden-trees, was closed and +deserted. My Lord Dunmore was long in sad flight, as Erskine later +learned, and not in his coach with its six milk-white horses. But there +was the bust of Sir Walter in front of Raleigh Tavern, and there he drew +up, before the steps where he was once nigh to taking Dane Grey's life. +A negro servant came forward to care for his horse, but a coal-black +young giant leaped around the corner and seized the bridle with a +welcoming cry: + +"Marse Erskine! But I knowed Firefly fust." It was Ephraim, the groom +who had brought out Barbara's ponies, who had turned the horse over to +him for the race at the fair. + +"I come frum de plantation fer ole marse," the boy explained. The host +of the tavern heard and came down to give his welcome, for any Dale, no +matter what his garb, could always have the best in that tavern. More +than that, a bewigged solicitor, learning his name, presented himself +with the cheerful news that he had quite a little sum of money that had +been confided to his keeping by Colonel Dale for his nephew Erskine. A +strange deference seemed to be paid him by everybody, which was a +grateful change from the suspicion he had left among his pioneer +friends. The little tavern was thronged and the air charged with the +spirit of war. Indeed, nothing else was talked. My Lord Dunmore had come +to a sad and unbemoaned end. He had stayed afar from the battle-field of +Point Pleasant and had left stalwart General Lewis to fight Cornstalk +and his braves alone. Later my Lady Dunmore and her sprightly daughters +took refuge on a man-of-war--whither my lord soon followed them. His +fleet ravaged the banks of the rivers and committed every outrage. His +marines set fire to Norfolk, which was in ashes when he weighed anchor +and sailed away to more depredations. When he intrenched himself on +Gwynn's Island, that same stalwart Lewis opened a heavy cannonade on +fleet and island, and sent a ball through the indignant nobleman's +flag-ship. Next day he saw a force making for the island in boats, and +my lord spread all sail; and so back to merry England, and to Virginia +no more. Meanwhile, Mr. Washington had reached Boston and started his +duties under the Cambridge elm. Several times during the talk Erskine +had heard mentioned the name of Dane Grey. Young Grey had been with +Dunmore and not with Lewis at Point Pleasant, and had been conspicuous +at the palace through much of the succeeding turmoil--the hint being his +devotion to one of the daughters, since he was now an unquestioned +loyalist. + +Next morning Erskine rode forth along a sandy road, amidst the singing +of birds and through a forest of tiny upshooting leaves, for Red Oaks on +the James. He had forsworn Colonel Dale to secrecy as to the note he had +left behind giving his birthright to his little cousin Barbara, and he +knew the confidence would be kept inviolate. He could recall the +road--every turn of it, for the woodsman's memory is faultless--and he +could see the merry cavalcade and hear the gay quips and laughter of +that other spring day long ago, for to youth even the space of a year is +very long ago. But among the faces that blossomed within the old coach, +and nodded and danced like flowers in a wind, his mind's eye was fixed +on one alone. At the boat-landing he hitched his horse to the low-swung +branch of an oak and took the path through tangled rose-bushes and +undergrowth along the bank of the river, halting where it would give him +forth on the great, broad, grassy way that led to the house among the +oaks. There was the sun-dial that had marked every sunny hour since he +had been away. For a moment he stood there, and when he stepped into the +open he shrank back hastily--a girl was coming through the opening of +boxwood from the house--coming slowly, bareheaded, her hands clasped +behind her, her eyes downward. His heart throbbed as he waited, throbbed +the more when his ears caught even the soft tread of her little feet, +and seemed to stop when she paused at the sun-dial, and as before +searched the river with her eyes. And as before the song of negro +oarsmen came over the yellow flood, growing stronger as they neared. +Soon the girl fluttered a handkerchief and from the single passenger in +the stern came an answering flutter of white and a glad cry. At the bend +of the river the boat disappeared from Erskine's sight under the bank, +and he watched the girl. How she had grown! Her slim figure had rounded +and shot upward, and her white gown had dropped to her dainty ankles. +Now her face was flushed and her eye flashed with excitement--it was no +mere kinsman in that boat, and the boy's heart began to throb +again--throb fiercely and with racking emotions that he had never known +before. A fiery-looking youth sprang up the landing-steps, bowed +gallantly over the girl's hand, and the two turned up the path, the girl +rosy with smiles and the youth bending over her with a most protecting +and tender air. It was Dane Grey, and the heart of the watcher turned +mortal sick. + + + + +XVI + + +A long time Erskine sat motionless, wondering what ailed him. He had +never liked nor trusted Grey; he believed he would have trouble with him +some day, but he had other enemies and he did not feel toward them as he +did toward this dandy mincing up that beautiful broad path. With a +little grunt he turned back along the path. Firefly whinnied to him and +nipped at him with playful restlessness as though eager to be on his way +to the barn, and he stood awhile with one arm across his saddle. Once he +reached upward to untie the reins, and with another grunt strode back +and went rapidly up the path. Grey and Barbara had disappeared, but a +tall youth who sat behind one of the big pillars saw him coming and +rose, bewildered, but not for long. Each recognized the other swiftly, +and Hugh came with stiff courtesy forward. Erskine smiled: + +"You don't know me?" Hugh bowed: + +"Quite well." The woodsman drew himself up with quick breath--paling +without, flaming within--but before he could speak there was a quick step +and an astonished cry within the hall and Harry sprang out. + +"Erskine! Erskine!" he shouted, and he leaped down the steps with both +hands outstretched. "You here! You--you old Indian--how did you get here?" +He caught Erskine by both hands and then fell to shaking him by the +shoulders. "Where's your horse?" And then he noticed the boy's pale and +embarrassed face and his eyes shifting to Hugh, who stood, still cold, +still courteous, and he checked some hot outburst at his lips. + +"I'm glad you've come, and I'm glad you've come right now--where's your +horse?" + +"I left him hitched at the landing," Erskine had to answer, and Harry +looked puzzled: + +"The landing! Why, what----" He wheeled and shouted to a darky: + +"Put Master Erskine's horse in the barn and feed him." And he led +Erskine within--to the same room where he had slept before, and poured +out some water in a bowl. + +"Take your time," he said, and he went back to the porch. Erskine could +hear and see him through the latticed blinds. + +"Hugh," said the lad in a low, cold voice, "I am host here, and if you +don't like this you can take that path." + +"You are right," was the answer; "but you wait until Uncle Harry gets +home." + +The matter was quite plain to Erskine within. The presence of Dane Grey +made it plain, and as Erskine dipped both hands into the cold water he +made up his mind to an understanding with that young gentleman that +would be complete and final. And so he was ready when he and Harry were +on the porch again and Barbara and Grey emerged from the rose-bushes and +came slowly up the path. Harry looked worried, but Erskine sat still, +with a faint smile at his mouth and in his eyes. Barbara saw him first +and she did not rush forward. Instead she stopped, with wide eyes, a +stifled cry, and a lifting of one hand toward her heart. Grey saw too, +flushed rather painfully, and calmed himself. Erskine had sprung down +the steps. + +"Why, have I changed so much?" he cried. "Hugh didn't seem to know me, +either." His voice was gay, friendly, even affectionate, but his eyes +danced with strange lights that puzzled the girl. + +"Of course I knew you," she faltered, paling a little but gathering +herself rather haughtily--a fact that Erskine seemed not to notice. "You +took me by surprise and you have changed--but I don't know how much." The +significance of this too seemed to pass Erskine by, for he bent over +Barbara's hand and kissed it. + +"Never to you, my dear cousin," he said gallantly, and then he bowed to +Dane Grey, not offering to shake hands. + +"Of course I know Mr. Grey." To say that the gentleman was dumfounded is +to put it mildly--this wild Indian playing the courtier with exquisite +impudence and doing it well! Harry seemed like to burst with restrained +merriment, and Barbara was sorely put to it to keep her poise. The great +dinner-bell from behind the house boomed its summons to the woods and +fields. + +"Come on," called Harry. "I imagine you're hungry, cousin." + +"I am," said Erskine. "I've had nothing to eat since--since early morn." +Barbara's eyes flashed upward and Grey was plainly startled. Was there a +slight stress on those two words? Erskine's face was as expressionless +as bronze. Harry had bolted into the hall. + +Mrs. Dale was visiting down the river, so Barbara sat in her mother's +place, with Erskine at her right, Grey to her left, Hugh next to him, +and Harry at the head. Harry did not wait long. + +"Now, you White Arrow, you Big Chief, tell us the story. Where have you +been, what have you been doing, and what do you mean to do? I've heard a +good deal, but I want it all." + +Grey began to look uncomfortable, and so, in truth, did Barbara. + +"What have you heard?" asked Erskine quietly. + +"Never mind," interposed Barbara quickly; "you tell us." + +"Well," began Erskine slowly, "you remember that day we met some Indians +who told me that old Kahtoo, my foster-father, was ill, and that he +wanted to see me before he died? I went exactly as I would have gone had +white men given the same message from Colonel Dale, and even for better +reasons. A bad prophet was stirring up trouble in the tribe against the +old chief. An enemy of mine, Crooked Lightning, was helping him. He +wanted his son, Black Wolf, as chief, and the old chief wanted me. I +heard the Indians were going to join the British. I didn't want to be +chief, but I did want influence in the tribe, so I stayed. There was a +white woman in the camp and an Indian girl named Early Morn. I told the +old chief that I would fight with the whites against the Indians and +with the whites against them both. Crooked Lightning overheard me, and +you can imagine what use he made of what I said. I took the wampum belt +for the old chief to the powwow between the Indians and the British, and +I found I could do nothing. I met Mr. Grey there." He bowed slightly to +Dane and then looked at him steadily. "I was told that he was there in +the interest of an English fur company. When I found I could do nothing +with the Indians, I told the council what I had told the old chief." He +paused. Barbara's face was pale and she was breathing hard. She had not +looked at Grey, but Harry had been watching him covertly and he did not +look comfortable. Erskine paused. + +"What!" shouted Harry. "You told both that you would fight with the +whites against both! What'd they do to you?" + +Erskine smiled. + +"Well, here I am. I jumped over the heads of the outer ring and ran. +Firefly heard me calling him. I had left his halter loose. He broke +away. I jumped on him, and you know nothing can catch Firefly." + +"Didn't they shoot at you?" + +"Of course." Again he paused. + +"Well," said Harry impatiently, "that isn't the end." + +"I went back to the camp. Crooked Lightning followed me and they tied me +and were going to burn me at the stake." + +"Good heavens!" breathed Barbara. + +"How'd you get away?" + +"The Indian girl, Early Morn, slipped under the tent and cut me loose. +The white woman got my gun, and Firefly--you know nothing can catch +Firefly." The silence was intense. Hugh looked dazed, Barbara was on the +point of tears, Harry was triumphant, and Grey was painfully flushed. + +"And you want to know what I am going to do now?" Erskine went on. "I'm +going with Captain George Rogers Clark--with what command are you, Mr. +Grey?" + +"That's a secret," he smiled coolly. "I'll let you know later," and +Barbara, with an inward sigh of relief, rose quickly, but would not +leave them behind. + +"But the white woman?" questioned Harry. "Why doesn't she leave the +Indians?" + +"Early Morn--a half-breed--is her daughter," said Erskine simply. + +"Oh!" and Harry questioned no further. + +"Early Morn was the best-looking Indian girl I ever saw," said Erskine, +"and the bravest." For the first time Grey glanced at Barbara. "She +saved my life," Erskine went on gravely, "and mine is hers whenever she +needs it." Harry reached over and gripped his hand. + +As yet not one word had been said of Grey's misdoing, but Barbara's cool +disdain made him shamed and hot, and in her eyes was the sorrow of her +injustice to Erskine. In the hallway she excused herself with a +courtesy, Hugh went to the stables, Harry disappeared for a moment, and +the two were left alone. With smouldering fire Erskine turned to Grey. + +"It seems you have been amusing yourself with my kinspeople at my +expense." Grey drew himself up in haughty silence. Erskine went on: + +"I have known some liars who were not cowards." + +"You forget yourself." + +"No--nor you." + +"You remember a promise I made you once?" + +"Twice," corrected Erskine. Grey's eyes flashed upward to the crossed +rapiers on the wall. + +"Precisely," answered Erskine, "and when?" + +"At the first opportunity." + +"From this moment I shall be waiting for nothing else." + +Barbara, reappearing, heard their last words, and she came forward pale +and with piercing eyes: + +"Cousin Erskine, I want to apologize to you for my little faith. I hope +you will forgive me. Mr. Grey, your horse will be at the door at once. I +wish you a safe journey--to your command." Grey bowed and turned--furious. + +Erskine was on the porch when Grey came out to mount his horse. + +"You will want seconds?" asked Grey. + +"They might try to stop us--no!" + +"I shall ride slowly," Grey said. Erskine bowed. + +"I shall not." + + + + +XVII + + +Nor did he. Within half an hour Barbara, passing through the hall, saw +that the rapiers were gone from the wall and she stopped, with the color +fled from her face and her hand on her heart. At that moment Ephraim +dashed in from the kitchen. + +"Miss Barbary, somebody gwine to git killed. I was wukkin' in de ole +field an' Marse Grey rid by cussin' to hisself. Jist now Marse Erskine +went tearin' by de landin' wid a couple o' swords under his arm." His +eyes too went to the wall. "Yes, bless Gawd, dey's gone!" Barbara flew +out the door. + +In a few moments she had found Harry and Hugh. Even while their horses +were being saddled her father rode up. + +"It's murder," cried Harry, "and Grey knows it. Erskine knows nothing +about a rapier." + +Without a word Colonel Dale wheeled his tired horse and soon Harry and +Hugh dashed after him. Barbara walked back to the house, wringing her +hands, but on the porch she sat quietly in the agony of waiting that was +the role of women in those days. + +Meanwhile, at a swift gallop Firefly was skimming along the river road. +Grey had kept his word and more: he had not only ridden slowly but he +had stopped and was waiting at an oak-tree that was a corner-stone +between two plantations. + +"That I may not kill you on your own land," he said. + +Erskine started. "The consideration is deeper than you know." + +They hitched their horses, and Erskine followed into a pleasant glade--a +grassy glade through which murmured a little stream. Erskine dropped the +rapiers on the sward. + +"Take your choice," he said. + +"There is none," said Grey, picking up the one nearer to him. "I know +them both." Grey took off his coat while Erskine waited. Grey made the +usual moves of courtesy and still Erskine waited, wonderingly, with the +point of the rapier on the ground. + +"When you are ready," he said, "will you please let me know?" + +"Ready!" answered Grey, and he lunged forward. Erskine merely whipped at +his blade so that the clang of it whined on the air to the +breaking-point and sprang backward. He was as quick as an eyelash and +lithe as a panther, and yet Grey almost laughed aloud. All Erskine did +was to whip the thrusting blade aside and leap out of danger like a +flash of light. It was like an inexpert boxer flailing according to +rules unknown--and Grey's face flamed and actually turned anxious. Then, +as a kindly fate would have it, Erskine's blade caught in Grey's guard +by accident, and the powerful wrist behind it seeking merely to wrench +the weapon loose tore Grey's rapier from his grasp and hurled it ten +feet away. There is no greater humiliation for the expert swordsman, and +not for nothing had Erskine suffered the shame of that long-ago day when +a primitive instinct had led him to thrusting his knife into this same +enemy's breast. Now, with his sword's point on the earth, he waited +courteously for Grey to recover his weapon. + +Again a kindly fate intervened. Even as Grey rushed for his sword, +Erskine heard the beat of horses' hoofs. As he snatched it from the +ground and turned, with a wicked smile over his grinding teeth, came +Harry's shout, and as he rushed for Erskine, Colonel Dale swung from his +horse. The sword-blades clashed, Erskine whipping back and forth in a +way to make a swordsman groan--and Colonel Dale had Erskine by the wrist +and was between them. + +"How dare you, sir?" cried Grey hotly. + +"Just a moment, young gentleman," said Colonel Dale calmly. + +"Let us alone, Uncle Harry--I----" + +"Just a moment," repeated the colonel sternly. "Mr. Grey, do you think +it quite fair that you with your skill should fight a man who knows +nothing about foils?" + +"There was no other way," Grey said sullenly. + +"And you could not wait, I presume?" Grey did not answer. + +"Now, hear what I have to say, and if you both do not agree, the matter +will be arranged to your entire satisfaction, Mr. Grey. I have but one +question to ask. Your country is at war. She needs every man for her +defense. Do you not both think your lives belong to your country and +that it is selfish and unpatriotic just now to risk them in any other +cause?" He waited for his meaning to sink in, and sink it did. + +[Illustration: The sword blades clashed, Erskine whipping back and +forth in a way to make a swordsman groan] + +"Colonel Dale, your nephew grossly insulted me, and your daughter showed +me the door. I made no defense to him nor to her, but I will to you. I +merely repeated what I had been told and I believed it true. Now that I +hear it is not true, I agree with you, sir, and I am willing to express +my regrets and apologies." + +"That is better," said Colonel Dale heartily, and he turned to Erskine, +but Erskine was crying hotly: + +"And I express neither." + +"Very well," sneered Grey coldly. "Perhaps we may meet when your +relatives are not present to protect you." + +"Uncle Harry----" Erskine implored, but Grey was turning toward his horse. + +"After all, Colonel Dale is right." + +"Yes," assented Erskine helplessly, and then--"it is possible that we +shall not always be on the same side." + +"So I thought," returned Grey with lifted eyebrows, "when I heard what I +did about you!" Both Harry and Hugh had to catch Erskine by an arm then, +and they led him struggling away. Grey mounted his horse, lifted his +hat, and was gone. Colonel Dale picked up the swords. + +"Now," he said, "enough, of all this--let it be forgotten." + +And he laughed. + +"You'll have to confess, Erskine--he has a quick tongue and you must +think only of his temptation to use it." + +Erskine did not answer. + +As they rode back Colonel Dale spoke of the war. It was about to move +into Virginia, he said, and when it did---- Both Harry and Hugh +interrupted him with a glad shout: + +"We can go!" Colonel Dale nodded sadly. + +Suddenly all pulled their horses in simultaneously and raised their +eyes, for all heard the coming of a horse in a dead run. Around a +thicketed curve of the road came Barbara, with her face white and her +hair streaming behind her. She pulled her pony in but a few feet in +front of them, with her burning eyes on Erskine alone. + +"Have you killed him--have you killed him? If you have--" She stopped +helpless, and all were so amazed that none could answer. Erskine shook +his head. There was a flash of relief in the girl's white face, its +recklessness gave way to sudden shame, and, without a word, she wheeled +and was away again--Harry flying after her. No one spoke. Colonel Dale +looked aghast and Erskine's heart again turned sick. + + + + +XVIII + + +The sun was close to the uneven sweep of the wilderness. Through its +slanting rays the river poured like a flood of gold. The negroes were on +the way singing from the fields. Cries, chaffing, and the musical +clanking of trace-chains came from the barnyard. Hungry cattle were +lowing and full-uddered mothers were mooing answers to bawling calves. A +peacock screamed from a distant tree and sailed forth, full-spread--a +great gleaming winged jewel of the air. In crises the nerves tighten +like violin strings, the memory-plates turn abnormally sensitive--and +Erskine was not to forget that hour. + +The house was still and not a soul was in sight as the three, still +silent, walked up the great path. When they were near the portico Harry +came out. He looked worried and anxious. + +"Where's Barbara?" asked her father. + +"Locked in her room." + +"Let her alone," said Colonel Dale gently. Like brother and cousin, +Harry and Hugh were merely irritated by the late revelation, but the +father was shocked that his child was no longer a child. Erskine +remembered the girl as she waited for Grey's coming at the sun-dial, her +face as she walked with him up the path. For a moment the two boys stood +in moody silence. Harry took the rapiers in and put them in their place +on the wall. Hugh quietly disappeared. Erskine, with a word of apology, +went to his room, and Colonel Dale sat down on the porch alone. + +As the dusk gathered, Erskine, looking gloomily through his window, saw +the girl flutter like a white moth past the box-hedge and down the path. +A moment later he saw the tall form of Colonel Dale follow her--and both +passed from sight. On the thick turf the colonel's feet too were +noiseless, and when Barbara stopped at the sun-dial he too paused. Her +hands were caught tight and her drawn young face was lifted to the +yellow disk just rising from the far forest gloom. She was unhappy, and +the colonel's heart ached sorely, for any unhappiness of hers always +trebled his own. + +"Little girl!" he called, and no lover's voice could have been more +gentle. "Come here!" + +She turned and saw him, with arms outstretched, the low moon lighting +all the tenderness in his fine old face, and she flew to him and fell to +weeping on his breast. In wise silence he stroked her hair until she +grew a little calmer. + +"What's the matter, little daughter?" + +"I--I--don't know." + +"I understand. You were quite right to send him away, but you did not +want him harmed." + +"I--I--didn't want anybody harmed." + +"I know. It's too bad, but none of us seem quite to trust him." + +"That's it," she sobbed; "I don't either, and yet----" + +"I know. I know. My little girl must be wise and brave, and maybe it +will all pass and she will be glad. But she must be brave. Mother is not +well and she must not be made unhappy too. She must not know. Can't my +little girl come back to the house now? She must be hostess and this is +Erskine's last night." She looked up, brushing away her tears. + +"His last night?" Ah, wise old colonel! + +"Yes--he goes to-morrow to join Captain Clark at Williamsburg on his +foolish campaign in the Northwest. We might never see him again." + +"Oh, father!" + +"Well, it isn't that bad, but my little girl must be very nice to him. +He seems to be very unhappy, too." + +Barbara looked thoughtful, but there was no pretense of not +understanding. + +"I'm sorry," she said. She took her father's arm, and when they reached +the steps Erskine saw her smiling. And smiling, almost gay, she was at +supper, sitting with exquisite dignity in her mother's place. Harry and +Hugh looked amazed, and her father, who knew the bit of tempered steel +she was, smiled his encouragement proudly. Of Erskine, who sat at her +right, she asked many questions about the coming campaign. Captain Clark +had said he would go with a hundred men if he could get no more. The +rallying-point would be the fort in Kentucky where he had first come +back to his own people, and Dave Yandell would be captain of a company. +He himself was going as guide, though he hoped to act as soldier as +well. Perhaps they might bring back the Hair-Buyer, General Hamilton, a +prisoner to Williamsburg, and then he would join Harry and Hugh in the +militia if the war came south and Virginia were invaded, as some +prophesied, by Tarleton's White Rangers, who had been ravaging the +Carolinas. After supper the little lady excused herself with a smiling +courtesy to go to her mother, and Erskine found himself in the moonlight +on the big portico with Colonel Dale alone. + +"Erskine," he said, "you make it very difficult for me to keep your +secret. Hugh alone seems to suspect--he must have got the idea from Grey, +but I have warned him to say nothing. The others seem not to have +thought of the matter at all. It was a boyish impulse of generosity +which you may regret----" + +"Never," interrupted the boy. "I have no use--less than ever now." + +"Nevertheless," the colonel went on, "I regard myself as merely your +steward, and I must tell you one thing. Mr. Jefferson, as you know, is +always at open war with people like us. His hand is against coach and +four, silver plate, and aristocrat. He is fighting now against the law +that gives property to the eldest son, and he will pass the bill. His +argument is rather amusing. He says if you will show him that the eldest +son eats more, wears more, and does more work than his brothers, he will +grant that that son is entitled to more. He wants to blot out all +distinctions of class. He can't do that, but he will pass this bill." + +"I hope he will," muttered Erskine. + +"Barbara would not accept your sacrifice nor would any of us, and it is +only fair that I should warn you that some day, if you should change +your mind, and I were no longer living, you might be too late." + +"Please don't, Uncle Harry. It is done--done. Of course, it wasn't fair +for me to consider Barbara alone, but she will be fair and you +understand. I wish you would regard the whole matter as though I didn't +exist." + +"I can't do that, my boy. I am your steward and when you want anything +you have only to let me know!" Erskine shook his head. + +"I don't want anything--I need very little, and when I'm in the woods, as +I expect to be most of the time, I need nothing at all." Colonel Dale +rose. + +"I wish you would go to college at Williamsburg for a year or two to +better fit yourself--in case----" + +"I'd like to go--to learn to fence," smiled the boy, and the colonel +smiled too. + +"You'll certainly need to know that, if you are going to be as reckless +as you were today." Erskine's eyes darkened. + +"Uncle Harry, you may think me foolish, but I don't like or trust Grey. +What was he doing with those British traders out in the Northwest?--he +was not buying furs. It's absurd. Why was he hand in glove with Lord +Dunmore?" + +"Lord Dunmore had a daughter," was the dry reply, and Erskine flung out +a gesture that made words unnecessary. Colonel Dale crossed the porch +and put his hand on the lad's shoulders. + +"Erskine," he said, "don't worry--and--don't give up hope. Be patient, +wait, come back to us. Go to William and Mary. Fit yourself to be one of +us in all ways. Then everything may yet come out in the only way that +would be fitting and right." The boy blushed, and the colonel went on +earnestly: + +"I can think of nothing in the world that would make me quite so happy." + +"It's no use," the boy said tremblingly, "but I'll never forget what you +have just said as long as I live, and, no matter what becomes of me, +I'll love Barbara as long as I live. But, even if things were otherwise, +I'd never risk making her unhappy even by trying. I'm not fit for her +nor for this life. I'll never forget the goodness of all of you to me--I +can't explain--but I can't get over my life in the woods and among the +Indians. Why, but for all of you I might have gone back to them--I would +yet. I can't explain, but I get choked and I can't breathe--such a +longing for the woods comes over me and I can't help me. I must _go_--and +nothing can hold me." + +"Your father was that way," said Colonel Dale sadly. "You may get over +it, but he never did. And it must be harder for you because of your +early associations. Blow out the lights in the hall. You needn't bolt +the door. Good night, and God bless you." And the kindly gentleman was +gone. + +Erskine sat where he was. The house was still and there were no noises +from the horses and cattle in the barn--none from roosting peacock, +turkey, and hen. From the far-away quarters came faintly the merry, +mellow notes of a fiddle, and farther still the song of some courting +negro returning home. A drowsy bird twittered in an ancient elm at the +corner of the house. The flowers drooped in the moonlight which bathed +the great path, streamed across the great river, and on up to its source +in the great yellow disk floating in majestic serenity high in the +cloudless sky. And that path, those flowers, that house, the barn, the +cattle, sheep, and hogs, those grain-fields and grassy acres, even those +singing black folk, were all--all his if he but said the words. The +thought was no temptation--it was a mighty wonder that such a thing could +be. And that was all it was--a wonder--to him, but to them it was the +world. Without it all, what would they do? Perhaps Mr. Jefferson might +soon solve the problem for him. Perhaps he might not return from that +wild campaign against the British and the Indians--he might get killed. +And then a thought gripped him and held him fast--_he need not come +back_. That mighty wilderness beyond the mountains was his real home--out +there was his real life. He need not come back, and they would never +know. Then came a thought that almost made him groan. There was a light +step in the hall, and Barbara came swiftly out and dropped on the +topmost step with her chin in both hands. Almost at once she seemed to +feel his presence, for she turned her head quickly. + +"Erskine!" As quickly he rose, embarrassed beyond speech. + +"Come here! Why, you look guilty--what have you been thinking?" He was +startled by her intuition, but he recovered himself swiftly. + +"I suppose I will always feel guilty if I have made you unhappy." + +"You haven't made me unhappy. I don't know what you have made me. Papa +says a girl does not understand and no man can, but he does better than +anybody. You saw how I felt if you had killed him, but you don't know +how I would have felt if he had killed you. I don't myself." + +She began patting her hands gently and helplessly together, and again +she dropped her chin into them with her eyes lifted to the moon. + +"I shall be very unhappy when you are gone. I wish you were not going, +but I know that you are--you can't help it." Again he was startled. + +"Whenever you look at that moon over in that dark wilderness, I wish you +would please think of your little cousin--will you?" She turned eagerly +and he was too moved to speak--he only bowed his head as for a prayer or +a benediction. + +"You don't know how often our thoughts will cross, and that will be a +great comfort to me. Sometimes I am afraid. There is a wild strain on my +mother's side, and it is in me. Papa knows it and he is wise--so wise--I +am afraid I may sometimes do something very foolish, and it won't be +_me_ at all. It will be somebody that died long ago." She put both her +hands over both his and held them tight. + +"I never, never distrusted you. I trust you more than anybody else in +the whole world except my father, and he might be away or"--she gave a +little sob--"he might get killed. I want you to make me a promise." + +"Anything," said the boy huskily. + +"I want you to promise me that, no matter when, no matter where you are, +if I need you and send for you you will come." And Indian-like he put +his forehead on both her little hands. + +"Thank you. I must go now." Bewildered and dazed, the boy rose and +awkwardly put out his hand. + +"Kiss me good-by." She put her arms about his neck, and for the first +time in his life the boy's lips met a woman's. For a moment she put her +face against his and at his ear was a whisper. + +"Good-by, Erskine!" And she was gone--swiftly--leaving the boy in a dizzy +world of falling stars through which a white light leaped to heights his +soul had never dreamed. + + + + +XIX + + +With the head of that column of stalwart backwoodsmen went Dave Yandell +and Erskine Dale. A hunting-party of four Shawnees heard their coming +through the woods, and, lying like snakes in the undergrowth, peered out +and saw them pass. Then they rose, and Crooked Lightning looked at Black +Wolf and, with a grunt of angry satisfaction, led the way homeward. And +to the village they bore the news that White Arrow had made good his +word and, side by side with the big chief of the Long Knives, was +leading a war-party against his tribe and kinsmen. And Early Morn +carried the news to her mother, who lay sick in a wigwam. + +The miracle went swiftly, and Kaskaskia fell. Stealthily a cordon of +hunters surrounded the little town. The rest stole to the walls of the +fort. Lights flickered from within, the sounds of violins and dancing +feet came through crevice and window. Clark's tall figure stole +noiselessly into the great hall, where the Creoles were making merry and +leaned silently with folded arms against the doorpost, looking on at the +revels with a grave smile. The light from the torches flickered across +his face, and an Indian lying on the floor sprang to his feet with a +curdling war-whoop. Women screamed and men rushed toward the door. The +stranger stood motionless and his grim smile was unchanged. + +"Dance on!" he commanded courteously, "but remember," he added sternly, +"you dance under Virginia and not Great Britain!" + +There was a great noise behind him. Men dashed into the fort, and +Rocheblave and his officers were prisoners. By daylight Clark had the +town disarmed. The French, Clark said next day, could take the oath of +allegiance to the Republic, or depart with their families in peace. As +for their church, he had nothing to do with any church save to protect +it from insult. So that the people who had heard terrible stories of the +wild woodsmen and who expected to be killed or made slaves, joyfully +became Americans. They even gave Clark a volunteer company to march with +him upon Cahokia, and that village, too, soon became American. Father +Gibault volunteered to go to Vincennes. Vincennes gathered in the church +to hear him, and then flung the Stars and Stripes to the winds of +freedom above the fort. Clark sent one captain there to take command. +With a handful of hardy men who could have been controlled only by him, +the dauntless one had conquered a land as big as any European kingdom. +Now he had to govern and protect it. He had to keep loyal an alien race +and hold his own against the British and numerous tribes of Indians, +bloodthirsty, treacherous, and deeply embittered against all Americans. +He was hundreds of miles from any American troops; farther still from +the seat of government, and could get no advice or help for perhaps a +year. + +And those Indians poured into Cahokia--a horde of them from every tribe +between the Great Lakes and the Mississippi--chiefs and warriors of every +importance; but not before Clark had formed and drilled four companies +of volunteer Creoles. + +"Watch him!" said Dave, and Erskine did, marvelling at the man's +knowledge of the Indian. He did not live in the fort, but always on +guard, always seemingly confident, stayed openly in town while the +savages, sullen and grotesque, strutted in full war panoply through the +straggling streets, inquisitive and insolent, their eyes burning with +the lust of plunder and murder. For days he sat in the midst of the +ringed warriors and listened. On the second day Erskine saw Kahtoo in +the throng and Crooked Lightning and Black Wolf. After dusk that day he +felt the fringe of his hunting-shirt plucked, and an Indian, with face +hidden in a blanket, whispered as he passed. + +"Tell the big chief," he said in Shawnee, "to be on guard to-morrow +night." He knew it was some kindly tribesman, and he wheeled and went to +Clark, who smiled. Already the big chief had guards concealed in his +little house, who seized the attacking Indians, while two minutes later +the townspeople were under arms. The captives were put in irons, and +Erskine saw among them the crestfallen faces of Black Wolf and Crooked +Lightning. The Indians pleaded that they were trying to test the +friendship of the French for Clark, but Clark, refusing all requests for +their release, remained silent, haughty, indifferent, fearless. He still +refused to take refuge in the fort, and called in a number of ladies and +gentlemen to his house, where they danced all night amid the +council-fires of the bewildered savages. Next morning he stood in the +centre of their ringed warriors with the tasselled shirts of his +riflemen massed behind him, released the captive chiefs, and handed them +the bloody war belt of wampum. + +"I scorn your hostility and treachery. You deserve death but you shall +leave in safety. In three days I shall begin war on you. If you Indians +do not want your women and children killed--stop killing ours. We shall +see who can make that war belt the most bloody. While you have been in +my camp you have had food and fire-water, but now that I have finished, +you must depart speedily." + +The captive chief spoke and so did old Kahtoo, with his eyes fixed sadly +but proudly on his adopted son. They had listened to bad birds and been +led astray by the British--henceforth they would be friendly with the +Americans. But Clark was not satisfied. + +"I come as a warrior," he said haughtily; "I shall be a friend to the +friendly. If you choose war I shall send so many warriors from the +Thirteen Council-Fires that your land shall be darkened and you shall +hear no sounds but that of the birds who live on blood." And then he +handed forth two belts of peace and war, and they eagerly took the belt +of peace. The treaty followed next day and Clark insisted that two of +the prisoners should be put to death; and as the two selected came +forward Erskine saw Black Wolf was one. He whispered with Clark and +Kahtoo, and Crooked Lightning saw the big chief with his hand on +Erskine's shoulder and heard him forgive the two and tell them to +depart. And thus peace was won. + +Straightway old Kahtoo pushed through the warriors and, plucking the big +chief by the sleeve, pointed to Erskine. + +"That is my son," he said, "and I want him to go home with me." + +"He shall go," said Clark quickly, "but he shall return, whenever it +pleases him, to me." + +And so Erskine went forth one morning at dawn, and his coming into the +Shawnee camp was like the coming of a king. Early Morn greeted him with +glowing eyes, his foster-mother brought him food, looking proudly upon +him, and old Kahtoo harangued his braves around the council-pole, while +the prophet and Crooked Lightning sulked in their tents. + +"My son spoke words of truth," he proclaimed sonorously. "He warned us +against the king over the waters and told us to make friends with the +Americans. We did not heed his words, and so he brought the great chief +of the Long Knives, who stood without fear among warriors more numerous +than leaves and spoke the same words to all. We are friends of the Long +Knives. My son is the true prophet. Bring out the false one and Crooked +Lightning and Black Wolf, whose life my son saved though the two were +enemies. My son shall do with them as he pleases." + +Many young braves sprang willingly forward and the three were haled +before Erskine. Old Kahtoo waved his hand toward them and sat down. +Erskine rose and fixed his eyes sternly on the cowering prophet: + +"He shall go forth from the village and shall never return. For his +words work mischief, he does foolish things, and his drumming frightens +the game. He is a false prophet and he must go." He turned to Crooked +Lightning: + +"The Indians have made peace with the Long Knives and White Arrow would +make peace with any Indian, though an enemy. Crooked Lightning shall go +or stay, as he pleases. Black Wolf shall stay, for the tribe will need +him as a hunter and a warrior against the English foes of the Long +Knives. White Arrow does not ask another to spare an enemy's life and +then take it away himself." + +The braves grunted approval. Black Wolf and Crooked Lightning averted +their faces and the prophet shambled uneasily away. Again old Kahtoo +proclaimed sonorously, "It is well!" and went back with Erskine to his +tent. There he sank wearily on a buffalo-skin and plead with the boy to +stay with them as chief in his stead. He was very old, and now that +peace was made with the Long Knives he was willing to die. If Erskine +would but give his promise, he would never rise again from where he lay. + +Erskine shook his head and the old man sorrowfully turned his face. + + + + +XX + + +And yet Erskine lingered on and on at the village. Of the white woman he +had learned little other than that she had been bought from another +tribe and adopted by old Kahtoo; but it was plain that since the +threatened burning of her she had been held in high respect by the whole +tribe. He began to wonder about her and whether she might not wish to go +back to her own people. He had never talked with her, but he never moved +about the camp that he did not feel her eyes upon him. And Early Morn's +big soft eyes, too, never seemed to leave him. She brought him food, she +sat at the door of his tent, she followed him about the village and bore +herself openly as his slave. At last old Kahtoo, who would not give up +his great hope, plead with him to marry her, and while he was talking +the girl stood at the door of the tent and interrupted them. Her +mother's eyes were growing dim, she said. Her mother wanted to talk with +White Arrow and look upon his face before her sight should altogether +pass. Nor could Erskine know that the white woman wanted to look into +the eyes of the man she hoped would become her daughter's husband, but +Kahtoo did, and he bade Erskine go. His foster-mother, coming upon the +scene, scowled, but Erskine rose and went to the white woman's tent. She +sat just inside the opening, with a blanket across the lower half of her +face, nor did she look at him. Instead she plied him with questions, and +listened eagerly to his every word, and drew from him every detail of +his life as far back as he could remember. Poor soul, it was the first +opportunity for many years that she had had to talk with any white +person who had been in the Eastern world, and freely and frankly he held +nothing back. She had drawn her blanket close across her face while he +was telling of his capture by the Indians and his life among them, his +escape and the death of his father, and she was crying when he finished. +He even told her a little of Barbara, and when in turn he questioned +her, she told little, and his own native delicacy made him understand. +She, too, had been captured with a son who would have been about +Erskine's age, but her boy and her husband had been killed. She had been +made a slave and--now she drew the blanket across her eyes--after the +birth of her daughter she felt she could never go back to her own +people. Then her Indian husband had been killed and old Kahtoo had +bought and adopted her, and she had not been forced to marry again. Now +it was too late to leave the Indians. She loved her daughter; she would +not subject her or herself to humiliation among the whites, and, anyhow, +there was no one to whom she could go. And Erskine read deep into the +woman's heart and his own was made sad. Her concern was with her +daughter--what would become of her? Many a young brave, besides Black +Wolf, had put his heart at her little feet, but she would have none of +them. And so Erskine was the heaven-sent answer to the mother's +prayers--that was the thought behind her mournful eyes. + +All the while the girl had crouched near, looking at Erskine with +doglike eyes, and when he rose to go the woman dropped the blanket from +her face and got to her feet. Shyly she lifted her hands, took his face +between them, bent close, and studied it searchingly: + +"What is your name?" + +"Erskine Dale." + +Without a word she turned back into her tent. + +At dusk Erskine stood by the river's brim, with his eyes lifted to a +rising moon and his thoughts with Barbara on the bank of the James. +Behind him he heard a rustle and, turning, he saw the girl, her breast +throbbing and her eyes burning with a light he had never seen before. + +"Black Wolf will kill you," she whispered. "Black Wolf wants Early Morn +and he knows that Early Morn wants White Arrow." Erskine put both hands +on her shoulders and looked down into her eyes. She trembled, and when +his arms went about her she surged closer to him and the touch of her +warm, supple body went through him like fire. And then with a triumphant +smile she sprang back. + +"Black Wolf will see," she whispered, and fled. Erskine sank to the +ground, with his head in his hands. The girl ran back to her tent, and +the mother, peering at the flushed face and shining eyes, clove to the +truth. She said nothing, but when the girl was asleep and faintly +smiling, the white woman sat staring out into the moonlit woods, softly +beating her breast. + + + + +XXI + + +Erskine had given Black Wolf his life, and the young brave had accepted +the debt and fretted under it sorely. Erskine knew it, and all his +kindness had been of little avail, for Black Wolf sulked sullenly by the +fire or at his wigwam door. And when Erskine had begun to show some heed +to Early Morn a fierce jealousy seized the savage, and his old hatred +was reborn a thousandfold more strong--and that, too, Erskine now knew. +Meat ran low and a hunting-party went abroad. Game was scarce and only +after the second day was there a kill. Erskine had sighted a huge buck, +had fired quickly and at close range. Wounded, the buck had charged, +Erskine's knife was twisted in his belt, and the buck was upon him +before he could get it out. He tried to dart for a tree, stumbled, +turned, and caught the infuriated beast by the horns. He uttered no cry, +but the angry bellow of the stag reached the ears of Black Wolf through +the woods, and he darted toward the sound. And he came none too soon. +Erskine heard the crack of a rifle, the stag toppled over, and he saw +Black Wolf standing over him with a curiously triumphant look on his +saturnine face. In Erskine, when he rose, the white man was predominant, +and he thrust out his hand, but Black Wolf ignored it. + +"White Arrow gave Black Wolf his life. The debt is paid." + +Erskine looked at his enemy, nodded, and the two bore the stag away. + +Instantly a marked change was plain in Black Wolf. He told the story of +the fight with the buck to all. Boldly he threw off the mantle of shame, +stalked haughtily through the village, and went back to open enmity with +Erskine. At dusk a day or two later, when he was coming down the path +from the white woman's wigwam, Black Wolf confronted him, scowling. + +"Early Morn shall belong to Black Wolf," he said insolently. Erskine met +his baleful, half-drunken eyes scornfully. + +"We will leave that to Early Morn," he said coolly, and then thundered +suddenly: + +"Out of my way!" + +Black Wolf hesitated and gave way, but ever thereafter Erskine was on +guard. + +In the white woman, too, Erskine now saw a change. Once she had +encouraged him to stay with the Indians; now she lost no opportunity to +urge against it. She had heard that Hamilton would try to retake +Vincennes, that he was forming a great force with which to march south, +sweep through Kentucky, batter down the wooden forts, and force the +Kentuckians behind the great mountain wall. Erskine would be needed by +the whites, who would never understand or trust him if he should stay +with the Indians. All this she spoke one day when Erskine came to her +tent to talk. Her face had blanched, she had argued passionately that he +must go, and Erskine was sorely puzzled. The girl, too, had grown +rebellious and disobedient, for the change in her mother was plain also +to her, and she could not understand. Moreover, Erskine's stubbornness +grew, and he began to flame within at the stalking insolence of Black +Wolf, who slipped through the shadows of day and the dusk to spy on the +two whereever they came together. And one day when the sun was midway, +and in the open of the village, the clash came. Black Wolf darted forth +from his wigwam, his eyes bloodshot with rage and drink, and his +hunting-knife in his hand. A cry from Early Morn warned Erskine and he +wheeled. As Black Wolf made a vicious slash at him he sprang aside, and +with his fist caught the savage in the jaw. Black Wolf fell heavily and +Erskine was upon him with his own knife at his enemy's throat. + +"Stop them!" old Kahtoo cried sternly, but it was the terrified shriek +of the white woman that stayed Erskine's hand. Two young braves disarmed +the fallen Indian, and Kahtoo looked inquiringly at his adopted son. + +"Turn him loose!" Erskine scorned. "I have no fear of him. He is a woman +and drunk, but next time I shall kill him." + +The white woman had run down, caught Early Morn, and was leading her +back to her tent. From inside presently came low, passionate pleading +from the woman and an occasional sob from the girl. And when an hour +later, at dusk, Erskine turned upward toward the tent, the girl gave a +horrified cry, flashed from the tent, and darted for the high cliff over +the river. + +"Catch her!" cried the mother. "Quick!" Erskine fled after her, overtook +her with her hands upraised for the plunge on the very edge of the +cliff, and half carried her, struggling and sobbing, back to the tent. +Within the girl dropped in a weeping heap, and with her face covered, +and the woman turned to Erskine, agonized. + +"I told her," she whispered, "and she was going to kill herself. You are +my son!" + + * * * * * + +Still sleepless at dawn, the boy rode Firefly into the woods. At sunset +he came in, gaunt with brooding and hunger. His foster-mother brought +him food, but he would not touch it. The Indian woman stared at him with +keen suspicion, and presently old Kahtoo, passing slowly, bent on him +the same look, but asked no question. Erskine gave no heed to either, +but his mother, watching from her wigwam, understood and grew fearful. +Quickly she stepped outside and called him, and he rose and went to her +bewildered; she was smiling. + +"They are watching," she said, and Erskine, too, understood, and kept +his back toward the watchers. + +"I have decided," he said. "You and _she_ must leave here and go with +me." + +His mother pretended much displeasure. "She will not leave, and I will +not leave her"--her lips trembled--"and I would have gone long ago but----" + +"I understand," interrupted Erskine, "but you will go now with your +son." + +The poor woman had to scowl. + +"No, and you must not tell them. They will never let me go, and they +will use me to keep you here. _You_ must go at once. She will never +leave this tent as long as you are here, and if you stay she will die, +or kill herself. Some day----" She turned abruptly and went back into her +tent. Erskine wheeled and went to old Kahtoo. + +"You want Early Morn?" asked the old man. "You shall have her." + +"No," said the boy, "I am going back to the big chief." + +"You are my son and I am old and weak." + +"I am a soldier and must obey the big chief's commands, as must you." + +"I shall live," said the old man wearily, "until you come again." + +Erskine nodded and went for his horse. Black Wolf watched him with +malignant satisfaction, but said nothing--nor did Crooked Lightning. +Erskine turned once as he rode away. His mother was standing outside her +wigwam. Mournfully she waved her hand. Behind her and within the tent he +could see Early Morn with both hands at her breast. + + + + +XXII + + +Dawned 1781. + +The war was coming into Virginia at last. Virginia falling would thrust +a great wedge through the centre of the Confederacy, feed the British +armies and end the fight. Cornwallis was to drive the wedge, and never +had the opening seemed easier. Virginia was drained of her fighting men, +and south of the mountains was protected only by a militia, for the most +part, of old men and boys. North and South ran despair. The soldiers had +no pay, little food, and only old worn-out coats, tattered linen +overalls, and one blanket between three men, to protect them from +drifting snow and icy wind. Even the great Washington was near despair, +and in foreign help his sole hope lay. Already the traitor, Arnold, had +taken Richmond, burned warehouses, and returned, but little harassed, to +Portsmouth. + +In April, "the proudest man," as Mr. Jefferson said, "of the proudest +nation on earth," one General Phillips, marching northward, paused +opposite Richmond, and looked with amaze at the troop-crowned hills +north of the river. Up there was a beardless French youth of +twenty-three, with the epaulets of a major-general. + +"He will not cross--hein?" said the Marquis de Lafayette. "Very well!" +And they had a race for Petersburg, which the Britisher reached first, +and straightway fell ill of a fever at "Bollingbrook." A cannonade from +the Appomattox hills saluted him. + +"They will not let me die in peace," said General Phillips, but he +passed, let us hope, to it, and Benedict Arnold succeeded him. + +Cornwallis was coming on. Tarleton's white rangers were bedevilling the +land, and it was at this time that Erskine Dale once more rode Firefly +to the river James. + +The boy had been two years in the wilds. When he left the Shawnee camp +winter was setting in, that terrible winter of '79--of deep snow and +hunger and cold. When he reached Kaskaskia, Captain Clark had gone to +Kentucky, and Erskine found bad news. Hamilton and Hay had taken +Vincennes. There Captain Helm's Creoles, as soon as they saw the +redcoats, slipped away from him to surrender their arms to the British, +and thus deserted by all, he and the two or three Americans with him had +to give up the fort. The French reswore allegiance to Britain. Hamilton +confiscated their liquor and broke up their billiard-tables. He let his +Indians scatter to their villages, and with his regulars, volunteers, +white Indian leaders, and red auxiliaries went into winter quarters. One +band of Shawnees he sent to Ohio to scout and take scalps in the +settlements. In the spring he would sweep Kentucky and destroy all the +settlements west of the Alleghanies. So Erskine and Dave went for Clark; +and that trip neither ever forgot. Storms had followed each other since +late November and the snow lay deep. Cattle and horses perished, deer +and elk were found dead in the woods, and buffalo came at nightfall to +old Jerome Sanders's fort for food and companionship with his starving +herd. Corn gave out and no johnny-cakes were baked on long boards in +front of the fire. There was no salt or vegetable food; nothing but the +flesh of lean wild game. The only fat was with the bears in the hollows +of trees, and every hunter was searching hollow trees. The breast of the +wild turkey served for bread. Yet, while the frontiersmen remained +crowded in the stockades and the men hunted and the women made clothes +of tanned deer-hides, buffalo-wool cloth, and nettle-bark linen, and +both hollowed "noggins" out of the knot of a tree, Clark made his +amazing march to Vincennes, recaptured it by the end of February, and +sent Hamilton to Williamsburg a prisoner. Erskine plead to be allowed to +take him there, but Clark would not let him go. Permanent garrisons were +placed at Vincennes and Cahokia, and at Kaskaskia. Erskine stayed to +help make peace with the Indians, punish marauders and hunting bands, so +that by the end of the year Clark might sit at the Falls of the Ohio as +a shield for the west and a sure guarantee that the whites would never +be forced to abandon wild Kentucky. + +The two years in the wilderness had left their mark on Erskine. He was +tall, lean, swarthy, gaunt, and yet he was not all woodsman, for his +born inheritance as gentleman had been more than emphasized by his +association with Clark and certain Creole officers in the Northwest, who +had improved his French and gratified one pet wish of his life since his +last visit to the James--they had taught him to fence. His mother he had +not seen again, but he had learned that she was alive and not yet blind. +Of Early Morn he had heard nothing at all. Once a traveller had brought +word of Dane Grey. Grey was in Philadelphia and prominent in the gay +doings of that city. He had taken part in a brilliant pageant called the +"Mischianza," which was staged by Andre, and was reported a close friend +of that ill-fated young gentleman. + +After the fight at Piqua, with Clark Erskine put forth for old Jerome +Sanders's fort. He found the hard days of want over. There was not only +corn in plenty but wheat, potatoes, pumpkins, turnips, melons. They +tapped maple-trees for sugar and had sown flax. Game was plentiful, and +cattle, horses, and hogs had multiplied on cane and buffalo clover. +Indeed, it was a comparatively peaceful fall, and though Clark plead +with him, Erskine stubbornly set his face for Virginia. + +Honor Sanders and Polly Conrad had married, but Lydia Noe was still firm +against the wooing of every young woodsman who came to the fort; and +when Erskine bade her good-by and she told him to carry her love to Dave +Yandell, he knew for whom she would wait forever if need be. + +There were many, many travellers on the Wilderness Road now, and Colonel +Dale's prophecy was coming true. The settlers were pouring in and the +long, long trail was now no lonesome way. + +At Williamsburg Erskine learned many things. Colonel Dale, now a +general, was still with Washington and Harry was with him. Hugh was with +the Virginia militia and Dave with Lafayette. + +Tarleton's legion of rangers in their white uniforms were scourging +Virginia as they had scourged the Carolinas. Through the James River +country they had gone with fire and sword, burning houses, carrying off +horses, destroying crops, burning grain in the mills, laying plantations +to waste. Barbara's mother was dead. Her neighbors had moved to safety, +but Barbara, he heard, still lived with old Mammy and Ephraim at Red +Oaks, unless that, too, had been recently put to the torch. Where, then, +would he find her? + + + + +XXIII + + +Down the river Erskine rode with a sad heart. At the place where he had +fought with Grey he pulled Firefly to a sudden halt. There was the +boundary of Red Oaks and there started a desolation that ran as far as +his eye could reach. Red Oaks had not been spared, and he put Firefly to +a fast gallop, with eyes strained far ahead and his heart beating with +agonized foreboding and savage rage. Soon over a distant clump of trees +he could see the chimneys of Barbara's home--his home, he thought +helplessly--and perhaps those chimneys were all that was left. And then +he saw the roof and the upper windows and the cap of the big columns +unharmed, untouched, and he pulled Firefly in again, with overwhelming +relief, and wondered at the miracle. Again he started and again pulled +in when he caught sight of three horses hitched near the stiles. Turning +quickly from the road, he hid Firefly in the underbrush. Very quietly he +slipped along the path by the river, and, pushing aside through the +rose-bushes, lay down where unseen he could peer through the closely +matted hedge. He had not long to wait. A white uniform issued from the +great hall door and another and another--and after them Barbara--smiling. +The boy's blood ran hot--smiling at her enemies. Two officers bowed, +Barbara courtesied, and they wheeled on their heels and descended the +steps. The third stayed behind a moment, bowed over her hand and kissed +it. The watcher's blood turned then to liquid fire. Great God, at what +price was that noble old house left standing? Grimly, swiftly Erskine +turned, sliding through the bushes like a snake to the edge of the road +along which they must pass. He would fight the three, for his life was +worth nothing now. He heard them laughing, talking at the stiles. He +heard them speak Barbara's name, and two seemed to be bantering the +third, whose answering laugh seemed acquiescent and triumphant. They +were coming now. The boy had his pistols out, primed and cocked. He was +rising on his knees, just about to leap to his feet and out into the +road, when he fell back into a startled, paralyzed, inactive heap. +Glimpsed through an opening in the bushes, the leading trooper in the +uniform of Tarleton's legion was none other than Dane Grey, and +Erskine's brain had worked quicker than his angry heart. This was a +mystery that must be solved before his pistols spoke. He rose crouching +as the troopers rode away. At the bend of the road he saw Grey turn with +a gallant sweep of his tricornered hat, and, swerving his head +cautiously, he saw Barbara answer with a wave of her handkerchief. If +Tarleton's men were around he would better leave Firefly where he was in +the woods for a while. A jay-bird gave out a flutelike note above his +head; Erskine never saw a jay-bird perched cockily on a branch that he +did not think of Grey; but Grey was brave--so, too, was a jay-bird. A +startled gasp behind him made him wheel, pistol once more in hand, to +find a negro, mouth wide open and staring at him from the road. + +"Marse Erskine!" he gasped. It was Ephraim, the boy who had led +Barbara's white ponies out long, long ago, now a tall, muscular lad with +an ebony face and dazzling teeth. "Whut you doin' hyeh, suh? Whar' yo' +hoss? Gawd, I'se sutn'ly glad to see yuh." Erskine pointed to an oak. + +"Right by that tree. Put him in the stable and feed him." + +The negro shook his head. + +"No, suh. I'll take de feed down to him. Too many redcoats messin' round +heah. You bettah go in de back way--dey might see yuh." + +"How is Miss Barbara?" + +The negro's eyes shifted. + +"She's well. Yassuh, she's well as common." + +"Wasn't one of those soldiers who just rode away Mr. Dane Grey?" + +The negro hesitated. + +"Yassuh." + +"What's he doing in a British uniform?" + +The boy shifted his great shoulders uneasily and looked aside. + +"I don't know, suh--I don't know nuttin'." + +Erskine knew he was lying, but respected his loyalty. + +"Go tell Miss Barbara I'm here and then feed my horse." + +"Yassuh." + +Ephraim went swiftly and Erskine followed along the hedge and through +the rose-bushes to the kitchen door, where Barbara's faithful old Mammy +was waiting for him with a smile of welcome but with deep trouble in her +eyes. + +"I done tol' Miss Barbary, suh. She's waitin' fer yuh in de hall." + +Barbara, standing in the hall doorway, heard his step. + +"Erskine!" she cried softly, and she came to meet him, with both hands +outstretched, and raised her lovely face to be kissed. "What are you +doing here?" + +"I am on my way to join General Lafayette." + +"But you will be captured. It is dangerous. The country is full of +British soldiers." + +"So I know," Erskine said dryly. + +"When did you get here?" + +"Twenty minutes ago. I would not have been welcome just then. I waited +in the hedge. I saw you had company." + +"Did you see them?" she faltered. + +"I even recognized one of them." Barbara sank into a chair, her elbow on +one arm, her chin in her hand, her face turned, her eyes looking +outdoors. She said nothing, but the toe of her slipper began to tap the +floor gently. There was no further use for indirection or concealment. + +"Barbara," Erskine said with some sternness, and his tone quickened the +tapping of the slipper and made her little mouth tighten, "what does all +this mean?" + +"Did you see," she answered, without looking at him, "that the crops +were all destroyed and the cattle and horses were all gone?" + +"Why did they spare the house?" The girl's bosom rose with one quick, +defiant intake of breath, and for a moment she held it. + +"Dane Grey saved our home." + +"How?" + +"He had known Colonel Tarleton in London and had done something for him +over there." + +"How did he get in communication with Colonel Tarleton when he was an +officer in the American army?" The girl would not answer. + +"Was he taken prisoner?" Still she was silent, for the sarcasm in +Erskine's voice was angering her. + +"He fought once under Benedict Arnold--perhaps he is fighting with him +now." + +"No!" she cried hotly. + +"Then he must be a----" + +She did not allow him to utter the word. + +"Why Mr. Grey is in British uniform is his secret--not mine." + +"And why he is here is--yours." + +"Exactly!" she flamed. "You are a soldier. Learn what you want to know +from him. You are my cousin, but you are going beyond the rights of +blood. I won't stand it--I won't stand it--from anybody." + +"I don't understand you, Barbara--I don't know you. That last time it was +Grey, you--and now--" He paused and, in spite of herself, her eyes flashed +toward the door. Erskine saw it, drew himself erect, bowed and strode +straight out. Nor did the irony of the situation so much as cross his +mind--that he should be turned from his own home by the woman he loved +and to whom he had given that home. Nor did he look back--else he might +have seen her sink, sobbing, to the floor. + + * * * * * + +When he turned the corner of the house old Mammy and Ephraim were +waiting for him at the kitchen door. + +"Get Firefly, Ephraim!" he said sharply. + +"Yassuh!" + +At the first sight of his face Mammy had caught her hands together at +her breast. + +"You ain't gwine, Marse Erskine," she said tremulously. "You ain't gwine +away?" + +"Yes, Mammy--I must." + +"You an' Miss Barbary been quoilin', Marse Erskine--you been +quoilin'"--and without waiting for an answer she went on passionately: +"Ole Marse an' young Marse an' Marse Hugh done gone, de niggahs all +gone, an' nobody lef' but me an' Ephraim--nobody lef' but me an' +Ephraim--to give dat little chile one crumb o' comfort. Nobody come to de +house but de redcoats an' dat mean Dane Grey, an' ev'y time he come he +leave Miss Barbary cryin' her little heart out. 'Tain't Miss Barbary in +dar--hit's some other pusson. She ain't de same pusson--no, suh. An' lemme +tell yu--lemme tell yu--ef some o' de men folks doan come back heah +somehow an' look out fer dat little gal--she's a-gwine to run away wid +dat mean low-down man whut just rid away from heah in a white uniform." +She had startled Erskine now and she knew it. + +"Dat man has got little Missus plum' witched, I tell ye--plum' witched. +Hit's jes like a snake wid a catbird." + +"Men have to fight, Mammy----" + +"I doan keer nothin' 'bout de war." + +"I'd be captured if I stayed here----" + +"All I keer 'bout is my chile in dar----" + +"But we'll drive out the redcoats and the whitecoats and I'll come +straight here----" + +"An' all de men folks leavin' her heah wid nobody but black Ephraim an' +her ole Mammy." The old woman stopped her fiery harangue to listen: + +"Dar now, heah dat? My chile hollerin' fer her ole Mammy." She turned +her unwieldy body toward the faint cry that Erskine's heart heard better +than his ears, and Erskine hurried away. + +"Ephraim," he said as he swung upon Firefly, "you and Mammy keep a close +watch, and if I'm needed here, come for me yourself and come fast." + +"Yassuh. Marse Grey is sutn'ly up to some devilmint no which side he +fightin' fer. I got a gal oveh on the aige o' de Grey plantation an' she +tel' me dat Marse Dane Grey don't wear dat white uniform all de time." + +"What's that--what's that?" asked Erskine. + +"No, suh. She say he got an udder uniform, same as yose, an' he keeps it +at her uncle Sam's cabin an' she's seed him go dar in white an' come out +in our uniform, an' al'ays at night, Marse Erskine--al'ays at night." + +The negro cocked his ear suddenly: + +"Take to de woods quick, Marse Erskine. Horses comin' down the road." + +But the sound of coming hoof-beats had reached the woodsman's ears some +seconds before the black man heard them, and already Erskine had wheeled +away. And Ephraim saw Firefly skim along the edge of a blackened meadow +behind its hedge of low trees. + +"Gawd!" said the black boy, and he stood watching the road. A band of +white-coated troopers was coming in a cloud of dust, and at the head of +them rode Dane Grey. + +"Has Captain Erskine Dale been here?" he demanded. + +Ephraim had his own reason for being on the good side of the questioner, +and did not even hesitate. + +"Yassuh--he jes' lef'! Dar he goes now!" With a curse Grey wheeled his +troopers. At that moment Firefly, with something like the waving flight +of a bluebird, was leaping the meadow fence into the woods. The black +boy looked after the troopers' dust. + +"Gawd!" he said again, with a grin that showed every magnificent tooth +in his head. "Jest as well try to ketch a streak o' lightning." And +quite undisturbed he turned to tell the news to old Mammy. + + + + +XXIV + + +Up the James rode Erskine, hiding in the woods by day and slipping +cautiously along the sandy road by night, circling about Tarleton's +camp-fires, or dashing at full speed past some careless sentinel. Often +he was fired at, often chased, but with a clear road in front of him he +had no fear of capture. On the third morning he came upon a ragged +sentinel--an American. Ten minutes later he got his first glimpse of +Lafayette, and then he was hailed joyfully by none other than Dave +Yandell, Captain Dave Yandell, shorn of his woodsman's dress and +panoplied in the trappings of war. + + * * * * * + +Cornwallis was coming on. The boy, he wrote, cannot escape me. But the +boy--Lafayette--did, and in time pursued and forced the Englishman into a +_cul-de-sac_. "I have given his lordship the disgrace of a retreat," +said Lafayette. And so--Yorktown! + +Late in August came the message that put Washington's great "soul in +arms." Rochambeau had landed six thousand soldiers in Connecticut, and +now Count de Grasse and a French fleet had sailed for the Chesapeake. +General Washington at once resorted to camouflage. He laid out camps +ostentatiously opposite New York and in plain sight of the enemy. He +made a feigned attack on their posts. Rochambeau moved south and reached +the Delaware before the British grasped the Yankee trick. Then it was +too late. The windows of Philadelphia were filled with ladies waving +handkerchiefs and crying bravoes when the tattered Continentals, their +clothes thick with dust but hats plumed with sprigs of green, marched +through amid their torn battle-flags and rumbling cannon. Behind +followed the French in "gay white uniforms faced with green," and +martial music throbbed the air. Not since poor Andre had devised the +"Mischianza" festival had Philadelphia seen such a pageant. Down the +Chesapeake they went in transports and were concentrated at Williamsburg +before the close of September. Cornwallis had erected works against the +boy, for he knew nothing of Washington and Count de Grasse, nor Mad +Anthony and General Nelson, who were south of the James to prevent +escape into North Carolina. + +"To your goodness," the boy wrote to Washington, "I am owning the most +beautiful prospect I may ever behold." + +Then came de Grasse, who drove off the British fleet, and the mouth of +the net was closed. + +Cornwallis heard the cannon and sent Clinton to appeal for help, but the +answer was Washington himself at the head of his army. And then the +joyous march. + +"'Tis our first campaign!" cried the French gayly, and the Continentals +joyfully answered: + +"'Tis our last!" + + * * * * * + +At Williamsburg the allies gathered, and with Washington's army came +Colonel Dale, now a general, and young Captain Harry Dale, who had +brought news from Philadelphia that was of great interest to Erskine +Dale. In that town Dane Grey had been a close intimate of Andre, and +that intimacy had been the cause of much speculation since. He had told +Dave of his mother and Early Morn, and Dave had told him gravely that he +must go get them after the campaign was over and bring them to the fort +in Kentucky. If Early Morn still refused to come, then he must bring his +mother, and he reckoned grimly that no mouth would open in a word that +could offend her. Erskine also told of Red Oaks and Dane Grey, but Dave +must tell nothing to the Dales--not yet, if ever. + +In mid-September Washington came, and General Dale had but one chance to +visit Barbara. General Dale was still weak from a wound and Barbara +tried unavailingly to keep him at home. Erskine's plea that he was too +busy to go with them aroused Harry's suspicions, that were confirmed by +Barbara's manner and reticence, and he went bluntly to the point: + +"What is the trouble, cousin, between you and Barbara?" + +"Trouble?" + +"Yes. You wouldn't go to Red Oaks and Barbara did not seem surprised. Is +Dane Grey concerned?" + +"Yes." + +Harry looked searchingly at his cousin: + +"I pray to God that I may soon meet him face to face." + +"And I," said Erskine quietly, "pray to God that you do not--not until +after I have met him first." Barbara had not told, he thought, nor +should he--not yet. And Harry, after a searching look at his cousin, +turned away. + +They marched next morning at daybreak. At sunset of the second day they +bivouacked within two miles of Yorktown and the siege began. The allied +line was a crescent, with each tip resting on the water--Lafayette +commanding the Americans on the right, the French on the left under +Rochambeau. De Grasse, with his fleet, was in the bay to cut off +approach by water. Washington himself put the match to the first gun, +and the mutual cannonade of three or four days began. The scene was +"sublime and stupendous." + +Bombshells were seen "crossing each other's path in the air, and were +visible in the form of a black ball by day, but in the night they +appeared like a fiery meteor, with a blazing tail most beautifully +brilliant. They ascended majestically from the mortar to a certain +altitude and gradually descended to the spot where they were destined to +execute their work of destruction. When a shell fell it wheeled around, +burrowed, and excavated the earth to a considerable extent and, +bursting, made dreadful havoc around. When they fell in the river they +threw up columns of water like spouting monsters of the deep. Two +British men-of-war lying in the river were struck with hot shot and set +on fire, and the result was full of terrible grandeur. The sails caught +and the flames ran to the tops of the masts, resembling immense torches. +One fled like a mountain of fire toward the bay and was burned to the +water's edge." + +General Nelson, observing that the gunners were not shooting at Nelson +House because it was his own, got off his horse and directed a gun at it +with his own hand. And at Washington's headquarters appeared the +venerable Secretary Nelson, who had left the town with the permission of +Cornwallis and now "related with a serene visage what had been the +effect of our batteries." It was nearly the middle of October that the +two redoubts projecting beyond the British lines and enfilading the +American intrenchments were taken by storm. One redoubt was left to +Lafayette and his Americans, the other to Baron de Viomenil, who claimed +that his grenadiers were the men for the matter in hand. Lafayette +stoutly argued the superiority of his Americans, who, led by Hamilton, +carried their redoubt first with the bayonet, and sent the Frenchman an +offer of help. The answer was: + +"I will be in mine in five minutes." And he was, Washington watching the +attack anxiously: + +"The work is done and well done." + +And then the surrender: + +The day was the 19th of October. The victors were drawn up in two lines +a mile long on the right and left of a road that ran through the autumn +fields south of Yorktown. Washington stood at the head of his army on +the right, Rochambeau at the head of the French on the left. Behind on +both sides was a great crowd of people to watch the ceremony. Slowly out +of Yorktown marched the British colors, cased drums beating a +significant English air: + +"The world turned topsyturvy." + +Lord Cornwallis was sick. General O'Hara bore my lord's sword. As he +approached, Washington saluted and pointed to General Lincoln, who had +been treated with indignity at Charleston. O'Hara handed the sword to +Lincoln. Lincoln at once handed it back and the surrender was over. +Between the lines the British marched on and stacked arms in a near-by +field. Some of them threw their muskets on the ground, and a British +colonel bit the hilt of his sword from rage. + +As Tarleton's legion went by, three pairs of eyes watched eagerly for +one face, but neither Harry nor Captain Dave Yandell saw Dane Grey--nor +did Erskine Dale. + + + + +XXV + + +To Harry and Dave, Dane Grey's absence was merely a mystery--to Erskine +it brought foreboding and sickening fear. General Dale's wound having +opened afresh, made travelling impossible, and Harry had a slight +bayonet-thrust in the shoulder. Erskine determined to save them all the +worry possible and to act now as the head of the family himself. He +announced that he must go straight back at once to Kentucky and Captain +Clark. Harry stormed unavailingly and General Dale pleaded with him to +stay, but gave reluctant leave. To Dave he told his fears and Dave +vehemently declared he, too, would go along, but Erskine would not hear +of it and set forth alone. + +Slowly enough he started, but with every mile suspicion and fear grew +the faster and he quickened Firefly's pace. The distance to Williamsburg +was soon covered, and skirting the town, he went on swiftly for Red +Oaks. + +Suppose he were too late, but even if he were not too late, what should +he do, what could he do? Firefly was sweeping into a little hollow now, +and above the beating of her hoofs in the sandy road, a clink of metal +reached his ears beyond the low hill ahead, and Erskine swerved aside +into the bushes. Some one was coming, and apparently out of the red ball +of the sun hanging over that hill sprang a horseman at a dead run--black +Ephraim on the horse he had saved from Tarleton's men. Erskine pushed +quickly out into the road. + +"Stop!" he cried, but the negro came thundering blindly on, as though he +meant to ride down anything in his way. Firefly swerved aside, and +Ephraim shot by, pulling in with both hands and shouting: + +"Marse Erskine! Yassuh, yassuh! Thank Gawd you'se come." When he wheeled +he came back at a gallop--nor did he stop. + +"Come on, Marse Erskine!" he cried. "No time to waste. Come on, suh!" + +With a few leaps Firefly was abreast, and neck and neck they ran, while +the darky's every word confirmed the instinct and reason that had led +Erskine where he was. + +"Yassuh, Miss Barbary gwine to run away wid dat mean white man. Yassuh, +dis very night." + +"When did he get here?" + +"Dis mawnin'. He been pesterin' her an' pleadin' wid her all day an' she +been cryin' her heart out, but Mammy say she's gwine wid him. 'Pears +like she can't he'p herse'f." + +"Is he alone?" + +"No, suh, he got an orficer an' four sojers wid him." + +"How did they get away?" + +"He say as how dey was on a scoutin' party an' 'scaped." + +"Does he know that Cornwallis has surrendered?" + +"Oh, yassuh, he tol' Miss Barbary dat. Dat's why he says he got to git +away right now an' she got to go wid him right now." + +"Did he say anything about General Dale and Mr. Harry?" + +"Yassuh, he say dat dey's all right an' dat dey an' you will be hot on +his tracks. Dat's why Mammy tol' me to ride like de debbil an' hurry you +on, suh." And Ephraim had ridden like the devil, for his horse was +lathered with foam and both were riding that way now, for the negro was +no mean horseman and the horse he had saved was a thoroughbred. + +"Dis arternoon," the negro went on, "he went ovah to dat cabin I tol' +you 'bout an' got dat American uniform. He gwine to tell folks on de way +dat dem udders is his prisoners an' he takin' dem to Richmond. Den dey +gwine to sep'rate an' he an' Miss Barbary gwine to git married somewhur +on de way an' dey goin' on an' sail fer England, fer he say if he git +captured folks'll won't let him be prisoner o' war--dey'll jes up an' +shoot him. An' dat skeer Miss Barbary mos' to death an' he'p make her go +wid him. Mammy heah'd ever' word dey say." + +Erskine's brain was working fast, but no plan would come. They would be +six against him, but no matter--he urged Firefly on. The red ball from +which Ephraim had leaped had gone down now. The chill autumn darkness +was settling, but the moon was rising full and glorious over the black +expanse of trees when the lights of Red Oaks first twinkled ahead. +Erskine pulled in. + +"Ephraim!" + +"Yassuh. You lemme go ahead. You jest wait in dat thicket next to de +corner o' de big gyarden. I'll ride aroun' through de fields an' come +into the barnyard by de back gate. Dey won't know I been gone. Den I'll +come to de thicket an' tell you de whole lay o' de land." + +Erskine nodded. + +"Hurry!" + +"Yassuh." + +The negro turned from the road through a gate, and Erskine heard the +thud of his horse's hoofs across the meadow turf. He rode on slowly, +hitched Firefly as close to the edge of the road as was safe, and crept +to the edge of the garden, where he could peer through the hedge. The +hall-door was open and the hallway lighted; so was the dining-room; and +there were lights in Barbara's room. There were no noises, not even of +animal life, and no figures moving about or in the house. What could he +do? One thing at least, no matter what happened to him--he could number +Dane Grey's days and make this night his last on earth. It would +probably be his own last night, too. Impatiently he crawled back to the +edge of the road. More quickly than he expected, he saw Ephraim's figure +slipping through the shadows toward him. + +"Dey's jus' through supper," he reported. "Miss Barbary didn't eat wid +'em. She's up in her room. Dat udder orficer been stormin' at Marse Grey +an' hurryin' him up. Mammy been holdin' de little Missus back all she +can. She say she got to make like she heppin' her pack. De sojers down +dar by de wharf playin' cards an' drinkin'. Dat udder man been drinkin' +hard. He got his head on de table now an' look like he gone to sleep." + +"Ephraim," said Erskine quickly, "go tell Mr. Grey that one of his men +wants to see him right away at the sun-dial. Tell him the man wouldn't +come to the house because he didn't want the others to know--that he has +something important to tell him. When he starts down the path you run +around the hedge and be on hand in the bushes." + +"Yassuh," and the boy showed his teeth in a comprehending smile. It was +not long before he saw Grey's tall figure easily emerge from the +hall-door and stop full in the light. He saw Ephraim slip around the +corner and Grey move to the end of the porch, doubtless in answer to the +black boy's whispered summons. For a moment the two figures were +motionless and then Erskine began to tingle acutely from head to foot. +Grey came swiftly down the great path, which was radiant with moonlight. +As Grey neared the dial Erskine moved toward him, keeping in a dark +shadow, but Grey saw him and called in a low tone but sharply: + +"Well, what is it?" With two paces more Erskine stepped out into the +moonlight with his cocked pistol at Grey's breast. + +"This," he said quietly. "Make no noise--and don't move." Grey was +startled, but he caught his control instantly and without fear. + +"You are a brave man, Mr. Grey, and so, for that matter, is--Benedict +Arnold." + +"Captain Grey," corrected Grey insolently. + +"I do not recognize your rank. To me you are merely Traitor Grey." + +"You are entitled to unusual freedom of speech--under the circumstances." + +[Illustration: "Make no noise, and don't move"] + +"I shall grant you the same freedom," Erskine replied quickly--"in a +moment. You are my prisoner, Mr. Grey. I could lead you to your proper +place at the end of a rope, but I have in mind another fate for you +which perhaps will be preferable to you and maybe one or two others. Mr. +Grey, I tried once to stab you--I knew no better and have been sorry ever +since. You once tried to murder me in the duel and you did know better. +Doubtless you have been sorry ever since--that you didn't succeed. Twice +you have said that you would fight me with anything, any time, any +place." Grey bowed slightly. "I shall ask you to make those words good +and I shall accordingly choose the weapons." Grey bowed again. +"Ephraim!" The boy stepped from the thicket. + +"Ah," breathed Grey, "that black devil!" + +"Ain' you gwine to shoot him, Marse Erskine?" + +"Ephraim!" said Erskine, "slip into the hall very quietly and bring me +the two rapiers on the wall." Grey's face lighted up. + +"And, Ephraim," he called, "slip into the dining-room and fill Captain +Kilburn's glass." He turned with a wicked smile. + +"Another glass and he will be less likely to interrupt. Believe me, +Captain Dale, I shall take even more care now than you that we shall not +be disturbed. I am delighted." And now Erskine bowed. + +"I know more of your career than you think, Grey. You have been a spy as +well as a traitor. And now you are crowning your infamy by weaving some +spell over my cousin and trying to carry her away in the absence of her +father and brother, to what unhappiness God only can know. I can hardly +hope that you appreciate the honor I am doing you." + +"Not as much as I appreciate your courage and the risk you are taking." + +Erskine smiled. + +"The risk is perhaps less than you think." + +"You have not been idle?" + +"I have learned more of my father's swords than I knew when we used them +last." + +"I am glad--it will be more interesting." Erskine looked toward the house +and moved impatiently. + +"My brother officer has dined too well," noted Grey placidly, "and the +rest of my--er--retinue are gambling. We are quite secure." + +"Ah!" Erskine breathed--he had seen the black boy run down the steps with +something under one arm and presently Ephraim was in the shadow of the +thicket: + +"Give one to Mr. Grey, Ephraim, and the other to me. I believe you said +on that other occasion that there was no choice of blades?" + +"Quite right," Grey answered, skilfully testing his bit of steel. + +"Keep well out of the way, Ephraim," warned Erskine, "and take this +pistol. You may need it, if I am worsted, to protect yourself." + +"Indeed, yes," returned Grey, "and kindly instruct him not to use it to +protect _you_." For answer Erskine sprang from the shadow--discarding +formal courtesies. + +"_En garde!_" he called sternly. + +The two shining blades clashed lightly and quivered against each other +in the moonlight like running drops of quicksilver. + +Grey was cautious at first, trying out his opponent's increase in skill: + +"You have made marked improvement." + +"Thank you," smiled Erskine. + +"Your wrist is much stronger." + +"Naturally." Grey leaped backward and parried just in time a vicious +thrust that was like a dart of lightning. + +"Ah! A Frenchman taught you that." + +"A Frenchman taught me all the little I know." + +"I wonder if he taught you how to meet this." + +"He did," answered Erskine, parrying easily and with an answering thrust +that turned Grey suddenly anxious. Constantly Grey manoeuvred to keep his +back to the moon, and just as constantly Erskine easily kept him where +the light shone fairly on both. Grey began to breathe heavily. + +"I think, too," said Erskine, "that my wind is a little better than +yours--would you like a short resting-spell?" + +From the shadow Ephraim chuckled, and Grey snapped: + +"Make that black devil----" + +"Keep quiet, Ephraim!" broke in Erskine sternly. Again Grey manoeuvred +for the moon, to no avail, and Erskine gave warning: + +"Try that again and I will put that moon in your eyes and keep it +there." Grey was getting angry now and was beginning to pant. + +"Your wind _is_ short," said Erskine with mock compassion. "I will give +you a little breathing-spell presently." + +Grey was not wasting his precious breath now and he made no answer. + +"Now!" said Erskine sharply, and Grey's blade flew from his hand and lay +like a streak of silver on the dewy grass. Grey rushed for it. + +"Damn you!" he raged, and wheeled furiously--patience, humor, and caution +quite gone--and they fought now in deadly silence. Ephraim saw the +British officer appear in the hall and walk unsteadily down the steps as +though he were coming down the path, but he dared not open his lips. +There was the sound of voices, and it was evident that the game had +ended in a quarrel and the players were coming up the river-bank toward +them. Erskine heard, but if Grey did he at first gave no sign--he was too +much concerned with the death that faced him. Suddenly Erskine knew that +Grey had heard, for the fear in his face gave way to a diabolic grin of +triumph and he lashed suddenly into defense--if he could protect himself +only a little longer! Erskine had delayed the finishing-stroke too long +and he must make it now. Grey gave way step by step--parrying only. The +blades flashed like tiny bits of lightning. Erskine's face, grim and +inexorable, brought the sick fear back into Grey's, and Erskine saw his +enemy's lips open. He lunged then, his blade went true, sank to the +hilt, and Grey's warped soul started on its way with a craven cry for +help. Erskine sprang back into the shadows and snatched his pistol from +Ephraim's hand: + +"Get out of the way now. Tell them I did it." + +Once he looked back. He saw Barbara at the hall-door with old Mammy +behind her. With a running leap he vaulted the hedge, and, hidden in the +bushes, Ephraim heard Firefly's hoofs beating ever more faintly the +sandy road. + + + + +XXVI + + +Yorktown broke the British heart, and General Dale, still weak from +wounds, went home to Red Oaks. It was not long before, with gentle +inquiry, he had pieced out the full story of Barbara and Erskine and +Dane Grey, and wisely he waited his chance with each phase of the +situation. Frankly he told her first of Grey's dark treachery, and the +girl listened with horrified silence, for she would as soon have +distrusted that beloved father as the heavenly Father in her prayers. +She left him when he finished the story and he let her go without +another word. All day she was in her room and at sunset she gave him her +answer, for she came to him dressed in white, knelt by his chair, and +put her head in his lap. And there was a rose in her hair. + +"I have never understood about myself and--and that man," she said, "and +I never will." + +"I do," said the general gently, "and I understand you through my sister +who was so like you. Erskine's father was as indignant as Harry is now, +and I am trying to act toward you as my father did toward her." The girl +pressed her lips to one of his hands. + +"I think I'd better tell you the whole story now," said General Dale, +and he told of Erskine's father, his wildness and his wanderings, his +marriage, and the capture of his wife and the little son by the Indians, +all of which she knew, and the girl wondered why he should be telling +her again. The general paused: + +"You know Erskine's mother was not killed. He found her." The girl +looked up amazed and incredulous. + +"Yes," he went on, "the white woman whom he found in the Indian village +was his mother." + +"Father!" She lifted her head quickly, leaned back with hands caught +tight in front of her, looked up into his face--her own crimsoning and +paling as she took in the full meaning of it all. Her eyes dropped. + +"Then," she said slowly, "that Indian girl--Early Morn--is his +half-sister. Oh, oh!" A great pity flooded her heart and eyes. "Why +didn't Erskine take them away from the Indians?" + +"His mother wouldn't leave them." And Barbara understood. + +"Poor thing--poor thing!" + +"I think Erskine is going to try now." + +"Did you tell him to bring them here?" The general put his hand on her +head. + +"I hoped you would say that. I did, but he shook his head." + +"Poor Erskine!" she whispered, and her tears came. Her father leaned +back and for a moment closed his eyes. + +"There is more," he said finally. "Erskine's father was the eldest +brother--and Red Oaks----" + +The girl sprang to her feet, startled, agonized, shamed: "Belongs to +Erskine," she finished with her face in her hands. "God pity me," she +whispered, "I drove him from his own home." + +"No," said the old general with a gentle smile. He was driving the barb +deep, but sooner or later it had to be done. + +"Look here!" He pulled an old piece of paper from his pocket and handed +it to her. Her wide eyes fell upon a rude boyish scrawl and a rude +drawing of a buffalo pierced by an arrow: + +"It make me laugh. I have no use. I give hole dam plantashun Barbara." + +"Oh!" gasped the girl and then--"where is he?" + +"Waiting at Williamsburg to get his discharge." She rushed swiftly down +the steps, calling: + +"Ephraim! Ephraim!" + +And ten minutes later the happy, grinning Ephraim, mounted on the +thoroughbred, was speeding ahead of a whirlwind of dust with a little +scented note in his battered slouch hat: + + "You said you would come whenever I wanted you. I want you to come + now. + + "Barbara." + +The girl would not go to bed, and the old general from his window saw +her like some white spirit of the night motionless on the porch. And +there through the long hours she sat. Once she rose and started down the +great path toward the sun-dial, moving slowly through the flowers and +moonlight until she was opposite a giant magnolia. Where the shadow of +it touched the light on the grass, she had last seen Grey's white face +and scarlet breast. With a shudder she turned back. The night whitened. +A catbird started the morning chorus. The dawn came and with it Ephraim. +The girl waited where she was. Ephraim took off his battered hat. + +"Marse Erskine done gone, Miss Barbary," he said brokenly. "He done gone +two days." + +The girl said nothing, and there the old general found her still +motionless--the torn bits of her own note and the torn bits of Erskine's +scrawling deed scattered about her feet. + + + + +XXVII + + +On the summit of Cumberland Gap Erskine Dale faced Firefly to the east +and looked his last on the forests that swept unbroken back to the river +James. It was all over for him back there and he turned to the wilder +depths, those endless leagues of shadowy woodlands, that he would never +leave again. Before him was one vast forest. The trees ran from +mountain-crest to river-bed, they filled valley and rolling plain, and +swept on in sombre and melancholy wastes to the Mississippi. Around him +were birches, pines, hemlocks, and balsam firs. He dropped down into +solemn, mysterious depths filled with oaks, chestnuts, hickories, +maples, beeches, walnuts, and gigantic poplars. The sun could not +penetrate the leafy-roofed archway of that desolate world. The tops of +the mighty trees merged overhead in a mass of tent-like foliage and the +spaces between the trunks were choked with underbrush. And he rode on +and on through the gray aisles of the forest in a dim light that was +like twilight at high noon. + +At Boonesborough he learned from the old ferryman that, while the war +might be coming to an end in Virginia, it was raging worse than ever in +Kentucky. There had been bloody Indian forays, bloody white reprisals, +fierce private wars, and even then the whole border was in a flame. +Forts had been pushed westward even beyond Lexington, and 1782 had been +Kentucky's year of blood. Erskine pushed on, and ever grew his +hopelessness. The British had drawn all the savages of the Northwest +into the war. As soon as the snow was off the ground the forays had +begun. Horses were stolen, cabins burned, and women and children were +carried off captive. The pioneers had been confined to their stockaded +forts, and only small bands of riflemen sallied out to patrol the +country. Old Jerome Sanders's fort was deserted. Old Jerome had been +killed. Twenty-three widows were at Harrodsburg filing the claims of +dead husbands, and among them were Polly Conrad and Honor Sanders. The +people were expecting an attack in great force from the Indians led by +the British. At the Blue Licks there had been a successful ambush by the +Indians and the whites had lost half their number, among them many brave +men and natural leaders of the settlements. Captain Clark was at the +mouth of Licking River and about to set out on an expedition and needed +men. + +Erskine, sure of a welcome, joined him and again rode forth with Clark +through the northern wilderness, and this time a thousand mounted +riflemen followed them. Clark had been stirred at last from his lethargy +by the tragedy of the Blue Licks and this expedition was one of reprisal +and revenge; and it was to be the last. The time was autumn and the corn +was ripe. The triumphant savages rested in their villages unsuspecting +and unafraid, and Clark fell upon them like a whirl-wind. Taken by +surprise, and startled and dismayed by such evidence of the quick +rebirth of power in the beaten whites, the Indians of every village fled +at their approach, and Clark put the torch not only to cabin and wigwam +but to the fields of standing corn. As winter was coming on, this would +be a sad blow, as Clark intended, to the savages. + +Erskine had told the big chief of his mother, and every man knew the +story and was on guard that she should come to no harm. A captured +Shawnee told them that the Shawnees had got word that the whites were +coming, and their women and old men had fled or were fleeing, all, +except in a village he had just left--he paused and pointed toward the +east where a few wisps of smoke were rising. Erskine turned: "Do you +know Kahtoo?" + +"He is in that village." + +Erskine hesitated: "And the white woman--Gray Dove?" + +"She, too, is there." + +"And Early Morn?" + +"Yes," grunted the savage. + +"What does he say?" asked Clark. + +"There is a white woman and her daughter in a village, there," said +Erskine, pointing in the direction of the smoke. + +Clark's voice was announcing the fact to his men. Hastily he selected +twenty. "See that no harm comes to them," he cried, and dashed forward. +Erskine in advance saw Black Wolf and a few bucks covering the retreat +of some fleeing women. They made a feeble resistance of a volley and +they too turned to flee. A white woman emerged from a tent and with +great dignity stood, peering with dim eyes. To Clark's amazement Erskine +rushed forward and took her in his arms. A moment later Erskine cried: + +"My sister, where is she?" + +The white woman's trembling lips opened, but before she could answer, a +harsh, angry voice broke in haughtily, and Erskine turned to see Black +Wolf stalking in, a prisoner between two stalwart woodsmen. + +"Early Morn is Black Wolf's squaw. She is gone--" He waved one hand +toward the forest. + +The insolence of the savage angered Clark, and not understanding what he +said, he asked angrily: + +"Who is this fellow?" + +"He is the husband of my half-sister," answered Erskine gravely. + +Clark looked dazed and uncomprehending: + +"And that woman?" + +"My mother," said Erskine gently. + +"Good God!" breathed Clark. He turned quickly and waved the open-mouthed +woodsmen away, and Erskine and his mother were left alone. A feeble +voice called from a tent near by. + +"Old Kahtoo!" said Erskine's mother. "He is dying and he talks of +nothing but you--go to him!" And Erskine went. The old man lay trembling +with palsy on a buffalo-robe, but the incredible spirit in his wasted +body was still burning in his eyes. + +"My son," said he, "I knew your voice. I said I should not die until I +had seen you again. It is well ... it is well," he repeated, and wearily +his eyes closed. And thus Erskine knew it would be. + + + + +XXVIII + + +That winter Erskine made his clearing on the land that Dave Yandell had +picked out for him, and in the centre of it threw up a rude log hut in +which to house his mother, for his remembrance of her made him believe +that she would prefer to live alone. He told his plans to none. + +In the early spring, when he brought his mother home, she said that +Black Wolf had escaped and gone farther into the wilderness--that Early +Morn had gone with him. His mother seemed ill and unhappy. Erskine, not +knowing that Barbara was on her way to find him, started on a +hunting-trip. In a few days Barbara arrived and found his mother unable +to leave her bed, and Lydia Noe sitting beside her. Harry had just been +there to say good-by before going to Virginia. + +[Illustration: To his bewilderment he found Barbara at his mother's +bedside] + + +Barbara was dismayed by Erskine's absence and his mother's look of +suffering and extreme weakness, and the touch of her cold fingers. There +was no way of reaching her son, she said--he did not know of her illness. +Barbara told her of Erskine's giving her his inheritance, and that she +had come to return it. Meanwhile Erskine, haunted by his mother's sad +face, had turned homeward. To his bewilderment, he found Barbara at his +mother's bedside. A glance at their faces told him that death was near. +His mother held out her hand to him while still holding Barbara's. As in +a dream, he bent over to kiss her, and with a last effort she joined +their hands, clasping both. A great peace transformed her face as she +slowly looked at Barbara and then up at Erskine. With a sigh her head +sank lower, and her lovely dimming eyes passed into the final dark. + +Two days later they were married. The woodsmen, old friends of +Erskine's, were awed by Barbara's daintiness, and there were none of the +rude jests they usually flung back and forth. With hearty handshakes +they said good-by and disappeared into the mighty forest. In the silence +that fell, Erskine spoke of the life before them, of its hardships and +dangers, and then of the safety and comfort of Virginia. Barbara smiled: + +"You choose the wilderness, and your choice is mine. We will leave the +same choice...." She flushed suddenly and bent her head. + +"To those who come after us," finished Erskine. + + + The End. + + + + + +End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of Erskine Dale--Pioneer, by John Fox + +*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK ERSKINE DALE--PIONEER *** + +***** This file should be named 36390.txt or 36390.zip ***** +This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: + https://www.gutenberg.org/3/6/3/9/36390/ + +Produced by Roger Frank and the Online Distributed +Proofreading Team at https://www.pgdp.net + + +Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions +will be renamed. + +Creating the works from public domain print editions means that no +one owns a United States copyright in these works, so the Foundation +(and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United States without +permission and without paying copyright royalties. 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