"Land o' livin', boy, ye'll be meat for the redskins before ye've crossed the frontier, if ye don't be keerful!" cried the woodsman, quickly coming up, springing from tree to tree, and thus always keeping their protecting trunks between himself and the point from which the mysterious shot had been fired. "What is the varmint pepperin' away at ye so, for?"

"I haven't the least idea, for I don't know who it is," Ree answered.

But he was glad the woodsman's frank manner left no room to suspect him of treachery, although there had been grounds for this suspicion in the circumstance of the shot having been fired just as his own rifle and that of his friend had been discharged.

John had remained on guard beside Jerry and the cart, watchful for any sign of their strange enemy, completely mystified by the attack. Presently he joined Ree and the hunter who were searching for the trail of the would-be assassin. Tracks were found at last (high up on the rocky hillside)—those of a white man, for he wore boots; but they were very faint and Ree declared he would waste no time in attempting to follow them.

"But I do believe, John," he said, "that the shot which wounded North Wind was intended for me, and the fellow who shot, then, fired again to-day."

"You are thinking of Big Pete; I know you are!" John answered. "But I am sure you are mistaken, Ree. Why it was miles and miles away that North Wind was shot, and there hasn't been a day since then but what we could have both been killed, perhaps, by some one hidden along the road."

The woodsman, when he had heard the story, coincided with John's opinion and Ree said nothing more, though he was not convinced that he was wrong.

The brisk talk of the stranger turned the boys' thoughts to other subjects as the journey was resumed. He was by no means a disagreeable fellow. His real name was "Thomas Trout," he said, but he was everywhere known as "Tom Fish." He had tramped over all the hills and valleys for miles around and seemed to know the country thoroughly. He accepted the boys' invitation to eat dinner with them, and gave a share of the pounded parched corn he carried in a pouch at his belt, in return for venison and coarse corn bread, John having baked the latter on a flat stone beside their camp-fire, the previous night.

When in the afternoon, Tom Fish left the boys he told them they would be likely to see him at Fort Pitt, and gave them many directions as to where they had better "put up" while at Pittsburgh, as he called the place, such being its new name at that time.

John declared he would not sleep a wink that night, but remain on guard until morning. "For we must be prudent," he said, in a very sober tone, which from him sounded so funny that Ree laughed outright.

And yet John was probably as prudent a boy as Ree; for the latter was so almost entirely fearless that he rushed into danger in a way not prudent at all, and many severe lessons which he learned afterward did not make him cautious as he should have been.

The night passed without one disturbing incident and the rising sun found the boys on their way once more; before its setting they reached Pittsburg.

"Fort Pitt," as they were accustomed to call the straggling hamlet, stood at the foot of the hills at the confluence of the Allegheny and Monongahela rivers. Because of its location it was an important place and even at the time of which this is written (1790) was a point much frequented by traders, trappers and hunters.

It was with a feeling of awe, that Ree and John drove into the town, and noticed its old fort, its brick and log buildings and general air of pioneer hospitality. People stared at them, and some called to them in the familiar way of the border; but everyone was good-natured and helpful and almost before the boys knew it their horse had been unhitched and fed and they themselves were eating supper in a long, low brick building which served as a sort of public house.

From the first it had been the young travelers' intention to sell their horse and cart at Fort Pitt and secure passage for themselves and goods on some flat-boat going down the river. They spoke of the settlement which General Putnam and others had made at a place they called Marietta (still known by that name) as their destination, and gave a general idea of their plans to the men who talked with them as they gathered about the big fire-place in the evening. They found they would probably be able to secure transportation down the Ohio within a few days, in company with a party of emigrants who had been building boats for the trip, expecting to go to Kentucky.

When the young travelers started out next morning to find a purchaser for old Jerry, however, they discovered that at that time of year, the demand for such property was far from brisk. As they walked along the main street or road, they chanced upon Tom Fish, who hailed them in his rough, but happy way, and they told him just how they were situated.

"Don't sell the nag, then; come right along with me. I'll show you the way into a country full of Injuns and game enough to suit ye, in short order; an' ye won't have to pay no passage down river. Why, there's jes the spot ye're lookin' for west o' here—rivers an' little lakes, an' fish an' game—no end o' game. Good place for tradin' too; Injun towns every forty rods or so."

The woodsman then went on to tell the boys that several years earlier, a fort, known as Fort Laurens, had been erected on the Tuscarawas river, in the woods beyond Pittsburg. He was planning to go in that direction, for a purpose he did not state, and would willingly act as guide. He cautioned the boys, however, that there was little sign of a broken road for them to travel upon and that Fort Laurens had long been abandoned because of the hostility of the savages. But the confidence of the young traders that they could make friends with the Indians, and Tom's glowing accounts of the country of which he spoke, caused them to look with favor upon his proposition.

"We will think about this matter," said Ree, "and let you know. You will be here a day or two?"

"Yaas, a day or two," said Tom Fish. "But don't let me influence ye; it's mighty reesky business you kittens is bent on."

"It seems to me like a good plan," Ree reflected aloud, when he and John were alone. "If we went to General Putnam's settlement we would still feel that we must go up the Muskingum river to reach the Indians and profitable trading, and would have to build a raft or buy a boat to carry our goods. Moreover, people here say that within a few years the country all about Pittsburg will be settled up and that land will become valuable."

"Whatever you say suits me," said John with a laugh; and then and there Ree gave him a talking to for being so ready to accept the judgment of another, instead of having thoughts and opinions of his own.

But one or two ridiculously low offers the boys received for their horse and cart, and the discovery that they could not find room on the boat down the Ohio except at a fancy price, resulted in their decision to join Tom Fish. They talked all day of the subject, but when they went to bed that night, they knew that not for many months to come would they sleep again within the borders of civilization.

A frosty November morning ushered in another day, and early as they were astir Ree and John found the little town wide awake. Tom Fish was sky-larking all about saying good-bye to friends, and just a little under the influence of whiskey. It seemed that everybody knew him; and people having found out from Tom what they had not already found out from others, about the venturesome lads from Connecticut, quite an assemblage gathered to wish the travelers good luck.

A repeated suggestion which had been made to the boys was that they should abandon their cart and take with them only such goods as they could carry by using old Jerry as a pack-horse. It was true that for a portion of the distance they proposed to travel, there was a rough road, but beyond Fort McIntosh, at the mouth of the Beaver river, they would have no road but the rough Indian trail. But Tom Fish said he "reckoned old Colonel Boquet's road was still there," and that they should take the cart; and they did so.

Tom had joined the boys as their clumsy vehicle creaked along a muddy street, a little more serious than usual, because of some news he had heard, he said, but boastful as ever.

"I was talkin' to a big seven-footer in the tavern last night," he said—"A feller that had a grudge ag'in' me once. He never liked me till I threw him over a house one day;—threw him clean over a house. It makes me larff!"

John laughed, too, at this, but he said: "Tom Fish, you weigh a good three stone (forty-two) more than I do, but I believe I could throw you in a wrestle. When we stop for dinner, I am going to put you on your back!"

A laugh long and loud came from the woodsman's throat. "Why, what a playful kitten ye be!" he exclaimed. "Why, I could toss ye up in the air and ketch ye nigh a dozen times whilst ye were only thinkin' of throwin' me."

"I'd like to see you try it," cried John.

"Put aside your nonsense, you two, until noon, now do," Ree laughingly urged, "and tell us, Tom, of that Colonel Boquet whose road we are to follow."

"Waal, that's quite a yarn," said Tom Fish. "But le' me see now; le' me see. It was back when I was jes a young buck, 'long 'bout '64, that this Colonel Boquet, who was a mighty decent citizen for a Frenchman, made up his mind to get a whack at the pesky Injuns which had been killin' an' scalpin' an' burnin' an' robbin' all along the border of Pennsylvania an' Virginia an' Lord knows where all.

"Waal, the state of Pennsylvania an' the state of Virginia helped him with sojers an' he mustered scouts enough so that in all he had nigh onto 2,000 men. He marched 'em straight into the woods, the whole caboodle on 'em, clearin' a road as he went, an' takin' along a lot o' sheep an' cows, and provender for the sojers without end. He went straight along till he come to the Muskingum river, an' there he camped out, makin' a show with all his men an' pack-horses an' everything, that scared the Mingoes an' the Delawares half to death for fear he'd stay right there an' build a town amongst 'em.

"They was willin' to do most anything to get rid of him, an' there was only one thing that he would hear to. He give 'em jes' ten days to trot into his camp every prisoner they had in all their towns far an' near, an' told 'em that if ary a one was held back, he'd march on every pesky village an' knock 'em sky high an' burn 'em down.

"Waal! them Injuns was so scared, they commenced gettin' their prisoners together right off, and they trotted two hundred on 'em up to the front door of Colonel Boquet's tent inside them ten days. An' there was doin's for sartin then!—Pow wows among the sojers who found all sorts of relations that the Delawares or the Wyandots or the pesky Mingoes had carried off, an' pow wows among the men, an' the women an' the children that was brought out o' their captivity like the Children of Israel.

"Then Colonel Boquet marched 'em all back to Fort Pitt an' he sent for me an' told me what he'd done, an' asked me what I thought on it. I was scoutin' out of Fort Pitt then, and I jes' shook his hand an' says: 'Colonel Boquet ye're a reg'lar rip-snorter.'"

"Did you ever hear of the terrible Captain Archer, the outlaw of war times?" asked the fun-loving John, inventing the name to see what Tom would say; for he had his own opinion as to Colonel Boquet having asked Thomas Fish what he thought of that Indian expedition.

"Cap. Archer? Old Cap. Archer! Well I rayther guess I knew him, an' if he ain't forgot it, he carries a little lead pill out of my old steel bottle of Injun medicine, clean to this day. Yaas, many a scrimmage I had with old Cap. Archer."

John was for carrying his questioning further, though he could hardly keep from laughing, but Ree shook his head, unwilling to make fun of one who was so kind to them.

The travelers made excellent progress that morning, finding a very fair road for that rough country, along the river. They met occasional settlers and hunters and whether he knew them or not, Tom Fish always stopped to talk and always asked whether everything was quiet along the border. Many shook their heads, and spoke gloomily of the outlook for peace with the Indians remaining long unbroken.

From a couple of friendly Indians they met, Ree secured a quarter of venison in exchange for a cheap trinket, and although he accompanied the performance with a great deal of bragging, Tom did show the boys that he was a past-master in the art of broiling venison steaks. The fine dinner they had as a result, set his tongue wagging more than ever, however, and John Jerome was more than anxious to take some of the vanity out of him.

They had camped upon a hillside sloping down to the river—the Ohio. The day had come on bright and warm as Indian summer could be, and John had thrown off his coat.

"Now, Mr. Fish," he said with a laugh, "You see the river down there? I've been thinking there may be some one of the same name as yourself in that water, and I've a mind to send you to visit your relations."

The merry laugh of the hunter rang shrill and clear.

"Be ye? Oh, be ye?" he cried, jumping to his feet. "If it wa'n't fer hurtin' ye, I'd throw ye clean across to yon hillside!" and he pointed to a spot nearly a mile away, across the river.

"It's a good thing for you there are so many leaves on the ground to break your fall," John answered, rolling up his sleeves.

"Don't wrestle so much with your mouths," Ree admonished them.

"Why, I could handle both of ye; come on, the two of ye to onc't!" the hunter cried.

But the next moment he found in John, alone, about as much of a task as he cared to undertake. For two minutes they heaved and tugged, John's wiry frame seeming to be all around the woodsman, who was by no means clumsy, though he could not put him down. Then they broke apart and for a minute made feints at one another, each hoping to secure an advantage.

At last the hunter's arms shot out, his hands seized John's arms so quickly, and he lifted the boy off his feet and keeled him over with such dexterity, that the lad lay sprawling on his back almost before he knew what was happening.

The glee of Tom Fish was quite ridiculous. He danced about and almost screamed with laughter.

"It is your turn, Ree," said John good-naturedly.

"Whenever our friend is ready," Ree responded.

"Come on! Come on!" Tom cried. "Oh, what frisky kittens ye be!"

Peter Piper, the half-breed, had taught Return Kingdom a trick or two at wrestling. And now he allowed the hunter to lift him off the ground, then he let his muscles relax, his dead weight falling in his opponent's arms. Suddenly getting his feet to the ground in this way, he sprang against the hunter's muscular frame with such rapidity of thought and motion that he was able by a tremendous lightning-like effort to jerk one of the man's legs from under him, sending him down, while he, himself, came uppermost.

"Ye're pretty fair," Tom Fish muttered; but it was plain to be seen that something he very little expected had happened to him.



CHAPTER VIII.

Friends or Foes?

Tom Fish had a profound respect for Return Kingdom from the moment the latter threw him; but he was no less pleasant and agreeable than before, and he proved himself a valuable friend then and in days long afterward.

When night came, as the wind was blowing cold, Tom very deftly built a shelter of branches and small saplings. His way of bending two little trees down and fastening them together with their own branches, making of them the support of the "shack," was a method Ree and John had never seen used and was the secret of his being able to "build a house" in very little time.

It was very comfortable sitting before the fire, thus sheltered from the wind. Tom especially enjoyed it for his tongue ran on at a tremendous rate as he told stories of extraordinary adventures.

John urged him to tell more and more, and he might have gone on talking all night had not Ree admonished him and John that they must turn in promptly in order to make an early start in the morning. Wolves were howling not far away, and the plaintive but terrorizing cry of a panther could be heard in the distance, as the little party lay down to sleep. No doubt the young emigrants thought many times before dreams came to them, of what the depths of the wilderness must be, if the foreboding sounds which reached them were a fair example of what the outer edge of the forest fastnesses afforded; but they rested well and were early astir.

Crossing a fine, level country, though thickly grown with great trees, on this day, the boys saw plainly the evidences of the road made by the Boquet expedition. There were the stumps of big and little trees and the half-decayed remnants of the trees which had been cut down, on both sides of them. Although so many years had passed since Col. Boquet had made this trail, the work his men had done made the progress of the Connecticut boys and their hunter companion faster than it would otherwise have been, and three days passed rapidly without other adventure than the meeting of a small party of Indians who scowled and passed on, and the killing of a large panther by Ree, the animal having terribly frightened old Jerry by dropping from a tree squarely upon the faithful horse's back, one night.

On the fifth day after leaving Pittsburg the travelers crossed a high ridge and obtained a glorious view of the country toward which they were pressing on. In the distance rivers of water and great oceans of tree tops, deep valleys and wooded hillsides were seen.

"Ye ain't fer from the 'Promised Land,'" said Tom Fish, lightly, much less moved by the grandeur of nature's display than were the boys. Then he indicated the location of a point, far beyond and out of view, at which the old trail they were following, turned to the southwest and an Indian trail turned toward the northwest, leading on to the "Sandusky Plains" near Lake Erie.

It was apparent that Tom had settled in his own mind the locality in which the boys should erect their cabin and make their home. He had their interest at heart, the lads did not doubt, but they were unwilling to accept his judgment absolutely. It was arranged between them, therefore, that Ree should go ahead and spy out the lay of the land—and especially investigate the "lake country" of which Tom had so often spoken. If he should find it all that was represented, well and good; if not, they knew that along almost any of the rivers to the south and west of them, were fertile lands and Indian villages which would afford that which they sought—crops and trade.

And so on the morning of the fourth day after their having taken to the Indian trail toward the "Sandusky Plains," the matter having been explained to Tom Fish, Ree left his friends behind. It was a perilous undertaking upon which he set out. They had now reached a wild and rugged country whose hills and valleys almost swarmed with game. Deer, bears and wolves were abundant. Panthers, wildcats and smaller game were frequently seen, and Indians were all about, though the party had thus far met but few.

But Return Kingdom had no fear—that was something he did not then know. He was only anxious to quickly find the right place for their residence and to make no mistake in selecting it. A light snow had already fallen, making it desirable that he and John should get themselves settled without delay. This was his thought as he hurried on alone.

Under a big beech tree Ree camped at night, building no fire lest it draw unwelcome guests toward him, but wrapping his blanket about himself and sitting, not lying, on the ground, his rifle between his knees. Any one passing, even very near, would have supposed his dark figure to be that of an old stump, and he spent the night with a feeling of safety, not entirely comfortable in his position, but little disturbed by the snapping of twigs and the rustle of leaves which told that forest prowlers were near.

Crossing a river at a shallow place next day, Ree mounted a hill and climbed a tall hickory whose upper branches rose above all other trees near it.

The weather had become warm and pleasant again and he would be able, he knew, to obtain a fine view. Just what he expected to see, he had not thought, but the grandeur of the scene he beheld was magnificent. Far as he could see the ocean of nearly leafless treetops rose and fell in giant waves, broken here and there by lakes or rivers, he knew not which, glimpses of whose waters and bushy banks, he caught. Here were lowlands—there highlands, and through the latter he traced for a long distance the course of the river he had crossed earlier in the day. Ree drew out a chart he had obtained at Pittsburg.

"It must be the Cuyahoga river—or Cayuga as some call it—and I am right in the heart of the lake country," he whispered, as he steadied himself in the tree top. "We will build our cabin near the river."

Without more delay the boy climbed down and strode forward in the direction of a valley which he had seen two or three miles to westward. In time he came to a sloping hillside and looking beyond he saw a splendid stream of swiftly flowing water. At the foot of the hill was a narrow tract of about four acres almost bare of trees, though deep grass spoke of the soil's fertility. Rising above the river was a large knoll sloping down to the natural clearing.

With every sense delighted by the fine prospect, Ree ran down the hill, across the clearing and to the summit of the knoll or bluff. The ripple and splash of the river, the bright sunshine and his discovery of this ideal spot delighted him.

"The very place we are looking for!" he exclaimed aloud. "Here is grass for Jerry, a fine clearing for the beginning of a farm—wood—water— game—everything!"

Anxious to join his friends and tell them of this good fortune, Ree dashed down the bluff and ascended the wooded hillside opposite. Panting, he reached the summit and suddenly,—stopped.

As though they had been waiting for him, there stood watching him a party of Indians. They were dressed entirely in savage costume. Not one wore any garment of civilization as did many of the savages farther east. With stolid composure the Redskins looked at the boy, though they must have wondered what the young Paleface was doing, alone in the forest's depths.

Quickly recovering his presence of mind, Ree coolly stepped toward them, holding out his hand to one he supposed to be the chief, saying, "How, brothers?"

The Indian shook his hand but did not speak. The same second another Indian stepped up and seizing Ree's hat, put it on his own bare head. Another grabbed the boy's rifle, as though to take it from him.

Ree smiled, but he held firmly to his gun, and snatched his hat from the young brave who had seized it. One of the Indians now ordered that Ree be let alone. But this was not the one the boy had taken to be the chief, and Kingdom quickly perceived that he had made a rather serious mistake. But he nodded his thanks to the Redskin and explained, using signs when words would not do, that he was a trader and that his friends and store of goods were not far away.

It caused Ree some alarm, however, when at a signal from the chief the Indians gathered about in such a way as to hem him completely in. And this alarm was decidedly increased as he noticed at the chief's belt, a white man's scalp. There could be no mistaking it.

The savages made no move to molest the boy further than to prevent his leaving them, but gave him to understand that they believed him to be a spy. Seeing this the boy offered to conduct them to his friends and merchandise. To this they agreed after some parleying and placing Ree between two big, swarthy fellows, they set off in single file, suspicious, it may be, that he would lead them into an ambush.

Ree gave little thought to this. He knew that if John and Tom had made good progress that he could reach them by nightfall and the suspicions of the Indians would be allayed.

It was wonderful how easily the savages followed Ree's back trail, and they traveled at good speed. But hours passed and no sign of the wagon of which the lad had told them was found. The doubt of the Indians increased and they became ugly and impatient.

In vain Ree tried to explain that his friends must have been delayed, but he himself could not understand why no gleam of light, no smoke of their camp-fire, even, was visible as the day wore away, and soon he found that he was indeed a prisoner; for as the savages presently prepared to go into camp, their first act was to bind the white boy's hands behind him and tie his feet with strong ropes of bark.

A full sense of his danger came to Ree's thoughts, but he put on a bold front and emphatically objected to being tied, saying he had no thought of running away and that early the next day his statement that he was a trader would be found true.

The Indians gave no heed to his indignant words. They built a small fire by flashing sparks with flint and steel, and ate their supper consisting only of pounded parched corn and dried meat. This they shared with Ree, and though he ate heartily he was thinking of other things. Every time he looked across the fire he could see the gruesome scalp at the belt of the chief of the party. Little wonder that he became apprehensive for his safety. It would not do, however, he thought, to let the Indians see that he was worried, and he began to whistle. The savages gazed at him in wonder. Suddenly one young buck arose, stepped over to the boy and struck him viciously on the cheek.

His temper instantly fired, Ree shot out his feet, bound together though they were, striking the savage full in the stomach and sending him headlong, partly into the fire.

As a tremendous howl of rage arose, Ree forgot that he was bound—forgot that his better plan would have been to keep cool. He sprang up, breaking the strings of bark which tied him, with seeming ease, and, as the enraged Indian rushed toward him, he dodged the club the savage brandished, and landing a tremendous blow on the redman's neck with his fist, grabbed his rifle from the ground and sped away into the forest and the darkness.

With terrific yells the Indians took up the pursuit. On and on Ree dashed among the bushes and over brush and logs, springing wildly aside at times to save himself from dashing out his brains against a tree—hurrying fast and faster, he knew not whither, his pursuers crashing after him.

The pursued nearly always has the advantage over the pursuer. Ree found himself drawing slowly away from the Indians, who made so much noise themselves they could scarcely hear him, and suddenly halting, he crept softly away in another direction. Soon the savages went past, pell mell, certain that the boy was ahead of them, and the sounds of the chase died away.

Listening intently, to be ready for the slightest alarm, Ree turned to go back the way he came. It was difficult in the darkness to do this, but he believed that if he could return to the vicinity of the Indians' camp-fire he could easily get his bearings and travel without loss of time in the direction of his friends. The darkness seemed less intense now that he had become accustomed to it, but he must exercise every care. To step on a dry stick or to stumble and fall might be fatal—might mean his capture and death.

Fortune favored the brave lad, for presently the dim light of the smoldering camp-fire came into view. He paused a moment, then turned confidently in the direction in which he thought John and Tom Fish must be. He had not taken forty steps, however, when a dark figure loomed up suddenly before him, and with exceeding quickness and quietness glided behind a tree.

It was well indeed for Return Kingdom that his quick eye saw this movement. Turning again, he ran, but instantly the dark figure darted in pursuit. Discovering that he was in danger of being driven into the very arms of the Indians he had so recently eluded, Ree changed his tactics. Certain that but a single savage was behind him, he wheeled and ran toward the Indian at full speed.

They were not far apart. Before the Redskin had made out what the boy was doing, the latter had hurled himself upon him and thrown him to the ground.

Fiercely the savage struggled; with tremendous energy Ree retained the upper hold, his grip secure on his opponent's throat. Neither spoke. The Indian could not, and Ree had no wish to add to the noise made by their thrashing about among the leaves and dry twigs. He knew that he could kill the savage warrior but he dreaded to do that. It would mean trouble with the Indians for a long time to come, upsetting his most cherished plans. And yet his own life was in danger, and—he dared not relax his hold.

Yet something must be done, and quickly, for soon the other Indians would be returning, and more than this he could not hold out long against the greater strength of his red antagonist. Ree resolved, therefore, to make the Indian understand that he did not wish to kill him, then let go and take his chances in a foot race.

But at this instant, the Redskin, by a mighty effort raised himself partially upon his feet, secured the release of his right arm, on which Ree's knee had been, and clutched the boy's throat with a vise-like grip. Never had the venturesome Connecticut lad been so near death as he was at that moment. Steadily the Indian continued to gain the upper hand, and as he tightened his grasp on Ree's throat the boy's tongue seemed to be forced from his mouth.

Then it was that Return Kingdom's grim, unyielding determination which meant victory or death—a determination which, once formed, would have stopped for nothing though it swayed the earth, asserted itself. With the power of an unbending purpose, Ree raised to his feet, dragging the savage with him. He grasped the Indian's body and with strength most extraordinary, lifted him from the ground, then suddenly he cast him violently down as though the brave were a great stone which he wished to break.

Astonished, bruised, exhausted, the Indian lay as he had fallen. The whole struggle had occupied but a minute or two, but it had been furious. Both the combatants were panting like dogs. Now was Ree's opportunity. He stooped down, grasped the redman's hand and shook it gently.

"We should be brothers. I would not try to kill you," he spoke in a low, friendly way.

The Indian made no answer. Again Ree shook his hand, then picked up his rule and walked rapidly away. Looking back, he saw the savage rising to his feet and returning to the camp-fire. He was sure then that he had made a friend of an enemy. But he lost no time. There were but a few hours of darkness remaining to cover his escape while he searched for his friends, and with every sense alert he hastened on, though faint and weary from the violence of his exertions. He felt the necessity of finding and giving warning to John and Tom and the thought kept him going.

At last the morning came—slowly at first and then with a rush of light which set the crows a-cawing and wood-birds singing; and still the worn-out, lonesome boy looked in vain for his friends. But he wavered not for a moment, though ready to acknowledge himself completely lost, and thus, pressing on, he came soon after sunrise to the bank of a deep, wide ravine. He remembered having crossed it the day he left John and Tom, and soon he found a path leading down into the gully.

Assuring himself by careful scrutiny that the coast was clear, Ree pushed through the bushes and trotted down the bank's steep side; and in another moment came squarely upon the cart and the camp of his friends. But where were John and Tom? Consternation filled the lad as he wholly failed to find them, and as he also discovered that the camp-fire was no fire at all—only a heap of dead ashes. Where was old Jerry, too?

A great fear came into Ree's heart, which was increased a thousand fold, as in another moment he saw the faithful horse a few rods away—dead. There was a bullet hole in the gentle, patient animal's head.



CHAPTER IX.

The Scalp at Big Buffalo's Belt.

A great lump came in Ree's throat as he looked upon the body of honest old Jerry, and stood for a few seconds watching in a dazed, helpless way the big blue flies which buzzed about the lifeless animal in the morning sunlight. Then he saw for the first time that carion birds, buzzards, perhaps, had been feeding on the horse's flesh.

The oppressive silence and desolation of the camp were as dead weights on the lad's spirits, already burdened with most unhappy thoughts, and standing as still as the motionless trees about him, he could not summon back the resolution and courage which had kept him unfaltering throughout the night. The snapping of a twig recalled his scattered senses, however, and his sudden movement frightened a gaunt wolf which had crept up almost to the lifeless horse, and now went skulking away.

"I cannot understand—cannot think, I must get my wits to working, some way!" the boy exclaimed in a half whisper, "what in the world can have happened?"

Again Ree's mind gained the mastery over his fatigued body and his powerful determination seemed again to drive the weariness away. He stooped and stroked but once or twice the dead horse's damp foretop, then hastened to the cart. Nothing in it had been disturbed. He looked carefully about the shelter of poles and brush which had been built, and found everything in comparatively good order. Surely things would not be in this state if his friends had been driven off or killed by Indians. It must be that they were attacked, had repulsed the enemy and had now gone in pursuit.

But why had they not returned? There was no doubt but that old Jerry had been dead at least a day, and John and Tom would, in that case, have been absent nearly as long.

With feverish anxiety Ree searched for a trail which would show the direction taken by the enemy or his friends, or both, but the sound of a stealthy footstep on the bank above caused him to spring to the shelter of a tree.

As he watched and listened, he heard voices, and quietly stepped into the open; for he would have known John's tones among ten thousand. And at the same minute John and Tom Fish saw Ree gazing up at them, and both ran toward him, John crying excitedly: "Return Kingdom! Oh, but I am glad to see you!"

"Dutch rum an' fire-water, it's happy I am y'er back!" Tom Fish exclaimed.

"What has happened, John?" asked Ree in his usual quiet way, grasping his friend's hand.

"What ain't happened? It beats me as I ain't ever been beat yet," Tom Fish made answer.

"It was another of those mysterious shots, Ree—the very morning you left us," said John, putting his hand affectionately on his chum's arm.

"Another?" Ree spoke more to himself than to either John or Tom, and something made him think of Big Pete Ellis and the fellow's threats.

"It was the same sort of a shot as before, but in broad daylight," John answered. "We had just got the cart down into this gully and were preparing to get it up the other side, when we heard a rifle shot and—old Jerry fell dead. I saw the smoke curling out from the bushes just half a minute later, and Tom and I both ran back up the hill. But there was no one near. We did find a trail but it was mingled with the tracks of the horse and cart, and the snow being gone, we could not follow it. For miles around the woods seemed as quiet as a Sunday at home. We looked all about but—"

"Only one thing is plain, some Mingo or somebody has a grudge ag'in ye, or else there's been some consarned queer coincidences," broke in Tom Fish. "It beats me!"

"I don't see what we are to do, Ree! Tom and I decided just to wait here until you came back. But what have you been doing? Why, your hands and face are frightfully scratched, and you look all played out!"

"I guess I've had my hands full," said Ree with a sad little smile. "But tell me where you two were. Why is there no fire?"

"Such a time as we have had!" was John's sorrowful answer. "Poor old Jerry was scarcely dead before there were hawks or buzzards circling around above us, and when night came, wolves and other animals howled all around us, and so near we would have been afraid, had we not had a big fire. Toward morning it became quieter and I was asleep, and Tom on watch, when a bear came poking around."

"Biggest bear ye ever seen," interrupted Thomas Fish.

"Well," John went on, "we both set out after that bear, though it was pitch dark. We had a long chase for nothing, though, for we caught sight of the big fellow only once, and not long enough to get a shot at him. Coming back, it was light, and we stopped to explore the gully. But we did not expect to find you here, Ree. We would not have come back when we did, only to keep the buzzards away from the horse till we can burn the body. And I don't see what we are to do. But you haven't told a word about yourself."

Ree was busily thinking, and for a little time made no answer. Then Tom and John spoke again, asking where he had been and what he had found.

"Why, I'll tell you," he answered them. "I came upon a first-class place for a cabin, on a bluff right at the bank of a splendid little river, and a little natural clearing around it. About five minutes later I came upon some Delaware Indians and as they wouldn't believe me when I told them who I was, they made me a prisoner. I got away in the night, and here I am."

John's eyes opened wide, and excitedly he demanded to know all the particulars of Ree's adventure. Tom Fish whistled a long, low note and almost closing his eyes, he looked toward Ree with a squint which was more expressive of his astonishment and interest than words could have been.

As the three of them sat on the thills of the now useless cart, Ree told them more fully of his experiences. Many were John's outbursts of interest, and Tom whistled in his peculiar way more than once.

"Can't more than kill us, and we may as well die that way as starve to death," said the old hunter, as Ree spoke of the probability of the Indians soon finding their camp, and straightway he began preparations for breakfast. As they gathered about the savory meal which soon was ready, the conversation turned again to the mysterious attack which had ended the life of their horse.

John could not be persuaded that it was not some prowling Indian who had fired the shot, but Ree urged both him and Tom to be on their guard constantly and he would be the same, he said, for there was no knowing when another bullet might come whizzing toward them, nor when one of their own lives might not be thus snuffed out.

As breakfast was finished, John and Tom pleaded with Ree that he should lie down and get some rest, but he took a cold bath in the brook close by, instead, and would not listen to them further. All three were keeping their eyes open to detect the approach of Indians, for they did not doubt the savages would soon come, especially since the re-kindling of the fire had sent a stream of smoke steadily skyward, and now this signal of their whereabouts was made all the more plain by the building of a much larger fire upon and about the body of the unfortunate horse.

"Let them come," was the confident declaration of Return Kingdom, as Tom Fish had suggested that the savages could not be far away. "We will meet them as friends," he went on, "and I honestly believe that when they find that we are peaceable traders, there will be no trouble whatever."

Tom whistled and squinted as Ree took this bold stand, but he had learned that the boy "had a long head," and made no further remonstrance against the plan proposed.

About noon the savages arrived. John discovered a dark face peering out from some bushes on the bluff, and waved his hand in that direction in a friendly way. The searching eyes instantly disappeared. It required courage to follow the program Ree had mapped out, now when it was known that vengeful and cruel Delawares were lurking so near, themselves fully protected by the bank and brush, and trees; but when, a few minutes later Ree saw an Indian looking down at them, and the fellow put down his gun as a sign of friendliness, they knew they had acted wisely.

Notwithstanding the show of friendliness, however, Tom Fish said: "Keep your wits about ye, kittens, there ain't no snake in the woods as treacherous as them varmints."

Two savages were soon seen coming down the path, and Ree and John, laying down their guns, as the Indians had done, walked forward to meet them. Thus peace was secured for the time being, at least, and as the boys shook hands with the Redskins, the latter gave them to understand that their chief was in waiting to be met and conducted to the camp.

Ree went to the cart and secured from their stock of merchandise a small hand-mirror in a round, pewter frame with a pewter lid over it, and with this for a present to the chief, he and John were guided to a spot not far away where the savage warrior and his braves were assembled. He was a tall muscular young fellow and would have been handsome had it not been for a look of malicious cunning and wickedness in his small dark eyes. But the gift of the mirror pleased his savage fancy greatly and he accepted it with a show of friendliness.

There were eleven Indians in the party. John could not repress a smile when he saw the singed hair and burned face of the young brave whom Ree had knocked into the fire, but even Kingdom failed to recognize the savage with whom he had battled for his very life alone in the darkness. By sign or otherwise neither of the boys made any reference to the adventure of the day and night before, but with perfect friendliness conducted the Indians to their camp.

Tom Fish's spirits had grown lighter when he saw that a fight would be avoided and he greeted each Indian in his happy-go-lucky fashion.

"You're a good un," he said to the chief. "Got a little muscle, too, ain't ye? Ain't no religion in that eye o' your'n, though!"

And so it went with the whole party. As he noticed the buck who was burned Tom laughed aloud. "Pretty near took the hide off, didn't it, Smart Alec?" he exclaimed. "Doubled ye up like a two-bladed jack-knife, I should guess. Oh, these here boys are frisky! No foolin' with them!"

John laughed at this, but no one took heed of him except Tom, who laughed boisterously, as he always did when anyone showed an appreciation of his crude jokes.

Almost immediately upon reaching the camp the Indians asked for "fire-water," but Ree shook his head. It was true that in one of the several packages of goods there was a large stone bottle of whiskey which Capt. Bowen had provided for the boys together with other medicines, but not for a great deal would Kingdom have let the Indians know it; and he hoped that Tom would not find it out, either; for the truth was that Fish had drunk more than was good for him at Pittsburg. But all the savages ate of the meat which was placed before them, and Tom Fish, never neglecting an opportunity of this kind, made out a square meal also. The boys joining in, too, there was quite a feast.

One of the Indians, a good looking young buck, showed for Ree a warmer friendship than any of the others. He was the one whom the boy had mistaken for the chief of the party the day before. His name was Fishing Bird and the chief's name was Big Buffalo. The latter was far from showing entire friendship and a dispute arose between these two savages when Ree told them that he and John wished to purchase land.

Fishing Bird indicated that the boys must go to the great chief of their tribe, Hopocon, or Captain Pipe, as the whites called him, at the village of the Delawares. Big Buffalo, on the other hand, contended that he himself had power to sell land.

Ree rightly judged as he saw an ugly feeling between these two, that he had made a serious mistake when he had mistaken Fishing Bird for the chief the day before, arousing the other's jealousy very much. He thought now, that he recognized in Fishing Bird the Indian with whom he had grappled in the forest. If this were true, it was evident that that Indian, unwilling to confess how he had been vanquished, had said nothing to the others of his struggle with the escaped prisoner.

However, seeing that the land question might cause trouble, both Ree and John dropped it, having learned from the savages that a day's journey to the south and west would take them to the Delawares' town. They determined, therefore, to visit the village of Captain Pipe and talk with the great chief himself.

The afternoon was nearly spent before the Indians departed. They were scarcely gone when Tom Fish called Ree and John to him and the boys noticed for the first time that a great change had come over the old hunter, who for some time had little or nothing to say.

"Did ye see that fresh scalp hangin' at that Buffalo varmint's belt?" he asked. "That means blood. It means fightin'! I've seen many a Redskin, but I never seen a wickeder one than that Buffalo. An' there's no more play for Thomas Trout, which some calls Fish, my kittens, both! I tell ye now, that from what I seed, there was nothin' kept us out of a fight this day but the friendliness o' that chap Fishin' Bird. If Big Buffalo had a' dared, he'd a' pitched onto us. Them's my honest sentiments; an' more'n that, did ye see the scalp at that red devil's belt? Don't tell me they ain't been on the warpath! Did ye see that scalp, an' the blood on it hardly more 'n dry? Oh, sorry day! Oh, sorry day—the blood on it hardly more'n dry. 'Cause I'm a plagued sight mistaken, kittens both, if I don't know whose scalp that is! Oh, sorry day!"

Tom's voice had sunk almost to a whisper and involuntarily John shuddered. The sinking sun cast thick, dark shadows in the narrow valley, and a death-like silence was broken only by the soughing wind and the tinkle of the brook.

These melancholy surroundings and the gruesome way in which Tom spoke, were enough to remove all cheerfulness which might have existed, but Tom said again, slowly and with a mournful emphasis, "I know—I know whose scalp it is, lads; an' the blood on it hardly more'n dry."

The rough woodsman put his arm across his eyes and leaned mournfully on his rifle, as he spoke.



CHAPTER X.

A Night With the Indians.

To shut out from his thoughts the horrid memory of the bloody scalp at Big Buffalo's belt, Ree turned and busied himself with the fire, which had burned quite low, and soon a roaring blaze was leaping skyward, shedding good cheer around.

The woodsman still stood leaning on his rifle, a look of sadness on his face such as was seldom seen there. If John had noticed this he might not have asked in the tone in which he did:

"Well, whose scalp is it?"

"It ain't your'n, kitten, an' ye can be glad o' that."

"Shucks! How can you tell whose it might have been? How could anybody tell?" asked the boy.

Tom made no reply, and Ree deftly changed the subject by saying that one of them had better stand guard that night. He expected no trouble with the Indians, but he was not willing to be caught napping by the unknown foe whose work had now cost the life of their horse.

Tom was gloomy all the evening as they sat before the fire, but he told the boys of the great chief of the Delaware's, Hopocon, or Capt. Pipe, and reminded them that he was one of the Indians who were responsible for the burning of Col. Crawford at the stake eight years earlier.

That and other stories of this noted chief made the boys curious to see him, and anxious to put themselves on friendly terms with him. It was decided that the next day they should visit the Delaware town and make arrangements for securing land. Without a horse they could move their goods only with great labor, and they were desirous of knowing just where they were taking their property, therefore, before they undertook to move it from their present camp.

"Guess I will stay an' watch here, whilst you youngsters go to see Capt. Pipe," said Tom, as the subject was under discussion. "I might not be as peaceful as a little lamb—plague take their greasy skins! Not if I clapped my eyes on that Buffalo critter ag'in!"

"Look a-here, Tom," Ree answered, earnestly. "We boys are on a peaceable mission and we don't want to get into trouble on your account. We know that the horrible sight of that scalp, and your belief that you know from where it came, has made you want revenge, but John and I have had no special trouble with the Delawares and it would be very foolish, situated as we are, for you or any of us to start a fight with them now."

"I see all that—I ain't so blind! But—" Tom did not finish the sentence. Instead he began talking of other things and advised the boys to take every precaution against being treacherously dealt with when they should find Big Buffalo at his own home—the Delaware town.

It was a windy, cloudy morning that found Ree and John tramping through the valleys and over the hills of a fine, thickly wooded country toward the Indian village. Early in the afternoon they came to a sloping hillside beyond which lay a swampy tract grown up to brush and rushes. Close by was a beautiful little lake and at the opposite side the smoke was rising from the town of the Delaware tribe of Indians.

As the boys approached the water, planning to walk around the lake, they were discovered by three Indians in a canoe, which seemed almost to spring out of the water, so quickly did it appear from around a bushy point. The savages headed directly toward the boys, without a sound.

The lads laid down their rifles as a sign of friendliness, and in another minute a swift stroke of a paddle grounded the Indians' craft upon the beach. The Redskins bounded ashore and with some reluctance shook hands with the boys.

Without loss of time Ree gave them to understand that he wished them to inform their chief, Hopocon, or Capt. Pipe, that two young Palefaces were waiting to call on him, and tell of their friendly wish to buy some land of the Delawares, and that they would remain where they were while he should send a canoe to carry them over.

None of the three Indians had been in the party of the previous day, but they seemed readily to comprehend what was desired of them and turned to go.

One of the Redskins, quite a young fellow, lingered behind. After the other two had taken their places in the canoe he pushed it out into deep water, then he made a running jump to leap, aboard. He might have done so very nicely, had he not slipped just as he jumped. As it was, he went sprawling in the water most ridiculously.

The other Indians grunted derisively. John laughed heartily and Ree smiled, amused to see the proud young buck get just such a ducking as he deserved for trying to "show off."

However, the lithe young fellow seized the canoe and was safely in it in a very brief space of time. Soon it was far out on the lake, rocking and dancing lightly as a feather on the fierce little waves, which a strong wind was blowing up.

Ree and John made themselves comfortable on the grassy bank beside the water, and waited. It seemed a long time until they saw a canoe coming for them. The fact was, and the boys shrewdly surmised it, that Capt. Pipe, or Hopocon, desirous of impressing the strangers with his greatness, purposely kept them waiting awhile.

The canoe sent for the boys was manned by two of the Indians they first met, and the lads were taken aboard. Although frail in appearance, the light little craft was capable of carrying seven or eight persons. It was made of the bark of a bitter-nut hickory, and was the first of the kind in which the Connecticut lads had ever ridden. They quickly found that they must aid in keeping the canoe balanced to prevent its upsetting, and their efforts to do this, before they caught the knack of it, rather amused the Indians.

In a short time, however, the canoe touched shore before the Indian town and the Paleface visitors were conducted at once to the council house. This was a long low building, its lower part being built of logs but its sides and roof being of bark. It was open at one end, and at the other end skins were hung up to shut out the wind. In the center of the rude structure, whose floor was only the hard-trodden earth, was a fire, the smoke escaping through a large hole in the roof.

All these things were observed by the boys in time, but first to attract their notice as they entered, were the Indians, especially one of great size—elderly and very dignified, seated on a bear skin spread over a mat of bark. He shook hands with each as they stepped up, saying only "How."

Ree answered in the same fashion but John was so flustrated that he stammered: "How do you do, sir?" in a manner which bored him a great deal, as Ree jokingly recalled the circumstance long afterward.

But Capt. Pipe knew from the lad's tone that he spoke respectfully and it pleased him. Other Indians seemed to feel the same, and the several minor chiefs and medicine men who were present, shook hands with the boys with a great show of dignity and formality. Then the young traders stated the object of their visit and were shown to a seat opposite Capt Pipe and pipes were brought out. They all smoked, the boys soon discovering that it was not tobacco but "kinnikinick"—the inner bark of young willow sprouts dried and pulverized—which was in the pipes.

Presently the great chief laid aside his pipe, a long-stemmed affair with a curiously carved clay bowl, and all others immediately followed his example. In another minute the speech-making began.

Capt. Pipe's was the first address, a brief preliminary statement. He made a most imposing appearance as he stood very erect, his arms folded, his head-dress of feathers reaching half way to the ground behind him, the fringes of his shirt-like coat rustled by the movements of his body, as he talked. Others followed, but the boys understood very little of what was said. As Big Buffalo arose, however, there was a scowl on his face which was far from pleasant. His gestures indicated hostility and the Paleface lads knew that at heart he hated them. They wished Fishing Bird were present to say a friendly word.

Capt. Pipe, himself, spoke a second time a little later, however, and very earnestly Ree and John studied his grave and stern, but not unkind, face, to learn how he felt toward them. They could scarcely believe that he was the savage, who, only a few years before, had been a leading spirit in the torture of Colonel Crawford.

Occasionally the chief used a few English words and the boys gathered from the general trend of his remarks that they would be welcome if they came only as traders; but that settlers were not welcome, and the Indians wished no one to come among them who would clear land or do anything which might lead to the establishing of a settlement of the whites in their country. A reasonable number of hunters and traders might come and go unmolested but there must be no building of permanent cabins; there must be no different life than that led by the children of the forest—the Indians themselves.

A long silence followed this address, and then Ree arose to speak. His heart beat fast, and John trembled inwardly as his friend began. But nervous as he was, there was no weakness in Ree's tones. He spoke slowly and distinctly, using every sign which could be expressed by look or gesture to make his meaning clear; and looking the Indians squarely in the eyes they did not fail to understand as the boy thus told them in his own way, that he and his friends hoped to live at peace with them; that there was but a very small party of them, himself and one other, besides a woodsman who was temporarily with them, and that they had journeyed to that beautiful country of the Delawares to hunt and trade and make themselves a home.

They had not been taught to live as the Indians lived, he said, and they could not have a home without some cleared land about it for the crops which they would need. For this land, Ree went on, they were willing to pay a fair price, and they were desirous of selecting a location that they might get their cabin built. The spot they had chosen was where the course of the river had changed at some time, years before, leaving a little clearing.

As Ree finished speaking he stepped up and laid his presents—two small mirrors and a handsome hunting knife—before Capt. Pipe. John followed his example in this, and there were grunts of approval from all the Indians except Big Buffalo, as the boys sat down.

More speech-making followed, however, taking so much time that John whispered: "If they don't stop soon, or ask us to stay all night, we will have to climb a tree, somewhere."

At last a decision was reached that the boys were to have a piece of land including the clearing to which Ree had referred, and as much of the river valley and adjacent hillsides as they reasonably needed, in exchange for articles to be selected from their stock of goods.

By close attention Ree had been able to understand the matter fairly well, but as the talk of the Indians had seemed so monotonous, John had let his thoughts run to other subjects. He had been wondering what had become of the scalp they had seen at Big Buffalo's belt the day before, and whether Tom Fish really knew the person whose death it signified; and if so, who that person might be. He did not know then, all that he came to know afterward.

With hand-shaking all around the council was concluded, and Capt. Pipe conducted the boys to the feast which the squaws had been preparing. There was broiled venison (without salt) and a sort of soup containing broken corn and beans cooked together in a large kettle.

Nearly all of the Indians who had been in the council partook of these dainties and many others did likewise. Ree and John ate heartily though they did not exactly relish the lack of cleanliness displayed by the savages in their manner of cooking, and in their eating.

The squaws and Indian boys and girls, and many a young brave for that matter, watched the young Palefaces curiously, and their eyes followed the lads closely as Capt. Pipe led them away to his own bark cabin. It was then that John first saw Gentle Maiden, Capt. Pipe's daughter. She was truly handsome for one of her race, but she stepped behind a screen of skins and was gone before Ree had even noticed her.

The chief of the Delawares told the boys to make themselves comfortable, and a squaw, who seemed to be his wife, spread skins for them to sit upon or lie upon, as they chose. Capt. Pipe then gave his guests to understand that they might come and go as they chose and remain with him as long as they wished. He then withdrew and presently the boys did go for a stroll about the queer town of the Indians. Fortunately they met Fishing Bird and he walked all about with them then, leading the way to a fire before which a game like dice was being played.

The seeds of wild plums, colored black on one side and scraped white on the other, were shaken up in a box made of bark and thrown out upon a smooth spot on the ground. The Indians endeavored to throw as many as possible of the seeds with the white sides up, and he who did the best at this, won the game. It seemed very dull amusement to John, but Ree watched the game with much interest, until Fishing Bird beckoned him away. And then something took place which made Ree quite certain that this was the Indian whom he might have killed as they struggled alone in the forest solitude only the second night previous.

It was a wrestling match which Fishing Bird proposed, and he called to a strapping young savage and challenged him to undertake to put Ree down. The brave smiled and stepped up willingly. Ree would have preferred that such a contest had not been suggested, but as the young Indian looked at him in a way which seemed to say, "It will not take me long to put you on your back," he decided to throw the proud young redskin if he could.

With many manifestations of delight the Indians gathered around, as they quickly learned what was taking place; for there was nothing in which the forest rovers had a greater delight than trials of strength and endurance.

Ree stipulated but one thing, as he threw off his coat and made ready, this was that the wrestling should be "catch-as-catch-can."

Ready assent was given, a space was cleared and an Indian clapped his hands as a signal for the contest to begin. Like a panther the young brave sprang toward his sturdy white opponent to catch him "Indian hold." But he reckoned without knowledge of his man. Ree had not forgotten the teachings of Peter Piper, and so cleverly did he dodge, and so quickly seize the Indian about the legs, that in a twinkling the proud buck was stretched upon the earth.

There were expressions of wonderment from the Indians, but in a second the vanquished redskin was on his feet, anxious for another trial.

John, with utter disregard of good manners, was laughing heartily over his friend's success, and as Ree declined to wrestle any more, the Indian turned to him, and somewhat fiercely demanded that he should try conclusions with him.

John glanced at Ree and the latter nodded for him to go ahead. In another minute then, a match, the closeness and desperation of which delighted the savages beyond measure, was in progress.

Tightly clasping each other's arms, the contestants strained every muscle and struggled back and forth and round and round—now slowly, now with movements most rapid, neither gaining an advantage. Longer and longer the contest continued in this way, and Ree saw that John was becoming worn out. He must act quickly or succumb to the Indian's greater weight and power of endurance.

"You can throw him if you only say to yourself that you must and that you will, and then do it," Ree whispered, as John was pushed near him, and his advice was taken.

With a show of strength which surprised them all, John forced his opponent backward, and tried again to trip the fellow, but could not. Then he allowed the savage to try to trip him, and seizing the opportunity, gave the redskin so sudden and violent a pull that he was taken off his feet and fell heavily, dragging John down with him. Both the Indian's shoulders touched the ground, however, and with savage glee the redskins acknowledged John to be the victor. To do them justice, they seemed not at all put out that their man was defeated. Only one who was present scowled. He was Big Buffalo, and with an ugly look he strode away from the campfire's light.

Ree could not help but notice the savage fellow's hostile manner. "We better watch out for him," he said to John as they discussed the incident sometime later, when they had sought rest for the night on the skins in Capt. Pipe's house.

"It makes me feel—well, not exactly comfortable, Ree," John answered. "Here we are a hundred miles from civilization sleeping in the hut of one of the bloodiest Indians of the Northwest Territory; Indians all around us, and Goodness knows what else in the woods, on every side!"

"Why, John," said Ree, "I believe we are safer to-night than at any time since we left Fort Pitt. Capt. Pipe may be a bad Indian, but he would fight for us, if need be, while we are his guests. He might scalp us to-morrow after we have said good-bye, but when we are in his house as friends, we will be protected."



CHAPTER XI.

Again a Hidden Enemy.

The boys were early astir the following morning. As soon as they were up Capt. Pipe's wife placed a dish of boiled corn, like hominy, before them, and this was their breakfast. A little later, telling Capt. Pipe of the great amount of work they had to do, the lads bade him good-bye, the chief giving them each a pouch of parched corn, and sending an Indian to take them in a canoe across the lake.

It was two hours past noon when Tom Fish suddenly started up from the broiled turkey with which he was regaling himself, as he heard some one approach, and discovered Ree and John returning. He greeted them gladly, but not in his usual hilarious fashion, and they could not but notice how unlike himself he was as he carved for them some juicy slices from the fine young gobbler he had cooked. Yet he listened with interest to Ree's account of their trip, John often breaking in with such jolly comment as: "You should have heard those Indians talk! Why they beat a quilting bee for gabbling, except that they didn't all talk at once."

"But they are real orators," added Ree quite soberly. "I've heard that an Indian has three ambitions—to be a mighty hunter, a great warrior and a grand orator; and there are some splendid speakers among the Delawares."

"The's some red-handed, bloody murderers among 'em, too, I kin tell ye," Tom Fish growled. "I got no rest whilst ye was gone, a thinkin' of it."

"Has anything happened, Tom?" asked Ree, struck by his friends grave manner.

"Cheer up, Thomas, cheer up!" cried John. "You've been about as cheerful company as a box of indigo ever since you saw that—that hideous thing at Big Buffalo's belt."

"Well, it's a wonder the' didn't nothing happen, an' somethin's goin' to happen, I know," the hunter replied to Ree's question, ignoring John's bantering, as he often did. "That Buffalo varmint means harm. I've been thinkin' it all over an' the' ain't no two ways about it. If I ain't a sight mistaken, I seen him peekin' down from the hill back there, not a half hour ago—either him or some dirty Mingo; I didn't exactly see him, but I heard some one, an' I'd a' peppered away at him if you kittens hadn' 'a been gone an' me not knowin' just where ye might be. So I've been thinkin' it all over, an' mighty sorry I am I ever piloted ye into this hostyle kentry. The's only one thing to do, an' that's to take what stuff ye kin an' get back to Pittsburg fast as yer legs kin take ye. Now as fer me, I kin take care of myself, but I'll see ye part way anyhow, an' I'd go clear back with ye if I didn't have somethin' very important to 'tend to."

Ree could not help but smile at Tom's drooping spirits, though the discouraging talk made it necessary for him to appear really more cheerful than he felt, as he realized that Big Buffalo really seemed anxious to cause trouble. But he shook his head at John, as he saw the latter about to scold Tom for bringing them into this part of the wilderness only to advise them to leave it; for his chum's face showed that he was not pleased with Tom's manner.

"There is just one thing to be done," Ree exclaimed.

"An' that's get right back—" Tom Fish was saying.

But the youthful leader of the party interrupted: "Go back? No, sir! The one thing to do is to go forward, and take our goods with us without further loss of time. We will get a good, stout cabin up and then we'll be better prepared for trouble if it comes. And that prowler, you heard, Tom, must have been the same cowardly wretch who shot old Jerry. We must watch for him. We cannot be too careful, but if he is the same fellow who fired on us and nearly killed Black Eagle's son, 'way back on the Pennsylvania border, I think I can guess who it is, and I can tell you, he is a coward. But let's get to work."

"I like yer spunk, lad, an' I like you, but what I want to say is, that Tom Trout as some calls Fish, will stick by ye till ye get some sort of a shack throwed up, anyhow."

"Bully for you, Tom! And bully for you, too, Ree," exclaimed John springing up to begin whatever task awaited him. "I was beginning to get away down in the mouth, the way Tom was talking a minute ago."

"We must take the goods out of the cart and pack them in convenient shape for carrying," Ree directed, without further ado. "By dragging a few things forward a hundred rods or so, then coming back for more and so on, we should reach the river in a couple of days."

And so all fell to work with a will. The cart did not contain a heavy load, as it would have been impossible for old Jerry to have hauled it through the woods, up hills, across streams and boggy places. But when it came to carrying forward everything except the cart, which must be abandoned, without the aid of a horse, the task was found to be a most laborious one.

The unpacking and rearranging consumed so much time that darkness had come on before the last bundle of the merchandise and provisions had been carried forward to the first stopping place, a little way beyond the top of the bluff, in the valley below which the camp had been.

While John and Tom erected a shelter for the night, for the wind was cold and raw, Ree returned to the valley to procure coals with which to start a fire at the new camp. He found it necessary to enliven the dying embers with a few fresh sticks of wood, and as he stooped over to blow greater life into the struggling blaze which started up, he heard a rustling in the leaves on the hill behind him, in the direction opposite that in which his friends were. Like a flash he sprang away from the fire into the half-darkness which filled the valley. He was in the nick of time. A rifle cracked and a bullet threw up the ashes and sent the sparks flying where his head had been just a second before.

With the speed of the wind Ree ran in the direction from which the shot had come, his own rifle cocked and ready. He thought he heard some one making off in the darkness as he reached the top of the hill, but whether white man or Indian—Delaware or Mingo, he could not tell. He called out a command to halt, but no attention was given his order for the uncertain sound of fleeing footsteps continued. He chanced a shot in the direction of the unknown enemy, although he realized it would probably do no good.

While he reloaded his rifle Ree stepped behind a tree, and a few seconds later John came running up. As it was too dark to continue the chase, both boys returned to camp, stopping in the ravine to secure a fire brand to start a blaze to prepare their supper. In vain did John ask questions as to whom Ree believed the would-be murderer was; they could not be answered, for, as Ree said, he had not seen the person.

Tom Fish, disconsolate as he well could be, sat on a big bundle of merchandise as the boys rejoined him.

"It's sure death to stay here, lads," were the first words he said, and his tone was not calculated to make the young travelers comfortable; but resolving to look on the brighter side, Ree cheerily answered:

"A man is in some danger wherever he is. We will all feel better when we smell some venison on the hot coals. And just wait till we get our cabin built! We are going to get some beans and late squashes from the Indians, and bake some corn bread, and have a regular old-fashioned Connecticut supper!"

"Did ye hit him, d'ye think, Ree?" asked Tom, brightening up.

"No, but he scared him into eleven kinds of fits," John answered for his friend, catching the spirit of the latter's courage and enthusiasm.

"It ain't that I am caring for myself. Tom Fish, or Tom Trout didn't ever lose a wink o' sleep bein' afraid he couldn't look out for number one," the woodsman went on. "But after—after that—thing we saw the other day—but I guess we've got our appetites left," he said, suddenly changing the subject.

It was not long until the supper was ready and eaten and all did feel much the better for it, as Ree had predicted. The ordinary noises of the forest, the howling of wolves, in pursuit of some poor deer, perhaps, the far-away shriek of a panther balked of its prey, it may have been, gave them little concern. Though the darkness was intense and enemies might draw very near without being observed, the boys believed they had made peace with the Indians and the presence of four-footed enemies did not worry them.

Tom Fish felt very differently about the matter of the Indians' friendship, but he kept these thoughts to himself for the time being, and though there are far more comfortable places than a camp in a great wilderness on a cold November night, the lads from Connecticut would have been entirely happy had it not been for the mystery of the strange prowler, the thought that several times they had been secretly fired upon, and that there was no knowing when another attack might be made in which the aim of the dastardly assailant need be but a trifle better to end the life of one or both of them, perhaps.

Yet, even these gloomy facts could not dispel the good spirits which accompany good health and the hopefulness of youth. Even Tom seemed to forget his dark forebodings as he was persuaded to tell a number of stories of his own adventures. Quite comfortable, therefore, though on the alert to catch the first sound of danger's coming, the little party sat for an hour or two beneath the rude shelter which had been erected, while the firelight performed its fantastic feats around them.

Tom volunteered to remain on guard the first part of the night, and crept out at the back of their little house of poles and brush, that he might not be observed, should anyone be watching. Then, softly through the darkness he made his way to a convenient tree against which he leaned, in the dark shadows. Ree and John, wrapped in their blankets on their beds of deerskins spread over the autumn leaves, were soon asleep.

A heavy snow was sifting through the swaying branches of the trees when Tom called Ree and the latter went on watch. This change in the weather gave the quick-witted sentinel an idea. With the first streak of dawn he called John to prepare breakfast, then hurried back to the valley where their cart had been left, taking care to observe that there were no tracks of any human creature along the way. From the box of the abandoned two-wheeled wagon he secured two good sized boards and carried them to camp.

John watched in open-mouthed astonishment as he saw Ree coming up with the lumber, but in a minute or two he discovered what his friend designed to do. With no other tools than an axe and auger he soon built a sled large and strong enough to carry all their goods.

Ree's idea proved an excellent one. The snow-fall was just enough to make a sled run smoothly, and by a little after sunrise "all the property of Kingdom and Jerome, Indian traders and home-seekers," as John expressed it, was piled upon the pair of runners which the senior member of the firm had contrived, and they and Tom Fish were steadily drawing it toward their long-sought destination.

"We must reach the Cuyahoga river by night," Ree urged, and his own determination gave strength to himself and his companions. Up hill and down hill they hurried, tugging, perspiring, making the best speed possible through the silent forest.

And as the sun burst through a sea of gray-black clouds, and shone brilliantly just before night's coming, it seemed an omen of good to the little party in the wilderness, for at almost the same moment, Ree, running on a head a little way, cried: "Here we are!"

Before the daylight closed, the site of the cabin, work on which was to begin the next day, had been selected on the long irregular mound close to the river, which has already been described.

Ree called attention to the natural advantages of the place—its sides sloping down in three directions while on the fourth side and thirty feet below was the river. It was a point which could be defended in case of an attack, and the additional fact of the natural clearing and fertile lands surrounding it, made the place seem most desirable.

"The's only one thing the matter with this location," said Tom Fish, surveying the mound from the semi-circular valley around it, as the twilight settled down. "The's likely to be ague in a place like this, it bein' so nigh the water. It's a mighty good thing to steer clear of, ague is."

"But there are so many natural advantages," Ree persisted, "and our cabin will be well up in the air and the sunlight."

"That's a good point, Ree," John put in, "but think of it—we will have to carry all our firewood up that hill."

"I'll carry the wood if you play out, old chap," was the answer and the matter ended by Ree having his own way, as was generally the case, not because he was selfish or obstinate, but because he was sure he was right before he made up his mind, and because he had that born spirit of leadership which gave himself and all others confidence in his decisions and actions.

Although careful observation during the day had failed to reveal any sign of their prowling foe, whoever he might be, Ree and John agreed to divide the guard duty of the night between them. Ree took the first watch and reported all quiet when John relieved him at midnight.

When daylight came John went a little way up the wooded hillside opposite the mound to pick up some dry wood for their fire. Suddenly he stopped and a startled look came upon his face. There in the snow were foot-prints made by moccasined feet. They followed the trail the sled had made the day before, up to the very edge of the clearing in which their camp was made.

There, John found, as he guardedly investigated, they circled off to one side a little way, hovered about, here and there, then re-crossed the sled's track and disappeared in the woods. What could it mean? Instantly he remembered that the foot-prints of the person who had several times fired upon their camp, had been made by boots. He hurried to the camp mentally ejaculating: "What will Tom Fish say of this?"

Tom was still asleep, but Ree had commenced the breakfast. "It is too bad," he said, thinking aloud, as he learned of John's discovery. "I suppose we ought to follow those tracks if only for safety's sake, and find out who made them, but I do hate to lose the time when we ought to be getting a cabin built."

The discovery was pointed out to Tom when he awoke a little later.

"A prowlin' Mingo!" the old hunter exclaimed as he inspected the foot-prints. "Kittens both, the's trouble brewin'. It's a wonder the varmint didn't shoot. I don't see what he's up to, always doggin' us this way! But I'll tell ye what I'll do. You lads get yer axes an' go to work, an' I'll foller up them tracks. An' bust my galluses, kittens both, I'll give the varmint a dose as'll make him think of his pore ol' granddad, if I ketch him!"

Tom's suggestion found favor at once, though the boys could not explain the varying moods of their friend, which made him cool and courageous one day and dejected and fearful another. But breakfast being over, Tom set out.

"Be careful," Ree called after him. "Don't get yourself or us into any row with the Delawares, unnecessarily." The hunter made no answer.



CHAPTER XII.

Building a Cabin.

By reason of having been the first to see the strange foot-prints, and having come upon them, too, in the gray light of the early morning, when alone in the forest solitudes, John found it hard to shake off the dread with which they filled him. On the other hand, Ree was bright and chipper as a squirrel in the nutting season. He reasoned that the discovery of the tracks was fortunate, rather than otherwise, for it proved that their mysterious enemy was still hovering on their trail and gave them an opportunity of finding out who the wretch might be. And they now knew that they must be constantly on their guard, while except for the discovery, they might have become careless and fallen easy victims to their sneaking foe.

So he cheered John up, and loud and clear the sounds of their axes rang out in the crisp, delightful air of the woods. Both boys threw off their coats as the healthful perspiration came to their faces and hands, and their vigor and strength seemed to grow rather than decrease as they worked. They had been careful to keep their axes sharp, and the chips flew almost in showers.

The trees selected for cutting were those from five to eight inches in diameter, whose trunks were firm and straight. The lads would be able to handle logs of this size, while larger ones would give them trouble, especially as they no longer had a horse to draw them to the cabin site. The work would be hard at best, but no more than the boys had expected, and the hearty good will with which they set about the task before them, promised its speedy accomplishment in spite of obstacles.

For mutual safety the boys remained near one another as they worked, and timber was so plentiful that their progress was not interfered with by this arrangement. Their rifles were within reach, and their eyes and ears were alert.

The hour of noon brought a brief but pleasant rest, and the afternoon slipped quickly away. As supper time drew near, John, having had only a cold lunch at noon, was becoming very hungry and was about to mention that fact, when, instead, he suddenly seized his rifle and sprang behind a tree. At the same instant Ree did likewise.

"As sure as shooting I heard some one cough!" exclaimed John in an undertone.

"I heard a footstep," Ree quietly answered.

"Ho ho!" It was Tom Fish who called, and coming forward, he confessed that he had been trying the boys' watchfulness by trying to steal up to them without being discovered. He was decidedly surprised to find them so quick to detect his approach, for he had scarcely come within gun shot.

Tom declared to John, however, that he had not coughed, saying it must have been John's alert instinct which told him that some one was drawing near, and made him imagine he heard such a sound. The boys did not agree with him, however, for he also undertook to say that Ree had not heard a footstep at all, but being keenly alive to detect the approach of anyone, had imagined he heard a noise before he really did, all through that peculiar sense which he called instinct.

"But anyway it's a good thing for you, Tom Fish, that you hollered when you did," said John. "I was just on the point of giving you a dose of these lead pills that you are so everlastingly talking about!"

Tom's face lengthened. "You don't want to be too quick with your pill box, boy," said he. "You want to see what an' who you're shootin' at. Great Snakes, now! What if ye had peppered away at me?"

"Well, don't come creeping up like a sneaking Mingo then," laughed John, and Ree, who knew that John had not seen Tom until after he called, and had been really frightened, joined in his chum's merriment.

"But tell us what you found, Tom," urged Ree.

"Well, I'll tell ye," Tom slowly and very soberly answered, "I don't know what to make of it. Them tracks was made by a redskin an' they came straight to the camp along the trail we made yesterday. Then after leaving here, they strike off an' go straight to the little lake across from the Delaware town, an' there they stop. It's plain as kin be, that some varmint from that there town has been spyin' on us. Now was it the same critter as killed the horse, or wa'n't it? An' if it was, was that critter the Buffalo chap? An' what was he hangin' 'round here ag'in for last night?"

These questions furnished an abundance of material for conversation during the evening meal, but no definite answers were agreed upon. Ree would not admit that they were in danger from the Delawares, though he agreed that Big Buffalo was a bad Indian. He was quite sure, however, that Big Buffalo had not shot old Jerry, for the Indian was at the head of the party of savages he had encountered the morning after the horse was shot, and had plainly been surprised to see any white person so far west.

But these arguments did not satisfy Tom Fish, nor was John at all sure that Ree was right.

After supper Tom said he must go back for a deer which he had killed in the morning, a couple of miles from camp, and which he had hung up beyond the reach of the wolves, until his return. But he had made a short cut in coming back to camp and so had not secured the venison.

John jokingly cautioned him to let them know when he approached the camp in returning, lest he be mistaken for the prowler, and Tom most soberly promised he would, and was at great pains to do so; for he was always at a loss to understand the younger of the two friends, and could not be sure whether he was in sober earnest or only joking, no matter what was said.

The night passed without incident. Tom did more than his share of guard duty, but it became apparent next day that he did not like to wield an axe. He said he would go out for some fresh "provender" and "sort o' earn his keep" that way.

So while Fish went hunting, the boys toiled away. They could not complain because Tom helped so little with the cabin, for they had no right to expect it of him; they were thankful indeed, to have him keep the larder well supplied and to let him sleep during the day, for he took the part of sentinel a large part of every night. This gave the boys opportunity to secure a good rest and to rise each morning eager to continue the task of building.

Their faithful efforts were rapidly being rewarded and in due time the logs for the cabin were all ready. These were chopped into lengths with a view to making their dwelling 12 by 14 feet—no longer than the average bedroom of modern houses, but affording all the space necessary, and being the easier to keep warm by reason of being compact.

No time was spent on "fancy work," as John called it, at that time. A floor and other improvements could be added later. For the main thing to be accomplished was to get a secure shelter ready as soon as possible.

The Indian summer was long since gone, and though there were still warm, pleasant days now and then, cold rains and snow came frequently. No matter what the weather, however, the work went on, though hands and faces were cut and scratched by the brush and chapped by the raw winds.

"Ree, you are a perfect fright," said John with a laugh, one day. "If people from home were to see you now, they would say you would be lucky to find a scare-crow which would trade places with you. And your hair—why, it almost reaches your shoulders!"

Ree smiled but did not at once reply. Then, looking up, he said: "Old boy, we are going back to Connecticut some day, but the time is a long way off. If we go with whole skins and with money in our pockets, it will be an easy matter to get into good clothes and to get our hair cut. What you want to do, is to watch out that some Indian barber does not cut that long hair of yours, rather closer than you like."

It was so seldom that Ree joked, and he spoke now in so droll a way, that Tom Fish laughed boisterously. It had been long since the boys had heard him so merry; for, though he never mentioned that subject, the remembrance of the scalp Big Buffalo had carried, seemed always on his spirits, bearing him down to a melancholy, unnatural mood.

They did not understand it then; they did not know.

When the time came to raise the cabin—that is, to fit the logs in place one upon another, after they had been dragged and rolled to the summit of the mound, to be in readiness, Tom's help was found most valuable, and both Ree and John appreciated his work. But notwithstanding, they would have been better pleased had he not remained with them. He had shown so much ill-feeling toward the Indians who had come about from time to time, that there was reason to believe he would commit some rash act which would make trouble for all.

They could not tell Tom they did not trust him. They could not tell him to go. Ree's repeated cautions that they must avoid getting into difficulty with the redskins, were the only hints that could be given.

Capt. Pipe himself and a large number of his braves visited the camp when the cabin was nearly finished, to make the settlement for the land the boys had engaged to buy. The young pioneers had twice sent word to him by Indians who were passing, that they wished to make their payment and enter into a final agreement, and he had at last sent messengers to say that he would visit them on a certain day. On the day before Capt. Pipe's expected visit Ree and John went hunting to secure an abundance of meat for a feast for their guests. It was the first day they had spent away from the hard work on their cabin, except for Sundays when they bathed and gave their clothes needed attention, and no two boys ever enjoyed a holiday more. There was some snow—not enough to make walking difficult, but really an advantage to the young hunters, for it showed them the numerous tracks of the game they sought.

To this day, men, who have heard the stories handed down from generation to generation, of the hunters' paradise in what is now the Northern part of Ohio, in the years before 1800, delight to tell of the abundance of choicest game found in the valley of the Cuyahoga and about the small lakes in its vicinity, and Ree and John were in that very locality years before the white man's axe had opened up the country to general settlement, driving the deer, the bear and wolves and all kindred animals away.

Little wonder is it that these hardy pioneer boys were constantly reminding themselves that they must pass by many fine opportunities for a good shot, because of the necessity of saving their powder and bullets for actual use; there must be no shooting except when there was a good chance of securing game of some value.

Little wonder is it, that, even under these circumstances, Ree, by the middle of the afternoon, had secured a deer and three turkeys besides a big rabbit which he caught in his hands as it sprang from its burrow beneath a fallen tree-top. And John had also shot a deer and had killed their first bear—a half-grown cub which, late in finding quarters for its long winter's sleep, rose on its hind legs, growling savagely, as the boys came suddenly upon it, in passing around a great boulder in the river valley.

In good time on a certain Tuesday in December, Capt. Pipe and his party arrived. Some of the braves were inclined to be very frolicsome and it was necessary to watch that they did not get their hands on property which was not their own.

But their chief was all dignity. He seemed to take a fancy to Ree, who was scarcely less dignified than himself,—being so grave and quiet in his deportment, indeed, that a doughty warrior who had made up his mind to challenge him to wrestle, had not the courage to suggest the contest.

The business of the day sat lightly on John's mind, however, and he was full of antics as any of the redskins. It resulted in his being challenged to wrestle, and he was laid on his back in short order. Then he remembered Ree's advice at the time he wrestled at the Delaware town, and making use of it, threw his man after a most clever and spirited contest.

But the great feature of the day, in John's estimation, was the foot race in which he defeated a young Indian known to be one of the best runners of the tribe, winning a beautiful pair of leggings which Big Buffalo put up in a wager. It was a short-distance race and he realized that in a longer run the Indian would have defeated him; it made him decide to practice running long distances. He might wish to outrun the redskins to save his scalp, some day.