"That's an odd idea of yours, Sol. How can you prove it's so?"

"An' how can you prove it ain't so? An' so we're back whar we started. Besides, I kin pile up evidence. All along the edge o' the valley are briers an' vines, on which the berries growed. Then too thar are lots o' grapevines on the trees ez you kin see, an' thar are your grapes. An' up toward the end are lots o' hick'ry an' walnut trees an' thar are your nuts, an' ef Adam an' Eve wuz hard-pushed, they could ketch plenty o' fine fish in that creek which I kin see is deep. In the winter they could hev made themselves a cabin easy, up thar whar the trees are thick. An' the whole place in the spring is full o' wild flowers, which Eve must hev stuck her hair full of to please Adam. The more I think o' it, Henry, the shorer I am that this wuz the Garden."

The shiftless one's face was rapt and serious. In the burnished silver of the moonlight the little valley had a beauty, dreamlike in its quality. In that land so truly named the Dark and Bloody Ground it seemed the abode of unbroken peace.

"I reckon," said Shif'less Sol, "that after the fall Adam an' Eve left by that rift between the hills, an' thar the Angel stood with the Flamin' Sword to keep 'em out. O' course they might hev crawled back down the hillside here, an' in other places, but I guess they wuz afeard. It's hard to hev had a fine thing an' then to hev lost it, harder than never to hev had it or to hev knowed what it wuz. I guess, Henry, that Adam an' Eve came often to the hills here an' looked down at their old home, till they wuz skeered away by the flamin' o' the Angel's sword."

"But there's nothing now to keep us out of it. We'll go down there, Sol, because it is a garden after all, a wilderness garden, and nothing but Indians can drive us from it until we want to go."

"All right, Henry. You lead on now, but remember that since Adam an' Eve hev gone away this is my Garden o' Eden. It's shore a purty sight, now that it's beginnin' to whiten with the day."

Dawn in truth was silvering the valley, and in the clear pure light it stood forth in all its beauty and peace. It was filled, too, with life. Besides the buffaloes they saw deer, elk, swarming small game, and an immense number of singing birds. The morning was alive with their song and when they came to the deep creek, and saw a fish leap up now and then, the shiftless one no longer had the slightest doubt.

"It's shorely the Garden," he said. "Listen to them birds, Henry. Did you ever hear so many at one time afore, all singin' together ez ef every one wuz tryin' to beat every other one?"

"No, Sol, I haven't. It is certainly a beautiful place. Look at the beds of wild flowers in bloom."

"An' the game is so tame it ain't skeered at us a bit. I reckon, Henry, that 'till we came no human foot hez ever trod this valley, since Adam an' Eve had to go."

"Maybe not, Sol! Maybe not," said Henry, trying to smile at the shiftless one's fancy, but failing.

"An' thar's one thing I want to ask o' you, Henry. Thar's millions an' millions an' billions an' billions o' acres in this country that belong to nobody, but I want to put in a sort o' claim o' my own on the Garden o' Eden here. Thar are times when every man likes to be all by hisself, fur a while. You know how it is yourself, Henry. Jest rec'lect then that the Garden is mine. When I'm feelin' bad, which ain't often, I'll come here an' set down 'mong the flowers, an' hear all them birds sing, same ez Adam an' Eve heard 'em, an' d'rectly I'll feel glad an' strong ag'in."

"Where there's so much unused country you ask but little, Sol. It's your Garden of Eden. But you'll let the rest of us come into it sometimes, won't you?"

"Shorely! Shorely! I didn't mean to be selfish about it. I've got some venison in my knapsack, Henry, an' I reckon you hev some too. I'd like to hev it warm, but it's too dangerous to build a fire. S'pose we set, an' eat."

The soil of the valley was so fertile that the grass was already high enough to hide them, when they lay down near the edge of the creek. There they ate their venison and listened to the musical tinkle of the rushing water, while the sun rose higher, and turned the luminous silver of the valley into luminous gold. They heard light footfalls of the deer moving, and the birds sang on, but there was no human sound in the valley. Their great adventure, the Indian camp, and the manifold dangers seemed to float away for the time. If it was not the Garden of Eden it was another garden of the same kind, and it looked very beautiful to these two who had spent most of the night running for their lives. They were happy, as they ate venison and the last crumbs of their bread.

"If the others wuz here," said Shif'less Sol, "nothin' would be lackin'. I'm in love with the wilderness more an' more every year, Henry. One reason is 'cause I'm always comin' on somethin' new. I ain't no tied-down man. Here I've dropped into the Garden o' Eden that's been lost fur thousands o' years, an' tomorrow I may be findin' some other wonder. I rec'lect my feelin' the first time I saw the Ohio, an' I've looked too upon the big river that the warriors call the Father o' Waters. I'm always findin' some new river or creek or lake. Nothin's old, or all trod up or worn out. Some day I'm goin' way out on them plains that you've seed, Henry, where the buff'ler are passin' millions strong. I tell you I love to go with the wind, an' at night, when I ain't quite asleep, to hear it blowin' an' blowin', an' tellin' me that the things I've found already may be fine, but thar's finer yet farther on. I hear Paul talkin' 'bout the Old World, but thar can't be anythin' in it half ez fine ez all these woods in the fall, jest blazin' with red an' yellow, an' gold an' brown, an' the air sparklin' enough to make an old man young."

The face of the shiftless one glowed as he spoke. Every word he said came straight from his heart and Henry shared in his fervor. The wild men who slew and scalped could not spoil his world. He had finished his venison, and, drinking cold water at the edge of the creek, he came back and lay down again in the long grass.

"Perhaps we'd better stay here the most of the day," said Henry. "The valley seems to be out of the Indian line of march. The buffaloes are over there grazing peacefully, and I can see does at the edge of the woods. If warriors were near they wouldn't be so peaceful."

"And there are the wild turkeys gobblin' in the trees," said Shif'less Sol. "I like wild turkey mighty well, but even ef thar wuz no fear o' alarm I wouldn't shoot any one in my Garden o' Eden."

"Nor I either, Sol. I'm beginning to like this valley as well as you do. Your claim to it stands good, but when we're on our hunting expeditions up this way again the five of us will come here and camp."

"But we'll kill our game outside. I've a notion that I don't want to shoot anythin' in here."

"I understand you. It's too fine a place to have blood flowing in it."

"That's jest the way I feel about it, Henry. You may laugh at me fur bein' a fool, but the notion sticks to me hard an' fast."

"I'm not laughing at you. If you'll raise up a little, Sol, you can see the smoke of the main Indian campfire off there toward the northeast. It looks like a thread from here, and it's at least five miles away."

"It's a big smoke, then, or we wouldn't see it at all, 'cause we can't make out that o' the smaller one nearer to the cave, though I reckon it's still thar."

"Perhaps so, and the warriors may come this way, but we'll see 'em and hear 'em first. Look, Sol, those buffaloes, in their grazing, are coming straight toward us. The wind has certainly carried to them our odor, but they don't seem to be alarmed by it."

"Jest another proof, Henry, that it's the real Garden o' Eden. Them buff'ler haven't seen or smelt a human bein' since Adam an' Eve left, an' ez that wuz a long time ago they've got over any feelin' o' fear o' people, ef they ever had it. Look at them deer, too, over thar, loafin' 'long through the high grass, an' not skeered o' anythin'. An' the wolves that follered us last night don't come here. Thar ain't a sign o' a wolf ever hevin' been in the valley."

Henry laughed, but there was no trace of irony in the laugh. The shiftless one's vivid fancy or belief pleased him. It was possible, too, that Indians would not come there. It might be some sacred place of the old forgotten people who had built the mounds and who had been exterminated by the Indians. But the Indians were full of superstition, and often they feared and respected the sacred places of those whom they had slain. For the boldest of the warriors, avenging spirits might be hovering there, and they would fear them more than they would fear the white men with rifles.

"Let's go up to the head of the valley," he said to Shif'less Sol. "If we keep back among the bushes we won't be seen."

"All right," said his comrade. "I want to see that gate between the hills, that the creek comes from, an' I want to take a look, too, at that grove o' big trees growin' thar."

Henry reckoned the length of the valley at two miles and its width at a half mile on the average, with the creek flowing down almost its exact center. At the head it narrowed fast, until it came to the gash between the hills, where grew the largest oaks and elms that he had ever seen. It was in truth a magnificent grove and it gave the shiftless one extreme delight which he expressed vocally. He surveyed the trees and the hills behind them with a measuring and comprehensive eye.

"Them hills ain't so high," he said, "but they're high enough to shut out the winds o' winter, bein' ez they face the north an' west, an' here curves the creek atween 'em, through a gap not more'n ten feet wide. An' look how them big trees grow so close together, an' in a sort o' curve. Why, that's shorely whar Adam an' Eve spent thar winters. It wouldn't take much work, thatching with poles an' bark to rig up the snuggest kind o' a bower. These big trees here ag'inst the cliff almost make a cabin themselves."

"And one that we'll occupy the rest of the day. It would be impossible for a warrior ten yards away to see us in here, while we can see almost the whole length of the valley. I think we'd better stay here, Sol, and make ourselves comfortable for the rest of the day. You need sleep, and so will I later. It's easy to make beds. The dead leaves must lie a foot thick on the ground."

"It's a wonder they ain't thicker, gatherin' here ever since Adam an' Eve moved."

"They rot beneath and the wind blows away a lot on top, but there's plenty left. Now, I'm not sleepy at all. You take a nap and I'll watch, although I'm sure no enemy will come."

"Reckon I will, Henry. It's peaceful an' soothin' here in the Garden o' Eden, an' ef I dream I'll dream good dreams."

He heaped up the leaves in the shape of a bed, giving himself a pillow, and, sinking down upon it luxuriously, soon slept. Henry also piled the leaves high enough against the trunk of one of the largest trees to form a cushion for his back, and settled himself into a comfortable position, with his rifle across his knees.

Although he had been up all the night he was not sleepy. The shiftless one's striking fancy had exerted a great effect upon him. This was the Garden of Eden. It must be, and some ancient influence, something that he would probably never know, protected it from invasion. He marked once more the fearless nature of its inhabitants. He could see now three small groups of buffaloes and all of them grazed in perfect peace and content. Nowhere was there a sign of the wolves that usually hung about to cut out the calves or the very old. He saw deer in the grass along the creek, and they were oblivious of danger.

But what impressed him most of all was the profusion of singing birds and their zeal and energy. The chorus of singing and chattering rose and fell now and then, but it never ceased. The valley itself fairly sang with it, and in the opening before him there were incessant flashes of red and blue, as the most gaily dressed of the little birds shot past.

His eyes turned toward the gap, where the shiftless one had placed the Angel with the Flaming Sword. It was only a few hundred yards away, and he was able to see that it was but a narrow cleft between the hills. While he looked he saw a human figure appear upon the crest of the hill, outlined perfectly against the sun which was a blazing shield of gold behind him.

It was a savage warrior, tall, naked, save for the breech cloth, his face and body thick with war paint, the single scalp lock standing up defiantly. The luminous glow overcoming the effect of distance, enlarged him. He seemed twice his real height.

The warrior was gazing down into the valley, but Henry saw that he did not move. His figure was rigid. He merely looked and nothing more. Presently two more figures of warriors appeared, one on either side, and they too were raised by the golden glow to twice their stature. All three stared intently into the valley. Henry put his hand on the shoulder of his comrade and shook him.

"What? What? What is it?" exclaimed the shiftless one sleepily.

"Three Indian warriors on the highest hill that overlooks the valley, but they're not coming in. I think that the Angel with the Flaming Sword is in the way."

Shif'less Sol was all awake now, and he stared long at the motionless warriors.

"No, they ain't comin' down in the valley," he said at last. "I don't know how I know it, but I do."

"Perhaps it's because they don't see the remotest sign of an enemy here."

"Partly that I reckon, an' fur other reasons too. Thar, they're goin' away! I expect, Henry, that them warriors are a part o' the band that wuz lookin' fur us. They don't keer to come into the valley, but they might hev been tempted hard to come, ef they'd a' saw us. Mebbe it's a good thing that we came here into Adam's an' Eve's home."

"It was certainly not the wrong thing. Those warriors are gone now, and I predict that none will come in their place."

"That's a shore thing. Now, ez I've had my nap, Henry, you take yourn. Rec'lect that it's always watch an' watch with us."

Henry knew that the shiftless one would not like it, if he did not take his turn, and, making his leafy bed, he was soothed to quick sleep by the singing of the birds.

Then the shiftless one propped his back against a bank of leaves between him and the trunk of a tree, and, with the rifle across his knees, watched. The great peace that he had felt continued. The fact that the Indians had merely come to the crest of the hill and looked into the valley, then going away, confirmed him in his beliefs. As long as Henry and he stayed there, they would be safe. But safety beyond that day was not what they were seeking. That night they must surely reach the other three, although they would enjoy the present to the full.

Shif'less Sol's plastic and sensitive mind had been affected by his meeting with Henry. Despite his great confidence in the skill and strength of the young leader, he had been worried by his long absence and his meeting with him had been an immense relief. This and their coming into the happy valley had put him in an exalted state. The poetical side of nature always met with an immediate response in him, and like the Indian he personified the winds, and the moon and stars and sun, and all the objects and forces that were factors in wild life.

Lying closely among his leaves he watched the buffaloes and the deer. Some of the bigger animals as the day grew and the sun increased, lay down in the grass near him, showing no sign of fear, although they must have been aware of his presence. A flight of wild geese descended from the sky, drank at the stream, swam a little, then rose again and were gone, their forms blending into a single great arrow shooting northward through the blue.

Shif'less Sol did not wonder that they had dropped down into the valley for a moment or two, breaking their immeasurable flight into the far north. They had known that they would be safe in this little way station, and it was yet another confirmation of his beliefs. He watched the arrow so sharply outlined against the blue until it was gone in the vast sky, and a great wonder and awe filled the soul of the shiftless one. He had seen such flights countless times before, but now he began to think about the instinct that sent them on such vast journeys through the ether from south to north and back again, in an endless repetition as long as they lived. What journeys and what rivers and lakes and forests and plains they must see! Man was but a crawler on the earth, compared with them. Then wild ducks came, did as the geese had done, and then they too were gone in the same flight into the illimitable north that swallowed up everything.

It was in the mind of the shiftless one that he too would like to go into that vast unknown North some day, if the fighting in Kentucky ever came to an end. He had been in the land of the Shawnees and Miamis, and Wyandots and he knew of the Great Lakes beyond, but north of them the wilderness still stretched to the edge of the world, where the polar ice reigned, eternal. There was no limit to the imagination of Shif'less Sol, and in all these gigantic wanderings the faithful four, his friends, were with him.

Henry did not awaken until well after noon, but as usual his awakening was instantaneous, that is, all his faculties were keenly alert at once. He glanced down the valley and saw the buffalo and deer feeding, and the great chorus of birds was going on. The shiftless one, leaning against his bank of leaves, his rifle on his knee, was regarding the valley with an air of proprietorship.

"What's happened while I slept?" asked Henry.

"Nothing. You don't expect anything to happen here. It's got to happen when we leave tonight."

"I think you're right about it, and as it's watch and watch, you must go to sleep again now."

His comrade without any protest stretched himself in the leaves and soon slept soundly. Meanwhile Henry maintained vigilant watch. In order to keep his muscles elastic he rose and walked about a little at times, but he did not leave the shelter of the thick little grove that the shiftless one had called a bower. It well deserved the name, because the trees were so close and large, and the foliage was so dense that the sunlight could not enter. Indians on the hills could not possibly see the two resting there.

The afternoon drew on, long and warm. Save within their shelter the sunlight blazed brilliantly. The buffaloes suddenly charged about for a little while and Henry at first thought they had been alarmed by the coming of man, but on second thought he put it down as mere playing. They were well fed, full of life, and they were venting their spirits. They ceased soon and lay down in the shade.

Later in the afternoon another Indian appeared on the summit and looked for a little while into the valley, but like the others he went away. Henry had felt sure that he would.

Toward night the shiftless one awoke, and they ate the last of their food. But the failure of the supply did not alarm them. This army was very small and if hunger pressed them hard there was the forest, or they might filch from the Indian camp. Such as they could dare anything, and achieve it, too.

The sun set, the shadows gathered, and it would soon be time to go. The waters of the creek sang pleasantly in the ears of the shiftless one, and drawing a long breath of regret he said good-bye to the happy valley.

"Nuthin' happened while we wuz here, Henry," he said, "and I knowed it wouldn't happen. Our troubles are comin' when we cross that line o' hills over thar."

He pointed toward the crests. Beyond them, even in the twilight, the column of smoke from the great Indian camp was still visible, although it disappeared a few moments later, as the dusk turned into the dark.

"The place in the cliff lays to the right o' that smoke," said the shiftless one, "an' jest about ez fur from here."

"We ought to reach it in two hours."

"Ef nothin' comes in the way."

"If nothing comes in the way."

They crossed the valley speedily and soon stood on one of the crests that hemmed it in.

"We've had one fine day when we wuzn't thinkin' about fightin'," said the shiftless one, looking back.

"A restful day," said Henry.

Then the two plunged into the deep forests that lined the far slopes, and started on their journey.



CHAPTER VIII

THE PATH OF DANGER

Both Henry and Shif'less Sol had a clear idea of direction, and they could lay a line, like a chain bearer, toward the rock fortress, where they felt sure their comrades were lying in comfortable and hidden security. But back now in the deep forest the atmosphere of peace and content that they had breathed in the happy valley was gone, instead it was surcharged with war and danger.

"I miss our Garden o' Eden," whispered Shif'less Sol regretfully. "We're already back where men are fightin' an' tryin' to kill."

"I thought perhaps most of the army had already gone south, but there's the column of smoke as big as ever, and also the second column nearer to our home."

"An' here's a creek that we'll hev to cross. Looks deep too. Strike a feller 'bout the middle."

"Maybe we can find a shallower place or a tree that has fallen all the way across it."

They ran along its bank for some distance, but finding no place where the water looked shallow plunged in, holding their weapons and ammunition clear of the surface. As they emerged on the other shore, a warrior standing in the bushes about forty yards away uttered a shout and fired at them. But the Indian is never a good marksman and in the dusk his bullet cut the leaves at least three feet over their heads.

His warning shout and shot was followed by a yell from at least twenty others who lay about a small fire in a glade a hundred yards beyond. Thick bushes had hid the coals from the sight of Henry and the shiftless one and now, taking no time to reply to the bullet of the warrior, who stood, empty gun in hand, they turned and ran swiftly toward the north, while after them came the whole yelling pack.

"We've shorely left the Garden o' Eden, Henry," said the shiftless one. "They didn't do sech things ez these thar in Adam or Eve's times, nor in ourn. We come purty nigh walkin' plum' into a trap."

"And we've got to shake 'em off. We mustn't run toward the stone hollow, because that would merely draw 'em down on all of us. We must lead away to the west again, Sol."

"You're right, Henry, but that confounded creek's in the way. I kin see it off on the left an' I notice that it's growin' wider an' deeper, ez it flows on to the Ohio. They've got us hemmed in ag'inst it."

"But Sol, they'll have to do a lot before they catch such as you and me."

"That's so, Henry. I guess we're right hard to ketch. I'm proud to be a fugitive 'long o' you."

Henry glanced back and saw the long line of dusky figures following them through woods over hills and across valleys with all the tenacity of a pack of wolves pursuing a deer. He knew that they would hang on to the last, and while he was sure that he and Shif'less Sol could distance them, if they used their utmost speed, he was in continuous apprehension lest they stir up some other band or at least stray warriors, as the forest was full of them. The creek was a bar holding them to an almost straight line. It was wide and too deep except for swimming, rising almost to the proportions of a river. Henry calculated too that the creek did not flow far west of their hollow in the rock, and thus they were forced, despite their wishes, to run toward the very place they wished to avoid.

"We've certainly had bad luck," he said to Sol, "and I think we've stirred up a regular hornet's nest. Hark to that!"

From their right came a swelling war whoop with the ferocious whining note at the end, and the eyes of the two fugitives met. Each, despite the dark, could read the alarm in the face of the other. They had not run out of the trap. Instead the trap was about to be sprung upon them. With the unfordable stream on one side of them, an Indian band on the other, and an Indian band behind them their case was indeed serious. The transition from the Garden of Eden to a world of danger was sudden and complete.

The band in the rear gave answer to the cry of their comrades in the west, and Henry and the shiftless one had never before heard a whoop so full of exultation and ferocity. Henry understood it as truly as if it had been spoken in words. It said that the fugitives were surely theirs, that they would be caught very soon, that they would be given to the torture and that all the warriors should see the flames lick around their bare bodies.

A red mist appeared before the eyes of Henry. The wonderful peace, and the kindness toward all things that had enwrapped him, as he lay all day long in the happy valley, were gone. Instead his veins were flushed with anger. The warriors would exult over the torture and death of his comrades and himself. Well, he would show them that a man could not be burnt at the stake, until he was caught, and it was easy to exult too soon.

He whirled for an instant, raised his rifle, fired, whirled back again and then ran on. The whole motion, the brief curve about, and then the half circle back, seemed one, and yet, as the two ran on, they heard a warrior utter a death shout, as he fell in the forest.

"I reckon they'll keep back a little when they learn how we kin shoot," said Shif'less Sol. "Yes, they're not so close, by at least thirty yards. Now, how foolish that is!"

The Indians fired a dozen shots, but all their bullets flew wild. Then a pattering upon leaves and bark, but neither of the flying two was touched.

"Foolish, so it was," said Henry, "but it was anger too. Now, hark to that, will you!"

The shots were succeeded by a war cry, again on their right, but much nearer than before. Henry took a longing to look at the creek, but if they attempted to ford it the warriors would almost certainly shoot them while swimming. He and his comrade must make a great spurt to escape being cut off by the second force.

"Now, Sol," he said, "you're a good runner. So am I, and we need to fly like deer. You know why."

"I reckon I do."

The speed of the two suddenly increased. They went forward now, as if they were shot from a bow. Fortunately there were no pitfalls. The ground was not strewn with vines and brush to entrap them, and seeing that the two fugitives would be well ahead before the junction of the two bands could be formed, the band behind them sent forth its war whoop. But to Henry with his sensitive ear attuned to every shade of feeling that night the cry was not so full of exultation and triumph as the one before.

"Afraid the trap will fail to shut down on us," he said to the shiftless one.

"I read it that way."

"A little faster, Sol! A little faster! We must make sure!"

Fortunately the creek now curved to the left, which enabled them to draw away from the second band, and both feeling that the crisis was at hand put forth their utmost powers. Under a burst of magnificent speed the ground spun behind them. Trees and bushes flitted past. Then they heard the disappointed yell, as the two bands joined, and the firing of shots that fell short.

"One danger escaped," breathed Henry as they slackened speed.

"But thar's more to come. Still, I'm glad I don't hev to run so fast fur a time. It's fine to be a race horse, but you can't be a racin' all the days an' nights o' your life."

"We must cross the creek some way or other, Sol. I don't think our rock fortress can now be more than ten miles away and we can't afford to bring the warriors down on it."

Shif'less Sol nodded. They kept very near to the creek and he noticed suddenly that the current was shallowing, and had grown much swifter. He inferred that rapids were ahead, but this was surely the place to cross, and he called Henry's attention to it. The bank was about six feet above the water and Henry said instantly:

"Jump, Sol, jump! But be sure that you land squarely on your feet!"

The shiftless one nodded. Certainly a man could not choose a poorer time to turn an ankle. Without stopping speed but balancing himself perfectly he sprang far out, and Henry sprang with him. There were two splashes, as they sank almost to the waists in the water, but they were able to keep their powder and weapons dry, and in an instant they were at the far bank climbing up with all the haste of those who know they are about to become targets for bullets.

They heard the yell of disappointment anew, and then the scattering fire of bullets. Two or three pattered on the stream, but they did not hear the whizz of the others, and in an instant they were safely up the bank and into the forest.

"Hit, Sol?" said Henry.

"Nary a hit. An' you?"

"Untouched."

"Come down straight on your feet in the creek?"

"Straight as straight can be. And you?"

"Split the water like a fish. Wet to the middle, but happy. I reckon we kin slow down a little now, can't we? I'm a good runner, but I wuzn't made up to go forever."

"We'll stop a little while in these bushes until we can get the fresh breath that we need so badly. But you know, Sol, they'll cross the creek, hunt for our trail and follow us."

"Let 'em come. We ain't hemmed in now, an' with a thousand miles o' space to run in I reckon they won't git us."

They lay panting in the bushes a full ten minutes. Then their hearts sank to a normal beat, strength flowed back into their veins, and, rising they stole away, keeping a general course toward the west. They went at a rather easy gait for an hour or more, but when they rested fifteen minutes they heard at the end of that time sounds of pursuit. The warriors were showing their usual tenacity on the trail, and knowing that it was not wise to delay longer they fled again toward the west, though they took careful note of the country as they went, because they intended to come back there again.

Twice the Indian horde behind them gave tongue, sign that the pursuit would be followed to the bitter end, but Henry and the shiftless one now had little fear for themselves. Their chief apprehension was lest they be driven so far to the west they might not return in time to allay the doubts and fears of their comrades.

They soon passed from hills into marshy regions which to their skilled eyes betokened another creek, flowing like its parallel sister into the Ohio. All these creeks overflowed widely in the heavy spring rains, and they judged that the swampy territory had been left by the retreating waters.

"Ez I think I told you before," said Shif'less Sol, "I'm a mighty good runner. But thar are some things I kin do besides runnin'. Runnin' all night, even when you slow up a bit, gits stale. Your mind grows mighty tired o' it even if your feet do plant themselves one after another jest like a machine. Now, my mind is sayin' enough, so I think, Henry, we might git through this swamp, leavin' no trail, o' course, an' rest on some good solid little bit o' land surrounded by a sea o' mud."

"That's right, Sol. It's what we must do, but we must cross to the other side of the creek before we find our oasis."

"Oasis! What's an oasis?"

"It's something, surrounded by something else," Henry explained. "Come on now, Sol. Watch your footing. Don't get yourself any muddier than you can help."

"I'm follerin', steppin' right in your tracks, over which the soft mud draws the minute my foot has left 'em. I'm glad thar are lots o' bushes here, 'cause they'll hide us from any warriors who may be in advance o' the main band."

The creek was not as deep and wide as the other, and they crossed it without trouble. Two hundred yards further on they found a tiny island of firm ground set thick with saplings and bushes, among which they crawled and lay down, until regular breathing came back. Then they scraped the mud off their moccasins and leggings and sat up on the hard earth.

"An' so this is an oasis?" said Shif'less Sol.

"Yes, solid ground, surrounded for a long distance by mud."

"An' with saplin's an' bushes so thick that the sharpest eyed warrior ever born couldn't see into it. Henry, I'm thinkin' that we've found another little home."

"One that hides us from people passing by, but that does not put a roof over our heads or give us food to eat."

"Do you care to rec'lect, Henry, that all our venison is gone?"

"Don't talk to me about it now. I know we'll be hungry soon, but we'll just have to be hungry, and that's all."

"I wish it wuz all. I'm hungry right now, an' I know that the longer I lay here the hungrier I'll git. I'm lookin' ahead, Henry, an' I see the time when we'll hev to shoot a deer, even ef thar are ten thousand warriors in a close ring about us."

"Peep between those vines, Sol, and you can see them now among the bushes on the far side of the creek."

The shiftless one raised himself up a little, and looked in the direction that Henry had indicated. There was sufficient moonlight to disclose four or five warriors who had come to the edge of the swamp and stopped. They seemed at a loss, as the mud had long since sunk back and covered up the trail, and perhaps, also, they hesitated because of the dreaded rifles of the two white men, which might be fired at them from some unsuspected place. As they hesitated another figure emerged from the background and joined them.

"Braxton Wyatt!" said Shif'less Sol. "He must hev been in the second band that come up. Do you think I could reach him with a long shot, Henry?"

"No, and even if you could you mustn't try. We are well hidden now, but a shot would bring them down upon us. Let Braxton Wyatt wait. His time will come."

"Here's hopin' that it'll come soon. I'm beginnin' to feel a sight better, Henry. Lookin' over all that mud they don't dream that the fellers they're lookin' fur are layin' here in this little clump o' bushes, like two rabbits in their nests."

"They won't find us because there is no trail leading here. They'll be searching the forests on the other side, and we can stay here until they go away."

"Which would leave us happy ef I wuzn't so hungry. It's comin' on me strong, Henry, that hungry feelin'. You know that I'm gen'ally a pow'ful feeder."

"I know it, but this is a time when you'll have to resist."

"I ain't so shore. I notice that them that want things pow'ful bad an' go after 'em pow'ful hard are most always them that gits 'em, an' that's me tonight."

"Well, lie close, and we'll see what happens, there's Wyatt within reach of my rifle right now, and it's a strong temptation to put a bullet into him. The temptation is just as strong in me, Sol, as it has been in you."

"Then why don't you do it an' take the chances? We kin git away anyhow."

"For several reasons, Sol. I doubt whether we could get away, and escape is important not only to ourselves—I like my life and you like yours—but to others as well. Besides, I can't draw trigger on Braxton Wyatt from cover. Cruel as he is, and he's worse than the savages, because he's a renegade, I can't forget that we were boys at Wareville together."

"Still your bullet, most likely, would save the life o' many a man an' o' women an' children too. But it's too late anyhow. He's gone, an' them warriors hev gone with him. By the great horn spoon, what wuz that!"

They had now gone to the extreme eastern edge of their little covert and a sudden floundering and gasping there startled them. A large black figure rose up from a dense thicket of alders, pawpaws and small willows and gazed at them a moment or two with frightened red eyes.

"A bear," exclaimed Shif'less Sol. "Oh, Henry, let me shoot! I kin see his steaks fryin' over the coals now. Thar's our supper, settin' on its hind legs not ten feet from us."

"Don't you dare do such a thing!" exclaimed Henry, laughing. "Why, your shot would bring a whole tribe of Indians down upon us!"

"I know it, but I do want that bear, an' I want to put the responsibility o' not gittin' him on you."

"All right. I take it. There he goes and your chance, too, is lost."

The bear threshed out of his den, clattered across the mud flats and entered the forest, whence came in a minute the sound of a shot.

"Thar, the warriors hev got him!" exclaimed Shif'less Sol, deep disappointment showing in his tone, "and in two or three hours they'll be cookin' him. An' he was our bear, too. We saw him first. I could see that he was nice an' fat, even ef it wuz early in the year, an' them steaks belong to us."

"Maybe they did, but we've lost 'em. Now, I think we'd better keep quiet. The Indians are probably far ahead of us, thinking that we've gone that way."

The shiftless one subsided into an indignant silence. The oasis was an ideal place for two situated as they were, and having the wisdom of the woods they remained still and quiet in its cover. But after three or four hours the shiftless one became restless. He was a man of great strength, and despite his lazy manner, of wonderful bodily activity. It took much food to satisfy the demands of that powerful frame, and he was growing hungrier and hungrier. Moreover a light wind began to blow from the west, bringing upon its edge a faint aroma that caused him to sit up and sniff inquiringly. The odor grew stronger, and he no longer had need to ask questions with his nose. He knew, and he knew too well.

"Henry," he said, "thar's our bear jest as I expected. They're cookin' him, an' it's not so fur away either!"

"I think you're right, but we can't help it. We have to be resigned."

"Mebbe we can't help it, an' then ag'in mebbe we kin, but anyway I ain't goin' to be resigned. I'm protestin' all the time, 'cause it's my bear. I saw him first."

The savory odor grew stronger, and the anger and indignation of the shiftless one increased. And with these two emotions came a third which hardened into a resolution.

"Henry," he said, "you're our leader, an' we most always do what you say, but this time I reckon I've decided fur myself what I'm goin' to do. I'm growin' hungrier an' hungrier. Sometimes I put that hunger down but in a minute it bounces back up ag'in stronger than ever. It's my master, gittin' control over ev'ry inch o' me, an' I've got to listen to what it says. I know I'm makin' a long speech, talkin' like an Injun chief at a council, but I've got to explain an' make clear ez day why I'm goin' to do the thing I'm goin' to do."

"Go on, Sol. Talk as much as you please. We've all night before us."

"Which is good. Ez I said, hunger has laid hold o' ev'ry inch o' me, an' is workin' mighty fast. When I git into that state I'm plum' distracted on the question o' food, though it makes me smarter an' more keerful than ever on the ways to git it. I jest wanted to tell you, Henry, that I'm goin' to leave this oasis an' come back with a load o' them bear steaks that rightfully belong to me."

"Have you lost your mind, Sol? You'd be killed and scalped in an hour!"

"I knowed you'd say that. That's the reason I come around to it gradual like, an' in a circle, but Henry, it ain't no use talkin'. I'm goin'. My mind is clean made up. Besides, I won't be scalped an' I won't be killed. Jest you lay down an' afore long I'll be back here with my property."

Henry saw that it was no use to argue. The mind of the shiftless one was made up, and occasionally he could be as resolute as Henry himself.

"If you're bound to go I can't help it," Henry said. "I don't know your plan of action, and I won't ask it, but if you don't come back I'll feel pretty bad, Sol."

"But I'll come back. That's shore. The night has jest this minute turned darker, which is a sign. Darkness is what I need, an' it tells me that I'm goin' to git through."

Henry saw his comrade depart with keen regret. He did not look upon him as lost, because his skill was great. But so was the danger, and he thought the risk was out of proportion to the purpose. But there was nothing more for him to say and he watched the shiftless one as he left the oasis, glided over the mud flat and disappeared in the forest to the west.

Then came a long and painful wait. Twice he heard the warriors, through the medium of the wolf's howl, calling to one another, but he did not believe the cries had any bearing upon the adventure of Shif'less Sol. Then he heard a faint chorus of yells in the western forest, whence his comrade had gone, and he knew that something had happened. He was filled with apprehension, but he could do nothing, except to lie still in the covert.

The yell was not repeated, but he intently watched the edge of the forest on all sides except the west. After a while he saw the faint figure of a man, scarcely a tracery, appear in the north, and then come skipping like a swift shadow across the flat. His heart did not rise merely, but took a sudden jump upward. It was the shiftless one returning to their lair, and doubtless in triumph.

He had not time to think much about it before Shif'less Sol was on the oasis, crouched among the bushes, laughing low, but in a tone that was fairly redolent of triumph.

"I done done it, Henry!" he exulted. "I done done it!"

He held up the hind quarter of a bear that had been cooked to a turn over a bed of coals.

"I haven't tasted it yet," he said, "but jest smell it! Did sech an odor ever afore tickle your nose? Did your mouth ever afore water so much? Here, Henry, fall on!"

He took out his knife, cut off a big piece and handed it to Henry, who began to eat eagerly. Then the shiftless one fell to in like fashion.

"How did you manage it?" he asked.

The shiftless one grinned.

"Didn't I tell you that the sudden darkness wuz a sign favorin' me?" he said. "Paul is always tellin' about them old Greeks an' Romans not goin' into battle till they had talked with the omens, mostly the insides o' cows an' sheep. I believe in signs too. Mine wuz a lot better, an' it worked. I found that they hed jest finished roastin' the bear on the coals, after hevin' dressed him an' cut him into four quarters. 'Pears that most o' 'em hed gone deeper into the woods to look fur somethin'. I come close up in the bushes, an' began a terrible snarlin' an' yelpin' like a hull pack o' wolves. The three that wuz left, the cooks, took torches from the fire, an' run in after me. But I hed flew like lightnin' 'roun' to the other side, jumped in, grabbed up one o' the quarters by the leg, an' wuz away afore they could fairly see what had happened, an' who had made it happen. Then they set up one yell, which I guess you heard, but I kept on flyin' through the woods to the north, curved about, came over the mud flats whar no trail kin last a minute, an' here I am with our bear, or ez much of it ez we want o' him."

"You've done a great deed, Sol. I didn't think you could go through with it, but you have, and this bear is mighty fine."

"He wuz ourn, an' I wuz bound to hev a part o' him."

"We'll put the rest in our knapsacks and there ought to be enough for two days more. It relieves us of a great anxiety, because we couldn't go without food, and we really needed it badly."

"I'm feelin' like two men already. I wonder what the boys are doin' up thar in the holler? A-layin' 'roun' on the stone floor, I s'pose, eatin', drinkin' cold water, an' hevin' a good time."

"But remember their anxiety about us."

"I do. They shorely must hev worried a lot, seein' that we've been gone so long a time. Them are three fine fellers, Henry, Paul with all his learnin' an' his quiet ways, an' Long Jim, with whom I like so pow'ful well to argy an' who likes so pow'ful well to argy with me, ez good a feller ez ever breathed, an' Tom Ross, who don't talk none, givin' all his time to me, but who knows such a tremenjeous lot. We've got to git back to 'em soon, Henry."

Henry agreed with him, and then, having eaten heartily they took turn and turn in sleeping. Their clothing had dried on them, but their blankets had escaped a wetting entirely, and they were able to make themselves comfortable.

In the morning Henry saw that the larger column of smoke was gone, but that the smaller remained, and the fact aroused his curiosity.

"What do you make of it?" he asked Shif'less Sol.

"I draws from it the opinion that the main band with the cannon hez started off into the south, but that part o' the warriors hev stayed behind fur some purpose or other."

"My opinion, too. But why has the big force gone and the small one remained?"

"I can't say. It's too much fur me."

Henry had an idea, but hoping that he was mistaken he did not utter it just then.

"If the big band has started south again," he said, "and the absence of the column of smoke indicates it, then all the Indians in this part of the forest have been drawn off. They've long since lost us, and they wouldn't linger here in the hope of running across us by chance, when the great expedition was already on its way."

"That's sound argument, an' so we'll leave our islan' an' make fur the boys."

They picked a path across the mud flats, recrossed the creek and entered the deep forest, where the two felt as if they had come back to their true home. The wonderful breeze, fresh with a thousand odors of spring in the wilderness, was blowing. It did not come across mud flats, but it came through a thousand miles of dark green foliage, the leaves rippling like the waters of the sea.

"The woods fur me," said Shif'less Sol, speaking in a whisper, with instinctive caution. "I like 'em, even when they're full o' warriors lookin' fur my scalp."

The forest here was very dense, and also was heavy with undergrowth which suited their purpose, as they would be able to approach the hollow, unseen and unheard. Henry still did not like the presence of the smaller column of smoke, and when he reached the crest of their first hill he saw that it was yet rising.

"You had a sign last night, and it was a good one," he said to Shif'less Sol, "but I see one now, and I think it is a bad one."

"We'll go on an' find it."

They approached the hollow rapidly, the forest everywhere being extremely dense, but when they were within less than a mile of it both stopped short and looked at each other.

"You heard it?" said Henry.

"Yes, I heard it."

"It wasn't much louder than the dropping of an acorn, but it was a rifle shot."

"O' course it wuz a rifle shot. Neither you nor I could be mistook about that."

"And you noticed where it came from?"

"Straight from the place where Paul and Tom and Long Jim Hart are."

"Which may mean that their presence has been discovered and that they are besieged."

"That's the way I look at it."

"And we must make a rescue."

"That's true, an' we've got to be so mighty keerful about it that we ain't took an' scalped and burned by the savages, afore we've had a single chance at makin' a rescue."

The thought in the minds of the two was the same. They were sure now from the absence of the larger smoke column that the main force had gone south, but that the smaller had remained to take their comrades, whose presence, by some chance, they had discovered. They lay closely hidden for a while, and they heard the report of a second shot, followed by a mere shred of sound which they took to be an Indian yell, although they were not sure.

"Ef the boys are besieged, an' we think they are," said the shiftless one, "they kin hold out quite a while even without our help. So I think, Henry, we'd better go an' see whether the main camp has broke up an' the cannon gone south. It won't be so hard to find out that, an' then we kin tell better what we want to do."

"You're right, of course," replied Henry. "We'll have to leave our comrades for the time and go to the big camp."

They curved again toward the south and west, keeping to the thickest part of the forest and using every possible device to hide their trail, knowing its full necessity, as the day was brilliant and one, unless under cover, could be seen from afar. Game started up in their path and Henry took it as new proof that the main body of the Indians had gone. Deer, scared away by the hunters, were so plentiful that they would return soon after the danger for them departed. Nevertheless both he and the shiftless one were apprehensive of wandering warriors who might see them from some covert, and their progress, of necessity, was slow.

They came to several grassy openings, in one of which the buffalo were feeding, but Henry and his comrade always passed around such exposed places, even at the cost of greatly lengthening their journey. At one point they heard a slight sound in the forest, and being uncertain whether it was made by an enemy they remained crouched in the thicket at least a half-hour. Then they heard another faint report in the north and their keen ears told them it came from a point near the rocky hollow.

"I can't make anything of it," whispered Henry, "except that the boys are besieged as we feared. I've tried to believe that the shots were fired by Indians at game, but I can't force my belief. The reports all come from the same place, and they mean exactly what we wish they didn't mean."

"But they mean too," said the shiftless one, courageously, "that so long as we hear 'em the boys are holdin' out. The warriors wouldn't be shootin' off their guns fur nothin'."

"That's true. Now, we haven't heard that sound again. It must have been made by a wildcat or a wolf or something of the kind. So let's press on."

The great curve through the forest took them late in the afternoon to the site of the big camp. They were sure, long before they reached it that it had been abandoned. They approached very carefully through the dense woods, and they heard no sound whatever. It was true that a little smoke floated about among the dense leaves, but both were certain that it came from dying fires, abandoned many hours ago.

"You don't hear anything, do you?" asked Henry.

"Not a sound."

"Then they're gone."

Rising from the undergrowth they boldly entered the camp, where perhaps a thousand warriors had danced and sung and feasted and slept for days. Now the last man was gone, but they had left ample trace of their presence. In the wide open space lay the charred coals of many fires, and everywhere were heaps of bones of buffalo, bear, dear and wild turkey. Feathers and an occasional paint box were scattered about.

"The feast before the fight," said the shiftless one. "I've a good appetite myself, but it won't hold a candle to that of a hungry warrior."

A low snarling and a pattering of many feet came from the surrounding forest.

"The wolves," said Henry. "They've been here to glean, and they ran away at our approach."

"An' they'll be back the moment we leave."

"Like as not, but we don't care. Here are the wheel tracks, Sol, and there is the road they've cut through the forest. A blind boy could follow the trail of the cannon, and do you know, Sol, I'm bothered terribly."

"Yes, I know, Henry. We've got to turn back, an' save the boys while them warriors, with the English an' the cannon, are goin' on into the south to attack our people."

"And time is often the most precious of all things."

"So it is, Henry."

Henry sat down on one of the logs and cupped his chin in his hands. The problem presented to him was a terrible one, and he was thinking with all his powers of concentration. Should he and Shif'less Sol follow and continue his efforts to destroy the cannon, or return and help their comrades who might be besieged for a week, or even longer? But it was likely that Paul, Long Jim and Silent Tom, with all their resources of skill and courage, would hold out. In the face of a defence such as they could make it would be almost impossible to force the cleft in the cliff, and they had some food and of course unlimited water.

They could be left to themselves, while Shif'less Sol and he hurried on the trail of the Indian army and made their great attempt. Shif'less Sol watched him, as he sat, his chin sunk in his hand, the deep eyes very thoughtful. Presently both looked at the column of smoke not more than a mile away that marked the presence of the smaller camp, the one that had remained and which was undoubtedly conducting the siege. As they looked they heard once more the faint report of a shot, or its echo coming down the wind. Henry stood up, and there was no longer a look of doubt in his eyes.

"Sol," he said, "those three have been with us in a thousand dangers, haven't they?"

"Nigher ten thousand, Henry."

"And they never left us to look out for ourselves?"

"Never, Henry."

"And they never would do it, either."

"Never. Warriors, an' fires, an' floods, an' earthquakes all together couldn't make 'em do it."

"Nor can they make us. We've got to go back and rescue our comrades, Sol, and then we'll try to overtake their army and destroy the cannon."

"I thought you'd decide that way, Henry. No, I knowed you'd do it."

"Now, we've got to bear back toward the left, and then approach the cliff."

"An' on our way find out jest what the warriors attackin' it are up to."

They began a new trail, and with the utmost exercise of skill and caution undertook to reach their comrades.



CHAPTER IX

THE KEEPERS OF THE CLEFT

Henry and the shiftless one had not gone far, before they were deeply grateful that the undergrowth was so dense. They distinctly heard three shots and twice the war whoop. A small gully, so thickly covered with vines and bushes, that it was almost like a subterranean channel, allowed them to go much nearer. There lying hidden until twilight, they distinctly heard scattered firing, war whoops and then a long piercing shout which had in it the quality of the white man's voice. Shif'less Sol laughed low, but with intense pleasure.

"I can't hear his words," he said, "but I'd know that yell in a million. It's Long Jim's ez shore ez shootin'. It's so pow'ful loud 'cause it's drawed up from a long distance, an' when it does come free it comes a-poppin'. It's Jim tellin' them warriors what he thinks of 'em. He's tellin' 'em what scalawags they are, an' how their fathers an' mothers an' grandfathers an' grandmothers afore 'em wuz ez bad or wuss. He's tellin' 'em they're squaws painted up to look like men, an' ez he talks Shawnee an' Miami they're hoppin' mad."

Henry even could not refrain from laughing. It was Long Jim's voice beyond a doubt, and his note of triumph showed that he and his comrades were safe—so far. Evidently he was in great fettle. His words shot forth in a stream and Henry knew that the savages were writhing in anger at his taunts. The report of a rifle came suddenly and echoed through the darkening forest. When the last echo died there was a moment of silence, and then to their welcome ears came the voice of Long Jim again, pouring forth a stream of taunt and invective with undiminished speed and power.

"Ain't he the great one?" whispered Shif'less Sol, admiringly. "Didn't I tell you that voice o' his was so strong 'cause it come up so fur. An' did you ever hear him do better? Thar ain't a word in the hull Shawnee an' Miami languages that he hasn't used on 'em an' a sprinkling o' Wyandot an' Delaware too. They're so mad I kin see 'em bitin' their lips an' t'arin' at thar scalp locks. Good old Jim, give it to 'em!"

The voice went on a quarter of an hour with amazing force and speed. Then it ceased abruptly and silence and darkness together came over the woods. Henry and his comrade debated as they lay in the little gully. Should they try to get in to their comrades? Or should they try to get their comrades out? Either would be a most difficult task, but as the night deepened, and they talked they came to a decision.

"It has to be me," said Henry.

"I s'pose so," said Sol, regretfully. "You're the likeliest hand at it, but you always take the most dangerous part. It's nothin' fur me to lay 'roun' here in the night till you fellers come."

Henry's smile was invisible in the dusk.

"Of course, Sol," he said, "you run no risk. I read once in a book, that our teacher had at Wareville, about an outdoor amusement they called a lawn festival. That's what you're going to have, a lawn festival. While I'm gone you'll walk about here and pick flowers for bouquets. If any savage warrior wanting your scalp should come along he'd change his mind at once, and help you make your bouquet."

"Stop your foolishness, Henry. You know it ain't no hard job fur me to hang 'bout in the woods an' keep out o' danger."

"Yes, but you may have a lot to do when you hear the signals. Keep as close as you reasonably can, Sol, and if we come out and give the howl of the wolf you answer, according to our custom, and we'll know which way to run."

"All right, Henry. I won't be sleepin'. Thar they are shootin' ag'in, but not doin' any yellin'. So they haven't hit anythin'. Good-bye, an' rec'lect that I'll be waitin' here."

Strong hands clasped in the darkness and Henry slipped away on his perilous mission, reaching without event the valley that the cliff overlooked. Then he used all the caution and skill that the superman of the forest possessed, creeping closer and closer and ever closer, until he could see, despite the darkness, the painted forms of Miami and Shawnee warriors in the thickets, all looking up at the point where the crevice in the cliff was practically hidden by the foliage. It was an average night, quiet and dark up there, but Henry knew that three pairs of good eyes in the coign of the crevice were watching everything that went on below.

He crouched lower and lower, until he blended with earth and thicket and still watched. He saw one of the warriors raise his rifle and fire at the hidden mark. Then he heard two impacts of the bullet, first as it struck upon stone, and then as glancing, it fell among the leaves. Out of the mouth of the fissure came a great booming voice, speaking Shawnee and ridiculing their lack of skill with the rifle.

The voice said that if they did not improve in their firing he would come outside, sit in the best moonlight he could find, and let them take turns at him as a target. He would even mark off spots on his chest and offer prizes to any one who might hit them, but he knew very well that none of them would ever succeed. If he had a six-year-old boy who should do as badly as they were doing he would take him away and whip him with willow switches.

Henry, lying close in his covert, laughed inwardly. Long Jim was in good form. Upon occasion he had a wonderful command of language, and the present occasion was better than any other that Henry could remember. Events, chief of which was a successful defense, had inspired in him a wonderful flow of language. His great sonorous voice again pealed out wrath, defiance and contempt.

"Oh, you dogs! sons uv dogs! an' grandsons uv dogs!" he shouted. "Why don't you come an' take us? Here we are, only a few, jest settin' an' waitin' fur you! An' thar are twenty or more uv you! Oh, you Shawnees an' Miamis, an' Wyandots, why are you waitin' down thar when jest a few uv us are up here, ready to give you welcome? I don't think you're re'lly warriors. You're jest old squaws painted up to look like 'em, an' the real fightin' men uv your tribe are at home, asleep in the lodges, afraid to face the bullets uv the white men, while they send thar old women here to make a noise!"

Henry laughed again that soundless laugh behind his teeth. He read everything as plainly as if it had been written in a book before him. Nobody in the stony hollow had been hurt, else Long Jim's voice would not have been so exultant. They were confident, too, that they could hold the narrow opening indefinitely, else he would not have sent forth such intolerable taunts. He made his position a little easier and again laughed deep in his throat and with unction. He had never known Long Jim to be in finer form. Shif'less Sol was the acknowledged orator of the five, but tonight the cloak of inspiration was spread over the shoulders of Long Jim Hart.

"Why don't you come into our little house?" he shouted. "It's a nice place, a warm place, an' the rain can't git at you here. Won't you walk into our parlor, ez the spider said to the fly! It's a good place, better than any wigwam you've got, nice an' warm, with a roof that the rain can't get through, an' plenty of cool runnin' water! An' ef you want our scalps you'd never find grander heads uv ha'r. They're the finest an' longest an' thickest that ever grew on the head uv man. They're jest waitin' to be took. Any warrior who took one uv 'em would be made a chief right away. Why don't you come on an' git 'em? It can't be that you're afraid, you Shawnees and Miamis an' Delawares an' Wyandots. Here's our gyarden, jest waitin' fur you, the door open an' full uv good things. Why don't you come on? Ef I had a dog an' told him to run after a b'ar cub an' he wouldn't run I'd kill him fur a coward!"

Henry heard a roar of rage from the thickets, and once more he laughed behind his teeth. Long Jim Hart was still in his grandest form, and although many Indian chiefs were great orators, masters of taunt and satire, Long Jim, inspired that night, was the equal of their best. The gift of tongues had come to him.

"I heard a noise down thar in the holler!" he shouted. "Wuz it made by warriors, men? No! it wuz dogs barkin' an' crows cawin' an' wolves whinin' an' rabbits squeakin'. Sech ez them would never come up ag'in a white man's rifle. I hear the wind blowin' too, but it don't bring me no sound 'cept that uv dogs barkin', low-down curs that would run away from a chipmunk with their tails atween their legs. I'm gittin' mighty tired now uv waitin' fur them that called theirselves warriors, but are nothin' but old squaws in war paint. Ef I don't hear from 'em ag'in soon I'll go to sleep an' leave here my little boy, ten years old, to meet 'em with a switch ez they come up."

There was another roar of rage from the brush, and Henry said under his breath:

"Well done, Long Jim! Well done, twice and again!"

Long Jim now softened his voice and began to beg.

"Why don't you come up here, you red Indian fellers?" he cried. "All my friends, knowin' thar is no danger, hev gone to sleep, leavin' me to welcome the guests, when they stan' afore our door. I'm waitin'! I've been waitin' a long time, an' ef you don't come soon I'll hev to go to sleep leavin' you outside our door."

The Indians were always susceptible to oratory and now another shout of rage came from them. The taunts of Long Jim were too much, and a dozen dusky forms sprang from the undergrowth and rushed up the slope. There was a puff of smoke from the cleft in the cliff and the foremost warrior fell, shot squarely through the forehead. A second puff and a second warrior was gone to a land where the hunting is always good. Before such accurate shooting with only the moonlight to aid, the other warriors shrank back appalled, and quickly hid themselves in the undergrowth.

"Good boys! Good boys!" exclaimed Henry under his breath. "Splendid shooting! They're bold warriors who will now face the Keepers of the Pass."

All the warriors save the two who had been slain were hidden in the dense thicket or behind stony outcroppings, and again the tremendous voice of Long Jim floated on waves of air above them.

"Why don't you keep comin'?" he shouted. "I invited you to come an' you started, but you've stopped! Everythin' is waitin' fur you, all the gaudy Roman couches that my friend Paul has told me about, an' the gushin' fountains, an' the wreaths uv rose leaves to wrap aroun' your necks, an' the roses droppin' from the ceilin' on the table loaded with ven'son, an' turkey, an' wild pigeons, an' rabbits an' more other kinds uv game than I kin tell you about in a night. Why don't you come on an' take the big places you're invited to at our banquet, you miserable, low-down, sneakin', wrinkled old squaws!"

A wild yell of rage came once more from the bushes, and again Henry laughed deep in his throat. He knew how the taunt stung the Indians, and Long Jim's eloquence, the dam now having been taken down, flooded on.

"Here, you red-skinned barbarians!" he shouted. "Come into our house an' we'll teach you how to live! The tables are all set an' the couches are beside 'em. The hummin' birds' tongues are done to a turn an' the best singers an' dancers are all on hand to entertain you!"

Henry knew that Jim's patter had come from Paul's stories of the old Romans, and now he was applying it with gusto to the wild scene lost in the vast green wilderness. But he was sure that the Indians would not return to a headlong charge. The little fortress in stone was practically impregnable to frontal attack and they would resort instead to cunning and subterfuge.

"Ain't you comin'!" thundered the voice of Long Jim. "I hev done give you an invite to the banquet an' you stop an' hang 'roun' thar in the woods, whar I can't see you. Five minutes more an' the invites are all withdrawed. Then the eatin' an' the singin' an' the playin' will all go on without you, an' ef you are found hangin' 'roun' our door I'll hev the dogs to chase you away."

No answer came from the woods, but Henry knew how the hearts of the warriors were consumed with rage. Those whom they wished to take were so near and so few and yet they held an almost invincible fortress. Rage stabbed at the Indian heart.

Long Jim continued his taunts for some time, speaking both Shawnee and Miami, and also a little Wyandot and Delaware. His vocabulary acquired a sudden richness and depth. He called them names that implied every manner of cowardice and meanness. Their ancestors had been buzzards feeding on offal, they themselves were mangy, crippled and deformed, and, when the few that were left alive by the white men returned home, they would be set to work cooking, and caring for the lodges. When they died they would return to the base forms of their ancestors. They would be snakes and toads and turtles, and the animals that walked on four legs and looked straight before them would laugh at them whenever they saw them.

Long Jim had never before been so eloquent, and never before had his voice been so unctuous. He thundered forth challenges and insults after the Indian fashion. He told them that he and his comrades found it a poor amusement to fight with such men, but when they finished with their eating and drinking and sleeping they might go north to the Indian villages and whip the warriors in the presence of their squaws with willow switches. Meanwhile they intended to sleep and rest, but if any of the old women out there came into their cavern and annoyed their slumbers he would chase every one of them out with a switch.

Henry laughed long in his throat. Long Jim was proving himself a forest warrior of the first quality. It was the way of the woods, and these taunts stung the red men to the quick. He knew that they were lying in the bushes, their hearts beating heavily with anger and the hot breath burning their lips. Two, unable to restrain themselves, fired, but their bullets merely rebounded from the stone walls of the grotto, and the defenders did not deign to answer.

Then came a long period of silence and Henry made himself as small and obscure as possible, lest the warriors, moving about, might see him. But, fortunately the night had now turned quite dark, and where eyes might fail his acute sense of hearing would reveal the approach of any enemy. But as he lay close he again laughed inwardly more than once. The three were certainly holding the grotto in most gallant fashion, and Long Jim was fast becoming one of the greatest orators of the woods. He did not believe that the Indians could carry the fortress, but to get them out and away was another and much harder problem.

Absolute silence save for the whispering of a light wind through the leaves came over the forest. The night, to Henry's great joy, grew much darker. No sound came from the room in the cliff, nor did any come from the Indians in the thickets. Apparently the whole place was a wilderness, as lone and desolate as it was when it first emerged from the sea. Nowhere was the sign of a human being visible, but Henry knew that vigilant eyes watched at the mouth of the stone cleft and that eyes equally as keen peered continually from the thickets.

But he meant to join his comrades before dawn. He did not know yet just how he would do it, but such was his confidence that he felt quite sure he would be with his comrades before the rising of the sun.

Luckily the forest and thickets in the valley were extremely dense, enabling him to lie within a couple of hundred yards of the besieging force, and not fear detection. His figure in its green clothing blended perfectly with the green bushes.

The night turned colder, and after a while a chilly drizzle began to fall. Henry, hardened to all kinds of weather, and intent upon his task, took no note of it, except to be glad that it had come, because it would further his aims. Night and storm might enable him to slip past the besiegers and join his friends.

But the Indians, who do not despise comfort when there is no danger in it, gathered in a cup in the side of the hill, beyond rifle shot from the hollow, and built a fire. Henry, from his lair in the bushes, saw them distinctly, about thirty warriors, mostly of the Shawnee tribe, with their head chief, Red Eagle himself, present as a leader, and the two renegades Braxton Wyatt and Blackstaffe. Henry noted Blackstaffe and Wyatt closely and his heart thrilled with anger that they should turn against their own people and use the tomahawk and scalping knife, and even stand beside the stake to witness their slow death by the torture of fire.

Blackstaffe[A] was one of the worst of all the renegades, second only to Girty in cruelty and cunning, a scourge of the border destined to meet his fate from an avenging bullet years later, just after the Fallen Timbers, where Wayne crushed the allied tribes. Now he was a young man, tall, heavily built and tanned almost as dark as an Indian by weather. He and Braxton Wyatt had become close friends, and both stood high in the councils of the Indians. Henry saw them clearly now, outlined against the firelight, engaged in close talk with the middle-aged Shawnee chief, Red Eagle.

[Footnote A: The fate of Blackstaffe is told in the author's novel, "The Wilderness Road."]

Henry had much more respect for Red Eagle than for the renegades. The Indian might be cruel, he might delight in the terrible sufferings he inflicted upon a captured enemy, but it was the immemorial custom of his race and, in fighting the white people, he was fighting those who would some day, far distant though it might be, turn the great hunting grounds into farms. Henry, so much a son of the wild himself, could understand him, but for the renegades he had no sympathy whatever. In all lands and in all the history of the world renegades have been hated and detested.

He judged by the fact that the head chief of the Shawnees and the two renegades had remained that they considered the taking of the little fort in the cliff of great importance. Doubtless they imagined that all of the five were now inside, and it would rejoice the heart of Shawnee and Miami alike if they could slay them all, or better still, take them alive, and put them to the torture. There were some old defeats that yet galled and stung, and for which revenge would be sweet. Henry recalled these things and he knew that the siege would be close and bitter.

The Indians, feeling secure from any enemy, presently sat in a circle about the fire, drawing their blankets over their shoulders to protect themselves from the drizzling rain. Henry surmised that several warriors were on watch near the mouth of the cave, and that those in the main body would take their ease before the coals. His surmise proved to be correct, as they appeared to relax and to be talking freely. They also took venison from deerskin pouches and ate. It reminded Henry that he was hungry and he too took out and ate a portion of Shif'less Sol's stolen bear steak that he had saved.

He did not move for another hour. Meanwhile the wind rose, driving the drizzling rain like sleet, and moaning down the gorge. Save for the Indians crouched around the fire no more desolate scene might have been witnessed on the continent. The old, primeval world had come back, and forgotten monsters ranged the woods while man, weaponless save for his club, crouched in his cave and listened with terror to the snarls of the great animals, so much more powerful than himself.

It seemed to him then, when the influence of the wilderness and its immensity and desolation were so strong, that he might have lived in some such time himself, ages and ages ago. It might have been the stories of Paul or it might have been some dim heritage from a dimmer past that made him, as he lay there under the soaking bushes, call up visions of the great beasts that once stalked the earth, the mammoth and the mastodon, the cave bear, the saber-toothed tiger, gigantic leopards and hyenas, and back of them the terrific stegosaurus in his armor-like hide and all his awful kin. Henry was glad that he had not lived in such a time.

The fire, even though it was that of men who would gladly scalp him and torture him to death, brought back the present and the living and throbbing realities of life. With his rifle he was more than a match for any beast that roamed the North American wilderness, and in cunning and craft he could meet the savages at their own game.

Apparently the Indians around the fire had now ceased to talk. They sat in a circle, bent a little forward, and some had drawn their blankets over their heads. The fire was a great mass of coals and Henry knew that it threw out an abundant heat. He envied them a little. He was just beginning to feel the effects of the cold rain, but their bodies glowed with warmth.

Meantime the roaring of the wind in the valley was growing and in the confined space there were many tones in its voice, now a shriek, and now a howl. In spite of himself the ancient monsters of the primeval world came back again and these were the sounds they uttered in their rage. He shuddered a little, then shook himself and by the mere power of will forced the return of the present.

He reckoned that the time had come for him to make his attempt. Doubtless the sentinels were on the slope near the mouth of the cleft, but they must be chilled to some extent by the cold rain, and, after such a long silence, would naturally relax their vigilance. He had protected his weapons from the rain with his buckskin hunting shirt, and he flexed his arms and muscles to see that they had not grown stiff from such a long stay in one position.

He began to creep through the bushes to the bottom of the valley and then up the slope toward the little fortress, and in the task he called into play all his natural and acquired powers. An eye looking down would have taken him for a large animal stalking his prey with infinite cunning and cleverness. The bushes scarcely moved as he passed, and he made no sound but the faintest sliding motion, audible only four or five feet away.

The strain upon his body was very great. He did not really crawl, but edged himself forward with a series of muscular efforts. It was painfully slow, but it was necessary, because the Indian ears were acute, and the rustling of a bush or the breaking of a twig would draw their instant attention.

As he drew himself slowly on, like a great serpent, he watched for the Indian sentinels, and at last he saw one, a Shawnee warrior crouched in the lee of a huge tree trunk to shelter himself from the driving rain, but always looking toward the mouth of the hollow in the cliff.

Henry, inch by inch, bore away and curved about him. Twice he thought the sentinel had heard something unusual, but in each case he lay flat and silent, while the wind continued to shriek down the valley, driving the chill rain before it. Each time the suspicions of the watcher passed and Henry moved slowly on, infinite patience allied with infinite skill. If there was anything in heredity and reincarnation he was the greatest tracker and hunter in that old primeval world, where such skill ranked first among human qualities. As always with him, his will and courage rose with the danger. Crouched in the bush fifteen feet away he looked at the warrior, a powerful fellow, brawny in the chest but thin in the legs, as was usual among them. The Indian's eyes swept continuously in a half circle, but they did not see the great figure lying so near, and holding his life on the touch of a trigger.

Henry laughed deep in his throat. All the wild blood in him was alive and leaping. He even felt a certain exultation in the situation, one that would have appalled an ordinary scout and stalker, but which drew from him only supreme courage and utmost mastery in woodcraft. He felt within him the supreme certainty that he would succeed, and bending away from the sentinel he resumed that slow, sliding motion.

He was sure that he would find on his right another warrior on watch, and, as he was moving in that direction, he looked closely. He saw him presently, a tall fellow, standing erect among some bushes, his rifle in the crook of his arm. He seemed discontented with his situation—even the savage can get too much of cold and wet—and presently he moved a little further to the right, as if he would seek some sort of shelter from the rain. Then Henry crept straight forward toward the fortress of his friends, a scant fifty yards away.

But he did not assume that he had yet succeeded. He knew how thoroughly the Indians kept watch upon a foe, whom they expected to take, and there must be other sentinels, or at least one, and bearing that fact in mind his progress became still slower. He merely went forward inch by inch, and he was so careful that the bushes above him did not shake. All the while his eyes roved about in search of that lone last sentinel whom he was sure the Indians had posted near the entrance, in order to check any attempt at an escape.

Although it was very dark his eyes had grown used to it and he could see some distance. Yet his range of vision was not broken by the figure of any warrior, and he began to wonder. Could the vigilance of the savages have relaxed? Was it possible that they were keeping no guard near the entrance? While he was wondering he crept directly upon the sentinel.

He was a huge savage, inured to cold and wet and he had lain almost flat in the grass. Hearing a slight sound scarce a yard away he turned and the eyes of red forest runner and white forest runner looked into one another. Henry was the first to recover from his surprise and the single second of time was worth diamonds and rubies to him. Dropping his rifle he reached out both powerful hands and seized the warrior. The loud cry of alarm that had started from the chest never got past the barrier of those fingers, and the compressing grasp was so deadly that the Indian's hands did not reach for tomahawk or knife. Instead they flew up instinctively and tried to tear away those fingers of iron. But the man of old might as well have tried to escape from the jaws of the saber-toothed tiger.

The great forest runner was exerting all his immense strength, and he was nerved, too, by the imminent danger to his friends and himself. No slightest sound must escape from the red throat. A single cry would reach the warriors below, and then the whole yelling pack would be upon him. The warrior's hands grasped his wrists and pulled at them frantically. He was a powerful savage with muscles like knotted ropes, but there was no man in all the wilderness who could break that grasp. His breath came fitfully, his face became swollen and then Henry, turning him over on his back, took his fingers away.

The warrior was not dead, but he would revive slowly and painfully and for days there would be ten red and sore spots on his throat, where the fingers had sunk in. An ordinary scout would have thrust his knife at once into the heart of the warrior. It would have been the safest way, but Henry could not do it. He saw the great chest of the savage trembling as the breath sought a way to his lungs. He took his rifle, powder horn, bullet pouch, tomahawk and knife, and, bending low in the foliage, ran swiftly for the mouth of the cave.

He was quite confident that the fallen warrior was the last sentinel, and as he approached the entrance he called again and again in a loud whisper:

"Don't fire! Don't fire! It's me, Henry!"

At last came the whisper in reply:

"All right, Henry, we're waitin'."

He recognized the voice of Silent Tom, and the next instant he was inside, his hand and that of Tom Ross meeting in a powerful grasp, while Paul and Long Jim, aroused from sleep, expressed their delight in low words and strong handshakes.

"How in thunder did you git in, Henry?" asked Long Jim.

"I was brought in a sedan chair by four strong Indians, Wyatt walking on one side and Blackstaffe on the other as an escort. I told them that of all places in the world this was the one to which I wished most to come, and they put me down at the door, their modesty compelling them to withdraw."

"It's mighty good to see you again, Henry, no matter how you got here," said Paul. "Where is Sol?"

"Safe outside, just as I'm safe inside. I think I'll let him know that I've been successful."

Standing just within the entrance he emitted the long-drawn howl of the wolf, piercing and carrying singularly far. They waited a moment or two in breathless silence, and then on the edge of the shrieking wind came a similar reply, fierce, long and snarling. Henry gave the howl again and as before came the answer in like fashion. It was the wilderness signal, made complete.

"It's Sol," Henry said. "I know now that he's there, and he knows that I'm here. The first part of our task is done."

A yell of rage and disappointment came from the valley below. It was so fierce that the air seemed to pulse with angry waves.

"What's the matter down there, I wonder," exclaimed Paul.

"Before I could get in here," replied Henry, "I had to choke the breath out of one of their best warriors. I fancy he has just come to and has told the others."

Then the war cry died away and there was nothing but the shriek of the wind that drove drops of rain into the opening.

"How long have you been besieged here?" asked Henry.

"Today and tonight," replied Paul. "Either they struck our trail or some one of them may have been in this grotto once. At any rate a band started up here and we were compelled to fire into 'em. That's our history, since. What have you seen?"

"The main army has gone south with the cannon, but Red Eagle, Braxton Wyatt and Blackstaffe are here. If they can't rush us they'll at least hold us three or four days, or try mighty hard. But I want a drink of water I hear trickling over there. I'm thirsty from all the crawling and creeping I've done."

He knelt and drank deep at the pure little stream.

"Now, Henry," said Silent Tom, "sence you've come I reckon you're mighty tired. You've been trampin' about in the woods a heap. So jest stretch out an' go to sleep while we watch."

"I don't mind if I do," replied Henry, who at last was beginning to feel the effects of his immense exertions. "How are you fellows fixed for food?"

"This ain't no banquet hall an' we ain't settin' dinners fur kings," replied Long Jim, "but we've got enough to last a good while. Afore they found out we wuz here Tom went out one night an' killed a deer an' brought him in. While he wuz gone I took the trouble to gather some wood, which is in the back part uv the place, but 'cause o' smoke an' sech we ain't lighted any fire, an' no part of the deer hez been cooked."

"I brought a big piece of bear myself," said Henry, unhooking it from his back, "and it was cooked by an Indian, the best cook in all these woods except you, Jim. He wasn't willing for me to take it, but here it is."

Long Jim deposited it carefully in a corner and covered it with leaves.

"Ef people always brought somethin' when they come visitin'," he said, "they'd shorely be welcome ez you are, Henry."

But before he lay down Henry listened a while at the fortress mouth, and the others listened with him. If they heard shots it would indicate that the Indians in some manner had caught sight of Shif'less Sol and were pursuing him. But no sound came out of the vast dark void, save the shriek of the wind and the beat of the rain. Henry had no doubt that the warrior whom he had choked nearly to death was now with his comrades, raging for vengeance, and yet he had been spared when few in like case would have shown him mercy.

The wilderness, black, cold and soaking, looked unutterably gloomy, but he felt no worry about those whom he had left behind. The shiftless one like himself was a true son of the wilderness and he would be as clever as a fox in finding a warm, dry hole. They had forged the first link in their intended chain, and Henry felt the glow of success.

"I think I'll go to sleep now," he said. "I'm pretty well soaked with the rain, but I managed to keep my blanket dry. If the warriors attack, Jim, wake me up in time to put on my clothes. I wouldn't like to go into a battle without 'em."

He removed his wet buckskins and spread them out on the stone floor to dry. Then he wrapped himself in his blanket, raked up some of the dry leaves as a couch, and lay down, feeling a double glow, that of warmth and that of success. What a glorious place it was! All things are measured by contrast. After the black and cold wilderness, swarming with dangers, this was the other extreme. The Caesar in his palace hall and the Persian under his vaulted dome could not feel so much comfort, nor yet so much luxury, as Henry in this snug and warm room in the stone with his brave and faithful friends around him.

Truly it was a noble place! He heard the trickle of the little stream, like a jet of water flowing over marble, and into a marble fountain. Above him was a stone ceiling, carved by the ages, and beneath him was a stone floor made by the same master hand. The leaves were very soft to one so thoroughly hardened of body as he, and the blanket was warm. The roaring of the wind outside was turned to music here, and it mingled pleasantly with the trickle of the little stream.

While the forest runner was capable of tremendous and long exertions, he also had acquired the power of complete relaxation when the time came. Now all of Henry's nerves were quiet, a deep peace came over him quickly, and he slept.



CHAPTER X

BESIEGED

Henry did not awake the next day after his usual fashion, that is with all his faculties and senses alert, for the strain on him had been so great that the process required a minute or two. Then he looked around the little fortress which so aptly could be called a hole in the wall. Many dried leaves had been brought in and placed in five heaps, the fifth for Shif'less Sol when he should come. The dressed deer, rolled in leaves, lay at the far end. The little stream was trickling away, singing its eternal pleasant song, and a bright shaft of sunlight, entering, illuminated one part of the cave but left the other in cool dusk.