More than that, it was almost upon him. Only by dextrous work could he save himself from being run down. Less than a dozen feet separated them.



Glancing at the frightful object, the Shawanoe observed the figure of a sturdy, broad-shouldered man, standing near the bow with his rifle in his grasp. The sight was more than he could stand. With a frantic sweep of his paddle he drove the canoe like a swallow against the bank, leaped out and dashed into the woods.

"Dat chap acts as dough he am scared," remarked Jethro, in doubt whether or not to fire; "de next time, I 'spose, I oughter shoot fust and den make my obspectful inquiries afterward."

The incident was hardly over when to the surprise and disappointment of the youth the progress of the boat began to slacken, soon ceased, and then it slowly floated down stream. The wind had died out more suddenly than it had risen. He quickly dropped the anchor overboard.

"Wonder how fur I've come," he thought, peering at the bank and unable to locate himself; "reckon I must hab come fifteen or twenty miles—but dat can't be either, for de folks at de block-house would hab seen me if I didn't see dem—hulloa! dat chap must tink he knows me; it ain't him after all."

The canoe which had shot under the bank so suddenly, now emerged again and paddled straight towards the flatboat, only a short distance away. The action so startled the dusky youth that he would have acted upon his own suggestion of firing before asking any questions, had he not perceived that the occupant was a white man.

"Dat can't be Mr. Kenton or Boone," mused Jethro, closely studying the stranger. "No, it am somebody dat hasn't de honor ob my obquaintance. Him and me ain't neber met afore."

As the individual came closer and was more plainly shown in the dim moonlight, he was seen to be a sturdy man in middle life, dressed much the same as Mr. Ashbridge and Altman—that is, with more regard for the fashions of the age than was shown by men like Boone and Kenton.

"Good evening," he called, nodding his head in salutation; "may I come aboard?"

"Who am yo'? Am yo' name Girty?" asked Jethro, in doubt whether to permit the man to join him, now that his canoe was near enough to permit him to do so. His appearance was pleasing, and his voice had a hearty ring about it, but the African, since he was master of the situation, felt he could not be too careful of his company.

The stranger laughed at the question asked him, and replied:

"Bless me, that's the first time I was ever taken for Mr. Girty. You seem to be alone on the boat."

Jethro suspected this to be a trick meant to make him unmask his weakness. He was not to be caught that way.

"No, sah! dar's whar yo's mistooken, sah. Dan'l Kenton and Simon Boone, and 'leven oder gemman am in dis boat wid me, and if yo'——"

"Tut, tut," interrupted the stranger, with another laugh, so genial in its character that it disarmed the youth.

"'Scoose me; I meant to say dat dem folks would like to be wid me."

"My son, you and I are the best of friends; you surely have no misgiving regarding me; my name is Finley."

And, with this remark, he stepped over the gunwale and cordially shook the hand of Jethro, who was won by his looks and manner. He helped fasten the canoe at the side of the flatboat, and invited the visitor to seat himself upon the remaining sheets at the stern, an invitation that was so agreeably accepted that Jethro was certain he had never met so delightful a gentleman.

There may be some among my readers who have recognized the name of the man who paddled out in the canoe as among the most honored in the early history of the West. He was James B. Finley, the famous missionary, whose career is one of the brightest pages among the many stained by cruelty, vice and crime. For years he carried his life in his hands, traversing the vast stretches of wilderness with rifle over his shoulder, living on the game brought down by his own marksmanship, or what he could obtain in the lodges of the red men or the cabins of the pioneers. He slept in the woods, freezing by the lonely campfire, or sweltering in the smothering heat of the summer sun.

And wherever this devoted man went, he carried the message of his Master. He labored unceasingly in His vineyard, illustrating precept by his own example, and winning many to the right way, not only among the rough bordermen, but from among the fierce warriors themselves.

Without turning aside in this place to refer more fully to Rev. Mr. Finley, the interesting fact should be recalled that it was under his exhortation that Simon Kenton, years subsequent to the events we are now recording, professed conversion, and became a deeply devout man.

The missionary showed his tact by making no reference to the tremendous falsehood he had just brought home to Jethro Juggens.

Laying his hand in a fatherly way upon the shoulder of the youth, he remarked:

"You will believe me, my son, when I tell you I am surprised."

"Yes, I offen s'prise folks."

"What is your name, please?"

Jethro answered all his questions truthfully and respectfully, so that in a few minutes the gentleman gained a fair understanding of the incidents in which the colored youth had been involved during the past few days, and which placed him in his present extraordinary situation.

"I have seen a great many flatboats pass down the river," remarked Mr. Finley, at the close of the interesting narrative, "but this is the first time I ever saw any go up stream."

"Yes, I tinked I'se begun de fashine."

"But why is it you are at rest?"

"'Cause de anchor am drapped overboard."

"But don't you notice that the wind is blowing again, and the boat will move readily."

Jethro had not observed the fact until his friend reminded him of it. Then he made haste to hoist the anchor, and once more the flatboat resumed its singular voyage up the Ohio.



CHAPTER XX.

WAR'S STRATEGY.

Even after considerable more conversation than has been recorded, Jethro Juggens and the missionary had much to learn of each other.

The youth was especially puzzled to understand how it was that almost immediately following the flight of the Shawanoe in the extremity of panic, the good man should have paddled out to the flatboat in the canoe that had been so hurriedly deserted.

"That was a curious circumstance," said Mr. Finley, musingly; "sit down beside me and I will tell you about it."

"I's bery glad to do so," replied Jethro, placing himself at a respectful distance from the good man, "if you don't tink I had better keep a lookout dat we don't run by the block-house afore we knows it."

"My dear boy, we are still a long way from that. Have no fear. From what you have told me I see you understand that sad times are coming between the white people and the Indians of this region."

"Yes, sah."

"I and many of my friends have been expecting it for weeks and months past, and have done all we could to prevent the dreadful state of things that is now at hand."

"How was it you tried to prevent it?" asked Jethro, feeling that he ought to say something when the missionary paused; "was yo' idee to get all de Injuns togeder, tie' em fast to de trees, and den let the trees fall down on 'em and mash 'em?"

"No, we had a better plan than that," gravely replied the missionary, making sure the youth did not see the flitting smile; "I went among the different tribes and talked with the chiefs and leaders, and strove in every way possible to show them not only the wickedness of going upon the war-path, but that in the end they themselves must be the chief sufferers."

Jethro Juggens turned his head and stared at the speaker in amazement.

"And did yo' go right 'mong de heathen all alone by yo'self?"

"That's the only way in which I could have gone. They would not have allowed me to have any companions, for that would have shown I distrusted them."

"Wal, didn't yo' obstrust them?" inquired the youth, to whom the whole business was a mystery.

"I cannot deny that I felt I was in danger of violence at times, but when I took up the work of my Master I expected that, and therefore was not disappointed. If it was the will of Heaven that I should yield my life at any time, I was always ready. You know, my son, that that is the true way to live."

"Yes, sah."

"So it never caused me any discomfort. The only uneasiness a person should feel is whether he is ready for the call when it comes. Well, to return to what you asked me about, it soon became clear to me that the worst sort of trouble was at hand. The Indians have defeated the expeditions sent against them, until many believe our government is not strong enough to conquer them. They need a crushing defeat, just such as I am sure the next battle will be, before we can secure a lasting peace for the frontier. I was engaged in this business when I approached the Ohio this evening. At the moment of reaching the river I caught sight of this boat and the ingenious arrangement you have made. I saw the terrified Indian whom you hailed dash to shore and flee in mortal fright into the woods.

"There was not enough light for me to recognize him," continued the missionary, speaking as though every person, American and Caucasian, in that vast region was an acquaintance. "I called to him, but he paid no heed, and inasmuch as he had left his canoe behind him and I wished to cross the river, I thought I might as well call upon you."

"What yo' want to cross de riber fur?" asked Jethro, without reflecting that his question approached impertinence.

"Just now, I am looking for a chief known as Wa-on-mon, or, as his own people call him, The Panther."

"Do yo' know dat debbil?" demanded the amazed youth, springing to his feet and looking down in the face of the surprised missionary, who replied:

"I have known him a good many years, have slept in his lodge, have fondled his two children, have hunted with him, and placed my life in his hands times without number."

Jethro could hardly express his astonishment at this information. Aside from what he had seen of the fierce chieftain, he could not forget the character given him by Simon Kenton. In his way, he related the proposed duel to the death between the ranger and the leader of the Shawanoes.

Mr. Finley listened with the deepest interest, for he felt a strong attachment to both of the parties, and he cherished the hope that the fearful personal encounters between them would give way, sooner or later, to a more charitable, if not to a gentler feeling.

"De reason de fout didn't take place," explained Jethro, "was 'cause de Panther got scared and runned away."

The reply was, in effect, that which was made by Daniel Boone when discussing the question with Kenton.

"You are mistaken in supposing Wa-on-mon was frightened; he is afraid of no man."

"What den made him get skeered at Mr. Kenton?"

"He did not. The Panther's heart is full of bitterness toward the white people. He saw, by hurrying off, a chance to do greater harm to those whom he regards as intruders upon the hunting grounds of his people; that is why the two did not meet."

"Mr. Kenton says de Panther hab shot women and children, and done de wust tings dat you can tink of."

"Simon Kenton is a truthful man."

"And I know he hab tried to do a worser ting dan dat."

"Impossible! What can it be?"

"He tried to step into my mouf when I war asleep."

The brave old pioneer preachers were as full of humor as they were of tenderness or pathos. Mr. Finley threw back his head and shook with laughter, though it was noticeable that it was as silent as that of Leatherstocking when that inimitable hero was amused with anything that took place in the woods.

The missionary made the youth give him the particulars of the incident, and despite the tragic atmosphere by which it was surrounded, he appreciated its grotesque features. Before he had grasped the whole occurrence he shuddered at the tempest of fury that he knew had been awakened to life in the breast of the terrible chieftain of the Shawanoes.

"To think of his being flung to the ground by this young man, of his being struck by him, and then bound and held for hours in captivity—ah, me! I pray that this colored youth may never fall into the power of Wa-on-mon. Much I fear that yesterday's events have so deepened the hatred of the chieftain, that the truth can make little impression upon his heart."

By questioning and comment, Mr. Finley gradually gained an accurate idea of the perilous situation of the pioneers who were on their way to the block-house to escape the storm that was already bursting from the sky. The information, however, that he filtered through the brain of Jethro Juggens could not fail to be mystifying in more than one respect.

Thus he knew that the pioneers had started up the Kentucky side of the river for Capt. Bushwick's block-house, and, before going far, had come to a halt, while Kenton returned to the clearing in quest of the canoe that had been left there beside the flatboat. His natural object, it would seem, in taking this course, was to secure the smaller craft for use in transporting the women and children to the other side of the Ohio. Why he should have taken Jethro Juggens as a companion could not be conjectured.

Another self-evident fact caused the missionary less misgiving than would be supposed. Kenton had captured the canoe, for he and it were gone when the youth boarded the flatboat. Furthermore, the craft in which the visitor paddled out to the flatboat was the very one, as identified by Jethro, which, in some way, had been recaptured from the ranger. The presence of the warrior in the boat seemed to point with absolute certainty to the conclusion that the Shawanoe had slain the great pioneer before wresting the property from him.

But Mr. Finley did not accept that theory, and was willing to await an explanation in the near future.

An inexpressibly greater and more distressing problem lay beyond that, as to the ultimate fate of the two families turned back, as may be said, on the threshold of success. The action of Kenton and Boone told their anxiety to place them on the same side of the Ohio with the block-house, and it indicated with equal certainty the appearance of some frightful danger in their front.

That danger must be The Panther and his war party. Thus, it will be perceived, that by a course of rapid reasoning the missionary was approaching a correct idea of the situation.

He knew nothing of Rattlesnake Gulch, for the pioneer circuit preachers of the west had to traverse too many vast areas of wilderness to become minutely familiar with every portion; but the checking of the fugitives, or the turning back of their real leader, could mean but one thing; they had discovered the presence of The Panther and his Shawanoes in their path.

All and considerably more than the foregoing being conceded, the missionary could not but regard the turning over to him of the invaluable canoe, to say nothing of the flatboat itself, as providential. There was now abundant means to carry the imperiled ones to the other shore.

But missionary Finley was too familiar with the people of the West, and too well versed in woodcraft, to feel over-confidence, or to believe that it was plain sailing into the haven of absolute safety. If The Panther had cut off the flight of the fugitives to the block-house, he was not the one to permit them to flank the danger by means of the canoe.

The first step necessary, as it seemed to the good man, was to open communication in some way with Simon Kenton.

"Have you any idea where he is?" he asked of Jethro.

"Yes—I feels purty suah, and it makes me feel bad."

"Where can he be?"

"He fell out dat canoe and got drownded; I feels bad 'cause I neber oughter left Mr. Kenton alone. He took me 'long to hab care ob him, and I outer feel dat I am to blame for his drownin'."

"Have no alarm about that. Kenton is too good a swimmer to lose his life in that way."

"But he mout get de cramps."

"He might, but he didn't. He probably awaited your return as long as it was safe, and then continued up the river to join his friends. In some way he lost the canoe to the Shawanoe, who abandoned it to me."

"I should tink dat he would come back to look for de boat."

"The same thought has occurred to me, I hope he has done so, for then we shall be pretty sure to see him. But, after all, if he set out for that purpose, he has probably given it up and returned, or he would have shown himself before."

All this time the flatboat, with its broad spread of sail, was gliding steadily up the Ohio, keeping as close as was prudent to the Kentucky shore.

An odd thought had gradually assumed form in the mind of the missionary. He had noted the headlong panic into which the single Shawanoe was thrown by the sudden sight of the fantastic craft, and he asked himself whether, such being the case, The Panther and his warriors could not be temporarily frightened, and advantage taken of it.

"At any rate it is worth trying," was his conclusion.

But in arriving at this belief, it did not occur to the good man that the seeming apparition might produce the same effect upon the white men as upon the Shawanoes.



CHAPTER XXI.

THE PHANTOM OF THE RIVER.

The reader has long since penetrated the cause of the panic into which Simon Kenton was thrown—a panic as wild, as unreasonable and uncontrollable as that of the single Shawanoe, some time before, when he plunged into the forest and fled as if from the pursuit of the evil one himself.

There were no more superstitious men living than the daring pioneers and scouts of the West. Never hesitating to meet death, and courageously facing peril before which most people would have cowered, they demanded that that death and that peril should present themselves in tangible form. In other words, they shrank at receiving no blows, provided the opportunity was given them of striking effective blows in return.

In trailing an enemy, when the "crossing of the ways" was reached, that is, where it was impossible to decide from evidence the right path to take, the question was often decided by a flirt of a hunting-knife; whichever course the implement indicated when it fell, was accepted as the finger of Providence, and was followed with as much unflinching vigor as though the possibility of an error did not exist. In many other respects was this belief in signs and the awe of the supernatural shown.

The brief, terrified glance of Kenton revealed to him an Ohio flatboat moving up the river against the current—something which in all his varied experience he had never seen. The same glance showed a yawning white spread across the craft, as if it were the upturned wing of some monster swimming on its side in the water.

Without pausing to reflect that this appearance was the key to the whole mystery, the brave man gave way to terror, and, throwing discretion to the winds, dashed into the enclosure among his friends with the exclamation:

"Boys, we're lost! We're lost! There's a ghost coming up the river!"

His words and manner threw the others into consternation. While it is certain that some would have shown more coolness, yet nothing is more contagious than fear, and the panic of one considered the clearest-headed and most daring of the rangers caused the rest for a brief while to bid good-by to their senses.

Forgetful of the Shawanoes near at hand, and thinking of nothing but the new and dreadful peril, the men and women made haste to gather about the tall figure that advanced almost to the middle of the inclosure before checking himself.

"What is it, Kenton? For heaven's sake, tell us!"

"Where is it? What does it look like?"

"Keep your head, Simon," counselled Boone, in the babel of exclamations, "and tell us what it is the ghost of."

"You remember t'other flatboat," said Kenton, partially recovering his self-mastery, "the one the MacDougalls was on, and they was all killed?"

"Yes, of course, of course," replied several.

"Wal, the ghost of that flatboat is coming up the river; it's right off shore; it'll be among us in a few minutes; we had better take to the woods."

And, incredible as it may seem, the intrepid scout would have led the absurd stampede, had not his elder and cooler friend laid his hand on his arm.

"Simon, you ain't yourself; don't forget the varmints are all around us."

"Dan'l," returned Kenton, sharply, "did you ever see a ghost?"

"I have not."

"Wal, if you want to see one, walk down to the edge of the river and there it is! As for me, I want to git away afore it comes any closer; but I forgot 'bout the varmints; I'll wait till you folks have a look at it, and then we'll all run."

Evidently, the ranger was rallying from his panic.

Among the group that gathered around him were several who were quick to recover from their own fright, and to see that the true course was to investigate the cause of the latter's state of mind.

"Wait here till I take a look for myself," said George Ashbridge, touching the elbow of his father; "there's something in this that I don't understand; I will be gone but a few minutes; it's the strangest condition of affairs I ever knew."

He whisked off in the obscurity and quickly reached the river side.

Meanwhile, Missionary Finley gave proof of his sagacity. Having decided to use the flatboat and its sail as a possible weapon, he had risen to his feet, and with hands grasping the bow oar was figuring as to how he could discover the proper point at which to work the boat to land.

He had made up his mind to emit a signal which would be recognized either by Boone or Kenton, if it reached their ears, when across the brief, intervening space he heard the threshing and the terrified exclamations of his old friend.

"Here we are, Jethro! This is the place! Now, work with a will!"

Both bent their strong arms to the task, and the water was churned at each end of the craft by the broad blades that swept deep and powerful like the arms of a propeller. The bulky boat responded and began approaching the bank, no more than a couple of rods distant.

In this hurly-burly of affright and excitement, the missionary compressed his lips to keep back the tugging smile. He had caught the first words uttered by Kenton, identified his voice, and understood the cause of his alarm.

"If it please Heaven to deliver us all from peril," was the thought of Finley, "I shall not forget this affair, and I will make sure that Simon is not allowed to forget it."

It was only a minute or two later that George Ashbridge hurried to the margin of the water. The sweep of the long oars and the sight of the flatboat itself, with the spread of sail above it, all so near that they were recognized at the first glance, told the whole amazing story to the young man, though, as yet, he could not comprehend how it had all come about.

One of the figures toiling at the sweeps was Jethro Juggens; he could form no suspicion as to the identity of the other.

"Is that you, Jethro?" called Ashbridge, in a guarded undertone.

"It am," was the proud response; "keep out ob de way, Marse George, or dis boat will run ober you. We's comin' like thunder."

"There! that will do," said the missionary, as the boat struck sideways, almost abreast of where the youth was standing; "we couldn't have made a better landing. Good evening, my friend; I am sure we are welcome."

With these cheery words the man, with his rifle in his left hand, stepped across the gunwale upon the hard earth and extended his right to young Ashbridge.

"My name is Finley—James B. Finley; I am a missionary for Ohio and Kentucky, and joined your young friend hero to see whether I can be of any help to you and those with you."

"And an angel could not be more welcome," was the fervent response of the youth, returning the warm pressure of the good man.

"There seems to be trouble here," said he, with grave concern.

"We are in sore straits, indeed; we have been resting for a good while, afraid to go on, for there is an ambuscade of the Indians just beyond, into which they are waiting for us to enter."

"I presume the Shawanoes are in charge of The Panther."

"So Daniel Boone tells us."

"I feared as much; I'm glad that Boone is with you."

"And so is Kenton."

"Yes; I recognized his voice; he seems to be a little disturbed by the appearance of our craft."

"I never knew it was possible for a man like him to become so frightened. He seems to have lost his wits."

"They will soon return to him; he's a noble fellow."

"Jes' let me know what you want done," remarked Jethro Juggens, who had placed the anchor so as to hold the flatboat motionless; "don't forget dat I fixed up dis yer contrivance."

"Yes, all the credit belongs to him. He will explain when there is time; we have not a minute to spare now; it looks as if the appearance of the boat has given the red men, as well as the others, a scare."

"No doubt of that, and Kenton's performance has had a good deal to do with it, for he upset our people completely."

"We must take instant advantage of this diversion, which is providential; let us go to your friends at once."

The missionary set off with young Ashbridge at his side and Jethro Juggens immediately behind them. A few brief, hurried steps took them to the group, whose members were beginning to regain a part at least of their senses.

It was no occasion for Mr. Finley to indulge in any pleasantry at the expense of his old friend, Simon Kenton, however appropriate it might be at another time. His words were grave, quick and prompt, as were becoming. He hurriedly shook hands with Boone, Kenton and the rangers, to all of whom he was well known and by them held in high esteem. He greeted the others warmly in turn, using his tongue while doing so.

"The appearance of the flatboat is so strange that it gave you all a good scare, and no wonder that it did so. It has produced the same effect upon The Panther's party, else they would not have allowed us to land or permitted this passing back and forth; but like you they will soon recover from it; one must use this opportunity, so providentially placed in our way."

"That's the right kind of talk," remarked Kenton, who was already humiliated at the part he had played a short time before.

"From what Jethro told me, you have little, if any, luggage with you."

"Only what we can carry in our hands," replied Mr. Altman.

"So far as I can judge, you are all gathered in this spot—a thing you would not be permitted to do but for the fright of the Indians. Follow me then; I will lead the way."

Less time than would be supposed was occupied in this broken conversation. As stated, the words of the missionary were quickly uttered, and he showed his promptness by wheeling about and moving down the gentle incline toward the river. It seemed strange for him to take the lead of a party of rangers, among whom were Daniel Boone and Simon Kenton, but his leadership was only for the moment, and could have been assumed by Jethro Juggens himself, for it signified an advance only to the flatboat itself.

Boone, with several quick strides, placed himself beside the preacher.

"Have a care," he continued. "I don't understand what makes the varmints so quiet."

"Because they are scared, as all of you were by the flatboat and its sail."

"The only one of us skeered was Simon," corrected the great pioneer, "and then he skeered us by the way he carried on."

"Well, any one of you would have been just as much frightened as he, and I suspect the rumpus he created had something to do with the panic of the Shawanoes; but you are right; it will not last long, and it may be over already."

The habit of caution to which all the rangers were trained asserted itself. Grasping their rifles firmly, they involuntarily assumed a crouching pose and stepped lightly forward, as if afraid the slightest footfall would betray them. They glanced to the right and left, and more than once fancied they discerned shadowy forms stealing here and there in the gloom.

It was natural, perhaps, that a different and somewhat peculiar feeling should influence the two families of settlers. They felt as if they would ignore the existence of enemies in their immediate neighborhood; they would forget that any danger of that nature ever threatened them at all, and devote their utmost energies to hurrying forward to the flatboat. They held their gaze in that direction, and tried to pierce the gloom and see nothing but the single object upon which their hope was fixed.

Mr. Ashbridge and his wife clasped a hand of Mabel between them. Mr. Altman and his wife clung to each other, while George Ashbridge had fallen slightly to the rear with Agnes, while the rangers seemed to straggle irregularly forward, as they had done when pushing through the woods, but, in truth, they were advancing in accordance with a well-defined idea of the best course to follow at this time.

Finley, Kenton and Boone held their places at the head, and the fugitives speedily reached the river side, where the unpleasant fact became apparent that the wind, which had been blowing so long and steadily, had dropped to a degree that it could no longer be of any help to them.



CHAPTER XXII.

PUTTING OUT FROM SHORE.

Not a moment was to be lost. Everything depended upon boarding the flatboat and pushing off at once from shore. The party was so large that the craft was sure to be crowded, but its buoyancy was sufficient to carry still more.

To most of the party hurrying on board, the silence and inactivity of the Shawanoes were incomprehensible. That they had been partially dazed was fair to believe, but it could not continue long. The presence of the boat, with its sail still spread, against the bank, must tell the story to the fierce red men, who ought to be as quick to recover from it as were the pioneers.

It mattered not that the wind had failed. The one point was to get the flatboat away from land, and out into the stream. That done, a long step would be taken toward safety. The ambuscade would be flanked and avoided.

"You can't hurry too much," said the missionary, beginning to show nervousness now that the critical moment was at hand. He helped the women on board, and did what he could to prevent the confusion caused at this juncture by the crowding. He expected that a volley would come every moment from the gloom along the shore, and therefore held his station where his body would be most likely to shield the helpless ones.

Amid the confusion there was something approaching order, and it can be said that no time was thrown away. Within a minute of reaching the flatboat it seemed that every one of the pioneers was on board.

"Lay down," whispered Boone, addressing the settlers especially; "the varmints are sartin to fire afore you can get out on the river—"

"Dar goes dat canue," called Jethro Juggens, who managed to be the first on board.

The little boat had been swung around and fastened to the farther side of the more bulky craft, so as to allow the latter to approach nearer the land. The youth was doing what he could to aid his friends (really doing nothing), when he observed the canoe several feet away with the intervening space steadily increasing.

"Jump over after it," commanded Kenton, who himself would have done what he ordered but for the need of his presence on the flatboat.

"Drop dat boat!" shouted Jethro, addressing (with a view of impressing those around him) an imaginary foe. At the same moment, leaving his gun behind him, he leaped overboard and swam powerfully toward the little craft. The clothing of the youth had not yet dried from the wetting received by his bath earlier in the evening, and at this sultry season of the year a plunge in the river was pleasant than otherwise.

Jethro ought to have noticed that while the canoe was drifting with the current it was also approaching the middle of the Ohio. That could hardly take place without the interference of some one.

But the powerful youth noted not the significant fact, and swam with lusty stroke straight for the little boat that had changed hands so frequently during the last few hours, and been the cause of more than one furious wrangle. Only a second or two was necessary to reach it, and he laid his hand on the gunwale.

At that instant a Shawanoe warrior rose from the interior of the canoe, and lifted his hand in which was clasped a knife, with the purpose of burying it with vicious energy in the breast of the astonished youth.

"Whew! gorrynation! I didn't know yo' war dar!" gasped Jethro, dropping like a loon beneath the surface just in time to escape the ferocious thrust.

The Shawanoe leaned so far out, with upraised weapon, to strike the African when he came up, that the canoe careened almost upon its side. He was in this attitude of expectancy when, from the flatboat, came the sharp crack of a rifle, and the savage plunged over, head first, with a smothered shriek, and sank from sight.

"I expected something of the kind," muttered Simon Kenton, who, amid the tumult around him, proceeded to reload his rifle with as much coolness as if he were in the depth of the forest and had just brought down a deer or bear.

From the undergrowth immediately above where the boat was pushing from land, a second warrior, whose zeal outran his discretion, emitted a ringing whoop, and dashed straight at the crowding fugitives. He was nearer Mrs. Altman than any of the others, and meant to bury his uplifted tomahawk in her brain, but when almost within reach he made a frenzied leap from the ground, and, with outspread arms and legs, tumbled forward on his face.

It was never clearly established who was quick enough to check the murderous miscreant in this fashion, for fighting had fairly begun and considerable shooting was going on; but the moon at that moment was unobscured, and Mr. Altman insisted that he saw Missionary Finley raise his rifle like a flash and discharge it in the direction of the warrior just at the instant before the husband could intervene in defence of his wife.

When the good man was afterward taxed with the exploit, so creditable to his coolness and courage, he showed a reluctance to discuss it. Pressed further, he would not admit the charge, and yet refrained from denial. It will be conceded, therefore, that the presumption is reasonable that Missionary Finley was the instrument of saving Mrs. Altman's life when it was in the gravest possible peril. Meanwhile Jethro Juggens found himself with interesting surroundings. Availing himself of his great skill in the water, he dived so deeply that his feet touched bottom and he came up a dozen rods away from the canoe and between it and the Ohio shore. The passing of the Shawanoe took place while the youth was beneath the surface, so that he was unaware of the true situation when he arose and stared at the boat.

"Gorrynation, if de t'ing ain't upsot!" was his exclamation when he had approached somewhat nearer and saw the boat turned bottom upward.

The spasmodic lunge of the Shawanoe had overturned the craft, which resembled a huge tortoise, drifting with the current.

"He's walking on de bottom ob de ribber, wid dat boat ober his head, to keep from gettin' moonstruck. Dat can't be neither," added Jethro, "onless he am seventeen foot tall, and I don't tink he am dat high."

The gently moving arms of the swimmer came in contact with something. Closing his hands about it, he found it to be the oar flung out of the canoe by the overturning.

"Dat'll come handy," thought Jethro. "When he sticks out his head to get a bref ob air, I'll whack him wid de paddle till he s'renders."

After manoeuvring about the canoe for some minutes, a suspicion of the truth dawned upon the youth. Even when under the water he was able to hear the deadened reports of the rifles above, and he believed that one of the shots must have reached the occupant of the boat, whose frenzied leap capsized it.

Gathering courage after a few minutes, he grasped the canoe and managed to swing it back into proper position, but it contained so much water as to forbid its use until it was emptied. This could be done only by taking it ashore. Jethro therefore tossed the paddle inside, and grasping the gunwale with one hand, swam with the other toward Ohio. It may be added that he reached it without further event, and there for a time we will leave him to himself.

"Lie down!" thundered the missionary, seeing that his first order was only partially obeyed. "My good woman, I beg your pardon, but it must be done."

His words were addressed to Mrs. Ashbridge, who, in her anxiety for her husband and son, was exposing herself in the most reckless manner. As he spoke, he seized her in his arms as though she were but an infant, and placed her not too gently flat in the bottom of the boat.

"There! spend these minutes in prayer—no; that will never do," he added, grasping the shoulder of Agnes Altman, who, at that moment, attempted to rise; "keep down—all that is between you and death is that plank."

"But—but," pleaded the distressed girl, "tell father and George to be careful, won't you, please?"

"We are in the hands of God, my child, and have only to do our duty. Help us by causing no anxiety about yourselves."

The great necessity, as has been explained, was to work the flatboat away from land. The most direct means of doing this was by pushing with the poles that had been taken on board for that use; but they were fastened in place as supports for the sail that had brought the craft to this place. The sweeps would accomplish this work, but only slowly and by frightful exposure on the part of those swaying them.

Nevertheless, Jim Deane seized the bow sweep at the moment another ranger grasped the rear one, and both wrought with right good will.

Dark forms appeared in greater number along shore and near the craft itself. The gloom was lit up by flashes of guns, and the air was rent by the shouts of the combatants, for the white men could make as much noise as their enemies in the swirl and frenzy of personal encounter and deadly conflict.

Boone, Kenton, the missionary and most of the men had leaped into the flatboat and crouched low, where all seemed huddled together in inextricable confusion. The two were toiling at the sweeps, and the craft worked away from the shore with maddening tardiness. To some of the terrified inmates it did not seem to move at all.

"A little harder, Jim," called the missionary "shall I lend a hand?"

"No," replied Deane; "I'll fetch it, I don't need you—yes I do, too."

As he spoke, he let go of the sweep and sagged heavily downward.

"Are you hit?" asked the good man, raising the head upon his knee.

"I got my last sickness that time, parson—it's all up—good-by!"

The missionary would have said more, would have prayed with the fellow, despite the terrifying peril around him, had there been time to do so, but Jim Deane was dead.

"God rest his soul!" murmured the good man, gently laying down the head, and drawing the body as closely as he could to the gunwale, where it would be out of the way.

As from the first, the missionary exposed himself with the utmost recklessness, and, where the bullets were hurtling all about him, the wonder was that he had not already been struck; but the life of Rev. J. B. Finley was one of sacrifice, peril, suffering and hardship, in which his last thought was for himself. He was ready for the call of the dark angel, whether he came at midnight, morning, or high noon, and the angel did not come until after the lapse of many years, when the scenes such as we are describing had long passed away.

A strange and for a time wholly unaccountable occurrence took place near the stem of the flatboat, only a moment before Jim Deane was mortally smitten.

Simon Kenton had just withdrawn his attention from Jethro Juggens and his canoe, and was looking toward the bank at his elbow, when he uttered an exclamation, the meaning of which no one caught, or, if he did, failed to notice it in the tumult and hullabaloo. At the same moment the ranger gathered his muscles into one mighty effort, and made a leap toward shore.

Superb as was his skill in this direction, the distance was too great to be covered, and he stuck in the water, but so near land that he sank only to his waist. He struggled furiously forward, seemingly in the very midst of the Shawanoes, and was immediately lost to sight.

There was no time to inquire the meaning of this extraordinary action, and no one suspected it, but it became apparent within a brief space of time.

It was at this juncture that several noticed the wind had risen again. It was blowing not so strongly as before, but with sufficient power to start the flatboat slowly up stream. Boone called to all to keep down, while he, crouching close to the stern, held the oar so that it helped steer the craft into mid-stream.

The missionary did the same with the forward sweep, and, impelled by the wind, the craft slowly forged away from the Kentucky and toward the Ohio shore.

All hearts were beating high with hope and thankfulness when a piercing cry came from Mrs. Ashbridge.

"Where is Mabel? What has become of Mabel? Oh, where is she?"

Dismay reigned during the minute or two of frenzied search of the interior of the craft. The space was so small that the hunt was quickly over, with the dreadful truth established that little ten-year old Mabel Ashbridge was not on the flatboat.

Missionary Finley announced the fact when he said:

"She has fallen into the hands of the Shawanoes; that was the cause of Simon Kenton leaping ashore."



CHAPTER XXIII.

THE SHAWANOE CAMP.

How it all happened was never clearly established, but it is not to be supposed that in the tumult, the swirl, the confusion, the firing, shouting and dashing to and fro, that the coolest-headed Shawanoe or most self-possessed ranger could any more than keep a general idea of the hurricane rush of events. Special incidents were noted by different persons, as the circumstances favored them, while others saw and knew nothing of what took place under their very eyes.

Mr. and Mrs. Ashbridge hurried down the wooded slope in the gloom, each holding a hand of Mabel between them. At the side of the flatboat, where there were crowding in increased excitement, the parents released the child, and the father turned to help in the defence against the Indians, who immediately attacked them. Mabel entered the boat near the bow, and had crouched there several minutes, in obedience to the order of the missionary, to avoid the bullets that were whistling about, when the idea seized her that there were much better quarters at the stern, where the pushing was less.

The best way, as it struck her, to reach the spot, was by bounding ashore and darting the few paces thither. She made the attempt, and was in the act of leaping back when her arm was gripped by a warrior, who hurried her from the spot.

Although bewildered and partly dazed by the rush of events, the child resisted and screamed for help, but she was powerless in the hands of the sinewy savage, who forced her from the edge of the river.

It must be remembered, that in addition to the confusion it was night, and the partial moon in the sky was obscured at intervals by passing clouds. Beside, among the shadows of the wood the gloom was so deepened that the wonder is, not that none of Mabel's friends saw her capture but that Simon Kenton observed it.

He did so a minute later, and knew at once that the little one, if saved at all, must be saved instantly. He cleared most of the intervening space with his tremendous bound, and made for the Shawanoe like a cyclone. He had noted the point where the warrior had passed from view, as well as the general direction taken by him; consequently a quick dash in the right course ought to overtake him.

Such was the dash made by the ranger, at the imminent risk of colliding with tree-trunks, limbs, and boulders, and with the result that within twenty feet of the river he ran plump against the Indian who had the terrified child in charge, and with no suspicion of his furious pursuer.

The attack of the Bengal tiger upon the hunter that is throttling its whining cubs, is no fiercer, more resistless and lightning-like, than was the assault of Simon Kenton upon the buck that was making off with the little daughter of Norman Ashbridge.

It mattered not that the gloom was well-nigh impenetrable, and the eye could not direct or follow the blow. The ranger knew he had his man in his grasp, and within a few seconds the affair was over.

Had there been only the slightest illumination of the wood at this point to aid the eye, the rescue of Mabel would have been effected, but she knew not the meaning of the terrific struggle, and the instant her captor loosened his grip upon her arm, so as to defend himself, she hurried off in the gloom in the hope of joining her friends on the flatboat.

"I say, gal, where be you?" called Kenton, grasping with one hand, and expecting every moment to touch her form.

But the little one heard him not, or if she did, had no suspicion of his identity, and a few moments only convinced the ranger that the child once within his grasp was gone again, he knew not where.

He held a strong hope, however, that she had started on her return for the boat from which she had been taken in such hot haste by her abductor. If so, the attempt on her part offered a chance of saving her if the ranger moved promptly; for, by hastening to the same point he was sure to meet her, even though amid enemies; but, if he delayed, she must inevitably fall into the hands of the Shawanoes again.

It was apparent to Kenton that none of those on the boat were aware of the loss of the child, and if it became known to her friends they could give her no help. The ranger was fortunate, indeed, that in the flurry he was not assaulted in turn by some of the hostiles.

He picked his way as best he could to the river's margin, carefully keeping himself back in the gloom while he made his observation. The moon was still unobstructed, and showed him the flatboat fifty feet away and increasing the space every minute.

Thus it came about, that as the craft was laboriously worked into mid-stream and towards the Ohio shore, two of the whites were left behind amid the merciless members of The Panther's band.

The situation was of little moment to Simon Kenton, for more than once he had been in a situation of much greater peril. He felt abundantly able to take care of himself, his great concern being for the little one to whom fate had been so cruel.

Inasmuch as there was not one chance in a thousand of accomplishing anything by groping in the gloom among the trees, he adopted the single course that promised success, and that was only to a slight degree indeed.

The flatboat was now so far out in the river that the firing had ceased on both sides. Kenton did not know to what extent his friends had suffered, but he was certain that in addition to the warrior whom he had picked off in time to save Jethro Juggens, several others must have gone down in the fusilade.

When The Panther brought his band together to effect the ambuscade at Rattlesnake Gulch, he must have established some sort of camp or headquarters beyond that point, where it could not be noted by the fugitives until on the other side of the dangerous section. Hoping, with a shudder of misgiving, that the little child would be taken to this camp instead of being tomahawked, he began searching for it.

The task was less difficult than would be supposed. A veteran like Kenton had no trouble in avoiding the warriors moving about. As he expected, he passed but a short distance beyond the gulch, when he caught the twinkle of the campfire just beyond the hollow in which the Shawanoes had arranged to blot out the whole company of settlers and pioneers.

Carefully threading his way through the undergrowth and among the trees, he reached a point from which he gained an unobstructed view of the camp without any risk of discovery on his part. The scene in many respects resembled that which he had looked upon times without number.

There was the fire of sticks and branches that had been burning several hours, for it contained many glowing embers, in the middle of an open space. A circle of diminishing light was thrown out several rods in all directions. Upon a fallen tree, on the other side of the blaze, sat three warriors, painted and decked in the hideous manner adopted by the people when upon the war-path. Armed with rifles, tomahawks and knives, they were talking excitedly, and one had just had his wounded arm bandaged, proving that he failed to go through the battle unscathed.

Two other Shawanoes were standing at the right of the fire, also talking with great animation. Further back, where the light was less, were others, most of them seated on the ground. Kenton's scrutiny satisfied him that more than one of these had been "hit hard," and their companions were looking after them as best they could.

Nothing was seen of those that had fallen, though the American Indian is not the one to forget his stricken comrade, and the warriors that had started on their journey to the happy hunting grounds were certain to receive due attention. As nearly as the spy could judge there were from twelve to fifteen Shawanoes in camp. Since Boone had reported the party as about double that number, several of them—not counting those that had fallen—were still absent.

The ranger was profoundly interested in two of these absentees. One was little Mabel Ashbridge, and the other The Panther, leader of the Shawanoes. The closest scrutiny failed to reveal either of them, and though he had no real cause for doing so, he could not help connecting their absence with each other.

His suspicion proved right, for only a few minutes passed when two figures strode from the gloom into the firelight. One was Wa-on-mon, whose hand gripped the arm of the young captive. He walked at a moderate pace to the fallen tree, where he motioned to Mabel to take her seat. She obeyed with the same promptness she would have shown had the command come from her father or mother.

The Panther remained standing, and the three who had been seated on the log also rose and advanced, several others drawing near and taking part in the conversation.

"Ah!" muttered Kenton, between his set teeth, with his flashing eyes fixed upon The Panther, "if I could only have come 'cross you and the little gal!"

Seated with the firelight falling upon her face, the ranger was able to see it quite plainly. She had lost the cute little homemade cap in the flurry, and her luxuriant hair hung loosely about her shoulder. She was neatly clad in homespun, though the dress, the stockings, and the shoes were of coarse texture.

The countenance wore the scared expression which showed that the child suspected her dreadful peril. The marks of weeping were noticed, but the ferocious Wa-on-mon had probably terrified her to that extent that she was forced to deny herself the relief of tears. Resting on the fallen tree, with her dimpled hands clasped, she hardly removed her eyes from the chieftain and his immediate companions. She appeared to feel they were about to decide her fate.

From his concealment, not far off, Kenton allowed nothing in his field of vision to escape him. He could not catch a word uttered by the Shawanoes, but he did not believe the chief was discussing with his warriors the question of what should be done with the little captive, for the reason that it was not his habit to debate such matters with his followers. His rule was so absolute that he made his own decisions, leaving to others to obey or take the consequences.

It was more probable that The Panther was seeking the views of his followers on what was the best step to prevent the fugitives from reaching the block-house, now that they had escaped the ambuscade that had been set for them.

While the ranger held his position he did a deal of thinking. The problem that wholly interested him was, as to what could be done to save the child, for that she was doomed by her captors, sooner or later, to death, he considered as certain as he did his own existence. It simply remained to be decided when she should be sacrificed.

Kenton was too much of a veteran to attempt anything rash. Had Mabel been an adult, on the alert for something of the kind, possibly he might have warned her of his presence without revealing himself to the captors, but it would have been fatal folly to try to effect an understanding with her.

He asked himself whether he could steal up behind the log, and then, by a sudden dash, seize and make off with her. There were a few minutes when he was much inclined to make the venture, but the more he reflected the more hopeless did the chances of success appear.

He could not run fast in the darkness among the trees, and burdened with the care of Mabel, The Panther and half a dozen warriors would be upon him by the time he was fairly started, with the absolute result that child and would-be rescuer would not live ten minutes.

"There's one thing powerful sartin'," muttered Kenton, keeping his eye upon the party, "if they decide that the gal shall be sent under while she's setting there on that log, the first move to harm a hair of her head means death to him as tries it."

So it would have been. The silent, sinewy figure, standing as rigid and motionless as the tree-trunk which sheltered him, let nothing escape him. Had The Panther, or any of his warriors, turned toward Mabel Ashbridge with hostile intent, he would have fallen forward with a bullet through heart or brain before he could have raised his hand to do evil.

The night wore along, with more hostiles returning at intervals, and still the discussion continued between the chieftain and his warriors. It was a puzzle to Kenton why the talk should continue so long, for to him there was nothing in the situation to cause much variance of opinion.

The ranger was still watching and wondering, when from the gloom of the wood another party strode into view, and walked up to the group gathered about The Panther, and, as he did so, it would be hard to decide whether they or Simon Kenton were filled with the greater amazement over the unexpected occurrence.



CHAPTER XXIV.

THE FORLORN HOPE.

It is useless to dwell upon the grief and consternation of the occupants of the flatboat when the discovery was made that little Mabel Ashbridge was missing.

The parents and brother, after the first shock, bore the affliction with rare courage. By common impulse, they looked to the two persons best fitted of all to give counsel and hope, Missionary Finley and Daniel Boone.

Young George Ashbridge was the first to speak after the fearful lull that followed the cry of the stricken mother. Touching the arm of Boone, he asked:

"Can we not work the flatboat back to shore, charge upon the Shawanoes, and recover her before they have time to rally?"

"It might do," replied the pioneer, feelingly, "if we had daylight to help us, but not while the night lasts. I had a son shot down by the varmints just as I was entering Kentucky, and they ran off with a daughter of mine, whom I took back from them, but the sarcumstances was different from this."

"But we must do something; we cannot go to the block-house and leave the dear little one behind. I would give my life to save her."

"So would we all, so would we all," repeated Boone, touched by the memory of his own sorrows, "but we must not shut our eyes from seeing things as they are."

The youth groaned in anguish and said no more. The hardest thing of all was to remain idle while the cherished sister was in her dreadful peril.

"I'll let myself overboard," said the veteran, "swim back, and do what I can to help Simon."

"You can give him no help," gently interposed the missionary; "in truth, Kenton will do better without than with you."

"I'm of that way of thinking myself," said Boone, "though if Simon was expecting me it would be different."

"But he won't expect you; he saw what none else of us saw—the capture of the little one, and will do all that mortal man can do."

"I don't remember whether I told him the camp of The Panther and his party is just on t'other side of Rattlesnake Gulch or not."

"Probably you did tell him, but it matters little if you did not; he will speedily learn the truth. They are likely to take the child there, and she will not arrive in camp much sooner than Kenton will reach the vicinity."

The parents were quick to notice that Boone and the missionary spoke as if there were little, if any, doubt in their minds that this course would be followed.

"Suppose," said Mr. Ashbridge, in a tremulous voice, "she is not spared to be taken into camp?"

"We are all in the hands of our Heavenly Father," reverently replied the good man, "He doeth all things well, and we must accept His will with resignation. If the little one has not been spared, then it is already too late for us to give her aid; if she has escaped death, then I believe she is in the camp of the Shawanoes."

"And we can steal up and charge upon them," said the brother, to whom the inaction was becoming intolerable.

"Such a proceeding would insure her instant death," said Mr. Finley.

"And why? Boone can guide us to the direct spot, so there will be no mistake about that, and a quick rally and charge will decide it."

"You forget, George," responded the missionary, in his fatherly way, "that though The Panther has established his camp on the other side of the gulch, all his warriors are not there; some of them are watching us, as best they can, from the shore; by the time we turned about, and long before we could reach land, it would be known to The Panther, or the ambuscade he formed hours ago would be made as effective as though you had all pressed on without halt."

"Boone said a few minutes ago that if we had daylight instead of darkness to help us, there would be hope."

"And he is wise, as he always is, for we should have put back at once; and doing so, immediately on the heels of our flight, the Shawanoes would not have been given time to prepare a surprise for us; it is too late now, and the circumstances prevent any attempt of that nature."

"Then we can do nothing at all—nothing except to wait until Kenton makes his report," remarked the father, despairingly.

Instead of replying, the missionary turned to Boone, at his elbow, and whispered something. The pioneer answered in the same guarded manner, and the conversation, inaudible to others, continued for some minutes.

Meanwhile two of the rangers kept toiling at the sweeps, so gently that it did not interfere with what was said and done by the others, and the craft slowly approached the Ohio shore.

Starting up, the missionary looked around and inquired:

"What has become of the canoe Jethro and I brought with us?"

"It floated free during the fight," replied one of the rangers, "and he swam after it. I reckon he has reached the other side of the river, and is waiting somewhere along the bank."

A general turning of heads and peering in different directions followed, but nothing was seen of the missing youth. Several wondered why the reverend gentleman should have made the inquiry, when the more momentous subject was upon all minds, but he offered no explanation.

The wind that had brought the flatboat to this point on the river, and then died out, did not resume its force and direction. It blew gently, but veered around from the north, so that its tendency was to drive the craft back to the Kentucky shore. It required hard work at the sweeps to overcome the momentum, but as the Ohio side was approached the forest shut off and so lessened the power of the wind that the boat was forced in close to the bank and brought to a standstill, where all could leap ashore without difficulty.

And now had the missing child been with them all would have been as hopeful as could have been desired. Some seven or eight miles away, and on the same side of the river, stood the strong, rugged block-house, where the small garrison, under charge of the veteran Captain Bushwick, could laugh to scorn the assault of a force ten times as numerous as that under the leadership of The Panther.

A distinctly marked trail wound along the northern branch of the Ohio, so that it could be readily followed by the fugitives, even without the escort of the rangers that had been sent out to their assistance.

Mr. Finley gently suggested that the two families should push on to the block-house, leaving the others to do what they could for the help of the child. Mr. Ashbridge, as quietly but firmly, made answer that neither he, his son nor his wife would move a step until the fate of his child was determined beyond all doubt. Mr. Altman, his wife and daughter Agnes felt the same way, and the good man did not urge his proposal.

"I would probably feel and act the same if I were similarly placed," he said, with a touch of sympathy which impressed every one. "You have the sorrowful consolation of knowing that the suspense won't last long—"

"Ship ahoy, dar! Show yo' colors!" came in a sepulchral voice from the shadows along shore. All recognized the tones, and before any reply could be made Jethro Juggens paddled up against the prow in his canoe.

"Wasn't suah dat war yo' or de heathen," he added, stepping over the gunwale and joining his friends, who were all pleased to learn it had gone so well with him.

Called upon to explain, he promptly did so in characteristic style:

"While dat little flurry dat didn't 'mount to nuffin' was gwine on 'long shore, I seed one ob de heathen tryin' to run off wid de canoe. I wasn't gwine to stand nuffin like dat, and I was b'iling mad. So I flopped overboard and swam after de boat; de Injin seed me comin' and tried to dodge, but I cotched him by de heels and whanged his head agin de canoe; den I got in and paddled ashore and waited for yo' folks, and hyar I is, and mighty glad to see yo' all."

No one deemed it worth while to contradict this wild yarn, and Jethro naturally supposed it was believed.

"Friends," said Mr. Finley, amid the hush that fell upon all, "Mr. Boone and I, after talking over the matter, have made a change of plan. I shall cross the river to the other side and see what I can do, with the help of Heaven, for the little child."

Mr. Ashbridge was impelled to question the wisdom of this step, for it was hardly to be supposed that a man of peace, whose profession was the opposite of those around him, was the best person to attempt the perilous task; but, brief as was the acquaintance of all with the missionary, he had won their confidence.

Besides, the scheme, whatever it was, had the guarantee of Boone himself as to its wisdom, and was therefore beyond cavil.

"God go with you!" was the fervent exclamation of the father, as he took the hand of the good man. "Would that I could help."

"Gladly would I take you if I saw any possible aid you could afford, but the only aid, friends, that any of you can give me is your prayers."

"You will have them unceasingly," said Mrs. Ashbridge, clinging to the hand of the missionary, as if he was her only earthly comforter.

"I dare not tell you to hope for the best," he said, unwilling to awaken an expectation that was likely to be followed by bitter disappointment, "but I can only add that whatever may come, try to say 'God's will be done.' I shall count upon all of you remaining here until definite news reaches you."

"Have no fear of our going before that," replied Mr. Altman; "we are distressed as deeply as our friends, and can hardly bear the suspense."

As the missionary was stepping over the flatboat into the canoe, George Ashbridge caught his arm, and plead in a low, earnest voice:

"I am sure I can be of some help; please take me. I can't stand it to remain behind to wait and wait—not knowing what the tidings will be."

"My dear boy," replied Mr. Finley, laying his hand upon his shoulder, "if any one was to go with me it should be you, for none can be more capable, but be assured that your company would be a hindrance, as you would admit if you knew my plan."

The sorrowing brother still held his arm, but could not speak. The missionary gently removed his grasp, and, entering the canoe, paddled directly out upon the river. The figure of the boat and occupant quickly passed from view, and those who remained behind, though they listened intently, could not catch the faintest sound to betray his progress or change of direction.

Now that the party left in the flatboat had some leisure on their hands, they devoted it to looking after their own wounds, and in taking a precaution, which was only ordinary prudence, against surprise. Two of the rangers entered the wood, one passing a short distance up and the other down stream. Their duty was to guard against surprise from the Shawanoes.

It was not to be expected that The Panther and his party, after being once repulsed, would accept that as final. They knew the fugitives were provided with a strong escort, and were on their way to the block-house. Even though they could not be wholly cut off, great damage might be inflicted, and more of the intending settlers placed beyond the power of invading the hunting grounds of the red men. That they would make the attempt was to be set down as one of the certainties of the immediate future.

One of the rangers had been killed during the attack and three others severely wounded; but when, with the assistance of the women, their hurts had been bandaged or attended to, they made light of them, insisting that they were as ready for effective service as before. Indeed, it was one of the wounded men that threaded his way up the river bank to help guard against surprise from their enemies.

Another change of direction was noted in the wind. Beginning by blowing directly up stream, it had continued to veer until its course was almost directly opposite, so that, had the flatboat ventured out in the current with its sail still spread, its progress down stream would have been more rapid than ever before.

"Marse George," said Jethro, "whar does dis riber flow?"

Wondering at the meaning of the question, the youth replied, after a moment's hesitation:

"It flows into the Mississippi."

"And what becomes ob dat?"

"It empties into the Gulf of Mexico, which joins the Atlantic Ocean."

"And dat runs along de oder side ob Wirginny, I hab heard."

"Yes, such is the fact."

"I've an idee; let's put out in de middle ob dis riber, and go scootin' down de Massipp to de Gulf ob Mexico, and den up de ocean to Wirginny; dar we'll carry de flatboat ober land till we strike de Ohio ag'in, and den come down to de block-house from de oder side. It'll be a round-about way, but we'll got dar, suah."



CHAPTER XXV.

FACE TO FACE.

Two white men had set out to do whatever lay in their power to rescue little Mabel Ashbridge from the hands of the Shawanoes, and their policy was diametrically opposed to each other.

Simon Kenton, it may be said, had but one law—that of fighting fire with fire. Against cunning, woodcraft and daring he would array precisely the same weapons. In short, he knew of no other method, and would have laughed to scorn any different line of procedure, with the single exception of its attempt by the one man who now resorted to it.

Mr. Finley, the missionary, knowing the futility of the course laid down by Kenton, Boone and those of his calling, determined to go directly into the camp of The Panther, and try to induce the fiery chieftain to surrender the little girl to her friends.

What task could be more hopeless?

The unquenchable hatred of Wa-on-mon toward all who belonged to the Caucasian race has been learned long ago by the reader. He belonged to the most untamable of his people, and had proven a continual stumbling-block in the path of the missionary. He shut his ears resolutely against the pleadings of the good man, and forbade him to speak to him of the God who taught gentleness, charity, love and the forgiveness of enemies.

And yet, as Finley told Jethro Juggens, he had hunted with The Panther, slept in his lodge and trusted his life in his hands many times, and under ordinary circumstances would not hesitate to do so again.

But those were periods when comparative peace reigned on the frontier, and the missionary, like many others of his sacred calling, found little trouble in passing back and forth among the Shawanoes, Wyandots, Pottawatomies, Delawares and other tribes. Indeed, many converts were gained, as was shown in the case of the Moravian Indians.

When hostilities broke out, however, and the fierce red men daubed their faces with paint and rushed upon the war-path, the missionaries were wise enough to leave them alone and keep out of the way until the tempest had passed.

War was coming again, of that there could be no doubt, and on its threshold, at its very opening, Wa-on-mon, the tiger-like chief, known even among his own people as The Panther, had been subjected to an indignity at the hands of the pale-faces, such as in his life had never been put upon him before. He had been flung down, struck repeatedly, bound and kept a prisoner for many hours.

Then escaping by the usual weapon of the red man—treachery—he had laid a cunning ambuscade for the destruction of the large party of pioneers and rangers. The scheme had miscarried, and several of the foremost of the Shawanoe warriors had fallen before their deadly fire.

The only panacea for this terrific chagrin was the capture of the single small child attached to the families of the settlers. She, the tender little flower, had been plucked by the merciless chieftain, and none knew better than he what sweet revenge could be secured through her upon the older ones.

Yes; she was in his power, and it was beyond the ability of any one to take her from him.

And lo! at this moment, the man who preached humility and love and gentleness and forgiveness of enemies was on the way to the camp of The Panther to ask him to return the captive to her friends.

Missionary Finley did not need to be reminded of all this, and it must be confessed that he would not have ventured upon the attempt, so utter did he consider its hopelessness, but for an extraordinary suggestion that Daniel Boone whispered in his ear.

This suggestion foreshadowed a complication, as among the possibilities, from which a diversion might be created in favor of little Mabel Ashbridge; but the possibility was so remote that the missionary did not deem it right to awaken false hopes in the hearts of the parents and brother by making known the scheme that had taken shape in the most veteran of all pioneers.

Aside from all this was the fearful risk run personally by Finley, in thus venturing into the hostile camp while, as may be said, the echoes of the rifle shots were still lingering among the trees. The chances were that, from The Panther down, there was not one who would not shoot the missionary the instant he could draw bead on him.

But this was a feature of the business that gave Finley the least concern. It must not be supposed, however, that he was a reckless man, who acted on the principle that Providence would take care of him without the putting forth of any effort on his part. He was a practical believer in the doctrine that God helps them that help themselves.

When he paddled from the side of the flatboat, therefore, in the cause, he put forth as much care and skill as Kenton or Boone himself would have done.

Glancing over his shoulder, he noted the moment when the dim outline of the wooded shore loomed to view. Then, the swinging of his arms ceased for a few seconds while he peered off in the gloom and listened. Nothing was seen or heard to cause misgiving, or to show that any one had detected his approach.

"From what Kenton told me, the Shawanoes have a larger canoe hidden somewhere along the bank. It has not yet appeared among these sad troubles, but it must have a part to play, and I fear it will be used to carry the warriors to the other side that they may hurry my friends on their way to the block-house."

He did not cross the river in a direct line, but headed so far up stream that his canoe became diagonal. His intention was to strike the shore above Rattlesnake Gulch, thus keeping clear, as he hoped, of the canoe with the warriors who might be making ready to embark on it. At the same time, he was assured that he would thus shorten the path to the campfire, where he expected to find The Panther.

Still watching and listening, the missionary edged his way up stream, until he had gone as far as he wished, bearing off so that only the keenest eye of suspicion would have noticed his presence from the shore. Then, turning the prow straight toward land, he sent it skimming, like a swallow, over the surface by means of a half-dozen powerful strokes, ducking his head as it glided among the overhanging limbs, and its nose slid up the bank. He was out of the little craft in a twinkling, and drawing it still further so as to hold it secure, he set out, rifle in hand, to meet Wa-on-mon, chief of the Shawanoes.

It need not be repeated that the missionary comprehended the danger into which he was running, but, aside from the personal intrepidity that distinguished him through life, he was controlled and impelled by the highest of all motives that can direct the conduct of men—the desire to please God.

Careful meditation over what had taken place convinced him that it was his duty to enter the camp of the hostiles; and, with that conviction, ended everything in the nature of hesitation.

Having landed, it remained for him to find The Panther. There might be some persons, in the place of the reverend gentleman, who would have conceived it the proper thing to enter the hostile camp without carrying anything in the nature of a weapon; it may be said, indeed, that his errand was in the nature of a flag of truce, in which that course was demanded.

But Mr. Finley understood too well the nature of the people with whom he was dealing to attempt anything of that nature. Such sentimentality would be wasted. Besides he conceived it to be quite likely that he might be called upon to defend himself, in which event the gun would come in "mighty handy."

Engaged on the business described, the messenger did not add to his peril by trying to steal noiselessly up to camp, though the act might have been possible.

"I must advance openly," was his thought, "when near the camp, and it is better I should do so from the first."

It was hard work picking his course through the dense and tangled undergrowth, but, quite confident of the right direction to take, he pushed on until the gleam of a light apprised him that no mistake had been made.

And then, when within sight of The Panther and his ferocious party, and half suspecting he was already under the eye of some dusky sentinel, the missionary came to a halt, and, kneeling in the solemn depths of the woods, spent several minutes in prayer.

The sound of a rustling near him did not hasten the end of his devotions. When he had asked his Heavenly Father for all that was in his mind, he rose to his feet and resumed his advance upon the camp.

He knew he was followed, and that every step was watched, and it was then that his own manner of procedure saved him. The Shawanoe must have reasoned that no scout or person with hostile purpose would act thus recklessly, and, though the dusky sentinel followed and watched his course until the messenger came within the circle of firelight, yet no harm was offered him.

Probably, by that time the Indian recognized the visitor as the white man with such strange views, and so different in his words and conduct from most of those of his race. If so, he must have wondered at the temerity of the individual in entering the camp of The Panther at so critical a time.

While yet some rods distant the missionary recognized the chieftain, standing among his group of warriors, in excited conversation. The back of Wa-on-mon was toward him, so that he did not observe the white man; but he was quick to note the looks in the faces of the others, and the general turning of eyes in one direction. The chief also wheeled, and, to his astonishment, saw the man of God approaching him.

There was no mistaking the expression that overspread the painted countenance of The Panther. He was angered at this intrusion of a white man into his council of war, as it may be called. A muttered exclamation escaped him, which those near interpreted as an utterance of impatience that the visitor had been permitted to come even thus far. He must have been identified long before, and, in accordance with Indian custom, should have been shot or cut down ere he could disturb the chieftain and his cabinet.

But here he was, showing no more hesitation than had marked his course from the moment he left the side of the flatboat.

Mr. Finley, clad in his partly civilized costume, and with his gun grasped in his left hand, walked forward, neither timidly nor with an assumption of confidence it was impossible for him to feel. He was not only too well aware of the situation himself, but knew the Shawanoes could not be deceived by any such pretence on his part.

Wa-on-mon had leaned his rifle against the fallen tree upon which the three warriors were sitting when he first came up, so that he stood with arms folded and in an attitude of natural and unconscious grace, glancing from one painted countenance to another, as he asked a question or listened to whatever they chose to say to him.

It was evident that these were the most trusted of his warriors, for while the consultation was going on, no one ventured near. They may be considered as making up the chieftain's cabinet, and when they were in session all other business had to wait.

The missionary was quick to note the expression on the face of the terrible Wa-on-mon. He had seen a look there not so long before which told more plainly than words that he was welcome, but that time had passed.

Mr. Finley advanced with the same dignified step to the chief, and, making a half-military salute, said in Shawanoe:

"I greet my brother Wa-on-mon, in whose lodge I have slept in safety when there was no other place to lay my head."

As he spoke he extended his hand, but The Panther, with his serpent eyes fixed upon the face of his visitor, made no motion to unfold his arms. He continued to scowl, and his lips remained mute.

This was embarrassing to a certain extent, though the missionary knew the cause. He continued, in the same gentle persuasive voice.

"Why does Wa-on-mon frown when he looks upon his pale-faced brother—"

"He is not my brother," interrupted The Panther, with a scowl and look of indescribable fierceness. "He is a dog, and he shall die!"



CHAPTER XXVI.

IN THE LION'S DEN.

The Panther was in the ugliest mood conceivable. Missionary Finley was well aware of this before approaching and addressing him. Consequently, when the chieftain called him a dog and declared he should die, the good man was neither silenced nor overthrown, though it would be untrue to say he was not alarmed for his own safety, but he had counted the cost before making the venture.

"Wa-on-mon did not always look upon the missionary as a dog," he said, with gentle dignity; "he once called him brother."

"It was because he spoke with a single tongue and was the friend of the red man," The Panther made haste to say, with no abatement in the ferocity of expression or manner.

"The missionary always speaks with a single tongue, and he will be the friend of the red man as long as he lives."

If possible, the wrath of voice and action became more venomous on the part of The Panther. He unfolded his arms, so as to give facility of gesture, and with one step forward placed himself so near the white man that the two could have embraced each other with little change of position. Then he bent his hideous countenance until the gleaming eyes, the dangling hair, the white teeth and the painted features were almost against the mild, beneficent face, which did not shrink or show the slightest change of looks.

One of the warriors then threw additional wood on the fire, and the blaze of light lit up the scene as if at noon-day. The Shawanoes instinctively drew back, so as to leave the principal figures not only in prominent view, but apart from the others. No one presumed to take any part in the disputation, but in the stillness and general hush the words of both were audible to every warrior present.

Little Mabel Ashbridge was perplexed and uncertain what she ought to say or do, if indeed, she could say or do anything. She did not recognize the white man who suddenly appeared and addressed the dreadful Indian in a tongue she could not understand, for it will be remembered that, although the missionary had joined the company of fugitives some time before, she saw his countenance for the first time when it reflected the glow of the firelight.

Had Finley given her one encouraging word, or even look, she would have rushed to his arms and begged him to take her to her parents and brother. This would have been a dangerous diversion, and, dreading it, the missionary carefully acted as though he had no knowledge of her presence, but she was in his field of vision, and while talking with the savage chieftain he knew the child, mute and wondering, was seated on the log and intently watching both.

As The Panther stepped forward in the manner described, and thrust his baleful countenance into that of the white man, he said, with atrocious fierceness:

"The missionary lies; he has the forked tongue of the serpent, and like all the pale-faces, he is the enemy of the red man."

"But Wa-on-mon once said he was the friend of the missionary; why does he say now that he is an enemy?"

"Did he not fight against the Shawanoes this night? Did he not help the pale face dogs to flee across the river in the boat?"

These questions were expected by Finley, and his tact, delicacy and skill were tested to the utmost in meeting them. Following the practice of The Panther, he continued referring to himself in the third person.

"The missionary gives his days and nights to help those that are in need of help, and he does not ask whether their color is white or black or red. He was on his way to visit the red men that Wa-on-mon once said were the brothers of the missionary, when he came upon some of his own people who were in sore distress. He did what he could to help them, and then left to speak to Wa-on-mon."

"And why does he wish to speak to Wa-on-mon?"

It was a subtle question. The cunning Indian suspected the errand of the good man, but its avowal at this juncture would have been fatal; it must be parried.

"When the missionary last entered the lodge of Wa-on-mon, he did not ask him why he wished to speak to him, but gave him welcome. Wa-on-mon now speaks in another way."

"Because the missionary does not seek Wa-on-mon for himself, but for another; the missionary's heart is not red, but is white."

"It is red and white, for it loves the white man and the red man. The heart of Wa-on-mon is red, and he therefore loves his people. Should not the missionary feel thus toward those whom the Great Spirit is pleased to make white?"

"The Indian is the child of the Great Spirit; the pale-face is the child of the evil spirit; these are the hunting grounds of the red man, and the pale-face has no right here."

It was the same old plea which Finley had heard from the first day he held converse with a member of the American race, and which he knew would be dinned into his ears to the very end, but he never listened to it with impatience.

"The hunting grounds are broad and long, the streams are deep and full of fish, the woods abound with game, there is room for the red men and pale-faces to live beside each other."

"But they can never live beside each other!" exclaimed The Panther, with a deadlier flash of the eye; "the pale-faces are dogs; they steal the hunting grounds from the Indians; they rob and cheat them; they shoot our warriors and then call us brothers!"

No words can picture the scorn which the chieftain threw into these expressions. He flung his head back with an upward graceful swing of the arms, which added immense force to his declaration. It was an unconscious but a fine dramatic effect.

The chief difficulty in a "pow-wow" of this nature was that the balance of argument was invariably on the side of the Indian. The white men had invaded the hunting grounds of the aborigines. The French and Indian war was a prodigious struggle between the two rival nations of Europe as to which should own those hunting grounds; neither thought or cared for the rights of the red man; they had never done so.

The history of the settlement of this country, as has been said, is simply a history of violence, wrong, fraud, rapine, injustice, persecution, and crime on the part of the Caucasian against the American, relieved now and then, at remote periods, by such wise and beneficent acts as the Quaker treaty under the old tree at Shackamaxon, and stained with the hue of hell by such crimes as the massacre of the Moravian Indians, the capture of the Seminole chieftain Osceola under a flag of truce, the slaughter in later days of Colonel Chivington, and innumerable other instances of barbarity never surpassed by the most ferocious savages of the dark continent.

"Many of the pale-faces are evil," said the missionary. "The words of Wa-on-mon are true of a great number, I am sorry to say, but they are not true of all."

"They are true of all. They are true of the missionary."

The firelight showed a deeper flush that sprang to the face of the good man, who was not, and never could be, fully freed of much of the old Adam that lingered in his nature. His impulse was strong to smite the chieftain to the earth for his deadly insult, but Finley always held such promptings well in hand, and the duskier hue on each health-tinted cheek was the only evidence that his feelings had been stirred. His voice was as low and softly modulated as a woman's. He folded both arms over the muzzle of his rifle, whose stock rested on the leaves at his feet, and remained calmly confronting the savage chieftain, who more than once seemed ready to snatch out his knife and drive it into the heart of the man of God.

"The eyes of Wa-on-mon are not in the sunlight; the smoke is in them; when the sun drives away the smoke he will see the missionary as he saw him when they hunted the deer and buffalo and bear together, and when they helped the Wyandot, Kush-la-ka, to his wigwam."

This allusion was to an incident only a few months old. Kush-la-ka was almost mortally wounded in a death struggle with an immense bear, and would have perished had not The Panther and Finley looked after him and helped him to his own home.

The good man hoped the recall of the occurrence would stir a responsive chord in the heart of the chieftain, and open the way for uttering the prayer which he had not yet dared to hint; but the failure was absolute; the mood of The Panther was too sullen, too revengeful, too deeply stirred by the memory of recent wrongs for it to be amenable (as it occasionally had been) to gentle influences. He persisted in regarding the missionary as a presumptuous and execrated enemy.

"Wa-on-mon is on the war-path," he fairly hissed; "he is the enemy of all the pale faces."

"Wa-on-mon is a great chieftain; the heart of the missionary is grieved. Wa-on-mon speaks as he feels, and the missionary will dispute him no more."