University of Virginia Library

11. CHAPTER XI.

There was little really superstitious in the temper
of Captain Forrester; and however his mind
might be at first stirred by the discovery of a
victim of the redoubted fiend so devoutly believed
in by his host of the preceding evening, it is certain
that his credulity was not so much excited as
his surprise. He sprang from his horse and examined
the body, but looked in vain for the mark
of the bullet that had robbed it of life. No gunshot
wound, at least none of importance, appeared
in any part. There was, indeed, a bullet-hole in
the left shoulder, and, as it seemed, very recently
inflicted: but it was bound up with leaves and
vulnerary herbs, in the usual Indian way, showing
that it must have been received at some period
anterior to the attack which had robbed the warrior
of life. The gashes across the ribs were the
only other wounds on the body; that on the head,
made by a hatchet, was evidently the one that had
caused the warrior's death.

If this circumstance abated the wonder the
soldier had first felt on the score of a man being
killed at so short a distance from his own party,
without any one hearing the shot, he was still
more at a loss to know how one of the dead man's
race, proverbial for wariness and vigilance, should
have been approached by any merely human
enemy so nigh as to render fire-arms unnecessary

to his destruction. But that a human enemy had
effected the slaughter, inexplicable as it seemed,
he had no doubt; and he began straightway to
search among the leaves strewn over the ground,
for the marks of his foot-steps; not questioning
that, if he could find and follow them for a little
distance, he should discover the author of the
deed, and, which was of more moment to himself,
a friend and guide to conduct his party from
the forest.

His search was, however, fruitless; for, whether
it was that the shadows of evening lay too dark
on the ground, or that eyes more accustomed than
his own to such duties were required to detect a
trail among dried forest leaves, it was certain that
he failed to discover a single footstep, or other
vestige of the slayer. Nor were Pardon Dodge
and Emperor, whom he summoned to his assistance,
a whit more successful; a circumstance,
however, that rathered proved their inexperience
than the supernatural character of the Jibbenainosay,
whose foot-prints, as it appeared, were not
more difficult to find than those of the dead Indian,
for which they sought equally in vain.

While they were thus fruitlessly engaged, an
exclamation from Telie Doe drew their attention
to a spectacle, suddenly observed, which, to her
awe-struck eyes, presented the appearance of the
very being, so truculent yet supernatural, whose
traces, it seemed, were to be discovered only on
the breasts of his lifeless victims; and Roland,
looking up, beheld with surprise, perhaps even for
a moment with the stronger feeling of awe, a
figure stalking through the woods at a distance,
looking as tall and gigantic in the growing twilight,
as the airy demon of the Brocken, or the
equally colossal spectres seen on the wild summits

of the Peruvian Andes. Distance and the darkness
together rendered the vision indistinct; but
Roland could see that the form was human, that
it moved onwards with rapid strides, and with its
countenance bent upon the earth, or upon another
moving object, dusky and of lesser size, that rolled
before it, guiding the way, like the bowl of the
dervise in the Arabian story; and, finally, that it
held in its hands, as if on the watch for an enemy,
an implement wondrously like the firelock of a
human fighting-man. At first, it appeared as if
the figure was approaching the party, and that in
a direct line; but presently Roland perceived it
was gradually bending its course away to the
left, its eyes still so closely fixed on its dusky
guide,—the very bear, as Roland supposed, which
was said so often to direct the steps of the Jibbenainosay,—that
it seemed as if about to pass
the party entirely without observation.

But this it made no part of the young soldier's
resolutions to permit; and, accordingly, he sprang
upon his horse, determined to ride forwards and
bring the apparition to a stand, while it was yet at
a distance.

“Man or devil, Jibbenainosay or rambling settler,”
he cried, “it is, at least, no Indian, and therefore
no enemy. Holla, friend!” he exclaimed
aloud, and dashed forward, followed, though not
without hesitation, by his companions.

At the sound of his voice the spectre started and
looked up; and then, without betraying either
surprise or a disposition to beat a mysterious retreat,
advanced to meet the soldier, walking rapidly,
and waving its hand all the while with an
impatient gesture, as if commanding the party to
halt;—a command which was immediately obeyed
by Roland and all.

And now it was, that, as it drew nigh, its stature
appeared to grow less and less colossal, and the
wild lineaments with which fancy had invested it,
faded from sight, leaving the phantom a mere
man, of tall frame indeed, but without a single characteristic
of dress or person to delight the soul
of wonder. The black bear dwindled into a little
dog, the meekest and most insignificant of his
tribe, being nothing less or more, in fact, than the
identical Peter, which had fared so roughly in the
hands, or rather under the feet, of Roaring Ralph
Stackpole, at the Station, the day before; while
the human spectre, the supposed fiend of the
woods, sinking from its dignity in equal proportion
of abasement, suddenly presented to Roland's
eyes, the person of Peter's master, the humble,
peaceful, harmless Nathan Slaughter.

The transformation was so great and unexpected,
for even Roland looked to find in the wanderer,
if not a destroying angel, at least some
formidable champion of the forest, that he could
scarce forbear a laugh, as Nathan came stalking
up, followed by little Peter, who stole to the rear,
as soon as strangers were perceived, as if to avoid
the kicks and cuffs which his experience had
doubtless taught him were to be expected on all
such occasions. The young man felt the more
inclined to indulge his mirth, as the character
which Bruce had given him of Wandering Nathan,
as one perfectly acquainted with the woods,
convinced him that he could not have fallen upon
a better person to extricate him from his dangerous
dilemma, and thus relieved his breast of a
mountain of anxiety and distress. But the laugh
with which he greeted his approach found no response
from Nathan himself, who, having looked
with amazement upon Edith and Telie, as if marvelling

what madness had brought females at that
hour into that wild desert, turned at last to the
soldier, demanding, with inauspicious gravity,—

“Friend! does thee think thee is in thee own
parlour with thee women at home, that thee
shouts so loud, and laughs so merrily? or does
thee know thee is in a wild Kentucky forest, with
murdering Injuns all around thee?”

“I trust not,” said Roland, much more seriously;
“but, in truth, we all took you for Nick of the
Woods, the redoubtable Nick himself; and you
must allow, that our terrors were ridiculous
enough, when they could convert a peaceful man
like you into such a blood-thirsty creature. That
there are Indians in the wood I can well believe,
having the evidence of Dodge, here, who professes
to have seen six, and killed one, and of my
own eyes into the bargain.—Yonder lies one,
dead, at this moment, under the walnut-tree, killed
by some unknown hand,—Telie Doe says by Nick
of the Woods himself.—”

“Friend,” said Nathan, interrupting the young
man, without ceremony, “thee had better think of
living Injuns than talk of dead ones; for, of a
truth, thee is like to have trouble with them!”

“Not now, I hope, with such a man as you to
help me out of the woods. In the name of heaven,
where am I, and whither am I going?”

“Whither thee is going,” replied Nathan, “it
might be hard to say, seeing that thee way of travelling
is none of the straightest: nevertheless, if
thee continues thee present course, it is my idea,
thee is travelling to the Upper Ford of the river,
and will fetch it in twelve minutes, or thereabouts,
and, in the same space, find theeself in the midst
of thirty ambushed Injuns.”

“Good heavens!” cried Roland, “have we then

been labouring only to approach the cut-throats?
There is not a moment, then, to lose, and your
finding us is even more providential than I thought.
Put yourself at our head, lead us out of this den of
thieves,—conduct us to the Lower Ford,—to our
companions, the emigrants; or, if that may not be,
take us back to the Station,—or any where at all,
where I may find safety for these females.—For
myself, I am incapable of guiding them longer.”

“Truly,” said Nathan, looking embarrassed, “I
would do what I could for thee, but—”

“But! Do you hesitate?” cried the Virginian,
in extreme indignation; “will you leave us to perish,
when you, and you alone, can guide us from
the forest?”

“Friend,” said Nathan, in a submissive, deprecating
tone, “I am a man of peace; and peradventure,
the party being so numerous, the Injuns
will fall upon us; and, truly, they will not spare
me any more than another; for they kill the non-fighting
men, as well as them that fight. Truly, I
am in much fear for myself; but a single man
might escape.”

“If you are such a knave, such a mean-spirited,
unfeeling dastard, as to think of leaving these
women to their fate,” said Roland, giving way to
rage, “be assured that the first step will be your
last;—I will blow your brains out, the moment
you attempt to leave us!”

At these ireful words, Nathan's eyes began to
widen.

“Truly,” said he, “I don't think thee would be
so wicked! But thee takes by force that which I
would have given with good will. It was not my
purpose to refuse thee assistance; though it is unseemly
that one of my peaceful faith should go
with fighting-men among men of war, as if to do

battle. But, friend, if we should fall upon the
angry red-men, truly, there will bloodshed come
of it; and thee will say to me, `Nathan, lift up
thee gun and shoot;' and peradventure, if I say
`Nay,' thee will call me hard names, as thee did
before, saying, `If thee don't, I will blow thee
brains out!'—Friend, I am a man of peace; and
if—”

“Trouble yourself no longer on that score,”
said the soldier, who began to understand how the
land lay, and how much the meek Nathan's reluctance
to become his guide was engendered by
his fears of being called on to take a share in such
fighting as might occur, “trouble yourself no longer,
we will take care to avoid a contest.”

“Truly,” said Nathan, “that may not be as
thee chooses, the Injuns being all around thee.”

“If a rencontre should be inevitable,” said Roland,
with a smile, mingling grim contempt of
Nathan's pusillanimity with secret satisfaction at
the thought of being thus able to secure the safety
of his kinswoman, “all that I shall expect of you
will be to decamp with the females, whilst we
three, Emperor, Pardon Dodge, and myself, cover
your retreat: we can, at least, check the assailants,
if we die for it!”

This resolute speech was echoed by each of the
other combatants, the negro exclaiming, though
with no very valiant utterance, “Yes, massa! no
mistake in ole Emperor;—will die for missie and
massa,”—while Pardon, who was fast relapsing
into the desperation that had given him courage
on a former occasion, cried out, with direful emphasis,
“If there's no dodging the critturs, then
there a'n't; and if I must fight, then I must; and
them that takes my scalp must gin the worth on't,
or it a'n't no matter!”

“Truly,” said Nathan, who listened to these
several outpourings of spirit with much complacency,
“I am a man of peace and amity, according
to my conscience; but if others are men of
wrath and battle, according to theirs, I will not
take it upon me to censure them,—nay, not even
if they should feel themselves called upon by hard
necessity to shed the blood of their Injun fellow-creatures,—who,
it must be confessed, if we
should stumble on the same, will do their best to
make that necessity as strong as possible. But
now let us away, and see what help there is for
us; though whither to go, and what to do, there
being Injuns before, and Injuns behind, and Injuns
all around, truly, truly, it doth perplex me.”

And so, indeed, it seemed; for Nathan straightway
fell into a fit of musing, shaking his head,
and tapping his finger contemplatively on the stock
of that rifle, terrible only to the animals that furnished
him subsistence, and all the while in such
apparent abstraction, that he took no notice of a
suggestion made by Roland,—namely, that he
should lead the way to the deserted Ford, where,
as the soldier said, there was every reason to believe
there were no Indians,—but continued to
argue the difficulty in his own mind, interrupting
the debate only to ask counsel where there seemed
the least probability of obtaining it:

“Peter!” said he, addressing himself to the little
dog, and that with as much gravity as if addressing
himself to a human adviser, “I have my
thoughts on the matter,—what does thee think of
matters and things?”

“My friend,” cried Roland, impatiently, “this
is no affair to be intrusted to the wisdom of a brute
dog!”

“If there is any one here whose wisdom can

serve us better,” said Nathan, meekly, “let him
speak. Thee don't know Peter, friend, or thee
would use him with respect. Many a long day
has he followed me through the forest; and many
a time has he helped me out of harm and peril
from man and beast, when I was at sore shifts to
help myself. For truly, friend, as I told thee before,
the Injuns have no regard for men, whether
men of peace or war; and an honest, quiet, peace-loving
man can no more roam the wood, hunting
for the food that sustains life, without the fear of
being murdered, than a fighting-man in search of
his prey.—Thee sees now what little dog Peter is
doing? He runs to the tracks, and he wags his
tail:—truly, I am of the same way of thinking!”

“What tracks are they?” demanded Roland,
as he followed Nathan to the path which the latter
had been pursuing, when arrested by the soldier,
and where the little cur was now smelling
about, occasionally lifting his head and wagging
his tail, as if to call his master's attention.

“What tracks!” echoed Nathan, looking on the
youth first with wonder, and then with commiseration,
and adding,—“It was a tempting of
Providence, friend, for thee to lead poor helpless
women into a wild forest. Does thee not know
the tracks of thee own horses?”

“'Sdeath!” said Roland, looking on the marks,
as Nathan pointed them out in the soft earth, and
reflecting with chagrin how wildly he had been
rambling, for more than an hour, since they had
been impressed on the soil.

“Thee knows the hoof-marks,” said Nathan,
now pointing, with a grin, at other tracks of a different
appearance among them; “perhaps thee
knows these footprints also?”

“They are the marks of footmen,” said the sol

dier, in suprise; “but how they came there I know
not, no footmen being of our party.”

The grin that marked the visage of the man of
peace widened almost into a laugh, as Roland
spoke. “Verily,” he cried, “thee is in the wrong
place, friend, in the forest! If thee had no footmen
with thee, could thee have none after thee?
Look, friend, here are tracks, not of one man, but
of five, each stepping on tiptoe, as if to tread
lightly and look well before him,—each with a
moccasin on,—each with a toe turned in; each—”

“Enough,—they were Indians!” said Roland,
with a shudder, “and they must have been close
behind us!”

“Now, friend,” said Nathan, “thee will have
more respect for Peter; for, truly, it was Peter
told me of these things, when I was peaceably
hunting my game in the forest. He showed me
the track of five ignorant persons rambling
through the wood, as the hawk flies in the air,—
round, round, round, all the time,—or like an ox
that has been browsing on the leaves of the buckeye;[1]
and he showed me that five evil-minded
Shawnees were pursuing in their trail. So thinks
I to myself, `these poor creatures will come to
mischief, if no one gives them warning of their
danger;' and therefore I started to follow, Peter
showing me the way. And truly, if there can any
good come of my finding thee in this hard case,
thee must give all the thanks and all the praise to
poor Peter!”

“I will never more speak ill of a dog as long

as I live,” said Roland. “But let us away. I
thought our best course was to the Lower Ford;
but, I find, I am mistaken. We must away in the
opposite direction.”

“Not so,” said Nathan, coolly; “Peter is of
opinion that we must run the track over again;
and, truly, so am I. We must follow these same
five Injuns: it is as much as our lives are worth.”

“You are mad!” said Roland. “This will be
to bring us right upon the skulking cut-throats.
Let us fly in another direction: the forest is open
before us.”

“And how long does thee think it will keep
open? Friend, I tell thee, thee is surrounded by
Injuns. On the south, they lie at the Ford; on the
west, is the river rolling along in a flood; and at
the east, are the roads full of Shawnees on the
scout. Verily, friend, there is but little comfort
to think of proceeding in any direction, even to
the north, where there are five murdering creatures
full before us. But this is my thought, and,
I rather think, it is Peter's: if we go to the north,
we know pretty much all the evil that lies before
us, and how to avoid it; whereas, by turning in
either of the other quarters, we go into danger
blindfold.”

“And how shall we avoid these five villains
before us?” asked Roland, anxiously.

“By keeping them before us,” replied Nathan;
“that is, friend, by following them, until such time
as they turn where thee turned before them, (and,
I warrant me, the evil creatures will turn wheresoever
thee trail does;) when we, if we have good
luck, may slip quietly forward, and leave them to
follow us, after first taking the full swing of all
thee roundabout vagaries.”

“Take your own course,” said Roland; “it

may be the best. We can, at the worst, but stumble
upon these five; and then, (granting that you
can, in the meanwhile, bear the females off,) I will
answer for keeping two or three of the villains
busy. Take your own course,” he repeated; “the
night is darkening around us; we must do something.”

“Thee says the truth,” cried Nathan. “As for
stumbling unawares on the five evil persons thee
is in dread of, trust Peter for that: thee shall soon
see what a friend thee has in little dog Peter.
Truly, for a peaceful man like me, it is needful I
should have some one to tell me when dangerous
persons are nigh.”

With these words, which were uttered with a
good countenance, showing how much his confidence
in the apparently insignificant Peter preserved
him from the fears natural to his character
and situation, the man of peace proceeded to marshal
the company in a line, directing them to follow
him in that order, and earnestly impressing
upon all the necessity of preserving strict silence
upon the march. This being done, he boldly strode
forwards, taking a post at least two hundred paces
in advance of the others, at which distance, as he
gave Roland to understand, he desired the party
to follow, as was the more necessary, since their
being mounted rendered them the more liable to
be observed by distant enemies. “If thee sees me
wave my hand above my head,” were his last instructions
to the young soldier, who began to be
well pleased with his readiness and forecast,
“bring thee people to a halt; if thee sees me drop
upon the ground, lead them under the nearest
cover, and keep them quiet; for thee may then be
certain there is mischief, or mischievous people,
nigh at hand. But verily, friend, with Peter's
help, we will circumvent them all.”

With this cheering assurance, he now strode
forward to his station, and coming to a halt with
his dog Peter, Roland immediately beheld the latter
run to a post forty or fifty paces further in
advance, when he paused to receive the final
orders of his master, which were given with a
motion of the same hand that a moment after
beckoned the party to follow. Had Roland been
sufficiently nigh to take note of proceedings, he
would have admired the conduct of the little brute,
the unerring accuracy with which he pursued the
trail, the soft and noiseless motion with which he
stepped from leaf to leaf, casting his eyes ever
and anon to the right and left, and winding the
air before him, as if in reality conscious of peril,
and sensible that the welfare of the six mortals at
his heels depended upon the faithful exercise of
all his sagacity. These things, however, from the
distance, Roland was unable to observe; but he
saw enough to convince him that the animal addressed
itself to its task with as much zeal and
prudence as its master. A sense of security, the
first felt for several hours, now began to disperse
the gloom that had oppressed his spirits; and
Edith's countenance, throughout the whole of the
adventure a faithful, though doubtless somewhat
exaggerated, reflection of his own, also lost much
of its melancholy and terror, though without at
any moment regaining the cheerful smiles that
had decked it at the setting-out. It was left for
Roland alone, as his mind regained its elasticity,
to marvel at the motley additions by which his
party had increased in so short a time to twice
its original numbers, and to speculate on the prospects
of an expedition committed to the guidance
of such a conductor as little Peter.