University of Virginia Library

12. CHAPTER XII.
NEW TROUBLES.

Whoever has passed the night in a sick chamber,
where constant vigilance has been required, is aware
how difficult it is at times, in the solemn stillness,
to keep the senses on the alert. However wakeful
the watcher may be at first, and however firmly resolved
that the drowsy god shall not approach and
take him from his guard, he almost invariably finds
himself arousing with a start from a nodding
dream; and then, while in the very act of fortifying
himself against a repetition of the same, he again
yields to the somniferous influence.

Such was the case with Henry Colburn. For the
first hour or so he easily kept awake, thinking over
the strange and wonderful events of the day, and
watching the uncouth and fantastic shadows that the
flickering fire-light caused to dance on the ceiling and
walls of that old hovel, and which gradually changed
to darker and more grotesque shapes along with a
deeper surrounding gloom, as the blaze became
gradually weaker and weaker, till they finally disappeared
as the last flame expired over the glowing
embers. There was more wood on the hearth; but
the night was far from being cold, and the room was
already uncomfortably warm, and so Henry resolved

to only now and then put on a small stick, not for
heat, but merely for the purpose of keeping the
place from settling into a deep and fearful darkness.
But while thinking about doing this—yet delaying
it from minute to minute, for fear of awaking Isaline,
whom he now believed to be asleep—he lost
himself.

He awoke with a start, as if from the sensation left
by some horrible dream which he could not remember.
It seemed to him that his eyes had been closed
only for a moment; and yet, by the dull embers and
almost total darkness of the place, he knew it had been
a long, long time for a sentinel to have been neglecting
his duty—perhaps an hour—perhaps more. He
turned his eyes toward the corner where his strange
host had retired to rest, and, with a feeling of horror
that made his hair stand, he dimly saw the shadowy
figure of Methoto standing upright and having
something in his hands which looked like a rifle.

Was his host's sleeping, then, a mere pretence?
and his whole object murder? Perhaps he wished
to return to the Indians again, and desired to take
them a white scalp as a peace-offering! Or, again,
as Isaline had suggested, perhaps his design was to
kill her protector to get possession of herself!

But what was to be done, to save himself and her?
To start up suddenly, and attempt to defend himself,
would only be to hasten his doom; while by keeping
perfectly quiet, he would first know if his suspicions
were well founded, and, if so, might find some opportunity

to take his adversary at an advantage. If
the white Indian really did intend to kill him, it was
hardly reasonable to suppose he would shoot him
while believing him to be asleep; but would probably
make the attempt first with his knife or tomahawk,
having his rifle ready in case of need; and as he himself
had his own knife in his belt, perhaps he might,
by waiting for his opportunity, take the other by
surprise and use it with fatal effect: so he remained
still, but keenly on the watch.

Presently the grim, shadowy figure came slowly
and stealthily toward him; and with a motion imperceptible
in the deep gloom, Henry drew his knife
from its sheath and quietly prepared himself for a
tiger-like spring. Nearer and still nearer came the
dread host, and with a step so light that it could not
be heard. When within a few feet of him, Henry
could see that it was indeed his rifle which he had
in his hand; and the fear that he really intended to
use it, made him secretly tremble, brave though he
was; but now, to his great relief, the host stopped
and rested the weapon against the wall, and then
went quietly to a corner of the hearth and sat down,
doubling his legs under him, in Turkish fashion, as
he had done once or twice before that evening, and
seemed to become absorbed in looking at the dying
embers.

“Can it be that I have mistaken him?” thought
our hero; “and that, after all, what I supposed to be
a murderous design, was only a civil intention not

to disturb me? But then why did he have his rifle
in his hand? and why did he bring it forward and
place it so near him? Perhaps he had a wicked
design, and has changed it! or it may be he still
retains it, but is resolved upon a little delay in its
execution!”

Like a beast upon its prey, ready for the fatal
spring, Henry kept his eyes riveted upon Methoto.
The latter sat there for nearly an hour, silent and
motionless, and then got up quietly, and stealthily
went back to his pallet of skins, leaving his rifle standing
against the wall.

“He is a strange, eccentric being, and perhaps I
have suspected him without just cause!” thought
Henry.

By this time only a few sparks of fire were remaining,
and the hut was almost in total darkness.
Henry would have got up and kindled more, but
Isaline appeared to be sleeping very sweetly, and he
was afraid of waking her. Fortunately she had
known nothing of his suspicions and fears.

“And after all,” he thought, “we may be as safe
without a light as with one, for I will keep on my
guard the rest of the night, and should this strange
being attempt to murder me, the darkness will as
effectually conceal my movements as his.”

He did not sleep again that night, though at times
the desire was so strong that he found it very difficult
to keep from yielding to it. To him the night
proved very long and tedious, but to Isaline very

refreshing. After the host had retired the second
time, he appeared to sleep very soundly—at least
he did not get up again, nor give his wakeful guest
any further cause for suspicion or alarm.

When the first streak of day began to show
through here and there a crevice of the hut, Henry
arose, Isaline awoke, and Methoto started up at the
same time. At that moment Henry could easily
have seized the rifle of his host; and reflecting how
comparatively helpless was the condition of himself
and companion, he was tempted to do so, and make
both secure; but there was something in the act that
did not accord with his open, generous nature; and,
after the kind hospitality he had received, he did
not feel justified in thus showing his suspicion.

Giving himself a shake, like a wild beast rising
from his lair, Methoto came forward, took up his
rifle, opened the pan, to see that the priming was all
right, and then went back and set it up in a corner;
and Henry, who watched him closely all the time,
was glad he had not touched the weapon.

By this time Isaline had risen to her feet, with the
remark:

“I do believe I have been asleep.”

“I rather think so,” smiled Henry, “for many a
long hour has passed since you lay down.”

“Hours, do you say, Henry?”

“Yes, for it is now morning.”

“Is it possible? And we have all been safely
preserved through the night! Thank God for that!”

“Yes, day is once more breaking upon the world,
and God send it may be a day of deliverance for us!
How do you feel, dear Isaline?”

“Oh, refreshed and strong, as if I could do
wonders in travelling.”

“I am glad to hear it, for we have another long,
hard journey before us!” said Henry.

Then turning to their host, he inquired the distance
to the ford near the Blue Licks.

Methoto shook his head.

“Do you know where the place is?”

“Oogh! me know.”

“How far could the sun go,” pursued Henry,
pointing to the east, and making a motion over his
head with his hand, to indicate the movement of that
luminary from its rising to its setting, “while you
were walking there?”

He had to repeat the question some two or three
times before the other could understand him.

“Oogh! so much!” replied Methoto at length,
indicating by a similar motion of his hand about
one-fourth of the distance.

“That is about three hours,” said Henry to Isaline,
“and so I judge the distance to be some ten or
twelve miles, which shows that we have been getting
further off instead of nearer.”

“Should we not start at once, then?” anxiously
inquired Isaline. “I am afraid the Indians will set
out on our trail as soon as it is light.”

“They would have to find it first,” replied Henry,

“and I hardly think they will make the attempt,
considering how many hours we have had the start
of them. Still it may be prudent for us to set out
as soon as we have broken our fast.”

“If we could cross the Licking at once, I should
feel much safer, Henry!”

“True; and doubtless we can do so, for Methoto
has a canoe, and will probably set us across.”

He explained to the white Indian, by words and
signs, what he wanted, and the other nodded assent.
Then taking up some two or three short, rough slabs
at one end of the shanty, the host pointed down to
the little vessel, which was resting on the slope of the
hill, among some bushes, a few feet above the high
water of the muddy stream that was sullenly flowing
past.

“Oogh! me paddle over water!” said Methoto.

“Thank you!” returned Henry. “And now if
you will give us something more to eat, and then
put us over, we will always think well of Methoto.”

The other at once set about kindling the fire; and
having done this, he produced his venison and corn
cakes; and Henry, acting as cook, soon prepared a
meal for Isaline and himself, exactly like the one of
the night before. Of this they both partook quite
heartily, and by the time it was finished the bright
sun of a cloudless day was beginning to shine upon
the rocky summit of the hill above them.

Feeling now quite secure of escaping from the
savages who had pursued them, even should they

find their last trail, Henry proposed to Isaline that
they should step out and look around them before
crossing the river.

“Let the delay be very brief then,” said Isaline,
“for I confess I do not feel at all safe on this side of
the Licking.”

On going outside, the first thing that struck them
was the curious manner in which the hut of Methoto
was concealed in the midst of a clump of high
bushes, which, on three sides, only left a small portion
of it visible, that next to the river being the
most perceptible, but only from the narrow bank
between it and the water, or from the stream itself,
or from the shore directly opposite. The hill above
was steep and rocky, with here and there a stunted
tree, or a few bushes, shooting up from between the
stones; and even Henry, experienced as he was in
wood-craft, admitted that he might have passed
along within a few yards of the hut without seeing
it at all. The scenery around was wild, and in some
places grand and solemn, though the sun was rising
brightly and a few birds were singing merrily. The
Licking, raised some feet by the rain of the previous
day, was rolling along its muddy waters at a
greater speed than usual and with a sullen murmur,
bearing downward sticks and bushes and now and
then the old decaying trunk of some tree that it had
floated off from the shore. From the other side rose
a steep, heavily-wooded hill, whose foliage of green
leaves looked sombre and mysterious, and excited in

Isaline a feeling of awe and dread at the thought of
entering and picking her way through it with so
slight a protection as her companion might afford
her from the dangers therein concealed.

“May Heaven be propitious, and enable us to rejoin
our companions before another awful night sets
in!” she said; “for we might not even find another
place of rest as comfortable as the one we are about
to leave.”

They now went back into the hut, and Henry told
his host that if he would set them across the river
they would resume their journey and part from him
with many thanks for his kindness, and would besides
so represent him to their friends that he should
some day receive a proper reward for his hospitality.
As soon as he could be made to understand this, he
seemed much pleased, and returned several nods and
grunts of apparent satisfaction.

“Oogh! white man no hang Methoto?” he said.

“Never, where I have the power to prevent it!”
rejoined Henry. “Poor fellow!” he said, speaking
his thoughts aloud rather than addressing the other;
“yours is a hard case indeed—leading this lonely,
solitary life, without a single friend or companion, a
fugitive from the Indians, and rejected by your own
race! This must not be; something must be done
for you; for even though your crime was great, it
must be considered that you acted according to your
savage education and immediately repented and
atoned for the deed as far as lay in your power.

There are few of us, God knows, but what have done
some wrong which has merited far greater punishment
than we have received; and until a man gets
his just deserts for his own sins, he should not bear
too hard upon the sins of his neighbor!”

Methoto listened to Henry and looked pleased; for
though he could only guess at his meaning, he knew
from his tone and manner that it was kindly meant.

As our friends were now anxious to be on the move,
Methoto led the way to the canoe, which was pushed
up into some bushes under the lower side of the
hut, the latter resting upon the ground on the upper
side, and a couple of rocks on that next to the river,
with a space between them, underneath the foundation
logs or sills, large enough to contain a fair-sized
boat. The canoe, as before remarked, was small
and light, being intended only for carrying one
person on the water, or being by that person in
turn carried on the land; and when Isaline came to
examine it, and looked at the dark, turbid stream
flowing past, she felt like shrinking away from the
danger she could so clearly foresee. It was about
seven feet in length, not very deep, widest in the
middle, round on the bottom, and pointed at the
ends, the body of it composed of bark, with skins
drawn around the outside and secured so as to hold
it together and keep it from leaking. To one of
steady nerve, good balance, and great skill in the
navigation of such a craft, it might do for a conveyance
over the water; but Isaline felt that she would

upset it before getting a dozen feet from the shore,
even could she get into it at all, of which she had
some serious doubts.

“I would not dare to trust myself in that!” she
said to Henry.

“I am afraid it will not answer,” he replied, with
something like a sigh, “and thus is lost the hope of
crossing the river here, for in the condition the
stream is now I would not undertake to swim it
with you as I proposed last night.”

“And is there no other way of getting across?”
asked Isaline, with an anxious look.

“I suppose we might construct a raft if we had
time; but it would take hours, to say the least, to
collect the materials and put them into a safe condition
for the venture, and thus the day would be
lost.”

“And our foes be upon us!” added Isaline, shuddering
at the thought. “Oh, what is to be done?”

“I fear there is nothing better for us than to continue
our journey on this side of the stream.”

“But is it not necessary for us to cross the river?”

“Somewhere it is.”

“And will not the ford be too deep for us, in case
our companions shall have gone over?”

“It may be,” replied Henry, with a troubled look.
“But surely there must be some way for us to cross
this stream!” he pursued, musing seriously. “Let
me think! Ha! I have it! You must go over in

the canoe, Isaline, and I will swim along-side and
keep it from upsetting.”

“It is a fearful risk, but there seems to be no
alternative,” she rejoined.

“Yes, it must be so!”

While this conversation was taking place, Methoto,
without heeding it, and probably without
understanding even the drift of it, kept himself busy
in hauling out the canoe, carefully examining it, and
putting it into the water, where, by the time his
guests had arrived at their decision, he was holding
it with one hand and waiting for them to enter.
Henry now explained to him his design of swimming
and thus keeping it upright. Methoto shook
his head, in a way to show that he very much disapproved
of the plan.

“Squaw still sit—no turn!” he said.

“I dare not risk it!” replied Isaline.

Methoto stared at her for a few moments, with a
mingled look of pity and admiration—pity for her
fears—admiration of her beauty. Isaline grew
quite uneasy, and turned her eyes away, as if to
observe some distant object. There was something
about the look of that strange being, when his whole
attention was concentrated on her, that made her fear
him even more than the river.

“Squaw heap 'fraid?” he asked.

“Yes,” nodded Isaline, without glancing at him
again, and rapidly turning her eyes from one object

to another, as if fearful there might be other dangers
gathering around her.

“Much handsome!” pursued Methoto, who, in
common with most of the Indians of the Ohio tribes,
or Six Nations, had picked up quite a number of
English words from the British agents and traders
of the Canadas, with whom they were on friendly
terms. “Best come stay Methoto wigwam!”

“Come, come, we are wasting precious time here!”
now interposed Henry, rather sternly.

Methoto turned and gave him a look that was
hard to interpret, because it seemed to mean so much
and yet expressed so little—a stern, hard, cold stare,
that might either indicate a want of comprehension,
or secret, sullen anger at his interference.

“If you will put us across the river at once, we
will give you many thanks,” pursued Henry, returning
his look with an unquailing eye.

“You swim?” asked Methoto.

It was a natural question, because perfectly in
accordance with his own proposition; but Henry,
who was gazing straight into his eyes, and endeavoring
to understand the soul that was looking out
through those dull windows, saw, or fancied he saw,
a slight, momentary gleam of satisfaction or triumph;
and reflecting that for himself to be in the water
swimming, with Isaline in the boat with Methoto,
was to put a new temptation to crime before that
strange, dark being, that he might not care to resist,
he answered, in a decided tone:

“No, I have changed my mind—I shall not swim!”

“You 'fraid some?” said the other, with an expression
of disappointment slightly blended with
contempt.

“For the present, Isaline, I regret to say we must
take our chances on this side of the river,” said
Henry, turning to his fair companion.

She looked at him and caught his meaning at a
glance.

“Yes, Henry, the river is too dangerous!” she rejoined,
with an expression that showed she comprehended
everything.

“What do?” inquired Methoto, looking curiously
from one to the other.

“We must keep on this side of the river to the
ford—too much danger on the water.”

“No go canoe?”

Henry shook his head.

With a look of sullen disappointment, Methoto
jerked the boat ashore, picked it up as if it had been
a light stick of wood, and, taking two or three steps
up the hill, hurled it under his hut, among the
bushes, where it rested as at first.

“He is angry with us now, and I am so afraid of
him!” said Isaline, with a shudder.

“Would to God I had my rifle and ammunition
with me!” returned Henry, with a look of deep
anxiety. “But I must get possession of his—our
safety, I fear, depends on it! Be calm, dear Isaline,
I pray you, and seem as careless and indifferent as

possible! We must both play a part here—Heaven
help us!”

Methoto did not return to his guests, but immediately
plunged into the bushes and disappeared on
the other side of his rude dwelling.

“Oh, Heaven! perhaps he has gone to get his rifle
to shoot you, Henry!” cried Isaline clasping her
hands.

Henry remembered what he had seen in the night,
and had his own suspicions and fears, but he merely
said:

“We must go up and meet him with smiles—it
may be our only hope!”