University of Virginia Library

13. CHAPTER XIII.

Bartholomew Calvin, after sitting some time gazing
in silence at the handsome features of the Indian maiden
who had innocently captured his heart and surrendered her
own to another, rose up moodily and strode with melancholy
aspect into the wigwam of his relative, the ancient
Tammany.

The old chief beckoned him to be seated, and pointed
toward the pipe and tobacco. To his surprise, the young
man declined smoking. He then ordered one of his wives
to set some bear's-meat and honey before his nephew.

These he merely tasted, and then, sitting at his uncle's
feet, said he had come thither to receive his counsel. He
explained to him the painful condition of his heart and his
sentiments regarding the war.

“Listen!” said the old chief, leaning his feeble form
against the wall of his house, which was hung with skins,
and scanning his attenuated limbs, shrunken with age and
palsied with debility. “I have not many words to speak;
but my sister's son shall have them all. I am old. Yet the
days of my youth seem as yesterday. So the life of an old
man is but short. I look at my skin-covered bones and
laugh” (and his wrinkled face was then beaming with bright
smiles) “with the children that mock at me. They will
soon be placed away, and then I will tread the great hunting-grounds,
where there is no age, no disease, no dying.
Listen, sister's son! We pass like a feather blown away.
Why should we wound and kill those people whom the
Great Spirit sent to our shores? Can we kill them all and
drive them hence? No; it is the voice of God. The
Christian's God is the Indian's God. The Indian cannot
oppose him. The Indian may fight for his lands and die
with honour; but he must lose his lands, and then what is
the honour of this world to him when he dwells in another?
You sigh for the Brown Thrush. It is well. When the
White Eagle spreads his wings and passes the mountain,
she will charm thee with her song. Then Brandt will
come, fierce as the wolf-dog and as bloody. Go not with
him. Obey the voice of God. It speaks in the acts of the
white men. They are like the leaves of the trees or the
stars of the heavens. They cannot be counted. She will
go with you. She was baptized because she loved the
Christian youth. She will follow him. But he will have
another, fairer to behold than the Wild Thrush. He cannot
have two. Then you may have one. Go to Sagorighwiyogstha,”
(Jersey, Doer of Justice.) “Die there in peace.
Eat, wear warm clothes, sleep well, and be as happy as you
can, and ever true and honest during life's short day. Then
die. Death is only sleep. Awake in paradise. Meet me
there. My sister's son, I have no more to say.”

Calvin had listened intently, and every word of his ancient
relative seemed engraven on his mind.

He withdrew and strode into the camp of the white people.

Charles led him into his own tent, where none could
intrude.

“You will not betray me, I know,” said Charles; “and
therefore I have brought you hither to make known our
secret. The white prisoners will escape to-morrow night,
and I shall go with them. Will you remain?”

“Does the Thrush go?”

“No.”

“Then I will remain.”

“Not, I hope, to follow Brandt?”

“No. But I shall probably follow thee with his sister.”

“Alas! what will be her feelings when she learns I have
fled from her? Calvin, I have never loved her as you do.
My affection for her is strong, but it is only that of a
brother. I shall pass many sleepless nights thinking of my
poor devoted forest sister. She loves me as you would
have her love you. She is very beautiful and good, Calvin.
And when I am gone, and married to another, my
friend, watch over my forest sister! Do not let her be
destroyed. Bring her to the Jerseys, and, when she sees
that men there never have two wives, she will love thee.”

For an instant the fire of a long line of noble chieftains
glimmered in the dark eye of the Indian youth and was
then engulfed forever in darkness. The words of his uncle
still sounded in his ears, and the haughty reply another
might have uttered died within him. Without speaking,
he pressed the hand of Charles and withdrew.

During the following day quite a number of the Eastern
chiefs arrived, and a great many skins were placed round
the council-fire, (always kept burning,) to be in readiness
for the assembling of the representatives of the nations.

Logan, the great Mingo chief, strode through the village
in sullen gloom, and once paused before the tent of Gentle
Moonlight and gazed steadily at the fair face of Julia.
She grasped his hand with tears in her eyes, for the sad
tale of the murder of his family—wife and children, even
his little pet pappoose, two years old — had often been
repeated in her presence. And he did not speak. His
tongue could not find utterance. But he pointed toward
the East, and turned away. Julia understood him, and
became more impatient than ever to depart.

In the afternoon Queen Esther's drum was heard. The

blood of the prisoners ran cold in their veins. Preceded
by the music, and followed by her guards, the implacable
old woman first visited the grand-council-chamber, and
upon every skin she placed small pictures of the massacre
of Cornstalk and his son Elenipsico, and Red Hawk, and
the wife and babes of Logan. These had been engraved in
Canada, under the direction of the Johnstons and Butlers,
for distribution among the Indians. Then she walked
round the council-fire three times, chanting one of her infernal
songs, and casting brimstone into the flame.

Withdrawing from the council-chamber, she hastened to
the house which had been prepared for her reception, and
summoned the ancient chiefs of the Senecas to appear
before her.

“My children,” said she, “why have I seen the pale-face
prisoners walking about with guns in their hands?
Are we not at war? Do they permit their Indian prisoners
to go at large? Where are the chiefs that were betrayed
at Point Pleasant? Who knows that before another sun
we shall not be attacked in our wigwams?”

Ughs, shrugs, and grimaces, followed this interrogation.

“What shall we do?” she continued. “We are to have
war. The Great Spirit has told me so in the council-house.
Then we shall kill our prisoners. But, before that time,
suppose our prisoners kill us?”

The Senecas brandished their tomahawks and uttered
fierce threats.

“We will not permit them, my children. To-morrow
morning, at early dawn, we will kill them all! That will
be war! Then let the Oneidas, and Delawares, and Shawnees,
and Cherokees, smoke the peace-pipe with the Americans,
if they will!”

“Warriors!” said Red Jacket, who had followed Queen
Esther, and anticipated some such sanguinary proposition,
“hear what I have to say. Wait till all the chiefs and
sachems, and the grand-sachem of the Five Nations, have
met together and deliberated. That is all I advise.” And
he sat down.

“The Eastern prisoners are mine,” said the old Queen,
“and I may decide their fate.”

“The sister and aunt of Thayendanegea are among
them,” said Red Jacket.

“They shall live,” said the other.

“The White Eagle, Thayendanegea's white brother, is
among them.”

“If he will not wed Brandt's sister, Brandt will not
mourn for him. He must die, if he will not marry and
live with us.”

“The Delaware youth, the son of Tammany's sister, is
among them.”

“He shall live, and marry Brandt's sister, when White
Eagle is dead.”

“I have spoken,” said Red Jacket. “I have no more
to say. Let my words be remembered.”

The old Queen then dismissed the chiefs, without giving
them any further directions. She relied upon their desire
of vengeance for the loss of their brothers on the Alleghany.

It was near midnight. The fires in the wigwams had
ceased to cast up their flames, and the smouldering embers
threw a deep red glare over the sleeping forms of the
Indians. They sleep as heartily as they eat, and repose is
as necessary to them as food. Like the fowls of the air,
when darkness comes their eyelids grow heavy. They do
not have sentinels. Nor do they often attack in the night.

It was different with the whites. They were lying very
still, it is true, with their fires burning low. But their eyes
were open, and each impatient to rise at the signal and be
gone.

Boone, Kenton, and Hugh McSwine were with Charles
in his little tent communicating with the large one which
contained the rest of the male prisoners. They were lying
on their buffalo robes, speaking in whispers. The horses
which were to convey them to the Ohio River were in readiness,
a few hundred paces from the village, held by one of
the faithful Scots, whose absence from the prisoners' wigwam
had not been observed by the Indian who hastily
counted the captives at night. And Julia had assured them
that she would be able to rise and leave her tent without
awaking her companions.

It was now near the time of departure, and Charles
grew impatient for the signal Julia was to give. The
curtain of buffalo-skins hanging between them and the
large wigwam containing the rest was slightly agitated.

Charles started up, but instantly resumed his recumbent
position, knowing that Julia would not come from that
direction, stepping over the bodies of the men.

Again the skin was moved, followed by a low sound, like
the chirp of a cricket, and Hugh McSwine sprang up
hastily.

“I dinna' think it can be him,” said Hugh, “but it's like
the chiel's midnight-signal. If it be you, Skippie,” he continued,
“come in, mon!”

The skin was thrust aside, and the whole party rose
to their feet, with the bright blades of their brandished
knives reflecting the dim red glare of the sinking embers.
The form which stood before them was in the Seneca costume.

“Whisper low!” said Boone, grasping the intruder by
the neck with his left hand, “or I'll let out your blood in
the ashes.”

“Loosen your gripe, mon,” said Hugh; “don't you see
his eyes are popping out? He's strangled, mon, and can't
speak.”

“He may give the alarm-halloo,” said Boone, staring at
his unresisting victim.

“No,” said Charles. “A spy would not have obtruded
upon us in this manner. Release him, Mr. Boone.”

Boone did so, and the poor fellow sank down and
breathed heavily, for he had been nearly suffocated.

“Skippie!” at length was uttered by him, as he placed
a number of letters in Charles's hand.

“It is Skippie!” said Charles. “Never was any one so
perfectly disguised! And he comes from my father. But
I have no time now to read the letters,” he added, thrusting
them in his bosom.

“Bundle outside,” said Skippie, pointing in the direction.

“What is it? Who is it for?” demanded Charles.

“Miss Julia,” was the reply.

“Return and take charge of it, Skippie. And follow us
when we leave here to-night.”

“Leave to-night?” asked Skippie, with unwonted energy.

“Yes.”

“Good!” he said, with apparent satisfaction.

“Why?” asked Charles.

“Dead to-morrow!”

This announcement produced, as was natural, great internal
commotion; and Hugh, knowing the shortest method
of obtaining information from his unique countryman, soon
learned that Skippie had been an auditor at the brief conference
held in Queen Esther's wigwam. The intelligence
of her diabolical design filled the breasts of the prisoners
with fierce indignation. Hugh proposed taking her life
before departing; but this was objected to as hazardous
and unnecessary. Hugh, however, was permitted to watch
the sleeping guards of Queen Esther who had been stationed
near the wigwam in readiness for the bloody work in
the morning. They were wrapped in bear-skins, and lay
under a persimmon-tree, and Skippie had been compelled
to step over some of their bodies to reach the tent. There
was, however, another place of egress prepared for such a
contingency. Nevertheless, Skippie's information was well-timed,
for the presence of the savages under the tree had
not been discovered, and the escaping party would have
stumbled upon them.

A handful of sand thrown against the tent was the joyful
signal Charles had been waiting for, and the moment he
heard it his keen knife glided noiselessly down the canvas.
He stepped out, followed by Kenton, who was to precede
him to the place where the horses had been concealed. It
was a starlight night, and the form of Julia, easily discernible,
was encircled by the arm of Charles, who led her
softly away in the direction the guide was pursuing.

Boone brought up the rear, leading the prisoners, while
Hugh and Skippie lingered behind to watch the sleeping
Senecas.

They moved in silence, or spoke in low whispers; and so
still was the night that they could hear the occupants
snoring within several of the houses they passed. They
were just opposite the last house, and supposed there was
no further danger of interruption and discovery, when a
man ran out from the hut and stumbled against Charles
and Julia. Boone's knife was uplifted, and in the act of
descending, when his arm was arrested on recognising a
well-known voice.

“Tam her! Trunk! Snoring all te time! Hello!” he
continued, when jostling Charles; and, seeing Boone's

raised arm, cried, “Ton't! I'm Vill Wan Viggens, and
—where's my dog? Here, Vatch!”

“And, be the powers!” said Paddy, following, “do ye
take me for yer falthy cur? But I don't wonder at it.
You've been drinking. A pretty pass I've come to! A
savage mother so drunk she can't stand up, and a Dutch
daddy who don't know me from his dog! Here's yer dog
behint me. He don't know ye when ye're disguised with
sich abominable bad liquor.”

“Hush! Be silent, Paddy!” said Charles, placing his
hand on the amazed Indianized Hibernian's mouth.

“Howly Mother! Is it you, Misther Charles?” asked
Paddy, in a half whisper. “And where are ye going?
And mayn't I go wid ye?”

“Yes. Follow and be silent.”

“I'll go mit you too,” said Van Wiggens. “I'm sick of
being te husband of tat drunken old squaw.”

“Fall in and be silent,” said Boone.

When they reached the horses (and Kenton had by some
inscrutable means contrived to have not only the best animals
of the Indians, but an extra number of them collected
together) they all prepared to mount, being upward of
twenty in number, which included several prisoners who
had been captured in the West.

Simon Kenton, the tall, broad-shouldered young man,
who had been often in the hands of the Indians, and who
was beloved by them, because, like Boone, he was brave
and generous, was quite as familiar with the country on
both sides of the Ohio, and on the Scioto, as any of the
red warriors themselves. He made Paddy and the Dutchman
mount two of the supernumerary horses he had intended
to lead. Much time was consumed in extricating some of
the animals from the thicket, and Boone evinced a degree
of impatience, fearing that Kenton's eagerness to secure
horses might cost them dearly.

When every thing was properly adjusted, the cavalcade
moved off in a brisk pace in the direction of Paint Creek.
But before they had gone far they were startled by the
awful voice of Peter Shaver's jackass in the Indian town.
He brayed most discordantly, and the hills reverberated the
sound.

“Somebody's been kilt,” said Paddy; “for Pater's ass

niver brays widout smelling blood. I hope, Misther
Charles,” he continued, in a lower tone, “it was none
of us.”

“It was not you, Paddy, nor I,” said Julia, smiling.

“Och, Blessed Vargin! and it's you, is it, Miss Julia?
I'd know yer voice the darkest night that iver shone!
And where's the t'other little swateheart?”

“One is enough, Paddy,” said Charles.

“Enough, is it? Yes, and, be the powers, it's often one
too many. And Van Waggens had one too many at home,
and he must get another! But it's glad I am to saa you
have got rid of one, and she a wild savage!”

“Hush, Paddy!” said Julia, sharply. “She is a gentle
creature, whom I love as a sister.”

“Thrue enough for you, Miss Julia! and was she not
Misther Charles's Indian sister, and won't she be yours
when you are—”

Paddy's words were arrested by a sudden commotion behind,
caused by the arrival of Hugh McSwine and Skippie,
who came up at a gallop.

“Hugh!” said Charles, gazing steadily at the excited
countenance of the Scot, for they were now crossing a
small prairie, and the stars were shining brightly, “you
remained behind. Is that not the solution of the loud
braying?”

“I did not see the ass,” said Hugh, equivocating.

“Let me see your hand, Hugh.”

Hugh held it out silently. It was covered with blood, as
was also the sleeve of his buckskin hunting-shirt.

“It was wrong, I fear! — very wrong; and we may
repent it. There can be no peace now. And they will
all join the British. I'm glad Mr. Jones determined to
escape with us. If he had remained, as was his intention
yesterday, he would have been lost. To-morrow, the first
white man they see, if it be not one of the infamous renegades,
will be tomahawked or burned at the stake. How
did you accomplish it? Who did you strike?”

“I dinna' ken their names,” said Hugh. “But my
dirk—”

“Their names. More than one, then?”

“Three. Skippie led the way. They were to fall upon
us in the morning with tomahawk and scalping-knife.

That heated my blude. The guard set over us will never
see the dawn of day!”

“Terrible!” said Julia, leaning forward on her horse,
and striving to shut out the horrible picture from her
imagination.

“Did they alarm the village?” asked Boone, whose
quick ear had caught the purport of Hugh's words.

“They never spoke a word, mon! There was only a
whizzing gushing noise about their throats, a kick or two,
and they were as still as ever. When Hugh McSwine has
one hand on a foeman's neck, and his dirk in the other,
there are never any words or screams.”

“But the ass?”

“De'il tak the ass! I vowed to cut his throat if I met
wi' him again! But I didn't see him. He was biting the
hazel-bushes round the tent, and when he smelt the blude
he ran away squalling as if the de'il were at his heels!”

“And did he not rouse the Indians?” asked Charles.

“Skippie and I waited to see. Some did come out and
gaze in the dark. But the ass had moved some distance
from the dead men, who could tell no tales.”

“Then why should we hasten so fast?” asked Julia.

“We heard the women screaming,” said Hugh.

“Enough!” cried Charles. “Our escape has been discovered!
We cannot conceal our trail. We must fly with
the utmost speed. There can be no rest for you, my Julia,
until we pass the Ohio. I hope you can bear the
fatigue!”

“Oh yes, I can bear it,” said she.

They increased their pace to the utmost, and the unerring
guidance of Kenton kept them in the right direction.
Boone was silent during the remainder of the night, riding
by the side of Hugh and just behind Charles and Julia.

Charles, being familiar with the habits of the savages,
informed Julia that their pursuers would not start on their
trail until daylight, and could not possibly overtake them
before they reached the Ohio River, some fifty miles distant,
if they met with no delay and could keep their horses
going until the next day at noon. And Kenton, keeping
a little in advance, but within speaking distance, informed
them with a chuckle that the fleetest horses had been taken
from the Indians, and those they could not take had been

let loose in the woods, and might perhaps follow them
without riders.

Neither Boone nor Charles, however, seemed to attach
so much importance to the agency of horses as Kenton did.
They were aware that the Indian himself could run for
days without apparent fatigue, and that he could cross
ravines which equestrians must pass round, and traverse
swamps in the direct line of march where horses, if they
did not deviate, would stick fast in the mud. Yet they did
not suppose they could be overtaken if their flight met with
no interruption. But was it not likely they would fall in
with some of the hunting-parties continually going into
and returning from Kentucky? They were certainly beset
with dangers on every hand, and it was not a proper time
to be counting gains in the item of stolen horses.

The first interruption was caused by Van Wiggens's dog,
which barked piteously at every leap, and began to lose
ground. His master said he could not leave him behind,
nor did he believe he could follow their trail. Boone
reined in his steed and fell back to where the dog was yelping,
and, leaning over the side of his horse, succeeded in
grasping poor Watch by the tail, and lifted him up before
him. The dog licked his hand in gratitude.

At early dawn Paddy begged them to stop and have
something to eat. He said Miss Julia must be suffering
with hunger, being unwilling to confess his own weakness.
But Julia declared she could not and would not take any
meat until they had reached a place of safety.

Charles, however, snatched some wild fruit as they rode
through the thickets, which sufficed both for the maiden
and himself. But Van Wiggens had an intolerable thirst,
for he had been induced to drink some of his squaw's miserable
fire-water, furnished by the British sutler. This, too,
was partially allayed by Boone, who, throwing himself under
the neck of his horse, dipped up water from the small
streams they were occasionally dashing through. The poor
Dutch Indian drank a little of this while in motion, and
spilled more, which he wept over.

About the middle of the forenoon, and when Kenton
was promising in a few hours more to show them the cliffs
of the Ohio, the party halted abruptly, most of them with
painfully-throbbing hearts. On an eminence in the prairie

through which they were passing, and in the line of march
directly before them, they beheld a company of some forty
Indians. They seemed to be returning from a hunting
expedition, as their horses were laden with buffalo-meat.

“Will they attack us?” asked Julia.

“I think they will!” said Kenton, whose quick eye had
instantly computed their superior number. “But we can
whip 'em! I'll have a scalp for every horse they take!”

Charles perceived that the Indians were astonished at
the apparition of such a cavalcade. Most of the whites—
and they seemed themselves to have forgotten it—were
not only habited as Indians, but painted like them also.
But their mode of sitting on horseback and manner of
riding, even at the distance of several hundred yards, could
not long deceive the hunting-party as to the true nature
of their quality. Himself, however, and Kenton and
Boone, might counterfeit the Indian without liability to
detection; and so the three, after giving certain directions
to Hugh, advanced toward the opposite party.

Three of the Indians came at full gallop to meet them.
They were Senecas. In answer to their inquiry, Charles
said his men were a party of adopted prisoners going to
Kentucky to hunt buffalo.

The chief who had addressed him said all that was very
good, and asked if all the prisoners had been adopted without
running the gauntlet.

Charles said he believed some were retained for the
torture, and had been taken to Sandusky, where they
would probably be burned at the stake, as their captors
had painted them black.

The chief asked if they had not scalped and burned
“Captain Kenton, a horse-steal rascal, d— white man!”

Kenton made an involuntary movement, as if to cock
his gun, but was checked by Boone.

Charles said they had not yet decided his fate, nor
Boone's.

“Captain Boone! honest man!” said the Indian, while
Boone's grave features relaxed into a smile. “What
horse?” continued the speaker, staring in astonishment at
the noble black animal Kenton bestrode.

“One he borrowed,” said Charles, in the Seneca tongue.

The Indian flew into a violent passion, and accused them

of lying. He said the horse was his own,—one he had left
at home for his squaw to keep in good condition. He
intended to ride him the next spring, when they invaded
the white settlements in Pennsylvania. He then ordered
Kenton to dismount.

This Kenton of course refused to do, although Boone
advised a compliance, as the only possible means of avoiding
a battle. But the next moment it was quite obvious
the surrendering of the horse would not have sufficed; for
one of the Indians had recognised Kenton, notwithstanding
his paint, as well as Boone, and, uttering the warwhoop,
wheeled away and sped round in circles. The other two
did the same, to avoid the bullets of the white men, whose
rifles were instantly thrown up to their faces. The Indians
were the first to fire, but did no injury, as they were in
rapid motion and some eighty paces distant. But Boone
and Kenton (Charles did not fire at all) were more fortunate.
The first brought his man to the ground, and the
other, as was supposed, wounded the claimant of the horse,
for he fell forward on his horse's neck and did not rise
again. The third seized his companion, who fell to the
ground, and dragged him away by the hand while his horse
was in a gallop.

The party came down from the hill at a furious pace,
yelling terribly, and the whites retreated under cover of
the sumach-bushes at the edge of the prairie.

“I've got no gun. I can't fight!” said Paddy, when
they had dismounted in the bushes.

“You can fight with your knife, mon,” said Hugh.

“And wouldn't they be sure to kill me?”

“No surer than if you were to sit down without resisting
and be scalped.”

“Murther! And I didn't have the sculp-lock taken off!”

“Here's one of my pistols,” said the Rev. Mr. Jones,
coming up from the rear. “And let us all pray for protection
and aid from above, and especially that this tender
virgin may not be harmed. Get up, you silly coward!”
he continued, bestowing a smart kick on the back of
Paddy, who had fallen on his knees. “There's no time to
be kneeling now. Pray standing at your post or lying
down with your finger on the trigger and your eye upon
the enemy. Let your hearts pray, my brethren; this is no

time for lip-service. And remember that if the Lord of
Hosts be on our side ten thousand foes cannot prevail
against us. Be valiant, men, obedient to your leaders,
and take a steady aim!”

The Indians, seeing the effect of the fire of the whites,
and knowing Boone and Kenton were among them, although
superior in number, became very circumspect. They immediately
abandoned the prairie and plunged into the woods
bordering the opening. Their women and children were
sent out of the way or hidden in the grass, and preparations
made for an immediate assault.

Our party likewise made preparations. Boone led them
a short distance to the left, where there was the fallen
trunk of a gigantic tree, charred by the camp-fires of many
a hunting and war-party. Behind this the horses were tied
and fed, and a guard set over them, concealed in the long
grass which grew among the larger branches of the prostrate
oak. And here, too, Julia was deposited in charge
of Mr. Jones. The remainder of the party were then
skilfully disposed by their experienced leaders, so as to
make the place of Julia's concealment (the horses being
likely to tempt the Indians) a sort of ambushment, and
the most dangerous point for the enemy to approach.

When thus posted, our party, with a few exceptions, felt
impatient for the battle to begin. They knew that pursuers
were approaching, and dreaded being exposed between
two fires. The Indians, however, were not inclined
to accommodate them. They, too, were well aware that
pursuit must have been made, and by delaying the attack
their number would be augmented to an irresistible force.

An hour, which seemed half a day, thus passed, an
occasional shot only being fired by the advanced scouts,
from their places of concealment, when any portions of the
bodies of their opponents were exposed.

“Why, Mr. Kenton,” said Paddy, who had been placed
behind a beech-tree, with directions to keep his body concealed,
and fire his pistol as fast as he could load if any of
the Indians came in sight, “I say, Misther Kenton, this
ain't sic a terrible fight afther all. And this is a rigular
battle, is it? Be the powers, I'll turn Indian-fighter meself!
Be Jabers! what's that?”

Paddy having slightly exposed his coon-skin cap, the tail

(which had been left on it for a plume) fell at his feet, and
at the same moment the sharp report of a rifle was heard
in the bushes some sixty paces distant.

Kenton motioned Paddy to fall down and pretend to be
dead. This Paddy did without hesitation, as soon as he
comprehended the fact that the Indian's ball had grazed
his head and carried away the tail of which he had been
so proud.

The Indian sprang forward to scalp his supposed victim,
and received the fire of Kenton. He fell in an open space,
clear of bushes, as he ran toward Paddy, pierced through
the brain.

“I brought him, Paddy!” whispered Kenton.

“Oh, plase don't bring him here, Misther Kenton!” said
Paddy, who lay with his face against the ground and could
see nothing.

“No, he's lying yonder in full view. He didn't kick; he
jest quivered a little and then was limber. I've seen 'em
do it before, when I got a good bead on 'em. But the
others mustn't drag him off. Now, Paddy, if you want to
show your bravery and be a great man, run there and
scalp him. I'll watch, and keep the others away till you're
done.”

“What! gore my hands wid human blood?” said Paddy,
spreading out his trembling fingers.

“No, he'll not bloody you much. Make a ring round
the scalp-lock with your knife, take the head between your
knees, and pull off the skin with your teeth.”

“Taath? Me taath?”

“Yes, that's the way they do it. I've seen it done
often.”

“Och, Mr. Kenton, I'm sick! It's a faver-and-ager
counthry. I've got a chale, and—”

“Hush!” said Kenton. “They're coming to drag him
away.”

“And ye'd 'a had poor Paddy to run right into their
jaws!”

Again Kenton's rifle spoke the doom of an Indian, and
the two lay together. Charles and Boone and Hugh
McSwine, seeing what had passed, concentrated the most
of their men near that point, knowing the Indians would
make a desperate effort to bear away their dead.

But, as they approached, it was apparent that the enemy
had been beforehand with them. Two of the faithful Scots,
incautiously exposing themselves, were fired upon from the
little bramble-swamp beyond the fallen Indians and killed.
This success of the foe was followed by yells of exultation.
Several of them darted forward to scalp the Scots, but were
driven back by the fire of Boone and Charles, one of them
borne off by his comrades mortally wounded.

The fire now became incessant on both sides in the immediate
vicinity of the dead Indians. The Indians, however,
were the greatest sufferers. The briery thicket in
which they had collected having no trees to resist the balls
of the white men, their death-yells were heard at short
intervals. The whites were defended by trees, Paddy alone
being exposed; but, as he lay perfectly still, he was supposed
to be dead, and of course the enemy would not throw away
their fire on him.

“Don't you move, Paddy, or you're a dead man!” said
Kenton, reloading his rifle, which he had just discharged
with effect at an enormous savage who betrayed his locality
in endeavouring to aim at Boone.

“Lord!” cried Paddy, though careful not to move hand
or foot. “I hear the bullets whazzing about like bumble-baas!
That wasn't the rale battle we had at first! Now
we are fighting in earnest. Och, murther! I shall be kilt!
I'm a dead man!”

“They won't shoot a dead man, I tell you,” said Kenton.
“Be perfectly still, and you're safe. They think you're
dead.”

“And do you mane to insinuate that they can saa me
here?”

“To be sure they can—every one of 'em. And if you
try to jump behind the tree again a dozen bullets will go
through your body.”

“Murther! And if they bate us they'll sculp me for a
dead man! And my sculp-lock wasn't shaved off!”

“Be quiet!” said Kenton, having again added a victim
to his list. The last one fell in attempting to bear off the
first he had slain, who, no doubt, was a chief. “Paddy,”
he continued, ramming down his ball, “they'll hear your
voice, or see your cap move when you speak, and then

you'll be killed, sure enough. Don't you see how they are
barking my tree?”

“No; I don't want to see it,” said Paddy, in a low
tone.

“Tam dem!” said Will Van Wiggens. “Here dey all
come togedder!”

After something like a simultaneous discharge from behind
the trees, which the enemy had drawn forth by a stratagem,—placing
their blankets on poles and moving them
to and fro in the bushes,—the whole body of savages rushed
out with brandished tomahawks, and, yelling terrifically,
charged upon the white men before they could reload their
rifles.

Some of them fortunately had pistols, and, although they
could do but little execution with them, they served to
intimidate the foremost of the enemy.

“Stand fast to your trees!” cried Boone. “If one man
runs away we shall all perish. Fight with your tomahawks
and knives—man to man, and we will conquer!”

“Give me your pistol, Paddy,” said Kenton, whose tree
was the nearest to the advancing savages.

“I can't move,” said Paddy. “Och, murther! are they
coming?”

At that moment the foremost Indian, some twenty paces
in advance of the rest, sprang forward, unconscious of the
close vicinity of Kenton, and, bestriding Paddy, stooped
down to scalp him. Just when the knife touched the skin,
and when Paddy yelled out “Murther!” the breech of
Kenton's gun descended, and the savage fell upon his
intended victim.

The rest of the Indians rushed past, Kenton himself
being forced to fly before them, until they were opposed by
Boone, McSwine, Charles, and their brave comrades, who
sprang from their trees and offered battle hand-to-hand.
The Indians faltered a moment and then retreated. They
snatched up their fallen chief who lay across Paddy's body
and bore him along. One of them strove to drag the supposed
dead Irishman by the leg, not having time to scalp
him there. But this was resisted by Paddy with all his
might. He kicked and yelled so astoundingly that the
Indian relinquished his hold and fled with the rest. And
Paddy, knowing it would be useless to counterfeit death

any longer, sprang up and valorously fired his pistol. He
then jumped behind Kenton's tree. It was all the work
of an instant. Moments were precious when men were
loading their rifles and foes were exposed to view. But the
Indians soon vanished, bearing away their dead.

“Come on, my brave comrades!” cried Paddy, now in
advance of all the whites. “We've defated 'em. They're
retrating, the savage blackguards! And one of 'em was
astraddle of Paddy Pence! But Paddy pistholed him, the
impident blackguard! Charge, men, charge! They're
retrating!”

Paddy was not mistaken. Charles understood the purport
of the yells and whoops of the discomfited savages.
Content to recover the bodies of their slain, they were
retreating precipitately.

“Now let us make tracks ourselves,” said Kenton, leading
the way toward the horses.

“Yes,” said Boone; “we cannot be gone too soon. Our
pursuers will come up quickly, and the attack will be
renewed if we tarry.”

“Mr. Bone,” said Paddy, “did you saa only one fall
when I fired me pisthol?”

Boone made no reply.

“He's jealous!” said Paddy. “But, Misther Kenton,
you can bear witness that I fired the last gun, and that I
was the foremost man afther the inemy when they retrated.”

Kenton, too, paid no attention to Paddy, but hurried
toward the horses, now the object of his solicitude, for he
could not be induced to leave any of them (even the supernumerary
ones) behind.

“And did ye not saa it, Mr. Charles?” persisted Paddy.

“This is no time for nonsense!” said Charles. “Assist
me in placing Julia on her horse.”

And Hugh McSwine likewise turned his back on Paddy
as he approached him, and, aided by Van Wiggens, who
had behaved with perfect coolness during the conflict, succeeded
in placing the dead Scotchmen on horses before
their comrades.