A Virginia Scout, Page 2

  CHAPTER II

  INDIAN-HATERS

  I journeyed up the Cheat and left its head waters and proceeded down theGreenbriar without observing any signs of the red peril which was creepingupon the country. A great gray eagle, poised at the apex of my upturnedgaze, appeared to be absolutely stationary; a little brown flycatcher,darting across my path, made much commotion. Red-crested woodpeckershammered industriously in dead wood for rations. So long as their tappingsresounded ahead of me I feared no ambush.

  Wherever nut-trees stood the squirrels made more noise than did the Houseof Burgesses when dissolved by Governor Dunmore for expressingrevolutionary sentiments. A most gracious country, and because of itsfairness, most fearfully beset. That which is worthless needs nosentinels. I met with no humans, white or red; but when within a few milesof Patrick Davis' home on Howard Creek I came upon a spot where threeIndians had eaten their breakfast that very morning.

  I knew they must be friendly to the whites as they had not attempted tohide their temporary camp. They had departed in the direction of thecreek, which also was my destination. I planned resting there over nightand then crossing the main ridge of the Alleghanies during the next day,stopping the night with the Greenwood family on Dunlap's Creek.

  Thence it would be an easy ride to Salem where I would find Colonel AndrewLewis, commander of the county militia. I hoped he would provide amessenger for forwarding my despatches to Governor Dunmore inWilliamsburg. I had no desire to visit the seat of government, nor was mydisinclination due to the bustle and confusion of its more than a thousandinhabitants.

  A mile from where the Indians had camped I came upon two white men. Theywere at one side of the trace and curiously busy among some rocks at thetop of a fifty-foot cliff. They were hauling a rope from a deep crack orcrevice in the rocks and were making hard work of it.

  We discovered each other at the same moment, and they called on me to lendthem a hand. Leaving my horse in the trace, I hastened over the roughground to learn what they wanted. As I drew nearer I recognized them asJacob Scott and William Hacker, confirmed "Injun-haters."

  "How d'ye do, Morris," greeted Hacker. "Catch hold here and help haul himup."

  "Who is it?" I asked, seizing the rope which was composed of leather beltsand spancel-ropes.

  "Lige Runner," grunted Hacker, digging in his heels and pulling in therope hand over hand. Runner, as I have said, was another implacable foe ofall red men.

  "All together!" panted Scott.

  My contribution of muscle soon brought Runner's head into view. We heldthe rope taut while he dragged himself on to the ledge.

  "Did you git it?" eagerly demanded Hacker.

  The triumphant grin was surety for his success down the crevice. He roseand tapped a fresh scalp dangling at his belt.

  "I got it," he grimly replied. "Had to follow him most to the bottom wherehis carcass was wedged between the rocks. Morning, Morris. Traveling far?Seen any Injun-signs on the way?"

  I shook my head, preferring they should not learn about the three Indiansmaking for Howard's Creek.

  "What does all this mean, Runner? Do scalps grow at the bottom of holes?"

  "This one seemed to," he answered with a deep chuckle. "Didn't git a faircrack at him, as he was running mighty cute. Rifle held fire the nick of asecond too long. I knew he was mortal hit, but he managed to reach thishole. Then the skunk jumped in a-purpose to make us all this bother to githis scalp."

  "Who was he?"

  "Don't know. He was a good hundred and fifty yards away and going like astreak when I plugged him. It's too dark down in the hole to seeanything."

  "For all you know he was a friendly."

  "We never see no friendlies," Hacker grimly reminded.

  "'Cept when they're dead," ironically added Scott. "Our eyesight'sterribly poor when they're alive."

  "I call it dirty business. I wouldn't have hauled on the rope if I hadknown."

  Runner lowered at me and growled:

  "You're too finicky. A' Injun is a' Injun. Sooner they're all dead, thebetter. I kill 'em quicker'n I would a rattlesnake. A rattler gives noticewhen he's going to strike."

  "If you've killed a friendly this work will cause much suffering among theoutlying cabins."

  "Bah! If we took good corn cakes and honey to the red devils they'd killus every chance they got. We ain't forgitting what happened at Keeney'sKnob, at the Clendennin farm on the Greenbriar; nor the scores of killingsup in Tygart's Valley, and in other places. Give 'em the pewter everychance you can! That's my religion."

  "That's the talk, Lige!" cried Scott. "Ike Crabtree would 'a' liked tobeen in this fun."

  "He'll feel cut up when he hears about our luck," said Hacker.

  "Crabtree's feelings do him credit," added Runner. "But his naturalhankering to raise hair is stronger'n his courage when he thinks there'smore'n one Injun to dicker with. Young Shelby Cousin would be the best onefor this business if it wa'n't for his fool notions about killing near asettlement."

  "Cousin says you killed old Bald Eagle. I saw the Delaware floating downthe Cheat in his canoe."

  Runner laughed in huge delight, and cried:

  "The world's mighty small after all. Ain't it the truth! So you seen him?Did he have the chunk of johnny-cake in his meat-trap?"

  "He was friendly to the whites and harmless. It was a poor piece ofwork."

  "The reason why we didn't sculp him was that it would 'a' spoiled thejoke," defended Hacker. "With his hair on and the johnny-cake in hismouth, folks would think he was still alive till they got real close."

  "The three of us done that," informed Scott, as though jealous of Runner'sreceiving all the credit.

  "Morris means it was a poor job because the chief was said to be friendlyto white folks," explained Runner, scowling at me.

  "Morris, you'd better go up to David's and tell Ike Crabtree that," jeeredHacker.

  "Crabtree is there, is he?" I said, deeply concerned for the safety of thethree Indians.

  "He started for there. He'll feel mighty well cut up when he hears aboutus and this Injun in the hole," gravely declared Scott.

  "How many cabins on Howard's Creek now?" I asked; for a cabin could be putup in a few hours and the population at any point might greatly increasein the space of twenty-four hours. I had no desire to quarrel with thethree men, and I realized that there was nothing I could say which wouldchange their natures, or make them act in a human manner toward friendlyIndians.

  Runner was inclined to harbor resentment and refused to answer me. Hacker,however, readily informed me:

  "There was five when I come through there last. With outlying settlerspouring in, there may be a dozen by this time. All I know is that thecall's gone out for fifteen or twenty miles, asking every one to come into the big log-rolling.

  "Davis and t'others swear they won't come off the creek till they'veharvested their corn. So they're going to have a rolling and build a fortand stick it out. We fellers reckon we'll go up there and have a hand inthe fun-making."

  "Up near the Pennsylvania line and west of the Cheat a cabin was burned afew nights ago," I said, hoping they might feel disposed to scout north insearch of Indians who were not friendly.

  If the trio should go to Howard's Creek and happen upon the three IndiansI feared that nothing could prevent another ghastly affair. PossiblyCrabtree already had struck, but I hoped not. The men were interested inmy news and listened closely. I continued:

  "It was a cabin. I know that, although I was too far away to investigate.I have a notion that young Cousin was somewhere near it when it burned."

  "Then you can bet the young cuss gave his panther-screech and made hiskill," exclaimed Scott.

  "If you men want to do the settlers on Howard's Creek a good turn youmight scout up there and look for signs."

  "I 'low the signs wouldn't be very fresh now," said Runner. "Show me afresh footing and I'm keen to follow it. But just looking round after theskunks move on ain't my notion of a good
time."

  "I 'low Lige is right," decided Hacker. "If the reds was there a fewnights ago they may be down this way by this time. Either that or they'vesneaked back across the Ohio. I 'low there'll be more up to the creek."

  "That's my notion," chimed in Scott. "Show us fresh signs and we're likegood dogs on the scent. We'd better go to the rollin'."

  "There's many Indians who need killing badly," I said. "But if you menpersist in killing friendly Indians we'll have the Delawares joining inwith the Shawnees and Mingos."

  "We don't hanker for any more Moravian missionary talk," coldly warnedRunner. "As for the Delawares dipping into the dish, let 'em come. Let 'emall come together! The sooner we smoke their bacon, the sooner the Holstonand Clinch and Tygart's Valley will be safe for our women and children. Asfor that old cuss of a Bald Eagle, we're right glad you seen him. It showsothers will see him. That's the sort of a notice we're serving on everyredskin in Virginia."

  It was obvious they would not relinquish their plan of visiting Howard'sCreek, and it was equally plain they preferred to travel without mycompany. So I returned to the trace and mounted and rode on.

  As I neared the creek I came upon several settlers hurrying in from theirisolated cabins, and I was pleased to see they had taken time to collecttheir few cattle and bring them along. Of the five men I talked with therewere only two who had guns. The others were armed with axes and big clubsof oak.

  One lean fellow carried a long sapling to the end of which he had madefast a long butcher-knife. One of the gunmen said to me that he hopedthere would be "a lively chunk of a fight" although he and his friend hadonly one charge of powder apiece. These two were young men, and like manyof their generation they imitated the Indian to the extent of wearingthigh-leggings and breech-clouts.

  The ends of the latter were passed through the belt in front and behind,and were allowed to hang down in flaps. These flaps were decorated withcrude beadwork. Around their heads they wore red kerchiefs. Two of theolder men had wives. These women would impress a resident of the seacoastas being stolid of face.

  In reality the continuous apprehension of an Indian raid had frozen theirfeatures into a wooden expression. Their eyes were alive enough. I countedten children, six of whom were girls. I do not think one of the youngsterswas more than twelve years old.

  The boys were continually bemoaning their lack of guns. The girls seemedhappy over the adventure and prattled a stream about the new people theywould see at the creek. I think every one of them had brought along a dollmade from rags, corn-cobs or wood. The maternal was very strong in theirstout little hearts.

  One flaxen-haired miss consented to ride before me after my solemnlyassuring her that horseback travel would not make her dollie sick. Sheshyly confessed her great joy in attending "rollin's." Her folks, shesaid, had not been invited to the last "rollin'," although they livedwithin fifteen miles of it; and her daddy and mammy had been greatlyincensed.

  But this, fortunately, was a bee where no one waited to be invited, eachsettler, living far or near, having an equal equity in the work. Longbefore we reached the scene of activities we heard the loud voices of themen, the hilarious cries of young folks and the barking of several dogs.My little companion twisted nervously, her blue eyes wide with excitement.Then she was sliding from the horse and with her doll clutched to herside, was scampering ahead with the others.

  Then we grown-ups reached the edge of the clearing. Hacker had reportedfive cabins. Now there were seven, and if the people continued to arrivethere must soon be twice that number. At the first of it the overflowwould take up quarters among those already housed, or in the fort when itwas finished.

  Ordinarily a settler girdled his trees and chopped them down when theywere dead, and then burned them into long logs. Not until the trees weredown and burned into suitable lengths were invitations to the rolling sentout. As this was an emergency rolling the usual custom could not befollowed.

  Some of the dead trees were being burned into sections with small firesbuilt on top and pressed against the wood by butt-ends of logs we callednigger-heads. Boys and girls were feeding small fuel to these fires.Charred logs left over from former rollings were being yanked out andbuilt into the walls of the fort. As not enough seasoned timber wasavailable for such a large structure green logs were being utilized.

  The settlers behind me handed their two guns, clubs and other belongingsover to the small boys, and with a nod and a word of greeting joined theworkers. The women and girls looked after the cattle. Those of the womenwho were not working among the logs were busy in the cabins cooking largequantities of food, for we ate marvelously in those old days.

  As in peaceful times, when a happy home was to evolve from the "rollin',"the usual pot-pie, composed of boiled grouse, pigeon and venison, andalways with dumplings, was the principal dish of the feasting. On a stump,accessible to all who needed it, rested a squat jug containing rum.

  I turned my horse loose near the fort and sought out Davis. He was insidethe fort, superintending the work. The walls of this were well up. As thefirst need was shelter, and as the Indians might strike at any moment, notime was lost with a puncheon floor. The earth must do until the men couldhave a breathing-spell. Four tight walls and a stout roof was the bestthey could hope for.

  Davis paused long enough to inform me that if time permitted they wouldbuild the fort two stories high and stockade it with twelve-foot posts.From his worried expression and obvious anxiety to get back to his work Idid not believe he had any hope of building more than a one-story shell.

  When the Indians struck they would strike with a rush. They would plan ona quick assault taking the settlers by surprise. They dared not remain toconduct a prolonged siege. The fort when completed would not be anystronger than the average cabin; it would simply accommodate moredefenders.

  The nearest water was a spring some twenty yards from the fort. Thisfailure to provide for a water-supply was an amazing characteristic ofmany frontier defenses. There was no reason why the fort should not havebeen built close by the spring, or even over it. I said as much to Davis,but he defended:

  "It would place us too near the woods. Their fire-arrows could fall on ustoo easy."

  I reminded him that as the fort was now they would have but little waterto extinguish a fire, whereas the spring would have afforded aninexhaustible supply. However, it was too late to change their plans and Ivolunteered to collect kettles and tubs and organize a water-squad sothere might be plenty of water in the fort each night.

  "Might be a good plan," agreed Davis. "But I 'low if the Injuns come it'llbe all over, one way or t'other, afore we have time to git thirsty."

  I briefly explained to Davis my business as despatch-bearer, so he mightunderstand my reason for departing in the morning. He was generous enoughto insist that I ran a greater risk in crossing the mountains alone than Iwould encounter by remaining at the creek.

  I left him and levied on kettles to be delivered after supper and thenreturned to the fort. I had barely arrived when the dogs began barking andseveral horses came running through the stumps from the north end of theclearing. Before the alarm could find expression in shouts and a semblanceof defense a deep voice called from the woods:

  "White men! Friends! Hacker, Scott and Runner."

  A rousing cheer greeted these newcomers, and one enthusiast grabbed up thejug and ran to meet them. Each of the three drank deeply and were rewardedwith more cheers. If they were murderous in their hatred they would bestout defenders. As for their attitude toward all Indians, there were butfew along the border who did not have some cause for hating the natives.

  This sentiment of the frontier was shown when Henry Judah, arrested forkilling some friendly Indians on the South Branch, was rescued by twohundred pioneers. After his irons were knocked off the settlers warned theauthorities it would not be well to place him in custody a second time.Nor was Judah the only man thus snatched from the law.

  Men like Hacker and his companions would do ve
ry little manual labor. Theydid not build homes, but were always roaming about the country. This traitwas of value to men of the Davis type, inasmuch as the killers brought inmuch game when the home-makers were busy with their cabins or planting.

  "Any news, Lige?" bawled Davis, his deep voice booming across the clearingand overriding the clamorous welcome of his neighbors.

  "Found some footing and hoss-tracks," Runner yelled back.

  "They'll be coming this way, the yaller dogs, and we're here to rub 'em upa bit!" boasted Scott.

  "Jesse Hughes oughter be here," said one of the men who was notching thelong logs.

  "He'll be along if there's promise of a fight," assured Hacker. "YoungCousin and Ike Crabtree, too."

  "I 'low them red devils would skin back to the Ohio like a burned cat ifthey know'd you boys was after 'em!" cried Widow McCabe, who was as strongas the average man and could swing an ax with the best of them. Herhusband was killed on the Kanawha the year before, and her hatred ofIndians was as intense as that of any killer.

  "They'll sure know they've met with some trouble, Missus," modestlyadmitted Hacker.

  The three men seated themselves on a knoll and watched the busy scene. Ijoined them and inquired about the footing they had observed. Scottinformed me they had followed the trail toward the creek and then lostit.

  "It was a small party of scouts, mebbe not more'n three," he said. "Wesort o' reckon that they 'lowed they might be followed and so took towater. We 'lowed it was best to hustle along here and git in front of thefighting, instead o' losing time trying to find where they quit the creek.You're sticking along, we 'low."

  "No need with all you men. I must carry my despatches over the mountainsto-morrow."

  "Better think twice afore trying it alone. By to-morrow the mountain tracewill probably be shut in by the reds," declared Hacker ominously.

  "Then I must take my chances of breaking across country. His Lordship musthave the despatches at the earliest possible minute."

  "Of course," Runner agreed. "Wish you luck even if you got a Quakerstomick when it comes to killing the vermin. But if you want to git acrossyou'd better start at once. Them two or three scouts shows the devils areclosing in. Every hour saved now means a dozen more chances for your hairto grow."

  As I believed the footing the fellows found was left by the three IndiansI had pronounced to be friendly, I was not much exercised in my mind bythe warning. I did not believe the Indians would seek to cut off thesettlement. They must strike and be off, and they would prefer to have thesettlers in flight over the mountains, with the inevitable stragglerseasily cut off, than to have them stubbornly remaining in the cabins andfort.

  If time was not vital, and providing the Shawnees could bring a largeforce, then an encircling movement would be their game. But Cornstalk andLogan would not lead a big force into any of the valleys. They knew aswell as the whites that the war was to be won by one decisive battle.

  These isolated raids up and down the western valleys were simply of valuein that they might unnerve the settlers and keep them from leaving theircabins to join the army Dunmore proposed to send against the Shawneetowns. And last of all I was fagged by my long ride and would have onenight's unworried sleep, let the risk be ever so great.

  The dinner, much belated, was now ready, and the workers were asked toassemble in and around the Davis cabin. Four men were left to do sentinelduty, and the children were told to keep on with their work and play asthey would be served after the men had eaten. Huge pot-pies were hurriedfrom all the cabins to where the backwoodsmen were waiting to prove theirappetites.

  Several jugs of rum garnished the feast. The Widow McCabe contributed ascanty stock of tea, but the men would have none of it on the grounds thatit did not "stick to the ribs."

  My helping of pie was served on a huge china plate that had been packedover the mountains with much trouble and when every inch of room wasneeded for the bare necessities. Thus tenacious were the women in comingto this raw country to preserve their womanliness. I might have thought Iwas being favored had not Mrs. Davis frankly informed me that her fewpieces of china were shunned by her men-folks on the plea the ware "dulledtheir sculping-knives."

  Finishing my meal, I seated myself on a stump and proceeded to remove mymoccasins and mend them. Davis joined me in a similar task; for while itrequired only two or three hours to make a pair of moccasins it wasnecessary to mend them almost daily. Davis greatly admired the awl Ibought over the mountains, although it was no more serviceable than theone he had made from the back spring of a clasp-knife.

  A settler might be unfortunate enough not to possess a gun, but there wasnone who did not carry a moccasin-awl attached to the strap of hisshot-pouch, a roll of buckskin for patches and some deerskin thongs, orwhangs, for sewing. While we sat there barefooted and worked we discussedthe pending big battle. He held what I considered to be a narrow view ofthe situation. He was for having every valley act on the defensive untilthe Indians were convinced they were wasting warriors in attempting todrive the settlers back over the mountains.

  While we argued back and forth those children having finished their dinnertook to playing at "Injun." The boys hid in ambush and the little girlsendeavored to steal by them without being "sculped." Along the edge of theclearing were five or six sentinels. They were keeping only a perfunctorywatch, their eyes and ears giving more heed to the laughter and banterthan to the silent woods. At the northern end of the clearing somelovesick swain surrendered to sentiment and in a whimsical nasal voicebegan singing:

  "Come all ye young people, for I'm going for to sing Consarnin' Molly Pringle and her lov-yer, Reuben King."

  The thin penetrating shriek of a child somewhere in the forest pricked ourears, the clear falsetto of its fright silencing the singer and leavinghis mouth agape. I began drawing on my moccasins, but before I couldfinish a wonderful transformation had taken place in the clearing. As ifthe cry had been a prearranged signal, six of the young men filed silentlyinto the woods, moving one behind the other, their hunting-shirts nowinside their belts leaving their thighs bare, as if they had been so manyShawnees.

  They moved swiftly and silently with no more show of confusion or emotionthan if they had been setting out on routine scout-duty. The childscreamed again, but not before feasters and workers had becomefighting-units. Those possessing guns ran quietly in scattering groupstoward the forest, leaving the women to guard the clearing and children.

  And the women! They were marvelous in their spirit. With scarcely a wordthey caught up the axes dropped by the men and formed a long line with thechildren behind them. Little girls became little mothers and hurried stillsmaller tots to the unfinished fort.

  The woodsmen advanced to the woods, the women slowly fell back, herdingthe youngsters behind them. As I ran my best to make up for the time lostover my moccasins I passed the Widow McCabe. I shall never forget theferocious gleam of her slate-gray eyes, nor the superb courage of the thinlips compressed in a straight line.

  She moved with the grace of a forest cat, reluctant to fall back, hermuscular arm swinging the heavy ax as if it were a toy. Abreast of her,and likewise refusing to retreat, was Moulton's wife, mother of three. Shewas a thin, frail-appearing little woman with prominent blue eyes, and hergaze was glassy as she stared at the woods, and her lips were drawn backin a snarl.

  "Moulton gal missin'," ran down the line. "Git t'other younkers back."

  The line began bending at the ends to form a half-circle. The distractedlittle mother left her place in it. Without a word to betray the anguishtearing at her heart she gathered her linsey petticoat snugly about her,and grasping an ax, ran swiftly toward the direction of the screaming. TheWidow McCabe hesitated, glanced over her shoulder. Satisfied the otherwomen had the children well grouped and close to the fort, she dartedafter Mrs. Moulton.

  "Keep back, you women!" yelled Elijah Runner. "Stay with the children!They're letting the child scream to fetch us into a' ambush!"

>   This was excellent advice, but the widow and Mrs. Moulton gave it no heed.One was impelled by hate, the other by love; and as they crashed into thegrowth behind me each was worth a woodsman or two in hand-to-handfighting. With unnerving abruptness a man laughed boisterously directlyahead of me. Yells and questions filled the arches of the deep wood.

  "Everybody back! False alarm! Nothin' but the gal gittin' skeered," heshouted. "I'm fetchin' her in, an' th' feller what skeered her."

  Explosive laughter from the men and much crude banter marked our relief.Mrs. Moulton dropped her ax and with both hands held to her face stumbledinto the clearing. The Widow McCabe walked with her head bowed, the axheld limply. Although rejoicing over the child's safety, I suspected sheregretted not having had a chance to use her ax.

  "Here they come! Two babies!" some one shouted.

  Mrs. Moulton turned and ran toward the woods again, much as ahen-partridge scurries to its young.

  The bush-growth swayed and parted. First came the frightened child, andshe redoubled her weeping on finding herself in her mother's arms. Behindthe child came a grinning woodsman and back of him rode a tall man of verypowerful build, but with a face so fat as to appear round and wearing anexpression of stupidity.

  It was my first glimpse of him, but I recognized him instantly from themany descriptions border men had given of him. He was known as "Baby"Kirst, and he was a Nemesis the Indians had raised against themselves, apiece of terrible machinery which their superstitions would not permitthem to kill.

  His intelligence was that of a child of seven. When about that age hispeople were massacred on the Greenbriar and he had been left for dead witha portion of his scalp ripped off and a ghastly wound in his head. By somemiracle he had survived, but with his mental growth checked. Physically hehad developed muscle and bone until he was a giant in strength.

  The red men believed him to be under the protection of the Great Spirit,and when they heard him wandering through the woods, sometimes weepinglike a peevish child because some little plan had gone awry, more oftenlaughing uproariously at that which would tickle the fancy of aseven-year-old, they made mad haste to get out of his path.

  His instinct to kill was aroused against Indians only. Perhaps it wasinduced by a vague memory of dark-skinned men having hurt him at sometime. Nor was he always possessed by this ungovernable rage. Sometimes hewould spend a day in an Indian camp, but woe to the warrior who eveninadvertently crossed his whims.

  He was not skilled in woodcraft beyond the cunning necessary forsurprising easy game such as turkeys, squirrels and rabbits. Regardless ofhis enormous appetite food was gladly given him at every cabin; forwherever he sought shelter, that place was safe from any Indian attack.

  While Mrs. Moulton hurried her child to the fort and hushed its weepingwith pot-pie the young men raised a yelping chorus and came dancing intothe clearing with all the prancing steps of the red men. Deep-voiced oathsand thunderous welcomes were showered upon Baby Kirst as he proudly rodeamong them, his huge face further distended by a broad grin.

  Awkwardly dismounting from his rawbone horse, he stared around the circleand with one hand held behind him tantalizingly said:

  "Got something. Sha'n't let you peek at it."

  "Let's see it, Baby," coaxed Runner, his tone such as he might use inpleading with a child.

  "No!" And Baby shook his head stubbornly and grinned mischievously.

  "'Lasses on mush. Heaps of it, Baby," bribed Davis.

  Baby became interested. Davis repeated his offer. Slowly Baby drew frombehind him the scalp of a white man. It was long, dark brown hair, burnedto a yellowish white at the ends by the sun.

  "That's Ben Kirby's hair!" gasped Scott, staring in horror at the exhibit.Then aside, "Good God, he ain't took to killing whites, has he?"

  "Where'd you git it, Baby?" coaxed Hacker. "Davis will give you a big bowlof mush and 'lasses."

  "That man had it," proudly informed Baby, and he fished from the bosom ofhis hunting-shirt a hank of coarse black hair.

  "A Shawnee sculp or I'm a flying-squirrel!" yelled Runner. "Don't youunderstand it, men? Some dog of a Shawnee rubbed out Kirby. His hair'sbeen off his head these six weeks. No wonder he ain't come in to help youfolks to fort.

  "Baby meets this Shawnee and gives him his needings. The red devil's sculpain't more'n three days old. Good for you, Baby! Good boy! Give him allthe 'lasses he can hold. Needn't worry about any raid s'long as he stayshere, Davis. You can just take your time in finishing that fort."

  "If we could only keep him!" sighed Davis.

  "But you can't," spoke up a young man. "Every one has tried. A day or two,yes. Then he must go back to the woods. When the Injuns failed to finishhim off they did a bad job for themselves."

  "We'll keep him long's we can," said Davis. "Hi, mother! Fill themixing-bowl with mush and cover it with sweeting."

  As proud as a boy being praised by his elders, Baby started to strut tothe Davis cabin, but quickly fell into a limping walk and whimpered abit.

  "Crippled on account of rheumatiz," sighed Runner. "Rheumatiz has put morehunters and fighters out of business than the Ohio Injuns ever did. Andpoor Baby can't remember to always sleep with his feet to the fire. If wecould git him a stout pair of shoes to wear in place of them spongymoccasins it would pay us."

  Kirst was too grotesque to laugh at, and the settlers were grotesque whenthey smiled at his ferocious appetite, and in the next moment tried to buythe protection of his presence. Let him regularly patrol a dozen miles offrontier each day, and I would guarantee no Indian would knowingly crosshis path.

  More than one party of red raiders had unwittingly followed his trail,only to turn in flight as if the devil was nipping after them once theyglimpsed his bulky figure, heard his whimpering or his loud laughter. Themen followed him to the Davis Cabin, each eager to contribute to thegeneral gossip concerning the child-man's prodigious strength.

  As my horse was straying toward the west side of the clearing I went tofetch him back and spancel him near the fort. I had secured him and wasabout to ride him back when a rifle cracked close at hand in the woods,and I heard a voice passionately jeering:

  "I 'low that cotched ye where ye lived, didn't it?"

  I drove my horse through the bushes and came upon a sickening scene. AnIndian man and a squaw were seated on a horse. On the ground was anotherIndian. A glance told me he was dead from the small blue hole through theforehead. The man and woman on the horse remained as motionless as ifparalyzed.

  Isaac Crabtree stood reloading his long rifle, his sallow face twisted ina smile of vicious joy. As he rammed home the charge I crowded my horseagainst him and sent him sprawling. Turning to the Indians I cried:

  "Ride away! Ride quick!"

  "We are friendly Cherokees!" cried the woman in that tongue. "That manthere is called Cherokee Billy by white men." And she pointed to the deadman.

  With that she swerved the horse about, kicked her feet into his ribs anddashed away, the man clinging on behind her, his dark features devoid ofexpression. An oath brought my head about. Crabtree was on his feet, hishand drawing his ax, his face livid with rage.

  "Curse you!" he stuttered. "Ye sp'iled my baggin' the three of 'em!"

  "You've bagged Cherokee Billy, the brother of Oconostota, the great chiefof the Cherokees," I wrathfully retorted. "It would have been well for thefrontier if I could have arrived in time to bag you before you did it. TheCherokees have kept out of the war, but it'll be a wonder if they don'tswarm up this creek when they hear of this murder."

  "Let 'em come!" he yelled. "That's what we want. It'll take more'n you,Basdel Morris, to keep my paws clear of the critters once I git a bead onone of 'em. Git out of my way so's I can git my rifle. I'll have the threeof 'em yet."

  "If you make a move to follow them I'll shoot you," I promised.

  By this time men were crashing through the bushes. Then came a loudernoise and Baby Kirst, mounted on his big horse, his broad face bedaubedwith molas
ses, burst on the scene. A dozen settlers crowded into the spotbehind him. Hacker and Runner were the first to see the dead Indian. Witha whoop they drew their knives and rushed in to get the scalp. I drovethem back with my horse and loudly informed them:

  "It's Cherokee Billy, brother of Oconostota, who can send the wholeCherokee nation against you, or hold it back."

  "I don't care what Injun it is," howled Hacker. "Hair's hair. Git out theway, or you'll git acquainted with my ax. I'll have that scalp."

  "Not so fast," I warned. "The hair belongs to Crabtree here. Kill your ownscalps. Crabtree doesn't care to take that scalp. He knows Oconostota hasa long memory." And I swung about, my rifle across the saddle and in adirect line with the murderer's chin.

  "It's my kill," growled Crabtree. "Morris held me up with his gun, or I'dbagged t'other two of 'em."

  "I'd like to see him hold me up when there's red meat to be run down!"snarled Runner.

  There were four killers present in addition to the irresponsible Kirst. Iwas helpless against them, I could not shoot a man down for proposing tofollow two Indians, let the reds be ever so friendly toward the whites.But Patrick Davis had come to Howard's Creek to stay, and it was a problemhe could handle. It at once developed that he did not fancy the prospectof a Cherokee reprisal. He stepped in front of Runner and in a low uglyvoice said:

  "You fellows quit this talk. 'Nough mischief has been done. UnlessOconostota can be smoothed down there'll be trouble from Rye Cove toTygart's Valley. As for following t'other two, you'll reckon with me andmy neighbors first."

  "A dead Injun ain't worth quarreling over," spoke up Widow McCabe from theedge of the group; and her eyes glowed as they rested on Cherokee Billy.

  Mrs. Moulton now came on the scene. She still had her husband, and shefrantically called on her friends to prevent further bloodshed. Thegreater number of the men, while unwilling to criticize Crabtree for hisdastardly murder, did not care to add to the Cherokees' anger, and theytook sides with Davis. I believed the whole affair had ended, but Crabtreewas crafty, and he caused fresh fear by reminding them:

  "You folks are fools to let the only witnesses to that dawg's death gitaway and take word back to the Cherokees. If Morris hadn't took a handthere wouldn't 'a' been that danger."

  Many settlers were long used to classifying the red men with the wildanimals along the border. Therefore, the question of killing the twofleeing Cherokees became a matter of policy, rather than of sentiment. ButDavis, although he wavered, finally declared he would have none of it. Hereminded his friends that they would soon be called by Dunmore to marchagainst the Ohio tribes, and that it would not do to leave hostileCherokees behind them to attack the valleys. Hacker, Runner, Scott andCrabtree perceived that the settlers were opposed to further bloodshed,but Crabtree still had a card to play. Turning to Baby Kirst, who wasstaring intently down on the dead man, he suddenly cried:

  "Sweet sugar, Baby, if you ride and find two Injuns just gone away."

  And he pointed in the direction taken by the man and woman. With a yelp ofjuvenile delight Baby slapped his horse and rode away down the valley.

  "Now you've done it!" growled Davis, scowling blackly at Crabtree. "You'vemade trouble atween us and the Cherokees, and you've drove away the bestdefense against Injuns we could 'a' had."

  "I don't have to have no loose-wit to stand 'tween me and Injuns," sneeredCrabtree.

  "You're better at killing unarmed Indians than in putting up a realfight," I accused. "You're not fond of traveling very far from asettlement when you draw blood. Shelby Cousin was telling me down on theCheat that you like to be near a white man's cabin when you make a kill."

  His sallow face flushed red, but he had no harsh words to say againstyoung Cousin. Without replying to me he made for the Davis cabin to getsomething to eat, leaving Cherokee Billy for others to bury. I noticed itwas the Widow McCabe, with her slate-gray eyes half-closed and gleamingbrightly, who waited on Crabtree and heaped his plate with food.

  What with the interruptions and the nervous tension of the men it wasafter sunset before the roof of the fort was finished. It was agreed thatthe men with families should sleep in the fort that night with the singlemen occupying the cabins nearest the fort. I took up my quarters in theDavis cabin, after reminding my friends again that I must start early inthe morning to cross the mountains on my way to Colonel Lewis who livednear Salem.

  "Why, land sake! To Salem! Why, look here! You'll be seeing my cousin,Ericus Dale!" excitedly exclaimed Mrs. Davis.

  My emotion was far greater than that expressed by Mrs. Davis, but the duskof early evening permitted me to conceal it. It was three years since Ihad seen the Dales, father and daughter. They were then living inWilliamsburg. It was most astonishing that they should be now living inSalem. But this was going too fast.

  It did not follow that Patricia Dale was in Salem because her father wasthere. In truth, it was difficult to imagine Patsy Dale being content withthat little settlement under the eastern eaves of the mountains. Before Icould find my tongue Mrs. Davis was informing her neighbors:

  "My cousin, Ericus, ain't got many warm spots in his heart for GovernorDunmore. He's sure to be sot ag'in' this war. He's a very powerful man inthe colony." Then to me, "I want you to see Patsy and tell her not tothink of coming out here this summer. She's not to come till the Injunshave been well whipped."

  "Coming out here?" I dully repeated.

  "They was opinin' to when I last got word from 'em last March. They was attheir home in Williamsburg, and the girl wrote she was going to Salem withher father, who had some trading-business to fix up. 'Spected to be thereall summer, and was 'lowing to come out here with her daddy. But seeinghow things is going, it won't do. Mebbe Salem even won't be safe for 'em.It won't put you out any to see her and tell her?"

  I trusted to the dusk to conceal my burning cheeks. I had supposed I hadsecured control of myself during my three years on the border. It would beimpossible for any man who had looked into Patsy Dale's dark blue eyes toforget her; and we had been something more than friends. I promised Mrs.Davis I would do her errand, and hurried from the cabin.

  The ride ahead of me suddenly became momentous. I was thrilled with theprospect of seeing Patsy again; and I was afraid the interview woulddisturb me vastly. To be alone and arrange my jumbled thoughts I helpeddrive the horses into a small inclosure, well stockaded, and watched theboys coming through the clearing to drive the cattle into their stalls inseveral hollow sycamores. These natural shelters, once the openings wereenlarged and protected with bars, made excellent pens for the domesticanimals and fowls. I was still thinking about Patsy Dale and the time whenher young life touched mine when the cabin doors were barred and it wastime to sleep.