The Scouts of the Valley [48]
they were shadowed by banks and bushes, and now they went slowly, Long Jim and Tom Ross drawing their oars so carefully through the water that there was never a plash to tell of their passing. Henry was in the prow of the boat, bent forward a little, eyes searching the surface of the river, and ears intent upon any sound that might pass on the bank. Suddenly he gave a little signal to the rowers and they let their oars rest.
"Bring the boat in closer to the bank," he whispered. Push it gently among those bushes where we cannot be seen from above."
Tom and Jim obeyed. The boat slid softly among tall bushes that shadowed the water, and was hidden completely. Then Henry stepped out, crept cautiously nearly up the bank, which was here very low, and lay pressed closely against the earth, but supported by the exposed root of a tree. He had heard voices, those of Indians, he believed, and he wished to see. Peering through a fringe of bushes that lined the bank he saw seven warriors and one white face sitting under the boughs of a great oak. The face was that of Braxton Wyatt, who was now in his element, with a better prospect of success than any that he had ever known before. Henry shuddered, and for a moment he regretted that he had spared Wyatt's life when he might have taken it.
But Henry was lying against the bank to hear what these men might be saying, not to slay. Two of the warriors, as he saw by their paint, were Wyandots, and he understood the Wyandot tongue. Moreover, his slight knowledge of Iroquois came into service, and gradually he gathered the drift of their talk. Two miles nearer Forty Fort was a farmhouse one of the Wyandots had seen it-not yet abandoned by its owner, who believed that his proximity to Forty Fort assured his safety. He lived there with his wife and five children, and Wyatt and the Indians planned to raid the place before daylight and kill them all. Henry had heard enough. He slid back from the bank to the water and crept into the boat.
"Pull back down the river as gently as you can," he whispered, "and then I'll tell you."
The skilled oarsmen carried the boat without a splash several hundred yards down the stream, and then Henry told the others of the fiendish plan that he had heard.
"I know that man," said Shif'less Sol. "His name is Standish. I was there nine or ten hours ago, an' I told him it wuz time to take his family an' run. But he knowed more'n I did. Said he'd stay, he wuzn't afraid, an' now he's got to pay the price."
"No, he mustn't do that," said Henry. "It's too much to pay for just being foolish, when everybody is foolish sometimes. Boys, we can yet save that man an' his wife and children. Aren't you willing to do it?"
"Why, course," said Long Jim. "Like ez not Standish will shoot at us when we knock on his door, but let's try it."
The others nodded assent.
"How far back from the river is the Standish house, Sol?" asked Henry.
"'Bout three hundred yards, I reckon, and' it ain't more'n a mile down."
"Then if we pull with all our might, we won't be too late. Tom, you and Jim give Sol and me the oars now."
Henry and the shiftless one were fresh, and they sent the boat shooting down stream, until they stopped at a point indicated by Sol. They leaped ashore, drew the boat down the bank, and hastened toward a log house that they saw standing in a clump of trees. The enemy had not yet come, but as they swiftly approached the house a dog ran barking at them. The shiftless one swung his rifle butt, and the dog fell unconscious.
"I hated to do it, but I had to," he murmured. The next moment Henry was knocking at the door.
"Up! Up!" he cried, "the Indians are at hand, and you must run for your lives!"
How many a time has that terrible cry been heard on the American border!
The sound of a man's voice, startled and angry, came to their ears, and then they heard him at the door.
"Who are you?" he cried. "Why are you beating on my door at such a time?"
"We are friends, Mr. Standish," cried Henry, "and if you
"Bring the boat in closer to the bank," he whispered. Push it gently among those bushes where we cannot be seen from above."
Tom and Jim obeyed. The boat slid softly among tall bushes that shadowed the water, and was hidden completely. Then Henry stepped out, crept cautiously nearly up the bank, which was here very low, and lay pressed closely against the earth, but supported by the exposed root of a tree. He had heard voices, those of Indians, he believed, and he wished to see. Peering through a fringe of bushes that lined the bank he saw seven warriors and one white face sitting under the boughs of a great oak. The face was that of Braxton Wyatt, who was now in his element, with a better prospect of success than any that he had ever known before. Henry shuddered, and for a moment he regretted that he had spared Wyatt's life when he might have taken it.
But Henry was lying against the bank to hear what these men might be saying, not to slay. Two of the warriors, as he saw by their paint, were Wyandots, and he understood the Wyandot tongue. Moreover, his slight knowledge of Iroquois came into service, and gradually he gathered the drift of their talk. Two miles nearer Forty Fort was a farmhouse one of the Wyandots had seen it-not yet abandoned by its owner, who believed that his proximity to Forty Fort assured his safety. He lived there with his wife and five children, and Wyatt and the Indians planned to raid the place before daylight and kill them all. Henry had heard enough. He slid back from the bank to the water and crept into the boat.
"Pull back down the river as gently as you can," he whispered, "and then I'll tell you."
The skilled oarsmen carried the boat without a splash several hundred yards down the stream, and then Henry told the others of the fiendish plan that he had heard.
"I know that man," said Shif'less Sol. "His name is Standish. I was there nine or ten hours ago, an' I told him it wuz time to take his family an' run. But he knowed more'n I did. Said he'd stay, he wuzn't afraid, an' now he's got to pay the price."
"No, he mustn't do that," said Henry. "It's too much to pay for just being foolish, when everybody is foolish sometimes. Boys, we can yet save that man an' his wife and children. Aren't you willing to do it?"
"Why, course," said Long Jim. "Like ez not Standish will shoot at us when we knock on his door, but let's try it."
The others nodded assent.
"How far back from the river is the Standish house, Sol?" asked Henry.
"'Bout three hundred yards, I reckon, and' it ain't more'n a mile down."
"Then if we pull with all our might, we won't be too late. Tom, you and Jim give Sol and me the oars now."
Henry and the shiftless one were fresh, and they sent the boat shooting down stream, until they stopped at a point indicated by Sol. They leaped ashore, drew the boat down the bank, and hastened toward a log house that they saw standing in a clump of trees. The enemy had not yet come, but as they swiftly approached the house a dog ran barking at them. The shiftless one swung his rifle butt, and the dog fell unconscious.
"I hated to do it, but I had to," he murmured. The next moment Henry was knocking at the door.
"Up! Up!" he cried, "the Indians are at hand, and you must run for your lives!"
How many a time has that terrible cry been heard on the American border!
The sound of a man's voice, startled and angry, came to their ears, and then they heard him at the door.
"Who are you?" he cried. "Why are you beating on my door at such a time?"
"We are friends, Mr. Standish," cried Henry, "and if you