Henry and Ross after their second scouting1 expedition reported that the great war band of the Shawnees was retreating slowly, in fact would linger by the way, and might destroy one or two smaller stations recently founded farther north. Instantly a new impulse flamed up among the pioneers of Wareville. The feeling of union was strong among all these early settlements, and they believed it their duty to protect their weaker brethren. They would send hastily to Marlowe the nearest and largest settlement for help, follow on the trail of the warriors3 and destroy them. Such a blow, as they might inflict5, would spread terror among all the northwestern tribes and save Kentucky from many another raid.
Ross who was present in the council when the eager cry was raised shook his head and looked more than doubtful.
"They outnumber us four or five to one," he said, "an' when we go out in the woods against 'em we give up our advantage, our wooden walls. They can ambush6 us out there, an' surround us."
Mr. Ware2 added his cautious words to those of Ross, in whom he had great confidence. He believed it better to let the savage7 army go. Discouraged by its defeat before the palisades of Wareville it would withdraw beyond the Ohio, and, under any circumstances, a pursuit with greatly inferior numbers, would be most dangerous.
These were grave words, but they fell on ears that did not wish to listen. They were an impulsive8 people and a generous chord in their natures was touched, the desire to defend those weaker than themselves. A good-hearted but hot-headed man named Clinton made a fiery9 speech. He said that now was the time to strike a crushing blow at the Indian power, and he thought all brave men would take advantage of it.
That expression "brave men" settled the question; no one could afford to be considered aught else, and a little army poured forth10 from Wareville, Mr. Ware nominally11 in command, and Henry, Paul, Ross, Sol, and all the others there. Henry saw his mother and sister weeping at the palisade, and Lucy Upton standing13 beside them. His mother's face was the last that he saw when he plunged15 into the forest. Then he was again the hunter, the trailer and the slayer17 of men.
While they considered whether or not to pursue, Henry Ware had said nothing; but all the primitive18 impulses of man handed down from lost ages of ceaseless battle were alive within him; he wished them to go, he would show the way, the savage army would make a trail through the forest as plain to him as a turnpike to the modern dweller19 in a civilized20 land, and his heart throbbed21 with fierce exultation22, when the decision to follow was at last given. In the forest now he was again at home, more so than he had been inside the palisade. Around him were all the familiar sights and sounds, the little noises of the wilderness23 that only the trained ear hears, the fall of a leaf, or the wind in the grass, and the odor of a wild flower or a bruised24 bough25.
Brain and mind alike expanded. Instinctively26 he took the lead, not from ambition, but because it was natural; he read all the signs and he led on with a certainty to which neither Ross nor Shif'less Sol pretended to aspire27. The two guides and hunters were near each other, and a look passed between them.
"I knew it," said Ross; "I knew from the first that he had in him the making of a great woodsman. You an' I, Sol, by the side of him, are just beginners."
"It's so," he said. "It suits me to follow where he leads, an' since we are goin' after them warriors, which I can't think a wise thing, I'm mighty29 glad he's with us."
Yet to one experienced in the ways of the wilderness the little army though it numbered less than a hundred men would have seemed formidable enough. Many youths were there, mere30 boys they would have been back in some safer land, but hardened here by exposure into the strength and courage of men. Nearly all were dressed in finely tanned deerskin, hunting shirt, leggings and moccasins, fringes on hunting shirt and leggings, and beads32 on moccasins. The sun glinted on the long slender, blue steel barrel of the Western rifle, carried in the hand of every man. At the belt swung knife and hatchet33, and the eyes of all, now that the pursuit had begun, were intense, eager and fierce.
The sounds made by the little Western army, hid under the leafy boughs34 of the forest, gradually died away to almost nothing. No one spoke35, save at rare intervals36. The moccasins were soundless on the soft turf, and there was no rattle37 of arms, although arms were always ready. In front was Henry Ware, scanning the trail, telling with an infallible eye how old it was, where the enemy had lingered, and where he had hastened.
Mr. Pennypacker was there beside Paul Cotter. A man of peace he was, but when war came he never failed to take his part in it.
"Do you know him?" he asked of Paul, nodding toward Henry.
Paul understood.
"No," he replied, "I do not. He used to be my old partner, Henry Ware, but he's another now."
"Yes, he's changed," said the master, "but I am not surprised. I foresaw it long ago, if the circumstances came right."
On the second morning they were joined by the men from Marlowe who had been traveling up one side of a triangle, while the men of Wareville had been traveling up the other side, until they met at the point. Their members were now raised to a hundred and fifty, and, uttering one shout of joy, the united forces plunged forward on the trail with renewed zeal38.
They were in dense39 forest, in a region scarcely known even to the hunters, full of little valleys and narrow deep streams. The Indian force had suddenly taken a sharp turn to the westward40, and the knowledge of it filled the minds of Ross and Sol with misgivings41.
"Maybe they know we're following 'em," said Ross; "an' for that reason they're turnin' into this rough country, which is just full of ambushes42. If it wasn't for bein' called a coward by them hot-heads I'd say it was time for us to wheel right about on our own tracks, an' go home."
"You can't do nothin' with 'em," said Sol, "they wouldn't stand without hitchin', an' we ain't got any way to hitch43 'em. There's goin' to be a scrimmage that people'll talk about for twenty years, an' the best you an' me can do, Tom, is to be sure to keep steady an' to aim true."
Ross nodded sadly and said no more. He looked down at the trail, which was growing fresher and fresher.
"They're slowin' up, Sol," he said at last, "I think they're waitin' for us. You spread out to the right and I'll go to the left to watch ag'in ambush. That boy, Henry Ware'll see everything in front."
In view of the freshening trail Mr. Ware ordered the little army to stop for a few moments and consider, and all, except the scouts44 on the flanks and in front, gathered in council. Before them and all around them lay the hills, steep and rocky but clothed from base to crest45 with dense forest and undergrowth. Farther on were other and higher hills, and in the distance the forests looked blue. Nothing about them stirred. They had sighted no game as they passed; the deer had already fled before the Indian army. The skies, bright and blue in the morning, were now overcast46, a dull, somber47, threatening gray.
"Men," said Mr. Ware, and there was a deep gravity in his tone, as became a general on the eve of conflict, "I think we shall be on the enemy soon or he will be on us. There were many among us who did not approve of this pursuit, but here we are. It is not necessary to say that we should bear ourselves bravely. If we fail and fall, our women and children are back there, and nothing will stand between them and savages48 who know no mercy. That is all you have to remember."
And then a little silence fell upon everyone. Suddenly the hot-heads realized what they had done. They had gone away from their wooden walls, deep into the unknown wilderness, to meet an enemy four or five times their numbers, and skilled in all the wiles49 and tricks of the forest. Every face was grave, but the knowledge of danger only strengthened them for the conflict. Hot blood became cool and cautious, and wary50 eyes searched the thickets51 everywhere. Rash and impetuous they may have been; but they were ready now to redeem52 themselves, with the valor53, without which the border could not have been won.
Henry Ware had suddenly gone forward from the others, and the green forest swallowed him up, but every nerve and muscle of him was now ready and alert. He felt, rather than saw, that the enemy was at hand; and in his green buckskin he blended so completely with the forest that only the keenest sight could have picked him from the mass of foliage54. His general's eye told him, too, that the place before them was made for a conflict which would favor the superior numbers. They had been coming up a gorge55, and if beaten they would be crowded back in it upon each other, hindering the escape of one another, until they were cut to pieces.
The wild youth smiled; he knew the bravery of the men with him, and now their dire56 necessity and the thought of those left behind in the two villages would nerve them to fight. In his daring mind the battle was not yet lost.
A faint, indefinable odor met his nostrils57, and he knew it to be the oil and paint of Indian braves. A deep red flushed through the brown of either cheek. Returning now to his own kind he was its more ardent58 partisan59 because of the revulsion, and the Indian scent60 offended him. He looked down and saw a bit of feather, dropped no doubt from some defiant61 scalp lock. He picked it up, held it to his nose a moment, and then, when the offensive odor assailed62 him again, he cast it away.
Another dozen steps forward, and he sank down in a clump63 of grass, blending perfectly64 with the green, and absolutely motionless. Thirty yards away two Shawnee warriors in all the savage glory of their war paint, naked save for breechcloths, were passing, examining the woods with careful eye. Yet they did not see Henry Ware, and, when they turned and went back, he followed noiselessly after them, his figure still hidden in the green wood.
The two Shawnees, walking lightly, went on up the valley which broadened out as they advanced, but which was still thickly clothed in forest and undergrowth. Skilled as they were in the forest, they probably never dreamed of the enemy who hung on their trail with a skill surpassing their own.
Henry followed them for a full two miles, and then he saw them join a group of Indians under the trees, whom he knew by their dress and bearing to be chiefs. They were tall, middle-aged65, and they wore blankets of green or dark blue, probably bought at the British outposts. Behind them, almost hidden in the forest, Henry saw many other dark faces, eager, intense, waiting to be let loose on the foe66, whom they regarded as already in the trap.
Henry waited, while the two scouts whom he had followed so well, delivered to the chief their message. He saw them beckon67 to the warriors behind them, speak a few words to them, and then he saw two savage forces slip off in the forest, one to the right and one to the left. On the instant he divined their purpose. They were to flank the little white army, while another division stood ready to attack in front. Then the ambush would be complete, and Henry saw the skill of the savage general whoever he might be.
The plan must be frustrated68 at once, and Henry Ware never hesitated. He must bring on the battle, before his own people were surrounded, and raising his rifle he fired with deadly aim at one of the chiefs who fell on the grass. Then the youth raised the wild and thrilling cry, which he had learned from the savages themselves, and sped back toward the white force.
The death cry of the Shawnee and the hostile war whoop69 rang together filling the forest and telling that the end of stealth and cunning, and the beginning of open battle were at hand.
Henry Ware was hidden in an instant by the green foliage from the sight of the Shawnees. Keen as were their eyes, trained as they were to noticing everything that moved in the forest, he had vanished from them like a ghost. But they knew that the enemy whom they had sought to draw into their snare70 had slipped his head out of it before the snare could be sprung. Their long piercing yell rose again and then died away in a frightful71 quaver. As the last terrible note sank the whole savage army rushed forward to destroy its foe.
As Henry Ware ran swiftly back to his friends he met both Ross and Sol, drawn72 by the shot and the shouts.
"It was you who fired?" asked Ross.
"Yes," replied Henry, "they meant to lay an ambush, but they will not have time for it now."
The three stood for a few moments under the boughs of a tree, three types of the daring men who guided and protected the van of the white movement into the wilderness. They were eager, intent, listening, bent73 slightly forward, their rifles lying in the hollow of their arms, ready for instant use.
After the second long cry the savage army gave voice no more. In all the dense thickets a deadly silence reigned74, save for the trained ear. But to the acute hearing of the three under the tree came sounds that they knew; sounds as light as the patter of falling nuts, no more, perhaps, than the rustle75 of dead leaves driven against each other by a wind; but they knew.
"They are coming, and coming fast," said Henry. "We must join the main force now."
"They ought to be ready. That warning of yours was enough," said Ross.
Without another word they turned again, darted76 among the trees, and in a few moments reached the little white force. Mr. Ware, the nominal12 leader, taking alarm from the shot and cries, was already disposing his men in a long, scattering77 line behind hillocks, tree trunks, brushwood and every protection that the ground offered.
"Good!" exclaimed Ross, when he saw, "but we must make our line longer and thinner, we must never let them get around us, an' it's lucky now we've got steep hills on either side."
To be flanked in Indian battle by superior numbers was the most terrible thing that could happen to the pioneers, and Mr. Ware stretched out his line longer and longer, and thinner and thinner. Paul Cotter was full of excitement; he had been in deadly conflict once before, but his was a most sensitive temperament78, terribly stirred by a foe whom he could yet neither see nor hear. Almost unconsciously, he placed himself by the side of Henry Ware, his old partner, to whom he now looked up as a son of battle and the very personification of forest skill.
"Are they really there, Henry?" he asked. "I see nothing and hear nothing."
"Yes," replied Henry, "they are in front of us scarcely a rifle shot away, five to our one."
Paul strained his eyes, but still he could see nothing, only the green waving forest, the patches of undergrowth, the rocks on the steep hills to right and left, and the placid79 blue sky overhead. It did not seem possible to him that they were about to enter into a struggle for life and for those dearer than life.
"Don't shoot wild, Paul," said Henry. "Don't pull the trigger, until you can look down the sights at a vital spot."
A few feet away from them, peering over a log and with his rifle ever thrust forward was Mr. Pennypacker, a schoolmaster, a graduate of a college, an educated and refined man, but bearing his part in the dark and terrible wilderness conflict that often left no wounded.
The stillness was now so deep that even the scouts could hear no sound in front. The savage army seemed to have melted away, into the air itself, and for full five minutes they lay, waiting, waiting, always waiting for something that they knew would come. Then rose the fierce quavering war cry poured from hundreds of throats, and the savage horde80, springing out of the forests and thickets, rushed upon them.
Dark faces showed in the sunlight, brown figures, naked save for the breechcloth, horribly painted, muscles tense, flashed through the undergrowth. The wild yell that rose and fell without ceasing ran off in distant echoes among the hills. The riflemen of Kentucky, lying behind trees and hillocks, began to fire, not in volleys, not by order, but each man according to his judgment81 and his aim, and many a bullet flew true.
A sharp crackling sound, ominous82 and deadly, ran back and forth in the forest. Little spurts83 of fire burned for a moment against the green, and then went out, to give place to others. Jets of white smoke rose languidly and floated up among the trees, gathering84 by and by into a cloud, shot through with blue and yellow tints86 from sky and sun.
Henry Ware fired with deadly aim and reloaded with astonishing speed. Paul Cotter, by his side, was as steady as a rock, now that the suspense87 was over, and the battle upon them. The schoolmaster resting on one elbow was firing across his log.
But it is not Indian tactics to charge home, unless the enemy is frightened into flight by the war whoop and the first rush. The men of Wareville and Marlowe did not run, but stood fast, sending the bullets straight to the mark; and suddenly the Shawnees dropped down among the trees and undergrowth, their bodies hidden, and began to creep forward, firing like sharpshooters. It was now a test of skill, of eyesight, of hearing and of aim.
The forest on either side was filled with creeping forms, white or red, men with burning eyes seeking to slay16 each other, meeting in strife88 more terrible than that of foes89 who encounter each other in open conflict. There was something snakelike in their deadly creeping, only the moving grass to tell where they passed and sometimes where both white and red died, locked fast in the grip of one another. Everywhere it was a combat, confused, dreadful, man to man, and with no shouting now, only the crack of the rifle shot, the whiz of the tomahawk, the thud of the knife, and choked cries.
Like breeds like, and the white men came down to the level of the red. Knowing that they would receive no quarter they gave none. The white face expressed all the cunning, and all the deadly animosity of the red. Led by Henry Ware, Ross and Sol they practiced every device of forest warfare90 known to the Shawnees, and their line, which extended across the valley from hill to hill, spurted91 death from tree, bush, and rock.
To Paul Cotter it was all a nightmare, a foul92 dream, unreal. He obeyed his comrade's injunctions, he lay close to the earth, and he did not fire until he could draw a bead31 on a bare breast, but the work became mechanical with him. He was a high-strung lad of delicate sensibilities. There was in his temperament something of the poet and the artist, and nothing of the soldier who fights for the sake of mere fighting. The wilderness appealed to him, because of its glory, but the savage appealed to him not at all. In Henry's bosom93 there was respect for his red foes from whom he had learned so many useful lessons, and his heart beat faster with the thrill of strenuous94 conflict, but Paul was anxious for the end of it all. The sight of dead faces near him, not the lack of courage, more than once made him faint and dizzy.
Twice and thrice the Shawnees tried to scale the steep hillsides, and with their superior numbers swing around behind the enemy, but the lines of the borderers were always extended to meet them, and the bullets from the long-barreled rifles cut down everyone who tried to pass. It was always Henry Ware who was first to see a new movement, his eyes read every new motion in the grass, and foliage swaying in a new direction would always tell him what it meant. More than one of his comrades muttered to himself that he was worth a dozen men that day.
So fierce were the combatants, so eager were they for each other's blood that they did not notice that the sky, gray in the morning, then blue at the opening of battle, had now grown leaden and somber again. The leaves above them were motionless and then began to rustle dully in a raw wet wind out of the north. The sun was quite gone behind the clouds and drops of cold rain began to fall, falling on the upturned faces of the dead, red and white alike with just impartiality95, the wind rose, whistled, and drove the cold drops before it like hail. But the combat still swayed back and forth in the leaden forest, and neither side took notice.
Mr. Ware remained near the center of the white line, and retained command, although he gave but few orders, every man fighting for himself and giving his own orders. But from time to time Ross and Sol or Henry brought him news of the conflict, perhaps how they had been driven back a little at one point, and perhaps how they gained a little at another point. He, too, a man of fifty and the head of a community, shared the emotions of those around him, and was filled with a furious zeal for the conflict.
The clouds thickened and darkened, and the cold drops were driven upon them by the wind, the rifle smoke, held down by the rain, made sodden96 banks of vapor97 among the trees; but through all the clouds of vapor burst flashes of fire, and the occasional triumphant98 shout or death cry of the white man or the savage.
Henry Ware looked up and he became conscious that not only clouds above were bringing the darkness, but that the day was waning99. In the west a faint tint85 of red and yellow, barely discernible through the grayness, marked the sinking sun, and in the east the blackness of night was still advancing. Yet the conflict, as important to those engaged in it, as a great battle between civilized foes, a hundred thousand on a side, and far more fierce, yet hung on an even chance. The white men still stood where they had stood when the forest battle began, and the red men who had not been able to advance would not retreat.
Henry's heart sank a little at the signs that night was coming; it would be harder in the darkness to keep their forces in touch, and the superior numbers of the Shawnees would swarm100 all about them. It seemed to him that it would be best to withdraw a little to more open ground; but he waited a while, because he did not wish any of their movements to have the color of retreat. Moreover, the activity of the Shawnees rose just then to a higher pitch.
Figures were now invisible in the chill, wet dusk, fifty or sixty yards away, and the two lines came closer. The keenest eye could see nothing save flitting forms like phantoms101, but the riflemen, trained to quickness, fired at them and more than once sent a fatal bullet. There were two lines of fire facing each other in the dark wood. The flashes showed red or yellow in the twilight102 or the falling rain, and the Indian yell of triumph whenever it arose, echoed, weird103 and terrible, through the dripping forest.
Henry stole to the side of his father.
"We must fall back," he said, "or in the darkness or the night, they will be sure to surround us and crush us."
Ross was an able second to this advice, and reluctantly Mr. Ware passed along the word to retreat. "Be sure to bring off all the wounded," was the order. "The dead, alas104! must be abandoned to nameless indignities105!"
The little white army left thirty dead in the dripping forest, and, as many more carried wounds, the most of which were curable, but it was as full of fight as ever. It merely drew back to protect itself against being flanked in the forest, and the faces of the borderers, sullen106 and determined107, were still turned to the enemy.
Yet the line of fire was visibly retreating, and, when the Shawnee forces saw it, a triumphant yell was poured from hundreds of throats. They rushed forward, only to be driven back again by the hail of bullets, and Ross said to Mr. Ware: "I guess we burned their faces then."
"Look to the wounded! look to the wounded!" repeated Mr. Ware. "See that no man too weak is left to help himself."
They had gone half a mile when Henry glanced around for Paul. His eyes, trained to the darkness, ran over the dim forms about him. Many were limping and others already had arms in slings108 made from their hunting shirts, but Henry nowhere saw the figure of his old comrade. A fever of fear assailed him. One of two things had happened. Paul was either killed or too badly wounded to walk, and somehow in the darkness they had missed him. The schoolmaster's face blanched109 at the news. Paul had been his favorite pupil.
Henry Ware stood beside the master, when he uttered these words, wrenched111 by despair from the very bottom of his chest. Pain shot through his own heart, as if it had been touched by a knife. Paul, the well-beloved comrade of his youth, captured and subjected to the torture! His blood turned to ice in his veins112. How could they ever have missed the boy? Paul now seemed to Henry at least ten years younger than himself. It was not merely the fault of a single man, it was the fault of them all. He stared back into the thickening darkness, where the flashes of flame burst now and then, and, in an instant, he had taken his resolve.
"I do not know where Paul is," he said, "but I shall find him."
"Henry! Henry! what are you going to do?" cried his father in alarm.
"I'm going back after him," replied his son.
"But you can do nothing! It is sure death! Have we just found you to lose you again?"
Henry touched his father's hand. It was an act of tenderness, coming from his stoical nature, and the next instant he was gone, amid the smoke and the vapors113 and the darkness, toward the Indian army.
Mr. Ware put his face in his hands and groaned, but the hand of Ross fell upon his shoulder.
"The boy will come back, Mr. Ware," said the guide, "an' will bring the other with him, too. God has given him a woods cunnin' that none of us can match."
Mr. Ware let his hands fall, and became the man again. The retreating force still fell back slowly, firing steadily114 by the flashes at the pursuing foe.
Henry Ware had not gone more than fifty yards before he was completely hidden from his friends. Then he turned to a savage, at least in appearance. He threw off the raccoon-skin cap and hunting shirt, drew up his hair in the scalp lock, tying it there with a piece of fringe from his discarded hunting shirt, and then turned off at an angle into the woods. Presently he beheld115 the dark figures of the Shawnees, springing from tree to tree or bent low in the undergrowth, but all following eagerly. When he saw them he too bent over and fired toward his own comrades, then he whirled again to the right, and sprang about as if he were seeking another target. To all appearances, he was, in the darkness and driving rain, a true Shawnee, and the manner and gesture of an Indian were second nature to him.
But he had little fear of being discovered at such a time. His sole thought was to find his comrade. All the old days of boyish companionship rushed upon him, with their memories. The tenderness in his nature was the stronger, because of its long repression116. He would find him and if he were alive, he would save him; moreover he had what he thought was a clew. He had remembered seeing Paul crouched117 behind a log, firing at the enemy, and no one had seen him afterwards. He believed that the boy was lying there yet, slain118, or, if fate were kinder, too badly wounded to move. The line of retreat had slanted119 somewhat from the spot, and the savages might well have passed, in the dark, without noticing the boy's fallen body.
His own sense of direction was perfect, and he edged swiftly away toward the fallen log, behind which Paul had lain. Many dark forms passed him, but none sought to stop him; the counterfeit120 was too good; all thought him one of themselves.
Presently Henry passed no more of the flitting warriors. The battle was moving on toward the south and was now behind him. He looked back and saw the flashes growing fainter and heard the scattering rifle shots, deadened somewhat by the distance. Around him was the beat of the rain on the leaves and the sodden earth, and he looked up at a sky, wholly hidden by black clouds. He would need all his forest lore121, and all the primitive instincts, handed down from far-off ancestors. But never were they more keenly alive than on this night.
The boy did not veer122 from the way, but merely by the sense of direction took a straight path toward the fallen log that he remembered. The din14 of battle still rolled slowly off toward the south, and, for the moment, he forgot it. He came to the log, bent down and touched a cold face. It was Paul. Instinctively his hand moved toward the boy's head and when it touched the thick brown hair and nothing else, he uttered a little shuddering123 sigh of relief. Dead or alive, the hideous124 Indian trophy125 had not been taken. Then he found the boy's wrist and his pulse, which was still beating faintly. The deft126 hands moved on, and touched the wound, made by a bullet that had passed entirely127 through his shoulder. Paul had fainted from loss of blood, and without the coming of help would surely have been dead in another hour.
The boy lay on his side, and, in some convulsion as he lost consciousness, he had drawn his arm about his head. Henry turned him over until the cold reviving rain fell full upon his face, and then, raising himself again, he listened intently. The battle was still moving on to the southward, but very slowly, and stray warriors might yet pass and see them. The tie of friendship is strong, and as he had come to save Paul and as he had found him too, he did not mean to be stopped now.
He stooped down and chafed128 the wounded youth's wrists and temples, while the rain with its vivifying touch still drove upon his face. Paul stirred and his pulse grew stronger. He opened his eyes catching129 one vague glimpse of the anxious face above him, but he was so feeble that the lids closed down again. But Henry was cheered. Paul was not only alive, he was growing stronger, and, bending down, he lifted him in his powerful arms. Then he strode away in the darkness, intending to pass in a curve around the hostile army. Despite Paul's weight he was able also to keep his rifle ready, because none knew better than he that all the chances favored his meeting with one warrior4 or more before the curve was made. But he was instinct with strength both mental and physical, he was the true type of the borderer, the men who faced with sturdy heart the vast dangers of the wilderness, the known and the unknown. At that moment he was at his highest pitch of courage and skill, alone in the darkness and storm, surrounded by the danger of death and worse, yet ready to risk everything for the sake of the boy with whom he had played.
He heard nothing but the patter of the distant firing, and all around him was the gloom, of a night, dark to intensity130. The rain poured steadily out of a sky that did not contain a single star. Paul stirred occasionally on his shoulder, as he advanced, swiftly, picking his way through the forest and the undergrowth. A half mile forward and his ears caught a light footstep. In an instant he sank down with his burden, and as he did so he caught sight of an Indian warrior, not twenty feet away. The Shawnee saw him at the same time, and he, too, dropped down in the undergrowth.
Henry did not then feel the lust131 of blood. He would have been willing to pass on, and leave the Shawnee to himself; but he knew that the Shawnee would not leave him. He laid Paul upon his back, in order that the rain might beat upon his face, and then crouched beside him, absolutely motionless, but missing nothing that the keenest eye or ear might detect. It was a contest of patience, and the white youth brought to bear upon it both the red man's training and his own.
A half hour passed, and within that small area there was no sound but the beat of the rain on the leaves and the sticky earth. Perhaps the warrior thought he had been deceived; it was merely an illusion of the night that he thought he saw; or if he had seen anyone the man was now gone, creeping away through the undergrowth. He stirred among his own bushes, raised up a little to see, and gave his enemy a passing glimpse of his face. But it was enough; a rifle bullet struck him between the eyes and the wilderness fighter lay dead in the forest.
Henry bestowed132 not a thought on the slain warrior, but, lifting up Paul once more, continued on his wide curve, as if nothing had happened. No one interrupted him again, and after a while he was parallel with the line of fire. Then he passed around it and came to rocky ground, where he laid Paul down and chafed his hands and face. The wounded boy opened his eyes again, and, with returning strength, was now able to keep them open.
"Henry!" he said in a vague whisper.
"Yes, Paul, it is I," Henry replied quietly.
Paul lay still and struggled with memory. The rain was now ceasing, and a few shafts133 of moonlight, piercing through the clouds, threw silver rays on the dripping forest.
"The battle!" said Paul at last. "I was firing and something struck me. That was the last I remember."
"You came for me?" he said.
"Yes," replied Henry, "I came for you, and I brought you here."
Paul closed his eyes, lay still, and then at a ghastly thought, opened his eyes again.
"Are only we two left?" he asked. "Are all the others killed? Is that why we are hiding here in the forest?"
"No," replied Henry, "we are holding them off, but we decided135 that it was wiser to retreat. We shall join our own people in the morning."
Paul said no more, and Henry sheltered him as best he could under the trees. The wet clothing he could not replace, and that would have to be endured. But he rubbed his body to keep him warm and to induce circulation. The night was now far advanced, and the distant firing became spasmodic and faint. After a while it ceased, and the weary combatants lay on their arms in the thickets.
The clouds began to float off to the eastward136. By and by all went down under the horizon, and the sky sprang out, a solid dome137 of calm, untroubled blue, in which the stars in myriads138 twinkled and shone. A moon of unusual splendor139 bathed the wet forest in a silver dew.
Henry sat in the moonlight, watching beside Paul, who dozed140 or fell into a stupor141. The moonlight passed, the darkest hours came and then up shot the dawn, bathing a green world in the mingled142 glory of red and gold. Henry raised Paul again, and started with him toward the thickets, where he knew the little white army lay.
John Ware had borne himself that night like a man, else he would not have been in the place that he held. But his heart had followed his son, when he turned back toward the savage army, and, despite the reassuring143 words of Ross, he already mourned him as one dead. Yet he was faithful to his greater duty, remembering the little force that he led and the women and children back there, of whom they were the chief and almost the sole defenders144. But if he reached Wareville again how could he tell the tale of his loss? There was one to whom no excuse would seem good. Often Mr. Pennypacker was by his side, and when the darkness began to thin away before the moonlight these two men exchanged sad glances. Each understood what was in the heart of the other, but neither spoke.
The hours of night and combat dragged heavily. When the waning fire of the savages ceased they let their own cease also, and then sought ground upon which they might resist any new attack, made in the daylight. They found it at last in a rocky region that doubled the powers of the defense145. Ross was openly exultant146.
"We scorched147 'em good yesterday an' to-night," he said, "an' if they come again in the day we'll just burn their faces away."
Most of the men, worn to the bone, sank down to sleep on the wet ground in their wet clothes, while the others watched, and the few hours, left before the morning, passed peacefully away.
At the first sunlight the men were awakened148, and all ate cold food which they carried in their knapsacks. Mr. Ware and the schoolmaster sat apart. Mr. Ware looked steadily at the ground and the schoolmaster, whose heart was wrenched both with his own grief and his friend's, knew not what to say. Neither did Ross nor Sol disturb them for the moment, but busied themselves with preparations for the new defense.
Mr. Pennypacker was gazing toward the southwest and suddenly on the crest of a low ridge149 a black and formless object appeared between him and the sun. At first he thought it was a mote150 in his eye, and he rubbed the pupils but the mote grew larger, and then he looked with a new and stronger interest. It was a man; no, two men, one carrying the other, and the motion of the man who bore the other seemed familiar. The master's heart sprang up in his throat, and the blood swelled151 in a new tide in his veins. His hand fell heavily, but with joy, on the shoulder of Mr. Ware.
"Look up! Look up!" he cried, "and see who is coming!"
Mr. Ware looked up and saw his son, with the wounded Paul Cotter on his shoulder, walking into camp. Then—the borderers were a pious152 people—he fell upon his knees and gave thanks. Two hours later the Shawnees in full force made a last and desperate attack upon the little white army. They ventured into the open, as venture they must to reach the defenders, and they were met by the terrible fire that never missed. At no time could they pass the deadly hail of bullets, and at last, leaving the ground strewed153 with their dead, they fell back into the forest, and then, breaking into a panic, did not cease fleeing until they had crossed the Ohio. Throughout the morning Henry Ware was one of the deadliest sharpshooters of them all, while Paul Cotter lay safely in the rear, and fretted154 because his wound would not let him do his part.
The great victory won, it was agreed that Henry Ware had done the best of them all, but they spent little time in congratulations. They preferred the sacred duty of burying the dead, even seeking those who had fallen in the forest the night before; and then they began their march southward, the more severely155 wounded carried on rude litters at first, but as they gained strength after a while walking, though lamely156. Paul recovered fast, and when he heard the story, he looked upon Henry as a knight157, the equal of any who ever rode down the pages of chivalry158.
But all alike carried in their hearts the consciousness that they had struck a mighty blow that would grant life to the growing settlements, and, despite their sadly thinned ranks, they were full of a pride that needed no words. The men of Wareville and the men of Marlowe parted at the appointed place, and then each force went home with the news of victory.
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1
scouting
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| 守候活动，童子军的活动 | |
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ware
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| n.(常用复数)商品，货物 | |
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3
warriors
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| 武士，勇士，战士( warrior的名词复数 ) | |
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warrior
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| n.勇士，武士，斗士 | |
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inflict
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| vt.(on)把…强加给，使遭受，使承担 | |
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ambush
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| n.埋伏(地点)；伏兵；v.埋伏；伏击 | |
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savage
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| adj.野蛮的；凶恶的，残暴的；n.未开化的人 | |
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impulsive
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| adj.冲动的，刺激的；有推动力的 | |
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fiery
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| adj.燃烧着的，火红的；暴躁的；激烈的 | |
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forth
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| adv.向前；向外，往外 | |
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nominally
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| 在名义上，表面地； 应名儿 | |
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nominal
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| adj.名义上的；(金额、租金)微不足道的 | |
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standing
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| n.持续，地位；adj.永久的，不动的，直立的，不流动的 | |
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14
din
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| n.喧闹声，嘈杂声 | |
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15
plunged
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| v.颠簸( plunge的过去式和过去分词 )；暴跌；骤降；突降 | |
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slay
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| v.杀死，宰杀，杀戮 | |
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slayer
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| n. 杀人者，凶手 | |
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18
primitive
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| adj.原始的；简单的；n.原(始)人，原始事物 | |
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19
dweller
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| n.居住者，住客 | |
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20
civilized
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| a.有教养的，文雅的 | |
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throbbed
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| 抽痛( throb的过去式和过去分词 )； （心脏、脉搏等）跳动 | |
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22
exultation
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| n.狂喜，得意 | |
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23
wilderness
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| n.杳无人烟的一片陆地、水等，荒漠 | |
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24
bruised
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| [医]青肿的，瘀紫的 | |
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25
bough
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| n.大树枝，主枝 | |
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26
instinctively
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| adv.本能地 | |
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27
aspire
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| vi.(to，after)渴望，追求，有志于 | |
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28
assent
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| v.批准，认可；n.批准，认可 | |
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29
mighty
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| adj.强有力的；巨大的 | |
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30
mere
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| adj.纯粹的；仅仅，只不过 | |
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31
bead
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| n.念珠；(pl.)珠子项链；水珠 | |
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32
beads
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| n.（空心）小珠子( bead的名词复数 )；水珠；珠子项链 | |
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33
hatchet
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| n.短柄小斧；v.扼杀 | |
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34
boughs
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| 大树枝( bough的名词复数 ) | |
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35
spoke
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| n.（车轮的）辐条；轮辐；破坏某人的计划；阻挠某人的行动 v.讲，谈（speak的过去式）；说；演说；从某种观点来说 | |
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36
intervals
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| n.[军事]间隔( interval的名词复数 )；间隔时间；[数学]区间；（戏剧、电影或音乐会的）幕间休息 | |
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37
rattle
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| v.飞奔，碰响；激怒；n.碰撞声；拨浪鼓 | |
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38
zeal
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| n.热心，热情，热忱 | |
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39
dense
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| a.密集的，稠密的，浓密的；密度大的 | |
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40
westward
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| n.西方，西部；adj.西方的，向西的；adv.向西 | |
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41
misgivings
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| n.疑虑，担忧，害怕；疑虑，担心，恐惧( misgiving的名词复数 )；疑惧 | |
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42
ambushes
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| n.埋伏( ambush的名词复数 )；伏击；埋伏着的人；设埋伏点v.埋伏( ambush的第三人称单数 )；埋伏着 | |
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43
hitch
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| v.免费搭(车旅行)；系住；急提；n.故障；急拉 | |
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44
scouts
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| 侦察员[机，舰]( scout的名词复数 )； 童子军； 搜索； 童子军成员 | |
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45
crest
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| n.顶点；饰章；羽冠；vt.达到顶点；vi.形成浪尖 | |
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46
overcast
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| adj.阴天的，阴暗的，愁闷的；v.遮盖，（使）变暗，包边缝；n.覆盖，阴天 | |
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47
somber
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| adj.昏暗的，阴天的，阴森的，忧郁的 | |
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48
savages
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| 未开化的人，野蛮人( savage的名词复数 ) | |
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49
wiles
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| n.（旨在欺骗或吸引人的）诡计，花招；欺骗，欺诈( wile的名词复数 ) | |
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50
wary
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| adj.谨慎的，机警的，小心的 | |
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51
thickets
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| n.灌木丛( thicket的名词复数 )；丛状物 | |
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52
redeem
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| v.买回，赎回，挽回，恢复，履行（诺言等） | |
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53
valor
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| n.勇气，英勇 | |
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54
foliage
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| n.叶子，树叶，簇叶 | |
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55
gorge
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| n.咽喉，胃，暴食，山峡；v.塞饱，狼吞虎咽地吃 | |
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56
dire
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| adj.可怕的，悲惨的，阴惨的，极端的 | |
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57
nostrils
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| 鼻孔( nostril的名词复数 ) | |
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58
ardent
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| adj.热情的，热烈的，强烈的，烈性的 | |
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59
partisan
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| adj.党派性的；游击队的；n.游击队员；党徒 | |
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60
scent
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| n.气味，香味，香水，线索，嗅觉；v.嗅，发觉 | |
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61
defiant
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| adj.无礼的，挑战的 | |
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62
assailed
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| v.攻击( assail的过去式和过去分词 )；困扰；质问；毅然应对 | |
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63
clump
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| n.树丛，草丛；vi.用沉重的脚步行走 | |
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64
perfectly
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| adv.完美地，无可非议地，彻底地 | |
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65
middle-aged
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| adj.中年的 | |
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66
foe
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| n.敌人，仇敌 | |
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67
beckon
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| v.(以点头或打手势)向...示意，召唤 | |
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68
frustrated
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| adj.挫败的，失意的，泄气的v.使不成功( frustrate的过去式和过去分词 )；挫败；使受挫折；令人沮丧 | |
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69
whoop
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| n.大叫，呐喊，喘息声；v.叫喊，喘息 | |
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70
snare
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| n.陷阱，诱惑，圈套；（去除息肉或者肿瘤的）勒除器；响弦，小军鼓；vt.以陷阱捕获，诱惑 | |
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71
frightful
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| adj.可怕的；讨厌的 | |
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72
drawn
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| v.拖，拉，拔出；adj.憔悴的，紧张的 | |
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73
bent
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| n.爱好，癖好；adj.弯的；决心的，一心的 | |
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74
reigned
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| vi.当政，统治（reign的过去式形式） | |
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75
rustle
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| v.沙沙作响；偷盗(牛、马等)；n.沙沙声声 | |
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76
darted
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| v.投掷，投射( dart的过去式和过去分词 )；向前冲，飞奔 | |
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77
scattering
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| n.[物]散射；散乱，分散；在媒介质中的散播adj.散乱的；分散在不同范围的；广泛扩散的；（选票）数量分散的v.散射(scatter的ing形式)；散布；驱散 | |
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78
temperament
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| n.气质，性格，性情 | |
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placid
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| adj.安静的，平和的 | |
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horde
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| n.群众，一大群 | |
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81
judgment
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| n.审判；判断力，识别力，看法，意见 | |
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82
ominous
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| adj.不祥的，不吉的，预兆的，预示的 | |
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83
spurts
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| 短暂而突然的活动或努力( spurt的名词复数 )； 突然奋起 | |
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84
gathering
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| n.集会，聚会，聚集 | |
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85
tint
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| n.淡色，浅色；染发剂；vt.着以淡淡的颜色 | |
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86
tints
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| 色彩( tint的名词复数 )； 带白的颜色； （淡色）染发剂； 痕迹 | |
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87
suspense
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| n.（对可能发生的事）紧张感，担心，挂虑 | |
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88
strife
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| n.争吵，冲突，倾轧，竞争 | |
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foes
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| 敌人，仇敌( foe的名词复数 ) | |
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warfare
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| n.战争(状态)；斗争；冲突 | |
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spurted
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| （液体，火焰等）喷出，（使）涌出( spurt的过去式和过去分词 )； （短暂地）加速前进，冲刺 | |
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92
foul
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| adj.污秽的；邪恶的；v.弄脏；妨害；犯规；n.犯规 | |
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93
bosom
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| n.胸，胸部；胸怀；内心；adj.亲密的 | |
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strenuous
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| adj.奋发的，使劲的；紧张的；热烈的，狂热的 | |
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95
impartiality
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| n. 公平, 无私, 不偏 | |
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96
sodden
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| adj.浑身湿透的；v.使浸透；使呆头呆脑 | |
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vapor
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| n.蒸汽，雾气 | |
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triumphant
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| adj.胜利的，成功的；狂欢的，喜悦的 | |
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99
waning
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| adj.（月亮）渐亏的，逐渐减弱或变小的n.月亏v.衰落( wane的现在分词 )；（月）亏；变小；变暗淡 | |
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100
swarm
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| n.(昆虫)等一大群；vi.成群飞舞；蜂拥而入 | |
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101
phantoms
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| n.鬼怪，幽灵( phantom的名词复数 ) | |
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102
twilight
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| n.暮光，黄昏；暮年，晚期，衰落时期 | |
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103
weird
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| adj.古怪的，离奇的；怪诞的，神秘而可怕的 | |
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104
alas
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| int.唉(表示悲伤、忧愁、恐惧等) | |
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105
indignities
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| n.侮辱，轻蔑( indignity的名词复数 ) | |
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106
sullen
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| adj.愠怒的，闷闷不乐的，(天气等)阴沉的 | |
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107
determined
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| adj.坚定的；有决心的 | |
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108
slings
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| 抛( sling的第三人称单数 )； 吊挂； 遣送； 押往 | |
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109
blanched
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| v.使变白( blanch的过去式 )；使（植物）不见阳光而变白；酸洗（金属）使有光泽；用沸水烫（杏仁等）以便去皮 | |
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110
groaned
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| v.呻吟( groan的过去式和过去分词 )；发牢骚；抱怨；受苦 | |
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111
wrenched
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| v.（猛力地）扭( wrench的过去式和过去分词 )；扭伤；使感到痛苦；使悲痛 | |
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112
veins
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| n.纹理；矿脉( vein的名词复数 )；静脉；叶脉；纹理 | |
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113
vapors
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| n.水汽，水蒸气，无实质之物( vapor的名词复数 )；自夸者；幻想 [药]吸入剂 [古]忧郁（症）v.自夸，（使）蒸发( vapor的第三人称单数 ) | |
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114
steadily
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| adv.稳定地；不变地；持续地 | |
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115
beheld
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| v.看，注视( behold的过去式和过去分词 )；瞧；看呀；（叙述中用于引出某人意外的出现）哎哟 | |
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116
repression
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| n.镇压，抑制，抑压 | |
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117
crouched
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| v.屈膝，蹲伏( crouch的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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118
slain
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| 杀死，宰杀，杀戮( slay的过去分词 )； (slay的过去分词) | |
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119
slanted
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| 有偏见的； 倾斜的 | |
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120
counterfeit
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| vt.伪造，仿造；adj.伪造的，假冒的 | |
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121
lore
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| n.传说；学问，经验，知识 | |
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122
veer
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| vt.转向，顺时针转，改变；n.转向 | |
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123
shuddering
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| v.战栗( shudder的现在分词 )；发抖；（机器、车辆等）突然震动；颤动 | |
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124
hideous
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| adj.丑陋的，可憎的，可怕的，恐怖的 | |
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125
trophy
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| n.优胜旗，奖品，奖杯，战胜品，纪念品 | |
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126
deft
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| adj.灵巧的，熟练的（a deft hand 能手） | |
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127
entirely
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| ad.全部地，完整地；完全地，彻底地 | |
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128
chafed
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| v.擦热（尤指皮肤）( chafe的过去式 )；擦痛；发怒；惹怒 | |
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129
catching
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| adj.易传染的，有魅力的，迷人的，接住 | |
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intensity
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| n.强烈，剧烈；强度；烈度 | |
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131
lust
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| n.性(淫)欲；渴(欲)望；vi.对…有强烈的欲望 | |
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132
bestowed
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| 赠给，授予( bestow的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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133
shafts
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| n.轴( shaft的名词复数 )；（箭、高尔夫球棒等的）杆；通风井；一阵（疼痛、害怕等） | |
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134
gratitude
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| adj.感激，感谢 | |
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decided
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| adj.决定了的，坚决的；明显的，明确的 | |
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eastward
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| adv.向东；adj.向东的；n.东方，东部 | |
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137
dome
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| n.圆屋顶，拱顶 | |
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138
myriads
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| n.无数，极大数量( myriad的名词复数 ) | |
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139
splendor
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| n.光彩；壮丽，华丽；显赫，辉煌 | |
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140
dozed
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| v.打盹儿，打瞌睡( doze的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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stupor
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| v.昏迷；不省人事 | |
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142
mingled
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| 混合，混入( mingle的过去式和过去分词 )； 混进，与…交往[联系] | |
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143
reassuring
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| a.使人消除恐惧和疑虑的，使人放心的 | |
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144
defenders
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| n.防御者( defender的名词复数 )；守卫者；保护者；辩护者 | |
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defense
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| n.防御，保卫；[pl.]防务工事；辩护，答辩 | |
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exultant
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| adj.欢腾的，狂欢的，大喜的 | |
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147
scorched
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| 烧焦，烤焦( scorch的过去式和过去分词 )； 使（植物）枯萎，把…晒枯； 高速行驶； 枯焦 | |
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148
awakened
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| v.（使）醒( awaken的过去式和过去分词 )；（使）觉醒；弄醒；（使）意识到 | |
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149
ridge
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| n.山脊；鼻梁；分水岭 | |
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150
mote
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| n.微粒；斑点 | |
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151
swelled
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| 增强( swell的过去式和过去分词 )； 肿胀； （使）凸出； 充满（激情） | |
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152
pious
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| adj.虔诚的；道貌岸然的 | |
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153
strewed
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| v.撒在…上( strew的过去式和过去分词 )；散落于；点缀；撒满 | |
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154
fretted
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| 焦躁的，附有弦马的，腐蚀的 | |
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155
severely
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| adv.严格地；严厉地；非常恶劣地 | |
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156
lamely
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| 一瘸一拐地，不完全地 | |
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157
knight
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| n.骑士，武士；爵士 | |
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158
chivalry
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| n.骑士气概，侠义；（男人）对女人彬彬有礼，献殷勤 | |
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