A Virginia Scout Part 28

"We've just 'bout come to it," gravely remarked Cousin. "I ain't no talkin' cuss, but I'll say right here that I sorter like you, Morris. If things could 'a' been different, an' I could be more like other folks, I 'low we'd been good friends."

"We're the best of friends, Shelby. As long as I can think I shall remember how you came with me into this trap to help rescue the girl."

"Shucks! Don't be a fool!" he growled. "That ain't nothin'. Once I bu'sted up a Mingo camp to git my dawg. They'd caught the critter an' was cal'latin' to sculp him alive. Got him free, too, an' the d.a.m.n pup was that stirred up by his feelin's that he couldn't tell who was his friends, an' he chawed my thumb somethin' cruel."

He stepped to the loophole, and after peering out mumbled:

"Changin' mighty smart."

I glanced out and the ridges were losing their outlines and the valley was becoming blurred. Cousin mused.

"It'll be comin' right smart now. Don't overlook anything."

We made a last examination of flints and primings, and Cousin softly arranged the heavy door bar so it might be displaced with a single movement. He startled me by abruptly standing erect and c.o.c.king his head to one side and remaining motionless.

"The old Englishman!" he exclaimed. "He ain't fired a shot, or tried to talk with us for a long time."

I went to the front end of the cabin and put my eye to the peephole. The small window showed black. I called to him several times and received no answer. There was only one conclusion. A chance ball through a loophole or a window had killed the old fellow. Cousin agreed to this. A signal at the mouth of the valley brought us to our toes. It was about to begin. The signal was answered from the ridge behind us.

"They've put the stopper in the bottle," Cousin whispered. "But here's an idea. The upper cabin, where the Dales was, is empty. If we could sneak in there without bein' seen we'd have the slimmest sort of a chance to duck back to the ridge while they was shootin' their fire-arrers at this cabin.

There would be a few minutes, when the first flames begin showin', when every eye would be on this place. If we could only reach the flank o' the ridge we'd be fools if we couldn't dodge 'em."

This appealed to me as being excellent strategy. Knowing the Dales' cabin was empty, the Indians would not think of paying it much attention at first. To leave our shelter and make the short distance would require darkness. Our greatest danger would be from the Indians on the ridge back of us. By this time they were lined up at the foot of the slope and were all ready to break from cover.

In our favor was the Granville cabin, which would shelter us from the ridge for a bit of the perilous way. Already it was possible, I decided, to crawl the distance without being detected by the enemy across the valley. Cousin refused to run the risk, and argued.

"Every minute gained now gives us that much more of a chance. The Injuns out front ain't all across the valley any more. They begun creepin' into the clearin' the minute it begun growin' dark. Reckon it's time they l'arned who's cooped up in here, so's they won't git too bold."

He removed the bar of the door and through the crevice sounded his terrible war-cry, the scream of a panther. It stabbed the dusk with ear-splitting intensity.

"There! They'll stop an' count a dozen afore gittin' too close," he muttered as he softly replaced the bar. "They'll lay mighty low an' won't bother to do much but watch the door. I 'low it'll be hard work to crawl out without they guessin' somethin's wrong."

"Then let's rip up the floor and dig a hole under the logs," I suggested.

"We'll do that," he quietly agreed.

As cautiously as possible we removed several of the puncheon slabs next to the wall. The base logs were huge fellows and held the floor several feet from the ground. To excavate a hole under either of the four would have required more time than we believed we had to spare. Our plan threatened to be hopeless until Cousin explored the length of the log with his fingers and gave a little cry of delight. He found a hole already dug near the front end of the cabin. It had been the work of the dog. Working with our hunting-knives we loosened the dirt and pawed it behind us and made it larger. At last Cousin pressed me back and ducked his head and shoulders into the hole. Then he drew back and whispered:

"I can git my head an' shoulders through. 'low I could squirm out o' h.e.l.l if I could git my shoulders through. I'll go ahead an' you pa.s.s out the rifles. Ready?"

I pressed his hand. There followed a few moments of waiting, then a handful of dirt fell into the hole and informed me my companion had squeezed clear of the log and that the ultimate test was to be faced. I pa.s.sed the rifles, b.u.t.ts first, and felt them gently removed from my grasp. Working noiselessly as possible I soon squirmed out into the refres.h.i.+ng evening air and lay motionless. Cousin was ahead and already worming his way toward the third cabin. My outstretched hand touched the b.u.t.t of my rifle, and I began creeping after my friend.

I nearly suffocated in crawling by the opening between our cabin and the Granville cabin, for I scarcely ventured to breathe. It seemed as if any one within pistol-shot of me must hear the pounding of my heart. The silence continued, and at last I was hugging the ground at the end of the cabin and for the time sheltered from spying eyes at the foot of the ridge.

A quavering cry rang out at the mouth of the valley. This time it was answered from the clearing on our right as well as from the ridge. The Indians had crept closer, just as Cousin had predicted.

Half a minute pa.s.sed, then the signal sounded directly ahead of us, or from beyond the Dales' cabin. The circle was completed. From the ridge soared a burning arrow. It fell short, landing behind the cabin we had vacated. As it gave off no light I surmised it went out on striking the ground.

Cousin drew away from the end of the Granville cabin and was risking the second and last gap. I hurried a bit, fearing more arrows. As I came abreast of the door I wondered what had become of the Englishman. Either the night was playing a trick, or else the door was partly open. I reached out my hand to learn the truth, and touched a cold hand hanging limply over the threshold.

My nerves jumped, but I mastered them by reasoning that the Englishman had been shot by a chance ball and had attempted to leave the cabin, thinking to gain our shelter and to die there. Death had overtaken him as he was opening the door. That it was the Englishman's hand I had touched was evidenced by the s.h.i.+rt-sleeve, puckered in at the wrist.

I released the poor hand and was resuming my way when a slight sound caused me to hold my breath. Then a heavy weight landed on my back, knocking the breath from my lungs with an explosive grunt. Next, the night was ripped from horizon to horizon with a jagged streak of red.

CHAPTER IX

DALE ESCAPES

When I recovered my senses I was being dragged over the ground by means of a cord around my chest and under my arms. My wrists were lashed together and my ankles were likewise secured. The first thing my eyes beheld were the red loopholes and window of the lower cabin, and the flames crawling through the two holes I had made in the roof.

My capture had revealed our desertion of the cabin, and the Indians had lost no time in entering and firing it. Smoke and flames were pouring from the end window of the Granville cabin also. As the red tongues licked across the top of the doorway they threw into relief the arm and hand of the old Englishman still hanging over the threshold.

My head felt as though it was cracked wide open and it throbbed most sickeningly. I managed to lift it a bit to escape further bruises as my captor roughly hauled me to the forest. The third cabin, the one occupied by the Dales, burst into flames as I was being yanked into the first fringe of bushes. The valley was now brightly lighted, and my last view of it included the lick-block. One phase of a successful Indian raid was missing; there were no warriors madly dancing about the burning homes. Far up the ridge rang out the infuriated cry of a panther, and I knew it was fear of young Cousin's deadly rifle that was keeping the savages under cover.

"Let me stand up and walk," I said in Shawnee.

"Alive are you?" growled a white man's voice in English.

"You'll be John Ward," I said as some one lifted me to my feet.

"I am Red Arrow, a Shawnee. And don't you forget it."

"Where are the Dales?" I asked.

"Keep your mouth shut!" he ordered.

They untied my hands only to fasten them behind me. They s.h.i.+fted the waist-cord to my neck, and then released my feet. Some one walked ahead, pulling on the cord, and I followed as best I could to escape being strangled. On each side of me walked a warrior, invisible except as when we crossed a glade where the starlight filtered down. Ward walked behind me, and warned:

"Any tricks and you'll get my ax."

"You were in the cabin with the dead Englishman?"

He chuckled softly and boasted:

"I killed him. When you two were fighting fire I got my chance to steal down to the Dale cabin. Then it was easy to make the Granville cabin. The old fool thought I was one of you when he heard my voice, and drew the bar. I was inside and had his life before he knew he had made a mistake. I waited. Then you crawled along. Curse that d.a.m.ned young devil who yells like a panther! He was the one I wanted. I'd give a thousand of such as you to get his hair! But he got by the door without my hearing him. A little more, and you'd have pa.s.sed, too."

There was much cras.h.i.+ng and running through the bushes behind us, and occasionally I could make out dark shapes hurrying by. These were the warriors who had fired the cabins, and now they were in haste to leave the spot. Owing to their fear of Cousin they dared not leave the valley except as they did so under cover. We made good time through the woods, however, although more than once my gasping cry warned Ward, or one of the savages at my side, that I was being choked to death.

As a premature demise was not on their program the cord was quickly loosened each time, and the man ahead warned to be more careful. These partial strangulations resulted from the fellow's anxiety to escape from the neighborhood of the double-barrel rifle. On reaching the Bluestone we halted while the savages collected their horses. From the few words exchanged I estimated that half the band was mounted. Without building a fire or eating we started up the Bluestone. Neither Black Hoof nor the Dales were with our party when we halted at daybreak. We paused only long enough to bolt some half-cooked deer-meat. I asked for the trader and his daughter, and Ward laughed and shook before my face the scalps he had taken in the Granville cabin. Two of them were pitiably small.

"You scalp other men's kills," I observed.

"You'll not say that when I scalp you."

"What does Dale now think of his Indian friends?"