The Pioneer Boys of the Mississippi; or, The Homestead in the Wilderness
Date: 2014-09-07T00:00:00+00:00
Keywords: Mississippi River -- Juvenile fiction; Frontier and pioneer life -- Juvenile fiction

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Title: The Pioneer Boys of the Mississippi; or, The Homestead in the Wilderness

Author: St. George Rathborne

Illustrator: H. Richard Boehm

Release date: September 7, 2014 [eBook #46796]
Most recently updated: October 24, 2024

Language: English

Credits: Produced by Beth Baran and the Online Distributed
Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net

*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE PIONEER BOYS OF THE MISSISSIPPI; OR, THE HOMESTEAD IN THE WILDERNESS ***

THE PIONEER BOYS OF
THE MISSISSIPPI

OR: THE HOMESTEAD IN THE WILDERNESS

THE YOUNG PIONEER SERIES

BY HARRISON ADAMS

ILLUSTRATED

THE PIONEER BOYS OF THE OHIO,
Or: Clearing the Wilderness | $1.25
THE PIONEER BOYS ON THE GREAT LAKES,
Or: On the Trail of the Iroquois | 1.25
THE PIONEER BOYS OF THE MISSISSIPPI,
Or: The Homestead in the Wilderness | 1.25

Other Volumes in Preparation

L. C. PAGE & COMPANY
53 Beacon Street, Boston, Mass.

“‘THE PRECIOUS WAMPUM BELT, SANDY!’ HE CRIED.”
See page 332.

The Young Pioneer Series

THE PIONEER BOYS
OF THE MISSISSIPPI

OR: THE HOMESTEAD IN THE WILDERNESS

By HARRISON ADAMS
Author of “The Pioneer Boys of the Ohio,” “The Pioneer Boys on the Great Lakes,” etc.

Illustrated by
H. RICHARD BOEHM

L. C. PAGE & COMPANY
BOSTON         MDCCCCXIII

Copyright, 1913, by
L. C. Page & Company
(INCORPORATED)
————
All rights reserved

First Impression, June, 1913

THE COLONIAL PRESS
C. H. SIMONDS & CO.
BOSTON, U. S. A.

PREFACE

Dear Boys:—Those of you who have read the earlier volumes in this series of backwoods stories may remember that I half-promised to follow the “Pioneer Boys on the Great Lakes” with a third volume. I now have the pleasure of presenting that story to you. In it you will renew your acquaintance with the two stout-hearted lads of the border, Bob and Sandy Armstrong, as well as several other characters you met before, some of whose names have become famous, and are recorded in the history of those early days that “tried men’s souls.” Besides this, there are some new characters introduced, who, I hope, will appeal to your interest.

It was hardly to be expected that such a restless spirit as that of David Armstrong, the Virginia pioneer who built his log cabin on the bank of the beautiful Ohio, would long rest contented when wonderful stories constantly reached his ears concerning the astonishing fertility of the black soil, as well as the abundance of fur-bearing animals, to be found in the valley of the great river which De Soto had discovered—the mighty Mississippi; and, as you will learn, his first serious set-back caused him to start upon another long pilgrimage toward the “Promised Land.”

It was this constant rivalry among the early settlers, this never-ending desire to find better homesteads in the new country, always toward the setting sun, that gradually peopled our Middle West, and finally reached out far across the plains to the shore of the Pacific.

Trusting that you may enjoy reading the present volume, and that at no distant day we may again renew our acquaintance, believe me, dear readers, to be,

Cordially yours,
Harrison Adams.

May 1st, 1913.

CONTENTS

CHAPTER | PAGE
| Preface | v
I. | Caught in His Own Trap | 1
II. | The Birch-bark Message | 13
III. | From One Peril to Another | 22
IV. | At the Mercy of the Flood | 35
V. | Friends in Time of Need | 48
VI. | Simon Girty, the Renegade | 61
VII. | The Flint-tipped Arrow on the Roof | 73
VIII. | The Treasure Box That Was Forgotten | 87
IX. | The Spirit of the Pioneer | 97
X. | The Cabin That Braved the Flood | 109
XI. | Daniel Boone, the Pilot of the Settlers | 120
XII. | Starting for the New West | 131
XIII. | Blue Jacket Gives Warning | 148
XIV. | A Target for Arrows and Bullets | 157
XV. | A Hunt for Fresh Meat | 169
XVI. | The Figures against the Sky | 179
XVII. | Signal Shots | 189
XVIII. | The Man with the Charmed Life | 199
XIX. | Kenton, the Reckless Borderer | 209
XX. | The Two-legged Wolf | 218
XXI. | Bagging a Buffalo | 228
XXII. | At the Setting of the Evening Star | 241
XXIII. | What the Dead Ashes of a Fire Told | 258
XXIV. | A New Home on the Mississippi | 268
XXV. | The Peril of Kate | 278
XXVI. | The Drifting Dugout | 288
XXVII. | On the Trail | 298
XXVIII. | Creeping Up on the Quarry | 307
XXIX. | The Missing Wampum Belt | 317
XXX. | The Mystery Solved—Conclusion | 327
| Notes | 339

LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS

| PAGE

“‘The precious wampum belt, Sandy!’ he cried” (See page 332)

Frontispiece

“He was being stalked by one of the most dreaded animals of the forest, a gray panther”

12

“Made a spring for the safety of the log that had done the damage”

35

“At last they were afloat on the Ohio, bound into the unknown country that lay far away to the westward”

136

“They could now plainly discern the figure under the wolfskin”

230

“‘Yes, you are right, Sandy, it is a boat’”

291

The Pioneer Boys of the
Mississippi

CHAPTER I
CAUGHT IN HIS OWN TRAP

“Paddle harder, brother. The current is stronger than I ever knew it to be before.”

“But, Bob, we must be very near the place where we always land when we come over to look after our traps?”

“Once we are in the lee of that point ahead, Sandy, we can go ashore. The river is so high that it’s hard to recognize the old landmarks.”

“Both together, then, Bob. There! that looks like business! and, just as you say, our dugout can lie safely under the shelter of that tongue of land, while we’re off ’tending our traps. Another week, and we must stop setting any snares, for the fur will be getting poor; so Pat O’Mara said the last time he came to the settlement.”

Five minutes later, the two Armstrong boys sprang ashore on the Ohio side of the river, at a little distance below the spot where, across the now unusually wide stream, their parents, together with other bold pioneers from Virginia, had, not more than a year before, started a frontier settlement.[1]

The clumsy, but staunch boat, fashioned from the trunk of a tree, was drawn partly out of the water. They had made the passage of the river with considerable hard labor, because of the vast volume of water which the heavy spring rains had brought out of the hills all the way up to and beyond old Fort Duquesne.[2]

Both boys were dressed after the fashion of that time among hunters and trappers, who, scorning the homespun clothes of the Virginia settlers, found garments made of buckskin, not unlike those worn by many of the Indians, to give them the best service when roaming the great forests that stretched from the Alleghanies, off to the border of the mighty Mississippi, in the “Land of the Setting Sun.”

Having picked up their guns, the brothers started through the thick woods; but not before Sandy, the younger, had cast a last wistful look back at the swollen waters of the Ohio, that, seen in the dull light of the overcast afternoon, flowed steadily toward the west. Truth to tell, that unknown western region was drawing the thoughts of the pioneer boy very much of late; and, even as he tramped along at the side of Bob, his first words told how he envied the rushing waters that were headed into the country he longed to see.

“Abijah Cook is back at the settlement for a short spell, I heard Mr. Harkness say,” he remarked, with a long sigh that caused his brother to turn an uneasy glance in his direction.

“And has he given up ranging the woods with young Simon Kenton?” the older boy asked.

“Oh! no; but he brought his winter’s catch of pelts in for Mr. Harkness to dispose of, when he found the chance,” Sandy replied.

“And I suppose the old woodranger has been talking again about the region of the Mississippi,” remarked Bob, who could guess what was on the mind of his brother.

“Well,” Sandy went on, “Abijah has seen that wonderful country, and he knows how different it is from this hilly place, where the corn washes down the sides of the slopes whenever a big rain comes. Out there it is mostly prairie, and the soil, he says, is black and rich. It will grow maize twice as high as your head. The stories he tells of what he saw on those prairies fairly make my heart ache.”

“But Sandy, you must try to forget all that,” returned Bob, who often found it necessary to restrain his impatient young brother. “You are needed at home, for father is not able to hunt and trap, besides taking care of his crops. Nobody in the whole settlement brings in as much game as you do. Wait a few years, and then, when we are grown men, perhaps we may strike out for that country you have been hearing so much about; where De Soto discovered the greatest of rivers, and lies buried under its waters.”

Sandy sighed again.

“I suppose I must wait, just as you say, Bob,” he observed, “but it may not be for years, as you seem to think. Already some of the men are beginning to talk of making a flatboat, and floating down the Ohio until they reach the father of all the waters. They do not like the idea of the rascally French taking possession of all that fine land, which is a part of our own Virginia. And it may not be so very long before we will lose some of our people in that way.” (Note 1.)[3]

These brave men, who had already successfully braved the dangers that beset them on their journey across the mountains to the Ohio valley, had heard stories from the lips of trappers who had penetrated far into the western land in pursuit of the rich skins of otter, beaver, fox, mink and marten. When their crops failed to turn out as well as they had anticipated, a spirit of unrest began to pervade the little community; and these wonderful tales were repeated, from lip to lip, always with a longing to obtain a glimpse of the country that offered such astonishing opportunities.

It was this spirit of unrest that peopled our great West. Those who found themselves out-distanced in the race, unwilling that others should get ahead, gave up their holdings, partly improved as they might be, and once more started out to get in the van of the procession headed toward the setting sun.

“Do you think we will have any trouble getting back to the other shore of the river, this afternoon?” Sandy asked, after they had walked along for a few minutes in silence, headed for the first of their traps.

“I admit that I don’t just like the way we were buffeted around on the voyage over,” replied Bob; “and, if the waters keep on rising to-night, as I think they are going to, we will not be able to visit our traps on this side for several days.”

“Then had we better take them along with us?” asked Sandy.

“No, they would bother us in the dugout,” replied Bob; then, noticing the quick glance his brother shot in his direction, he added: “Yes, I am figuring on the chance of our boat being upset in the flood; and, if that happened, we’d have all we could do to save ourselves and our guns, let alone half a dozen heavy traps. They can stay here until we find a chance to cross again, after the water goes down.”

“But, I wonder if Colonel Boone knew about such a thing as a flood when he led us to where the settlement now stands?” remarked Sandy, with a frown. “Because, if the water rises very much more, we, as well as some of the other settlers, stand to lose our cabin. Already the water has covered the land where open fields lay, ready to be planted in maize this spring. All Mr. Bancroft’s new fence has been taken down, to save it from being swept away.”

“No, I do not believe such a rise has been known for many years,” Bob went on to say. “You know how it flows between banks that are covered with trees. These countless hills are crowned with great forests, and under the trees the ground is carpeted with moss and dead leaves. This is like a great sponge, father says, that soaks up the water during rainy seasons, and lets it out again in time of drought. I heard him say only this morning that the Indians never knew of a flood like this one. They believe that the Great Spirit is angry because they have not driven the palefaces from Kentucky. And there will be a renewal of the fighting, after this rainy spell is over, he fears.” (Note 2.)

“Well, here’s where we set our first trap,” Sandy cried. “And the next is only a short distance along the trail. I’ll take a look at this one, while you go on and attend to the next.”

“That is the best way, Sandy,” returned Bob, with a quick glance toward the darkening heavens. “I do not like the looks of those clouds, and it may be that the rain will set in again. If that happens, we would find it all we could do to make a safe passage across the river, for the darkness will fall early to-night.”

“And we must not forget to keep our eyes open for a sight of those rascally French trappers, Jacques Larue and Henri Lacroix,” remarked Sandy, with a suggestive movement of his gun. “They have been reported as being seen not far away from here of late, and you know, Bob, they have never forgiven us the way we managed to outwit Larue last fall, and bring Henri Lacroix’s brother to justice.”[4]

“But they also know,” Bob replied, “that because you and I were able to do the great Indian sachem, Pontiac, a favor, he gave us his wampum belt, which has served to keep the Indians who were on the war-path away from our little settlement. Those Frenchmen understand that, if either of us were hurt, the Indians would visit vengeance on the head of the guilty party. Larue learned that before he escaped from the Indians.” (Note 3.)

The boys had learned that Jacques Larue had loosened his bonds and escaped from his Indian captors through the connivance of a young buck for whom he had once performed some service, and was again free to work with Henri Lacroix such damage against the latest English settlers as their evil minds might suggest.

“I am convinced it was they who robbed our traps several times this winter, so that we had to change their location,” Sandy declared, indignantly. “And, when that brush was piled up against our cabin, that dark night, and fired, did we not find tracks that were never made by Indian feet? I seem to feel that we have not seen the last of those French trappers. And Pat O’Mara told me that, if ever I had to shoot to defend myself against either of them, to get the full value of my lead!”

“Well, let us hope that they will go elsewhere, and do their trapping,” said Bob, as he turned and left his brother. “I think it is a great pity that, with a string of trading posts all the way from the big lakes down to the sea, these greedy French from the North cannot let us alone here. They seem to want the earth. But I’ll wait for you at the second trap, Sandy. Be as quick as you can.”

Sandy made no reply, but hastened forward to where they had set the first trap. He was filled with thoughts of the stories he had heard connected with the Mississippi country, and he pictured in his mind the loveliest scene that could ever greet the eager eyes of a pioneer—game waiting to be shot and trapped; the earth so rich that it would grow bountiful crops upon being simply stirred; the fields glorious with myriads of wild flowers; and all to be had by simply reaching out a hand and taking possession, in defiance of the French, who claimed everything from the far North to the gulf.

He found in the trap a fine red fox, which he succeeded in knocking on the head without injuring the pelt. Laying his gun aside, Sandy started to reset the trap, believing that, as it seemed to be a lucky place, perhaps the mate of the fox might come along, and also step into the steel circle.

As he began his task, an accident occurred that had never happened to Sandy before in all his trapping experience, and probably never would again. In some manner, which he could not fully explain, in turning around to secure something, he managed to thrust his foot into the set trap, which he had quite forgotten.

There was a snap, and an acute feeling of pain that caused the boy to give a startled cry. His heavy leggings saved him to a great extent from the cruel teeth of the trap, for at that time the smooth jaws now in universal use had not come into vogue; but the boy knew he would have a sore ankle for some days because of his carelessness.

Sandy tried to get at the trap to release himself, and found that, because of the formation of the ground at that particular spot, it would prove a difficult task. He persisted in his efforts, however, and refrained from calling out to his brother, not wishing the more cautious Bob to learn what a foolish thing he had done.

He was still striving to squirm around so as to get at the double spring, and by pressure release his foot, when he heard a sound close by that riveted his attention. Looking up, what was the boy’s dismay to discover a creeping animal gradually drawing closer and closer to him.

It needed only that one look to tell Sandy that he was being stalked by one of the most dreaded animals of the forest, a gray panther, that had evidently scented the blood of the captured fox, and was bent on securing a supper.

“HE WAS BEING STALKED BY ONE OF THE MOST DREADED ANIMALS OF THE FOREST, A GRAY PANTHER.”

Of course, Sandy’s first thought was of his musket. He remembered placing this against a neighboring tree, and, sure enough, it still stood there; but, when he made a movement to reach the weapon, he found to his dismay that the chain of the fox trap was too short to allow his fingers to come within a foot of the gun!

In vain he writhed and pulled; the trap had been made only too secure, and Sandy realized that there was nothing he could do but lift up his lusty young voice in an appeal for help.

CHAPTER II
THE BIRCH-BARK MESSAGE

When Bob Armstrong parted from his brother he quickened his steps. The next trap was not very far away; but, as he had just said, he did not like the looks of the cloudy sky, and began to fear that, after all, the break in the heavy rainy spell was going to prove of but short duration.

He knew that the little mother in that cabin on the other side of the swollen water would be worried about her boys, and Bob disliked to give her any more reason for anxiety than could be helped.

As he walked along he thought of what Sandy had said about his determination, sooner or later, to follow the river down past Fort Washington, and far away to where it united with the greatest of watercourses, the mighty Mississippi. Bob, himself, was not so indifferent to the beckoning finger of adventure as his words to his brother might lead one to believe. He, too, had listened to those marvelous stories told by trappers and traders, and, when twice a flatboat had landed at their rude little float, giving the settlers a chance to talk with the bold souls who were bent on risking the unknown dangers that lay beyond, Bob had hung upon the adventurers’ words, and had longed to join the party as it continued its voyage down the Ohio into the unknown land. He had, however, always thrust aside the thought, feeling that neither he nor Sandy ought to think of leaving the father, mother and sister Kate, who made up the Armstrong household.

As he approached the spot where the trap lay, Bob once more became the trapper, and forgot all else. He saw that success had come to them, for there was certainly some animal in the trap.

It had been set in a certain little gully, where the boys had discovered the tracks of several mink, together with their holes. The tiny stream that had trickled through this same gully in the preceding fall, was now a rushing torrent, and the trap had lately been set high up on the bank, just in front of a particularly inviting opening, where many tracks told of its being a favorite haunt for the wandering males of the furry tribe he hunted.

Yes, it was a mink he had captured, and really the largest and finest of the whole winter’s catch. Bob felt pleased to make this discovery, for every pelt which they could gather meant more comforts in the Armstrong home.

The mink seemed unusually fierce, and put up a savage fight when Bob started to dispose of him; but the young trapper would not be denied, and he quickly put an end to the animal’s sufferings.

As a usual thing the traps for mink and muskrats were set in such fashion that, after being caught, the animals would jump into the water, and be drowned by the weight of the trap; so that it was seldom they found one alive that had to be disposed of in this manner.

Having reset the trap, Bob sat down to wait for the coming of Sandy, and, while sitting there, he drew something out of an inner pocket of his hunting tunic, which he examined with considerable interest, as well as with many shakes of the head, that told of bewilderment.

The object was a soft and pliable piece of clean birch bark, upon the brown side of which were traced several rude drawings, such as a child might make. This had been done with some sharp instrument, possibly the point of a knife.

Bob Armstrong knew well that these crude figures of men, campfires, streams and trails were not intended to express the idle whim of some white child, beginning to draw the things he saw around him.

Bob had looked upon Indian picture-writing before now; indeed, a young Shawanee brave, named Blue Jacket, whose life he had once saved, and whose friendship the brothers prized very much, had shown them how to read these symbols, by means of which the red men communicated after their own fashion, just as the palefaces did by putting all those queer little signs in a line, and calling it writing.

This was the second time that Bob had found a birch-bark letter left mysteriously at the cabin. No one knew whence they came; but, when the characters were deciphered, on each occasion it was found that some one was warning them against danger that hovered over their heads.

On the first occasion, they read that two white men were hanging around near the settlement, and meant to do the Armstrong family harm. The careful mother’s first thought was of Kate, her only daughter, a pretty girl, who had already been once carried away by a young chief of the Delawares, and rescued only after much trouble by her brothers, assisted by Simon Kenton and several of the young woodranger’s comrades.

That very night there had come the alarm of fire, with the greedy flames doing their best to devour the cabin where David Armstrong and his little brood lived. Only through the most valiant labor was the fire conquered before it could do much harm. And, now, Bob had found a second strange warning under the door of the cabin, on that very morning, he being the first to arise.

He traced each symbol with his finger as he sat there and mused. There were the same two men again, whom he believed must stand for the ugly French trappers, because they wore hats, which no Indian ever was known to do; and their feet “toed-out,” which was another sure sign. In addition, he could make out the cabins of the settlers, and the two bent figures appeared to be creeping toward them.

Of course, word of the message had been carried to all the other men in the community, and doubtless there would be a strict watch kept that coming night. If Jacques Larue and his companion, Henri Lacroix, were discovered approaching the settlement, other than erect on their feet, the chances were that they would be given a very warm reception.

But Bob was not puzzling his head just now about what the symbols meant. He had had little difficulty in understanding that some one intended to warn them against the attacks of their old-time enemies. The question that gave both Bob and Sandy cause for speculation was the identity of the friend from whom these two birch-bark warnings came.

It was not Blue Jacket, Bob knew. He had seen the young Shawanee brave draw similar figures, and they were slightly different from those now in front of him; even as one person’s handwriting looks unlike that of another. And yet Bob felt positive that the work must have been done by an Indian.

The mystery piqued his curiosity greatly. He and Sandy had tried to reason it out, and discover the identity of this unknown and unseen friend among the red men; but up to now they had not met with any success.

After looking at the little strip of bark for a minute, Bob shook his head, as though once more compelled to abandon the solution of the puzzle; and, allowing it to roll up again of its own accord, he replaced the message in his pocket.

“I’d give a lot to know who sent those two messages,” he muttered, as he started to take the skin off the mink, not wishing to carry any more burden than seemed necessary, if they were to continue along the line of traps. “But, anyway, it’s nice to feel that we’ve got a good friend among the Indians, who takes delight in upsetting the plans of those two precious rascals. Some day he may see fit to make himself known to us. But, I wonder what keeps Sandy. He surely ought to be here by now, for he had plenty of time to get to that trap, and fix it fresh, if it was sprung. I hope nothing has happened to him.”

He looked eagerly along the back trail, but failed to see any sign of the approaching figure of his younger brother. The afternoon was more than three-quarters past, and in another hour they could expect darkness to swoop down upon the land.

Bob noted this fact when he again looked up toward the darkening heavens.

“We will have to leave the rest of the traps until another day,” he said to himself, uneasily. “I promised mother that I would not take any more chances than necessary, and she did not seem any too well satisfied about our crossing to-day, as it was. But, how queer Sandy does not come! Perhaps I’d better start back after him.”

Once this idea had taken root in his mind, Bob could not remain at ease. He arose to his feet, took the mink in one hand, with his rifle clutched in the other, and started off.

Hardly had he taken ten steps when he heard a call. It was certainly his own name, and coupled with a word that sent a thrill through him.

“Bob! oh! Bob! Help!”

Instantly the boy dropped the mink, utterly unmindful of the value of the fine pelt. He started off at a swift pace, heading in the direction whence the shout came.

If Sandy was in danger, then it must be some of those hateful French trappers again. Bob could remember how they had first met them, and there were three at that time. A fine deer had fallen before the gun of one of the brothers, and, upon rushing forward to bleed the prize, they found themselves confronted by a trio of burly men whose appearance told the lads that they were French trappers, even before they proved this fact by their speech.

These fellows had claimed that they shot the deer, and there was trouble in prospect that might have ended seriously, but for the fortunate coming of Kenton and two companions, who proved the right of the boys to the spoils, and sent the Frenchmen away, with a warning not to look back or they would rue it.

Quickly Bob covered the ground. All the while he had his gun ready for use in case of necessity. Now he could see Sandy, and, when he discovered the other on hands and knees, great was his wonder, until he heard him cry out:

“Take care, Bob, there’s a big panther in the brush close by, and bent on jumping on you! My foot’s fast in the trap, and I can’t get free. Go slow, and be ready to shoot, for he’s savage with hunger, and as fierce as they make them. Look out! there he comes now!”

CHAPTER III
FROM ONE PERIL TO ANOTHER

Bob did not need the warning from Sandy to put him on his guard. The mere fact that there was a panther near by was sufficient reason for his alertness, because no animal that roamed the woods was more respected than this sleek gray beast with the square jaws, the powerful muscles and the sharp claws.

Every slight movement of the bushes caused Bob to turn his eyes in that direction, with his gun half raised, ready to take a quick shot. And, yet, he knew well how important it was that he use extreme care, when the time came for firing. A wounded panther was a thing to be dreaded by even the stoutest-hearted hunter. He had heard many stories told around the family hearth at home about these animals, by such men as Pat O’Mara, the jolly Irish borderer, old Reuben Jacks, the veteran hunter, and others; all of whom agreed that they would sooner face a bear, or a pack of wolves than a big “cat” that was wild with pain and rage.

Bob could see his brother now, on his knees, still struggling to release himself from the hold of the fox trap, that seemed to grip his ankle with a stubborn determination to keep him from reaching his gun, standing there so close, but beyond his itching fingers.

Once Bob thought he saw the beast crouching among some bushes that ran down to the edge of the water; but he dared not waste his one shot on an uncertainty, since he would then be compelled to defend himself with his knife or hatchet. And, as it turned out, he showed considerable wisdom in repressing his boyish desire to fire, for just then there was a movement in an entirely different direction, and he had a glimpse of a gray beast slinking past a small opening.

At this moment, Sandy made a new discovery that added a new note of alarm to his voice:

“Oh! there are two of them, Bob! Be careful what you do, brother! Try to scare them off without shooting, if you can! Oh! if I could only reach my gun, it would be all right; but I’m held here, a prisoner!”

It was a time for doing the right thing, as Bob well knew. If there were, indeed, a pair of the animals, eager to pounce upon the boy who was so helpless there, he would certainly have his hands full.

Fire would frighten them away, Bob knew; but he had no means of quickly igniting a handful of dead leaves. In those early days, long before matches of any kind had come to be known, the only way to get fire was by the use of flint and steel; and often it was a difficult task, requiring a pinch of powder, the same as was used for priming in the pan of a gun.

In this emergency there flashed into the active mind of the young pioneer a dozen schemes for frightening the panthers away, or, at least, make the brutes hesitate long enough for him to have a chance to hand to his brother the gun that was so tantalizingly close to his eager fingers. Both armed, they might, by two well-directed shots, put an end to both of the panthers.

Each scheme was, however, dismissed as impracticable as soon as thought of, and there remained to Bob only the one thought,—he must, regardless of the danger, reach his brother’s gun!

Believing that a sudden noise might momentarily disconcert the beasts, he gathered himself for a spring, and then, with a shrill, piercing cry, he leaped from the bushes, and dashed forward.

The distance was but a few yards, and was quickly covered. Seizing Sandy’s gun, he, by the same motion, tossed it to his eager brother, and the two lads, back to back, stood with ready weapons, awaiting the spring of the crouching panthers.

Moments passed and, to the boys, the tension was fearful. Suddenly the silence was broken by a sharp, cracking sound, followed by a mighty crash, as a huge dead tree toppled down, its bare, gaunt branches grazing the boys, as they stood alertly eying the surrounding bushes.

This was followed by a slight rustling sound and then all was again still.

For several minutes the lads maintained their tense attitude and then, with a sigh of relief, Bob relaxed his strained muscles.

“I believe, Sandy, the fall of that dead tree scared the brutes away,” he said, at last.

“You are right, Bob,” answered the other, with a ring of disgust in his voice; “I do believe the cowards are slinking off over there, for I saw the brush moving. I wish we could have had a shot at them.”

“Well, for one, I’m glad they’ve taken a notion to let us alone,” Bob remarked. “I was afraid that they would spring at any second, and we might have missed, or only wounded, one or both of the panthers. It was exciting while it lasted, Sandy.”

“Yes, I can say it was,” replied the other, with a shrug of his shoulders. “Just think of me held up here like this, and with the teeth of that old trap biting in deeper every time I pulled, or tried to turn around. Please get me loose, Bob; my ankle will be pretty sore after this, I’m afraid.”

“So you couldn’t turn around to unfasten it yourself,” remarked the other, as he hastened to turn the trap over, so that he might stand on the double spring, and thus throw back the two jaws. “There, does that fix it, Sandy? Looks like those teeth had chewed pretty well into your buckskin legging, too. I hope you won’t be crippled too badly to limp back to the boat.”

Sandy scrambled to his feet, and started to try his left leg. He certainly did limp considerably, but only made a wry face as he said:

“I’ll have to stand it, Bob. And, then, it might have been so much worse. Think how those sharp teeth must have cut into my leg but for the support of that stout deerskin legging. And even they would have been nothing like the teeth of a panther. I honestly believe the savage beasts meant to get me. And, after this, I’m just going to add as many panther skins to our bag as I can, to pay up for the scare they gave me.”

“Well,” Bob replied, “I think we’ll give up all idea of keeping along our line of traps to-day. Not to speak of your lame ankle, it seems to get darker all the while; and, with the river before us, we’d be foolish to stay over here any longer than we can help. You remember what mother told us, Sandy?”

“Oh! I wouldn’t bother my head about any trouble we might have in making the other shore all right,” declared the confident younger boy; “but, then, with this pain in my leg, I don’t see how I could manage to get over much ground. However, if you care to go on alone, I can get back to the boat, and wait there for you to come.”

Bob shook his head resolutely.

“I’ll return with you, Sandy,” he said, “but first we will pick up the mink I dropped, if, indeed, those hungry woods cats have not already found it. It looks as if we will have to be contented with a fox and a mink for this afternoon.”

“With three more traps to hear from,” grumbled Sandy, who hated exceedingly to be kept from doing what he had planned. “This seemed to be our lucky day, Bob; and the chances are we’d have found something in every trap. Now those two panthers will just about run the line, and clean everything out for us.”

“Still, we have a whole lot to be thankful for,” urged the older boy, as he picked up the red fox, threw it over his shoulder, and offered to assist Sandy in walking. The other, however, scorned to appear like a cripple, and managed unaided to limp along close at his brother’s heels, though he made many a wry face, unseen by Bob, as pains shot through the injured ankle.

They were fortunate enough to find the mink just where it had been so hastily dropped when Bob heard the shouts of the trapped boy, and, as soon as this had been secured, they turned their faces toward the point where the dugout had been left.

“You see that I was right about the weather thickening up again,” Bob remarked, leading the way at as fast a pace as he believed the lame member of the expedition could stand.

“It does grow gloomy right along, for a fact. As you say, Bob, perhaps the bad spell was only broken for a short time, and the rains may come on worse than ever. Ouch! that hurt like everything then. I didn’t see that root sticking up in the trail. Don’t I wish I was over home right now, so I could wash that sore spot with hot water, and have mother apply some of that wonderful salve which she makes out of herbs.”

“Only a little way more, and we’ll strike the boat,” called out Bob, encouragingly; “there, I can see the place now.”

“I was just thinking what a fix we’d be in if we found it gone!” remarked Sandy. “With the river booming bank-full, and the current as fierce as a wolf pack, how in the wide world would we ever manage to get across, Bob?”

“I’m not going to bother my head trying to guess,” answered the other. “Time enough to cross a bridge when you come to it. Besides, I happen to know that the boat is still there, for I just had a glimpse of it. But, did you mean you thought the river could have risen enough, since we left, to carry it off?”

“No,” said Sandy, soberly, “I was thinking of that second warning you found under the door of the cabin this very morning, and wondering whether those French trappers could be around on this side of the river. If they saw our boat, and guessed whose it was, they’d be ready to send it adrift, and keep us from getting home to-night.”

“That is just what I think, myself; and they would do even worse than that, if they had the chance. The only thing that keeps them from firing on us as we pass through the forest is their fear of the vengeance of Boone and Kenton, not to speak of Pontiac, whose wampum belt hangs in our cabin, a sign of his protecting hand over the Armstrong family. But, here we are; and now to get started right away.”

One glance out upon the heaving bosom of the flood told Sandy that they had been wise to give up further idea of staying on the further shore. Indeed, with the gathering darkness, it began to look as if, even now, they had taken more chances than were wise or prudent.

The boys pushed out with a fearlessness that was characteristic of their actions. Accustomed to facing perils by land or water, they seldom hesitated, or allowed anything like alarm to influence them, when duty called. And both lads knew that, should they fail to return home on that night, there would be little sleep under the Armstrong roof.

As usual, Sandy sat in the bow of the boat, while his brother managed the stern paddle with considerable dexterity. Until they had come to the Ohio country neither boy had had very much experience in boats; but, after the dugout was built, they spent much of their time on the water, shooting ducks for the family larder, fishing, or crossing over to hunt on the other shore, where, later on in the fall, they had stretched a line of traps that brought them in many a fine pelt.

They soon found that, somehow, owing to the trend of the shore, perhaps, it was going to prove an even more difficult task to push the heavy dugout back to the southern side of the river, than it had been in coming across. The current added to their troubles, for it carried them along faster than either of the boys had dreamed possible. For the first time, possibly, they were learning of the power of the flood, once it arose in its tremendous might.

Both lads strained every muscle as they drove the blades deeply into the water. They had, by the hardest kind of work, managed to get about half-way over, though both of them were somewhat winded by their efforts, when they noticed that heavy clouds, rolling up across the heavens, had begun to bring the dusk of night much earlier than even the careful Bob had anticipated.

There were many obstructions that had to be avoided. Trees were floating on the surface of the water in places, and logs seemed plentiful. Altogether, it was an entirely new sight to both Bob and his brother, for, until now, they had never known the beautiful Ohio to rise to a point that could be called dangerous.

“Take care, and keep away from that tree!” warned Bob, as he saw a particularly ugly snag, with broken branches sticking out along its sides, bearing down upon them on the left.

They had to paddle furiously in order to keep clear of this threatening object, and, possibly, in his eagerness, Sandy may have bent too heavily on his paddle, for, just as they reached a point where they would be safe from the floating tree, there was a sharp snap.

“What happened?” cried Bob, alarmed more than he would have liked to confess.

For reply Sandy held up the stump of his paddle. It had broken off clean, and, from that time on, only one could paddle at a time. This catastrophe was sure to delay their passage, and doubtless cause them to be swept some miles down-stream before they could land; but the boys were hardy, and would not mind walking back, though doubtless Sandy might complain a little on account of his lame leg.

Bob set to work again with a good will, and was making fair progress when yet another peril came booming along, this time in the shape of a heavy log that was sweeping with the speeding current.

Bob saw the danger and strove the best he could to avoid it; but, in the clutch of the current, the little dugout seemed but a plaything, and the log, driving three times as fast as they were going, bore straight down upon them. When Bob saw that a collision was unavoidable, he called at the top of his voice to his brother:

“It’s going to strike us, Sandy. Hold on to your gun if you can, and climb aboard the log as they come together; for I fear that the boat will sink. Quick! jump now!”

CHAPTER IV
AT THE MERCY OF THE FLOOD

In that moment of alarm Sandy forgot all about his lame ankle. He realized, as soon as the crash came, that the dugout was about to sink, for water began to pour in over the side. So he obeyed the cry of his brother, and made a spring for the safety of the log that had done the damage.

“MADE A SPRING FOR THE SAFETY OF THE LOG THAT HAD DONE THE DAMAGE.”

How he managed to scramble on it he could never afterwards explain; but, when he had done so, and looked around, it was to discover Bob sitting astride the rolling log, close by, and the half-sunken boat just vanishing from sight in the gathering gloom.

“How is it, Sandy; are you all right?” anxiously asked Bob.

“I’m on the log, if that is what you mean,” gasped the younger boy, noticing, however, that their strange craft began to roll less, now that they had settled down upon its broad back.

“And I hope you held on to your gun?” Bob went on; for even in that terrible moment he could remember such a thing. This was hardly to be wondered at, because it had taken both of the boys many a long month’s work with their first traps, away off in Virginia, to gather together enough money to purchase the flint-lock muskets they owned, and which had always served their purpose well. To lose one meant another expenditure of hard-earned shillings, and even pounds.

“I have it here, safe and sound,” replied Sandy, not without a touch of pride in his voice; for to have managed to get aboard that rolling log in such a hurry, and to keep a grasp upon the long musket, was no trifling task.

“That was a close shave,” said the elder brother, with a long-drawn sigh; since he had been terribly alarmed for the moment, more on account of Sandy than for himself.

“We never had a more exciting time,” admitted his brother, frankly.

“And we have much to be thankful for,” continued Bob.

“For this old floating log, you mean?” observed Sandy, not without a touch of sarcasm in his voice.

“Yes, because even an old log may turn out to be a pretty good friend,” Bob went on, positively. “I’ve heard father declare that a sailor is thankful for any port in a storm; and, only for this log, we might have been swimming our level best right now, brother, to keep our heads above water.”

“That may be,” answered Sandy, still unconvinced; “but you forget that, only for this same log, we would have been safe and sound in our dugout, and paddling as nice as anything for the bank. As it is, we’ve lost our boat, paddle and all, as well as the fox and mink; and will have to borrow Alexander Hodgson’s craft until we can build another.”

“Let us shout as loud as we can,” proposed Bob. “Perhaps some of the settlers will hear us, if they are down near the edge of the river, watching how fast it keeps on rising.”

Accordingly both lads sent out sturdy calls at the top of their voices; but there came back no answering, reassuring shout. Only the murmur of the flood could be heard, or it might be a grinding noise as the log came in contact with other floating stuff.

So finally the boys, as if by mutual consent, gave up hallooing.

For a little time they sat there in silence, both looking uneasily toward the shore which marked the connecting link between themselves and their home, though it could only be faintly seen, where the tree-crowned hills stood out against the dull, darkening heavens.

Bob suddenly aroused himself. This was no time for vain regrets. They must be up and doing, if they hoped to cope with the new and strange situation into which a freak of fortune had so suddenly thrust them.

“We must try to do something to get ashore, Sandy,” he said, firmly.

“I was just thinking that way, myself,” admitted the other; “but, since we have no paddles, and this log chooses to remain out here in the middle of the river, I’m bothered to know how it can be done.”

As usual, Sandy was depending part upon his brother to suggest some way out of their difficulty; not that he did not possess a bright mind himself, but when it came to quick thinking, and the suggesting of a reasonable plan, Bob was always to be relied on.

“Paddles would do us little good just now, I fear,” said Bob. “We are both of us good swimmers, and might be able to make the shore; but the water is very cold, and there would be danger of a cramp catching one of us. For that reason I don’t like the idea of deserting this friendly log. We are at least safe as long as we have it to cling to.”

“But, Bob, what if we keep on floating all night? We will be chilled to the marrow with this cold wind, and the rain that promises to fall. Besides, when the dawn breaks, we will find ourselves many miles down the river. And what would mother think?”

“Well, I’ve got a plan in my mind that might help us,” the other went on. “We don’t want to lose our guns, to begin with; and, once we took to the water in that way, how could we hold on to them? So here’s what I was thinking. Let us fasten the guns, and our clothes, as far as we can, to this log. I always carry some buckskin thongs in the pocket of my tunic, and there are knobs here and there, where branches have been broken off.”

Sandy broke out laughing.

“But, what good would that do us?” he demanded. “If ever we did get ashore, think how cold we should be, and likely to starve to death. I think I’d rather take my chances sitting right here, than try that.”

“But you don’t understand the whole of the plan yet, Sandy,” the other went on, steadily, for he was quite used to having his impatient brother break in upon him in this way.

“Oh! if there is more of it, I’m glad to hear it,” Sandy remarked. “After we’ve tied our guns, and part of our clothes, to the log, what do we expect to do then, Bob—fly away to the shore away over yonder? We might,—if only we had wings!”

“Listen, then,” Bob pursued. “We’ll slip down into the water, and, one on either side of the log, start steering it in the direction of land. Do you understand now, brother?”

Sandy gave a shout, for he was always enthusiastic, once he discovered any reason for being so.

“It is a great idea, Bob,” he said, warmly. “And I never would have thought it out in an hour. Just as you say, we can, by slow stages, push the log ashore. Even if it is miles below the settlement, we will have our clothes with us, and tinder bags to start a fire with. But why, do you think, did no one answer our shouts back there?”

“In the first place,” replied Bob, who was beginning to fumble around, in a hunt for the best nubbin of a broken branch, to which he might secure his valuables, consisting of his precious musket, powder horn, bullet pouch, tinder bag, and last, if not least of all, his clothes, which the loving fingers of their mother had fashioned out of pliable deerskin; “in the first place, we must have been some distance below the settlement at the time of our accident.”

“Yes,” added Sandy, at once, seeing how reasonable this sounded, “I think you are right about that, Bob.”

“And,” continued the other, “even if they had guessed that the cries came from down the river, what could they have done to help us? There is no better boat than the one we owned; and, with night at hand, and the sky as black as it is now, the women would not have let the men venture out upon the water. They are always in mortal fear lest the wily Indians lay some plan for the undoing of our settlement, and begin with luring some of its defenders away.”

Sandy, too, was beginning to secure some of his things to the novel craft which a strange decree of fate had made them accept as a means of riding the flood in safety. When he had received the several buckskin thongs which his brother passed over to him, the task of securing the gun to the two knobs he had selected was first of all begun, because with that in his hands he could accomplish little.

But Sandy, dearly loved to talk. It was indeed hard to keep him quiet, for he was always either seeking information from another, or else desirous of imparting his own views upon various subjects.

So, even as he worked, he must needs start afresh.

“How far do you believe we will be from home when we get to land?” was what he first of all asked his brother, just as though the other was a knowledge box upon which he could draw at will.

“That would be hard to say,” replied Bob. “It all depends on how long we are in landing. This flood must be going anywhere from six to seven miles an hour; and, even if we are lucky, we would find ourselves perhaps ten miles below our home.”

“That would be further than we have ever wandered down the river,” remarked Sandy, for their trapping and hunting had all been done within the immediate vicinity of the settlement, since game could often be found inside of ten minutes’ walk.

Once only had the brothers been tempted to take a long journey. This was when their sister Kate, at a time when their father had gone in Virginia on urgent business, had been carried off by a young chief of the Delawares; and a pursuit was undertaken by the brothers that led them to the far distant great lakes.[5]

“Well, if we can make the bank in safety, I, for one, will not complain of the distance,” declared Bob. “How is your gun fixed now; are you sure that it will hold safe, even if we should knock up against another log?”

“Yes, it is fast to the tree trunk, and can never slip loose,” returned Sandy. “The more I think of this plan of yours, the better I like it, Bob. Once we are in the water, and swimming, we can urge the log toward the shore, a foot at a time, it may be, but with a constant pressure, until at last we find that we can touch bottom. Then for a fire, and warming up, for I fear by that time both of us will be chilled to the bone.”

“And if your lame ankle is so bad that it prevents our getting back to-night, why, Sandy, what should hinder us from making camp in the forest, under some ledge, where we can keep out of the rain? Then, when morning comes, we can follow up the river until we reach our home again.”

“It makes me feel better to hear you talk like that, Bob,” declared the younger of the two. “I wonder what I would have done without you?”

“Perhaps just what we mean to do right now,” Bob went on to say. “The trouble is, Sandy, you will not think for yourself, when you have me to depend on. You must remember what father told you once, that every tub ought to stand on its own bottom. But Simon Kenton tells me he was just such a youngster, until he found himself thrown on his own resources. It was the making of him, he declares; because such things are apt to bring out all there is in a boy.”

Both of them were still diligently working to secure their possessions safely to the friendly trunk, which, having been the means of their disaster, now seemed willing to make reparation as best it could by offering them an asylum for those things which otherwise must have gone into the river with them.

It had, by now, grown so dark that all they could see was a stretch of about thirty feet or so of surging water on either side of them. Ahead, a similar unending panorama opened up, and, had they chosen to turn their heads in order to cast a backward glance, they would have looked upon the same dismal spectacle.

“There,” said Sandy at last, “that job is done, and I’m ready to pull off my tunic, hunting shirt, and coonskin cap, which I’ll make up into a bundle, and fasten with this last long thong. But, Bob, before we do that, and go overboard, it seems to me we ought to give a last shout for help. There is about one chance in a thousand that some person in a boat may hear us.”

“We’ll take that chance, then, Sandy,” echoed Bob. “So, ready now, and shout when I do, with all your might!”

Again did their lusty young voices ring out over the flood. Once, twice, thrice they gave tongue, and then, pausing, listened to see if by chance there came any welcome reply. Immediately Sandy gave a low bubbling cry of satisfaction.

“Did you hear that?” he demanded. “Some one certainly answered us; unless it was an echo from the hills away off yonder.”

“It was no echo, Sandy,” replied Bob. “Shout again, and louder than before. There is hope of a rescue even now. That one chance looks better! Now, let go!”

This time the answering hail seemed somewhat closer, as though they were sweeping down toward the spot where the unknown must be sitting in his boat, holding it to some degree against the rushing current.

Sandy became wild with excitement. He had almost despaired of assistance coming to them before, and, now that this sudden chance loomed up, the horizon seemed to brighten visibly.

“Oh! I can hear the sound of paddles, Bob!” he exclaimed.

“Yes, that is what I was just listening to,” answered the other, and Sandy was surprised to note a lack of the same enthusiasm about Bob that reigned in his own heart.

“What ails you?” he demanded. “We are in a fair way of being taken safely ashore, and yet you do not seem to be happy. Is there anything wrong, do you think, about that answer to our shouts? Surely it could not be an echo, for by now we can make out the dip of paddles plainly. Tell me what worries you?”

“That is just it,” replied Bob, soberly; “the dip of the paddles, as you say, which tells us that others are on the flood as well as ourselves. But I have never heard a white man handle a paddle just like that, and there are many who have tried it all their lives.”

Sandy asked no more questions. Doubtless, if his face could have been seen just then, it would be found to have taken on a sudden pallor, as he muttered to himself the one significant word:

“Indians!”

CHAPTER V
FRIENDS IN TIME OF NEED

There was really nothing that could be done.

In a choice between two evils, Bob Armstrong could always be depended on to take that which seemed the less. To go on down the flood was a dreadful outlook; and almost anything was to be preferred to facing the unknown perils of the river, especially in the pitch darkness that prevailed.

The sound of the paddles drew constantly nearer. Then they heard voices, as if those in the canoe were asking each other whence it could be that they had heard that last shout for help.

To the astonishment of the floating boys the words came in English, though evidently one of the speakers was an Indian who had apparently learned the tongue of the palefaces.

“Oh! it’s Pat O’Mara, I do believe!” exclaimed Sandy, in his amazement speaking loud enough for his voice to carry some distance away; for immediately, even before Bob could add any words of his own to the declaration, there came a hail out of the gloom.

“Avast there! Be ye the Arrmstrong byes I’m afther hearin’ out on this roarin’, tearin’ flood this night?”

“Yes, yes, that’s who it is, Pat; and precious glad to hear the sound of your voice, because we need help the worst way!” cried Sandy, always impulsive.

“All right, we’ll be wid yees in a jiffy, depind on it,” came the answer from a point close at hand. “Give us another few digs at the paddle, chief, an’, by the same token, we’ll soon be alongside, so we will.”

A minute later the anxious boys began to detect some moving object, as they strained their eyes to see. Then this turned out to be a long canoe, in which two persons were sitting, the one in the stern using a paddle with that grace and dexterity which only an Indian could exhibit, just as Bob had wisely said.

Sandy craned his head forward to see better through the darkness. Doubtless there must have been something familiar about the movements of this paddler, for he certainly did not have enough light to recognize his features, or even the feather that adorned his scalplock.

“Surely that must be Blue Jacket!” he ejaculated, with a thrill of delight, as well as surprise noticeable in his quivering voice.

“Uh! that so, Sandy,” came in a voice he knew almost as well as he did that of his brother.

“What luck!” cried Sandy. “To think that such good friends should happen to be on the river this night of all times, when we are in such sore need.”

Perhaps, had Bob Armstrong been asked his opinion, he might have declared that it was something much higher than mere luck that brought about such a happy conclusion to their adventure. Bob was a much more serious fellow than his younger brother, and imbibed some of the sentiments that influenced his gentle mother. To him there was something especially Providential in this coming of help when the two boys were in so great need, just as there had been in the falling of the dead tree just as the panthers were about to attack them.

Quickly the canoe worked up alongside the log, to which both the Irish trapper and his native companion fastened a firm grip.

“Come aboord, and be sinsible,” said Pat O’Mara, who was one of the oldest friends the Armstrong family had; and whom they had known away back in Old Virginia, before the thought of daring the perils of the unknown wilderness had ever entered David Armstrong’s mind. “Sure, ’tis a mighty poor sort av a craft ye do be havin’, if I might make so bowld.”

“But it was better than nothing,” said Sandy, as he carefully placed his musket in the canoe before even thinking of attempting to get aboard himself.

Bob did not make a single move until he had seen his brother safely over the side. Indeed, to judge from his actions, one might be inclined to think that he even kept himself in readiness to clutch Sandy, should the other manage to slide down the side of the log into the water, instead of gaining a lodgment in the boat. Then Bob copied the other’s actions, his precious gun being first made secure before he would think of himself.

It was rather a ticklish business leaving the log, and entering the canoe that, being made of birch bark, was so light in build that it careened under the passage of the boys, and might have tipped over had not both Pat and the young Shawanee brave leaned far to the opposite side while the embarkation was taking place.

“Good-bye, old log!” said Sandy, now in an exultant frame of mind that contrasted strangely with his recent gloomy spirits. “We hope you will have a good voyage down to the great Mississippi. Tell them that, perchance, the Armstrong boys will be navigating that way to see some of the wonders they have so long been hearing about. You were a pretty fair kind of a log, though we are not sorry to part with you.”

Already was the paddle, in the expert hands of Blue Jacket, busily employed in sending the craft toward the southern shore of the swollen river. Pat O’Mara had his share of curiosity, and he was not the one to keep silent when desirous of knowing the true facts.

“Sure, ’tis a quare thing to be findin’ the two av yees adrift on a tree out on this high water,” he started to say; “and, by the same token, if yees have no objection, ’tis mesilf wud like to know how the same came about.”

“That is easy enough to tell, Pat,” burst out Sandy. “Of course, you mustn’t think we started from the shore, to cross over on an old log. It was just an accident, and that’s all. My paddle broke under the strain; and, when this log came whirling down on our boat, Bob alone could not get it out of the way. So it was upset, and we were lucky enough to scramble aboard, guns and all.”

The Irish trapper was loud in his exclamations of wonder.

“It do bate iverything how ye two lads always manage to chate the ould Reaper whin he thinks he has ye in the hollow av his hand,” he declared. “I warrant ye that nine out av tin min would have at laste taken a dip in the water afore crawling aboord the log; and, be the powers, ye do not same to be wit at all, at all.”

“We were wondering how we could manage to get ashore, so as to head for home,” Sandy went on to say, “when Bob thought of a way. Just when we heard your answer to our last shout we were about to fasten our guns and clothing to the log, slip overboard, and, by swimming, push it toward the shore.”

“A cliver ijee, by me troth,” remarked Pat, who was a great admirer of both young pioneers; of Bob on account of his steady ways and quick mind in emergencies, and of Sandy because he had a winning, sunny disposition, which appealed especially to the genial, roving Irish trapper. “But, afther all, ’tis just as will that Blue Jacket and mesilf came upon the sane at the time we did, since ’tis a wet back ye’d be havin’, not to spake of many miles more to thramp back home. And ’tis also will that ye are off the river before this same night is many hours older.”

Bob noticed that there was a peculiar significance to these last words of their old friend, who had been many times tried, and found as true as steel.

“What brings you and Blue Jacket here, and on your way to our cabin, as I reckon you are from the way you head across the river?” he asked, desirous of drawing the other out, and learning what new peril now threatened the little settlement on the southern bank of the Ohio.

More than once had Pat brought news of the coming of Indians on the warpath, so that the pioneers had learned to look upon him as their best guardian. As he was forever roaming the great forests, sometimes in the company of such noted men as Daniel Boone, Simon Kenton or Harrod the surveyor, Pat was in a position to pick up intelligence that could be obtained by no one else. (Note 4.)

And so Bob wondered whether it could be something of this character that was now causing him to hasten to the relief of the struggling settlement.

“Sure, ’twas by sheer accident that we came togither,” the trapper observed, as he bent his supple body quickly to one side, so as to better balance the frail canoe, which at that instant was being buffeted about in a swirl of waters, not unlike a miniature whirlpool. “An’, whin I larned that the chief was aven thin on his way to warrn the white settlers as fast as he could go, I made up me mind to accompany him. So that’s how it happens we wor abroad on the river jist at the same time ye naded hilp so bad. Troth, as Sandy jist said, ’twas a lucky thing all around.”

“But, Pat,” Bob continued, “of what danger was Blue Jacket about to warn our people? Have the Indians again taken to the warpath, after their professions of peace, and after saying that the hatchet was buried ever so deep?”

“Sure, there be always danger av that same,” remarked the other, grimly; “but, on this occasion, ’tis a peril av another color intirely. The flood is bearin’ down upon yees like a race horse, and, befoor the dawn av another day, it may be the risin’ water wull be afther swapin’ away some av the cabins in the settlement!”

“Oh! but how could Blue Jacket learn about that, when it must be many miles up the river, and coming much faster than any Indian could run?” demanded Sandy.

“Ye must know,” went on the Irish trapper, impressively, “that these rid hathen have a way av communicatin’ news by manes av smoke signals in the day time, and fires at night. From hill to hill, many miles away, they sind these smokes; and, so I’ve been towld at laist, the missage can be carried as much as a hundred miles in less time than it wud take a horse to run tin.”

“Yes, that is something I knew about, but had forgotten,” admitted Sandy.

“And this flood, does it come from the last rain, or has there been what I heard my father call a cloud-burst?” asked Bob, anxiously; for his thoughts were upon the little community some miles up the river, which had already grappled with more perils than the settlers had ever dreamed could be met with in this new country.

“That I do not chanct to know, me bye,” replied Pat. “’Tis enough to learn that the flood is comin’ tearin’ along down the river, and that the water will rise in a way niver known before. The Injuns are wild with alarrm. Their ould medicine-min do be on the rampage, and kape tillin’ thim they do be sufferin’ from the anger av the Great Spirit, becase av their allowin’ the white trispassers till remain on the sacred land that was given till their ancestors long years ago. It all manes hapes av trouble for the pioneers, from Boonesborough till Fort Washington, and all the way along the Ohio.”

“I can see the shore again,” called out Sandy at this moment; for, while he had been listening with deep anxiety to what the trapper said, at the same time his keen young eyes had been on the watch to detect the first signs of land ahead.

A minute later, and Sandy again broke out with an exclamation, and this time there was a note of wonder, not unmixed with anxiety, in his voice.

“Look! there is a fire burning on the shore below, and just about where we will come to the land!” he cried out.

“And I can see one or two white men beside it; yes, with an Indian also,” added Bob, who had as sharp vision as his brother.

“And they must hear us talking, for they have jumped to their feet, and seem to be looking this way. Can it be some of our friends from above, brother?” asked the younger boy, eagerly.

“I do not think so,” Bob answered. “They are not in the broad firelight now; but, from the glimpse I had, I took them to be woodrangers like Pat here, and some of the others we know.”

“Oh! perhaps, then, it may be Boone and Kenton themselves,” remarked Sandy, who had secretly always admired the forest ranger, Kenton, and aspired to follow in the footsteps of the daring young man, when he grew older.

“Well, we shall soon know,” Bob went on, “for Blue Jacket is heading straight in to that point where they have built their fire, as though he means to land on the lower side, where the current does not run so fiercely.”

Already they were in less turbulent waters, for, near the shore, the river did not attain anything like the swiftness that marked the middle of the stream. Under the skillful guidance of the sturdy young Shawanee brave, whose name, although not very well known just then, was fated later on to be on the lips of every settler who had built a cabin in the wilderness along the Ohio, the canoe presently came against the shore.

Sandy, as usual, was the first to jump on to the bank; but he was careful to take his gun along with him. The Irish trapper quickly reached his side, and then came Bob, and the dusky Blue Jacket, who certainly could never be accused of being a talkative fellow, though capable of expressing himself freely on occasion.

As if instinctively they allowed the young Shawanee to lead the way toward the burning campfire, because the presence of an Indian would seem to indicate that he might be better able to conduct the intercourse with the strangers; for already Bob and Sandy had discovered that the two white men were totally unknown to them. Besides, since it was Blue Jacket’s canoe, he seemed to be conducting the expedition to the settlement, the others having just been taken on as he happened to come across them.

But Bob Armstrong felt a new uneasiness creep over him when he heard the Irish trapper mutter something half under his breath, and caught the one significant word:

“Traitor!”

CHAPTER VI
SIMON GIRTY, THE RENEGADE

“Who are they, Pat?” asked Bob, half under his breath, as he saw Blue Jacket gravely salute the other Indian, whom he knew to be a chief among the fierce Miamis, both by the feathers he wore in his scalplock, and by the trimmings on his buckskin hunting shirt and nether garments.

“The Injun is Little Turtle, the greatest chief among the Miamis,” replied the Irish trapper, also lowering his voice, for he saw the two white men frowning in his direction. Bob noticed that his old friend kept his long-barrelled rifle close under his arm, and his finger touching the trigger.

“And the two others?” Bob went on. “I have never met either of them before, that I can remember; and yet I have seen most of the white men who roam the woods in this region of the Ohio.”

“Wull,” whispered Pat, “ye niver missed much, thin, for, by the same token, there niver lived greater rascals than the same precious pair ye say before yees this minute. The wan ag’inst the tree, wid the scowl on his black face, is none ither than the infamous Simon Girty; while his frind’s name it do be McKee; and there are hapes av people thot say he be the blackest renegade that iver wint over till the Injuns, to wage war on his own kind.” (Note 5.)

Both boys heard what Pat said, although he had lowered his voice to a whisper; and, of course, they were chilled to the marrow at the idea of looking upon such notorious persons, for already their names were being held up to execration among all honest settlers. Both Girty and McKee had been seen in the ranks of the hostile Shawanees when attacks were made on frontier settlements; and there were threats going the rounds as to what fate awaited them should the fortunes of war ever throw them into the hands of the whites.

To the eyes of the pioneer boys they looked doubly ugly on this night, when met so unexpectedly in company with a noted Miami chief, whose hostility towards the invading palefaces was so well known.

Meanwhile the two Indians were engaged in a conversation that by degrees became more and more heated. Indeed, neither Bob nor Sandy could ever remember seeing their young friend, Blue Jacket, quite so worked up. He made dramatic gestures when he talked, and seemed to be replying to the taunts of the older chief.

It began to look as though there might be trouble, and Sandy fingered the lock of his gun, taking a sly look down to make sure that there was powder in the pan, for the spark from flint and steel to reach, in case it became necessary for him to depend on a quick discharge of the musket.

“What are they talking about, Pat?” asked Sandy; for he knew that the Irish trapper was able to follow what the two Indians said in their warm discussion.

“Sure, thot scum av the aarth, Little Turtle, do be taunting Blue Jacket wid bein’ frinds-like wid the palefaces,” the other replied, cautiously, keeping one eye all the while upon the pair of treacherous renegades, whom he would not trust for a single second to get behind his back. “He tills him thot ivery ridskin ought to be the mortual foe av the palefaces who would stale their land away from thim. He kapes on sayin’ thot he hates the white men as hotly as the sun shines in summer, and will niver, niver make frinds wid the same.” (Note 6.)

“But, no matter what he says, it will not cause Blue Jacket to turn against the Armstrong family, even if he some day takes up the hatchet against the whites,” Sandy went on to say, with a confidence born of an intimate acquaintance with the young Shawanee brave, whose name was also fated to figure in the history of the times.

“Av yees could but hear what he do be sayin’ this blissed minit,” declared Pat, “sure, it’s on a good foundation ye build yer faith. Listen to him till that he was sore wounded, and how ye two byes did bring him intil yees own wigwam, h’alin’ his hurts, so that instead av dyin’ he lived. Now, it is av thot same kind mither av yees that he do be spakin’, and how she bound up his bullet wound wid salve, an’ trated him as though he might be her own boy. For thot he can niver be anything but the frind av the Arrmstrong family. An’ already has he parrt convinced Little Turtle, becase, ye know, gratitude is the bist trait av the ridskins.”

“But now the other seems to be changing his talk, and appealing to him in another way. Tell us what he is saying, Pat, please,” insisted Sandy.

The Irish trapper listened for a minute, and then nodded.

“That wor a cliver shot av Blue Jacket, on me worrd,” he muttered. “Yees say, the ould chief he do be tillin’ him that his brothers, the Shawanees, are always on the warpath aginst the palefaces; and that, while it may be all right for him to keep frinds wid yer family, he ought to take up arrms aginst the rist av the sittlement. But Blue Jacket replied by tillin’ him av what ye byes did for the great sachem, Pontiac, only last autumn, and what it meant for the sacred wampum belt of the same to be hangin’ in the Arrmstrong cabin.”

“Oh! yes,” Sandy went on; “that ought to convince Little Turtle that Pontiac is the friend of our settlement, just because we live there; and an injury to one would be an injury to all. All these months, now, while other places have been attacked, there has come no evil against our neighbors. Much though they feared the coming of the Indians, not once has a hostile shot been fired since that day when Pontiac gave us his wonderful belt.”

“Do you notice, Pat,” remarked Bob just then, in a whisper intended only for the ears of the one he addressed, “that the man you called Simon Girty is edging off to the left, a little at a time? I do not like the look in his eye. He scowls as though he meant us harm.”

“’Tis mesilf that do be after watchin’ the sarpint av the forest,” replied the trapper. “And yees spake rightly whin ye say he has evil in his mind; but me finger is on the trigger, an’, be the powers, wan hostile move on his parrt manes for me to fire. I cud hit the eye av a rid squirrel at this distance, and surely must find his black heart wid me bullet.”

He spoke louder than before, and for a reason. Evidently his words must have reached the ear of the renegade, for he no longer tried to keep on moving, a little at a time, toward the left. Doubtless Girty knew well what a splendid shot Pat O’Mara was; and also that the trapper would willingly rid the border of such a pest, if given half an excuse.

The two Indians had by this time come to an understanding. What Blue Jacket had told concerning the gratitude of Pontiac, and the bestowing of his wampum belt on the young pioneers, because of their saving his life, must have impressed the Miami chief greatly. At that time Pontiac’s name was one to conjure with among the confederated red men of the region lying between the Alleghenies and the Mississippi; while Little Turtle had not yet come to the zenith of his fame.

Turning to his white allies the Miami chieftain spoke in a rapid tone. Although Bob could understand only a word or two, nevertheless he grasped the meaning of what Little Turtle said; and knew that he was warning Girty and McKee not to think of injuring either of the boys who had been taken under the especial protection of Pontiac, the master schemer.

“Are they going to let us pass on, or do they mean to start a fight?” asked Sandy, whose manner showed that he was by no means averse to trying conclusions with the two ugly desperadoes who had thrown their fortunes in with the Indians, so that they could no longer find a friendly greeting at the cabin of a single white settler.

“No danger of our being halted,” Bob hastened to reply, fearful lest the impulsive Sandy might attempt some sort of play that would open hostilities, when there was no necessity.

“Come, we’d bist be on our way, av we hope to rach the sittlement before the flood arrives,” said Pat, beginning to retreat, still keeping watch on the renegades; for no white man who had his senses about him would ever be so foolish as to turn his back on such a treacherous snake in the grass as Simon Girty.

They were soon far enough away from the camp to feel safe, especially since the keen eyes of Blue Jacket saw that not one of the three whom they had left there had made any move toward following them.

“How is your ankle going to hold out, Sandy?” asked Bob, who feared the worst.

“It’s just got to do,” was the determined reply. “I mean to go on until I drop; but I shall keep up with you. If the worst comes, you can leave me behind somewhere, and the rest push on, for, unless the warning is received, our people may be caught asleep in their cabins, and carried away, like that log was.”

Sandy was possessed of considerable grit, inherited from his sturdy Scotch ancestors, no doubt. When he set those teeth of his firmly together it meant that he was just bound to do, or die. And in many a tight hole that stubborn trait served him a good turn, just as it had also gotten the boy into heaps of trouble.

When he limped, Bob threw an arm around him; or it might be the genial trapper gave him such assistance as lay in his power. Indeed, deep down in his own mind, though he did not say as much, Pat O’Mara was determined that if he had to take the lame boy upon his broad back, as an Indian squaw would her little papoose, he was bound to see to it that Sandy reached his home with the rest of them.

But Blue Jacket was familiar with every trail of the forest. He could lead them over cut-offs that even the trapper did not know and which saved many a weary step.

The boys began to recognize their surroundings after a while, although the night was so dark that only the general conformation of the country could be noticed.

“We’re getting there, Bob,” said Sandy, hopefully.

“To be sure we are!” declared the other. “See, that must be the tree we shot the wildcat from, when he was eating the mink taken from our trap.”

“And that means only another mile or so to go before we reach home,” remarked the younger boy gladly; for Sandy was fast reaching a point where even his remarkable grit could not carry him along, and he must admit defeat.

But every step he knew took him that much closer to home. Even the thought of his mother and father, as well as Kate, anxiously awaiting news of the two who had crossed the raging river on the preceding afternoon, buoyed him up, and lent him new strength.

By degrees they were coming near the settlement. This had been built along a small elevation on the bank of the Ohio, from which the pioneers were afforded a magnificent view up and down the river. At the time of its selection by Daniel Boone, who had long admired the site as an ideal place for a growing town, no one had so much as dreamed that a flood might sooner or later come sweeping down from the hills away beyond Fort Duquesne, and threaten the little colony with disaster. But it had come, and this night was likely to prove the blackest in the history of the settlement.

Now they could see the blockhouse that had been erected on the very crown of the ridge, so that in times of danger all those having cabins lower down along the face of the hill might flee thither for refuge. And the wily Indians could not find any higher point whence to send their arrows, winged with flame, to stick in the roof of the fort, and set it ablaze.

“I can see a light in our cabin window,” declared Sandy, presently, his voice trembling with eagerness. “See, it is on the side that looks down the river. I am sure mother must have put it there to serve as a guide for her boys, if they chanced to be afloat on the dark waters. Oh! how glad we will be to see her again.”

The roar of the river was in their ears as they advanced further; but their coming must have been detected by some sentinel, for a minute later a harsh voice rang out, calling upon them to halt and explain who they were, on pain of being fired on.

“It’s we, Mr. Harkness,” cried out Sandy, recognizing the voice of a near neighbor, “brother Bob and myself; but with us come Pat O’Mara, and our friend, Blue Jacket, the last bringing news that will tell you his friendship still holds good. Oh! where will we find our mother and father; can you direct us, sir?”

“They are at the cabin,” replied the sturdy settler, as they advanced to where he stood, gun in hand, “though I saw Neighbor Armstrong but a few moments ago, and he was much cast down because his sons had not arrived. Hasten then, and convince him of your safety; and meanwhile we would like to know the nature of this warning brought by the Indian.”

CHAPTER VII
THE FLINT-TIPPED ARROW ON THE ROOF

As Bob Armstrong and his brother drew near the well-beloved cabin which had now been their home for almost an entire year, their hearts beat high with anticipation of a reunion with their mother, father and sister.

The door stood partly open, as though, perhaps, Mr. Armstrong had just entered, to bear the latest news concerning the rising of the river to his family circle. And, looking through the opening thus formed, the boys saw the three whom they loved standing by the table, on which still rested the dishes of the evening meal, as if the fond mother had not given up all hope that her sons might yet come in, tired and hungry.

They could see her face as she listened to what the good man of the house was saying. It could not have been cheerful news, either, for the concern deepened on the countenances of Kate and her mother.

The boys could stand it no longer, but, bursting through the door, they were quickly in the arms of the mother for whom either of them would have given his young life any day; nor did either Bob or Sandy deem it unmanly in the least because tears ran down their cheeks, induced by their great joy at once more being home.

Then came many questions; and, as the story was told, how those fond ones hung upon every word! No doubt that brave little mother could see, just as vividly as though she had been there, her younger boy caught in his own trap, with that fierce woods tiger creeping closer and closer.

And then, later, when between them the boys had described the accident out on the river, whereby the breaking of the paddle was responsible for the collision with the great unwieldy log, and the loss of the dugout, she realized the peril her sons had been in, even though they strove to make light of it.

Last of all came the news that Blue Jacket was trying to fetch to his friends at the time he and Pat had so opportunely come upon the floating log in the middle of the Ohio.

“Let us hope and pray that it may not be so bad as that,” Mrs. Armstrong said; for, now that her boys had been restored to her, she felt that she could face almost any calamity with calmness. “The Indians may have over-estimated the force of the water, and it will not rise higher than our doorstep, at most.”

“It is not very far from that, even now,” observed Bob, who had noted before entering the cabin how terribly near that flowing flood came to their home, and that already it had covered the patch of ground where he and his brother were accustomed to work at odd times, when not hunting, or attending to their string of traps.

“We shall not dare sleep much to-night,” declared Mr. Armstrong. “You see, my boys, we have been busy, and our few possessions are already done up, ready to be carried to higher ground, if necessary—which we hope may not be the case.”

Then came Pat O’Mara, always a welcome guest at the Armstrong cabin; for he had always shown himself one of their best friends.

“Sure, there be some av the settlers who make light av the direful news Blue Jacket brings, becase, ye say, ’tis only an Injun that fetches the same,” the trapper remarked, after he had greeted the rest of the family, and joined the circle. And then with the boys ate heartily of the food Mrs. Armstrong had placed before them.

“A strange thing happened since you left home,” remarked the owner of the cabin, as he reached out, and, picking something up, laid it on the heavy table, scoured snowy white by the hands of the good housewife.

Sandy uttered a cry of astonishment.

“Why, look at that, will you?” he exclaimed. “It must be another of those strange warnings we have been getting for a long time past, though we can never understand who sends them, for I can see the same figures marked here on the birch bark that we settled before meant those rascally French trappers.”

“Yes,” said Bob, who was closely examining the little roll of thin bark, almost as light as a feather; “I am sure you are right about that, Sandy; and these two creeping figures must be our enemies, Jacques and Henri, the brother of the dead Armand. But where did you get this, father?”

“Your mother and myself were talking here late in the afternoon, when Kate came and told us she had heard a strange sound from the direction of the roof, just as if some one had thrown a stone. I went out, expecting to find that those small boys of the new settler, Seth Smalley, had been pelting each other again; but, when I looked, no one was in sight. Then, chancing to cast my eyes upward toward the roof, what was my astonishment to see an arrow sticking there, to which was attached that little roll of bark. So I climbed up, and possessed myself of the whole. I do not much doubt but that this unknown friend, who has several times tried to warn us about those bad men, the French trappers, is again sending a message which is intended for you two boys.”

“What does he seem to say this time?” asked Sandy, as, with his brother and the Irish trapper, he bent over the scroll which was being held open in the extended fingers of Bob.

“Here is a cabin, which must be meant for our own home,” commenced Bob; “because, you see, it has a little flagstaff fastened to the top in front. Well, two creeping figures are coming toward the cabin. One of them holds something in his hand, which I can hardly make out, but it may be a burning brand. Yes, it surely is, for here you can see smoke curling up from the side of the cabin.”

“Well, the whole settlement shall know about it at once,” declared Sandy, angrily; “and it will be a bad thing for Jacques Larue or Henri Lacroix to be seen creeping up the rise. I do not believe we will ever know peace until something happens to those bad men. Little they care for the sacred belt of Pontiac, and even the death of Armand Lacroix does not seem to have daunted them.”

“I think you are wrong there,” Bob went on, earnestly. “They have been afraid to do either of us bodily injury, because they know what the anger of Pontiac would mean to them. But they think they can find other ways to annoy us, and those we care for. To burn our cabin to the ground seems to be a favorite way of satisfying their idea of revenge; but they will have a hard time doing it, now that we are warned.”

“I read the scroll somewhat as you do,” said Mr. Armstrong, “and at once commenced to ask among the neighbors concerning them. One man, who had been out hunting most of the day, told about seeing the Frenchmen in the woods. They seemed to be heading this way, and acted as though they were making sure of their ground as they advanced. As he did not fancy running into trouble, he simply lay in the bushes until they had passed on.”

“Which proves that they are really around here again, urged on by some foolish notion that they have suffered wrongs at our hands, and ought to square the account,” remarked Bob, seriously.

“It will be squared, one of these fine days,” said Sandy, with a glance in the direction of the corner where he had stood his musket after entering, taking it from the hands of Pat, who had been carrying the heavy piece for him, because of his lame leg.

“Yis,” spoke up Pat, “there be but wan way to aven accounts wid such spalpeens as thim Frinch trappers, who make most av their livin’ stalin’ from the traps av honest min; and that is by diskiverin’ the same in some ugly thrick, an’ wastin’ a precious bit av lead.”

“Here comes Blue Jacket to see you, mother,” said Bob.

“Oh!” broke in Sandy, “if you could only have seen him when he was telling that war-loving Little Turtle how much he was in debt to the Armstrong family, it would have done you good, mother. Of course we didn’t just understand all they said; but Pat could, and he told us how Blue Jacket was declaring he would lay down his life for any one of us, if the need arose. He said you attended to his hurt just as if he were your own son.”

It could be easily understood, after that, what a warm welcome greeted the young Shawanee brave when he strode into their midst. Doubtless it was pleasant to him to know that they thought so much of him; but he did not betray this fact even by a smile. An Indian learns from childhood to repress all outward evidence of feeling springing either from joy or pain. Anger alone will he allow himself to show, and that only because it excites his ardor for the battlefield or to follow the trail of his enemy.

Sandy was waiting to spring something upon the young Shawanee brave. He had asked his father for the arrow which had been shot so as to drop directly on the roof of the Armstrong cabin. This he suddenly laid before Blue Jacket.

“You, who can tell the different arrow-points, and the way of feathering the shaft, of every tribe along the Ohio, look at this, and say whose was the hand that drew the bow from which it came,” Sandy went on to say.

Blue Jacket looked gravely at the flint tip that was bound in the cleft of the straight shaft with strong fibres taken from some plant. There must have been signs that immediately informed him as to what tribe the party belonged who had made that arrow. (Note 7.)

“Ugh! Delaware arrow, him,” grunted Blue Jacket; and no one dreamed of disputing his simple assertion; indeed, Pat O’Mara was seen to wag his head in a satisfied way, as though that declaration exactly coincided with his own private opinion.

“So, you see,” remarked Sandy, with an air of triumph, turning on his brother, “I always said I believed it was an Indian who sent those queer messages; but why do you suppose he does it? The Delawares as a rule are not in love with the white settlers. When a colony is attacked there are generally Delawares among the reds who creep up to surprise the poor settlers. Why should a Delaware want to do us a good turn; tell me that, Bob?”

“Well, now, I am just as much in the dark as you are,” returned Bob; “unless that was a Delaware youth you rescued, Sandy, from that horrible quicksand late in the autumn on that day you went out hunting alone.”

“It might be,” Sandy replied, looking thoughtful; “he never told me who he was; but held out his hand to me, and then disappeared in the bushes, from which fact I made up my mind that he must have been on a very important errand at the time he got trapped in that slough. A Delaware—well, perhaps he was. Seems to me he looked like the one who was caught hanging around here early last summer, and who was allowed to go, with a warning never to come back. But I suppose I never will know the truth.”

“But, it sames to me it’s a mighty good thing to have sich a grand fri’nd always on the watch till warrn yees whin danger draws nigh,” remarked the trapper. “Now, av I’d had the same, ’tis manny a bad time I might have been saved from goin’ through wid, in me day. And marrk me worrd, this same party must have a bad falin’ towards the Frinchmin; becase he sames to kape watch over them, so he do; plazed to upset anny plans they might be after makin’.”

Leaving the cabin in the charge of Mrs. Armstrong, Kate, and Sandy, the last of whom wished to have some of the home-made salve applied to his swollen ankle, the rest went out to watch the rising of the waters, and to compare notes with others among the anxious settlers, now in fear of having the little homes for which they had toiled so hard swept away with the flood.

One who had been keeping close watch over the situation declared that for more than half an hour now the river had been at a standstill. Even such a small thing as this brought some ray of hope in its train; though Pat warned them not to relax their vigilance one iota, because the information sent down the Ohio by means of those signal smokes was usually very accurate, and could be depended on.

It was after a time decided to set a watch, while the rest of the settlers tried to obtain some sleep, of which they were in much need. Should the river once more begin to rise, information of the event would be carried around quietly from cabin to cabin, so as not to awaken the women and children, and needlessly alarm them, even though it were deemed the part of wisdom for the men to be abroad.

But, in case the water started to rise swiftly, as would be the case should the flood predicted by the Indians arrive, then the alarm bell, used only in cases of great necessity, like a threatened Indian attack, would be rung.

Should that be heard, every one must immediately start to remove all of his possessions, scanty as these were at the best, to a place of security on higher ground.

It was an anxious group that gathered there for a last consultation, before separating for the night. Bob missed Blue Jacket, and yet the Indian came and went at will when visiting his white friends, so that his absence caused no alarm.

Finally Mr. Armstrong took Bob by the sleeve, saying:

“Come, you and Pat, we will return home. We all of us need sleep, and surely you in particular, my son, after the excitement of the perils that hung over your head. Perhaps a kindly Providence, that has all along watched over our fortunes, may see fit to ward off this new and terrible danger. But, if it is to come, we could not help matters by remaining awake. Let us then be securing some rest, so as to be ready to work with a will, in case the worst comes.”

Half an hour later perfect quiet seemed to surround the cabin of the settlers from Virginia; but, nevertheless, Pat slept, as he himself expressed it, “wid wan eye open.” Besides, he kept his long rifle close to his hand; and Sandy felt positive that, in case there came any midnight alarm, O’Mara would be out of the cabin like a flash, and woe to the skulking figure on which his eye rested.

Tired out after the labors of the day, and easily able to throw the burden off his young mind, Bob Armstrong was not long in going to sleep, once he had dropped down on his bed, covered with some of the furs taken by himself and Sandy.

They had been warned not to undress, lest there might be need of sudden action with the coming of the flood. But such a little thing as that did not bother either of the Armstrong boys, who were used to roughing it whenever they went into the woods.

Bob never knew how long he slept; but it must have been for several hours, because the fire on the hearth had died down when he opened his eyes again, and it had been looked after at the time he lay down.

But the condition of the fire gave the boy little or no concern at the time he awoke; for, hardly had he opened his eyes, than he became conscious of the thrilling fact that it had not been a dream after all but the alarm bell was wildly pealing out its brazen notes; and outside he could hear men’s hoarse voices shouting:

“Up, every one of you! The flood is coming swiftly, and already the water has commenced to rise at a fearful rate. Awake! Be up and doing, if you would save your possessions! The flood! the flood!”

CHAPTER VIII
THE TREASURE BOX THAT WAS FORGOTTEN

As this thrilling cry rang through the settlement, supplemented by the wild peals of the alarm bell in the block house, all the inmates of David Armstrong’s cabin were on their feet.

Sleep had been banished as if by magic; indeed, the boys had never felt more wide-awake in all their lives. And there was plenty to do, as well as willing hands with which to accomplish the labor.

Fortunate indeed did it prove that everybody had anticipated this sudden necessity, and that the scanty household goods, some of them precious only through their associations with that Virginia of the past, had been so packed that they could be carried to higher ground, and a place of safety, in a very brief time.

Indeed, so rapidly was the water coming up now, that, by the time the last piece had been taken from the Armstrong cabin it commenced to trickle over the door-sill. Bob’s last visit was made with more or less splashing, as he strode around the familiar interior, now looking so strange with the floor covered by the flood.

Some of the settlers, Mr. Armstrong among them, had made use of the strongest ropes they could obtain, to tie their cabins to convenient trees, hoping that in this way they might add to their security. When the strength of the current and the hulk of those log cabins was taken into consideration, however, this hope did not have a great deal to rest upon.

There now seemed nothing left to do but cluster there beyond the edge of the river, and take note of its constant rise. All whose cabins were in danger had saved their goods, and in this considered themselves lucky. New cabins could of course be built, since there was wood in plenty, and stout arms to swing the axe; but these family possessions could never have been replaced.

There was one little consolation, slender though it might appear; the clouds had finally broken, and the stars were shining. It seemed almost as though the myriad bright eyes of heaven were peeping out, to see the extent of the damage and woe that had been wrought.

Unable to stand quiet and watch the raging waters creep up around the walls of their late home, the Armstrong boys joined the group not far away. Fires had been lighted, and the glow of these added to the weirdness of the scene, as the settlers moved to and fro, comparing notes, trying to find comfort in their mutual troubles, and seizing on the slightest grain of hope afforded by reports that the crest of the rise must surely have come, after which the waters would go down again.

“What is Pat O’Mara talking so fiercely about?” asked Bob, as he joined the group, after having been off to see how things were getting on in the direction of the river; and Sandy, who had remained where most of the homeless families had congregated, turned with a frown on his face.

“It is about those miserable French trappers,” he replied.

“But what of them?” persisted Bob; “surely we need not fear their setting fire to our cabin just now; and even Pat, who hates those men so much, could not well accuse them of having turned this water loose.”

“That is all very true, Bob; but one of the settlers has just mentioned the fact that he felt almost positive he ran across two men, dressed like trappers, who were hurrying away from the settlement. He called out to them, thinking that they might be friends, but they paid no heed to his hail. And, as he got to thinking the matter over, all at once it struck him who they must have been.”

“When was it that he saw them?” demanded Bob, immediately concerned.

“It may have been an hour or so ago; about the time the water was rising around our cabin, and, unable to bear the sight, we came here,” Sandy replied. “They are all wondering what could have brought those men here at such a time; and every one seems to think that it must have been the hope of laying their hands on some valuables, while the settlers were given up to excitement.”

“That looks like it, Sandy,” the other replied, quickly. “All have piled up whatever they possess in a heap, not caring where it lies so long as the waters cannot carry it off. But people are there on the watch all the time, and children snuggled down in the midst of the bedclothes; so it doesn’t seem as if those men could find much worth carrying off.”

“Well, Pat is as angry as a bull at sight of a red kerchief,” Sandy continued. “You know how he hates and despises everything that is French. He vows that, if he can only get one glimpse of either Jacques or Henri, his rifle will speak; and it seldom does that without something dropping.”

“Were they leaving the settlement at the time this man saw them?” asked Bob.

“That was what he thought,” his brother replied. “When he called out, they seemed to hasten their footsteps, as though fearful that he might try to detain them. He says he stood and wondered who they could be, and why they refused to answer his hail. It was only when too late that the truth flashed into his mind.”

“Well, if they are gone, let us hope it is for good,” remarked Bob.

“But why should they be around here at all, when they know the hostility of the English settlers toward the French?” asked Sandy. “It is always war between them, and especially in the wilderness where the trap lines run. Each claims all the country between here and the Mississippi; together with all the fur-bearing animals that can be found there. And that dispute will never be settled without a bloody war.”

“Perhaps they meant to either try and rob some of the settlers here, or else set fire to our home,” Bob ventured to say. “The coming of the flood changed their plans; and, as the people were all aroused, they must have decided that it was too dangerous for them to stay around here. And so, at the time they were seen, Jacques and Henri may have been scuttling out.”

“How is it at the cabin?” asked Sandy, with a tremor in his voice; for, truth to tell, he felt the impending catastrophe even more than his brother did, and could not bear to look upon what seemed to be the doom of their home.

“I’m sorry to say the water seems still to be rising, and we must not allow ourselves to cling to much hope that it can be saved,” was Bob’s reply. “I feel more for mother and Kate than the rest of us. They sit there among our goods, white of face, but trying to bear up. Father cheers them with a few words every now and then; but they know he only talks that way because he cannot bear to see them so miserable, and not that he really believes the flood is at a standstill.”

“Poor father and mother, they have had so many things to bear with,” said Sandy. “We must try to look cheerful, just for their sakes. And besides, you know, at the worst it may mean a change of base for us, Bob.”

“I know what you are thinking of, Sandy,” the other remarked, with a shake of his head. “That Mississippi idea will not let go of you.”

“But others are really talking about it right now, Bob, I tell you,” Sandy insisted, earnestly. “You would be surprised to know how many heads of families are thinking that it would be a splendid undertaking to leave this country, where misfortune has overtaken them, and go further into the golden west. There was Mr. Harness for one, Mr. Bancroft for another, and possibly Mr. Wayne. Something seems to tell me, brother, that the coming of this flood, terrible though it appears, will be the very means of making our father decide to go upon this undertaking. Oh! I hope so! I hope so! I surely know that it would be for the best; and that we could have a homestead in that beautiful wilderness out yonder, that would far exceed anything ever known along the Ohio, with its floods and troublesome Indians.”

“When father makes his mind up, then will be the time for the rest of us to say what we think,” Bob observed. “But we must wait and see. Perhaps, when the waters go down again, our neighbors will forget what they said this night, and think it best to rebuild, if their homes have been swept away.”

“Come, let us go over, and comfort our mother again,” Sandy suggested.

“A good idea,” returned Bob. “This is a time for us to try to look cheerful, as you say. We are young, and can stand hardships easily; but our parents are growing old now, and such things weigh heavily on them. I’m with you; lead the way.”

They found Mrs. Armstrong and Kate apparently hunting through the pile of household goods for something that seemed to be missing.

“What is it, mother?” asked Sandy, quickly, scenting possible trouble.

“I cannot find my little treasure box, in which I kept what few valuables I possessed, as well as your wampum belt which Pontiac gave you as a pledge of his constant good will,” Mrs. Armstrong replied. “And, come to think of it, did any of you bring it out of the cabin? You know I kept it on that small shelf above the window.”

The two boys looked at each other in dismay. There was no need to ask if either had seen the box of valuables, for the expression on their faces told the story.

“It must be in the cabin still, then!” exclaimed Sandy.

Forgetting his lame ankle, he turned and hurried away, impulsive as ever; and Mrs. Armstrong wrung her hands as she appealed to Bob to stop him.

“Much as I value the things that are in that little box, not for ten times their worth would I have one of my boys imperil his life in the effort to save them. Go as fast as you can, then, Bob, and hold your hasty brother in check before he takes that dreadful risk!”

Hardly waiting to hear the last word, Bob was off like a shot. He was just in time, for as he came upon Sandy the latter had reached the edge of the water, and was about to start boldly into the swift current, meaning to swim out to the half-submerged cabin.

Bob gripped him by the arm, and shouted in his ear:

“You must not go out there, Sandy, mother says! It would be an act of madness. Already the water is over our heads; and look at the way the cabin trembles with the force of the current. It may be carried away at any minute!”

And Sandy, with a groan, let his head drop until his chin rested on his chest, for he saw that Bob spoke truly.

CHAPTER IX
THE SPIRIT OF THE PIONEER

“Oh! there goes the Hutchinson cabin, swept away down the river!” arose a cry from near by; and, looking out, the boys saw that it was indeed too true.

With the rising of the water the stout cabin had finally been lifted from its foundations, and, the last they saw of it, the current was making a plaything of what had only a short time before been a happy home.

“Ours may be the next!” was Sandy’s choking exclamation, as he and Bob continued to stand there and watch.

Every time there was a lurch to the log building that seemed to presage its destruction, Sandy would press his hand over his eyes, as though he could not bear the sight; and a moment later the cheering voice of his brother would assure him that the peril had passed, at least for that time, as the sturdily-built cabin still held out.

So the early dawn found the dismal settlement on the bank of the Ohio.

Men stood moodily about, watching the destruction of their homes, and feeling very bitter toward the river that was robbing them so mercilessly. Again and again did some one turn the conversation to that subject which had engrossed the mind of Sandy Armstrong for so long—the charms of the rich land to be found away off toward the region of the setting sun, where the Mississippi rolled its mighty flood, and abundance awaited the coming of bold pioneers capable of turning the black soil that would grow fabulous crops.

One spoke of the vast herds of buffaloes that roamed unhindered through the aisles of the dense forests; another had heard stories about the vast quantities of the most valuable fur-bearing animals ever seen, and which could be easily captured by energetic trappers.

“And the Indians are not of the same bloodthirsty stripe as the Shawanees, the Iroquois, and the Delawares, with whom we have been constantly threatened,” was the argument a third settler advanced.

Sandy hovered around whenever the talk trended this way, eagerly drinking in all that was said. He believed that, if only that wonderful young forest ranger, Simon Kenton, were present, he would willingly join his fortunes with a party that might be made up to start toward the distant goal, as soon as a suitable flatboat could be built. And Sandy only wished he might see the tall, sinewy figure of the indomitable Kenton striding toward the fire at that very moment; since his coming would certainly sway the weak members of the party toward a conclusion.

Abijah Cook, the toothless old ranger, who had been entrusted with the task of keeping track of the river’s rise, came hastening toward the gathering at this time. There was something about the way in which he swung his old coonskin cap that aroused the curiosity of the disconsolate settlers.

“Abijah brings good news!” some one called out, as the hunter drew near.

“The river is surely at a stand!” called the man who swung his hunter’s cap so vigorously. “For this half hour it has only risen an inch!”

“Then the worst must be over!” exclaimed a distracted father, hurrying off to see if his cabin had stood through that period of stress and strain.

It was a scene they would never forget that greeted the eyes of the pioneers as the day came on.

Five cabins were no longer where they had been at the close of the preceding day. They had fallen victims to the insatiable maw of the river, and by this time must have been scattered over miles of the watercourse, as roof and walls were torn apart by the force of the current.

Sandy was in a fever of suspense. He came back again and again to see if their cabin still resisted the grip of the flood.

“There is a chance that it will hold out to the end!” he cried, as the boys stood there and watched the trembling roof of the home. “And, if it does, why we can easily find mother’s little treasure box, with the valuables she thinks so much of; and then there is our wampum belt, which Pontiac gave us with his own hands, to show all Indians, who might threaten us, that we were the friends and brothers of the sachem. Oh! I would feel pretty bad, I tell you, if that should be lost.”

“So would I, Sandy,” replied Bob; “because we’ve depended on that belt to keep the torch away from our settlement. Once it is lost, we are no better off than Boonesborough, or any other place around which the Indians constantly hover, ready to use bullets or arrows or torch upon the unsuspicious settlers. But, Sandy, cheer up. If the cabin does hold out to the end, we are sure to find the treasure box again; for you know it would float on the water, and could hardly escape from the interior, since the door is shut.”

“That’s what I’ve been thinking, Bob,” returned the other. “But when will the water go down enough for us to cross over and find out the truth? Every minute seems like a whole hour to me; and the hours are like days.”

“Well, we can’t hurry the old river a bit by getting excited,” Bob continued, knowing of old the nervous nature of his brother; “so the best we can do is to try to make our mother and sister comfortable. They have gone into the blockhouse, you see, and it is there we must carry some of our belongings; for the women and children will have to sleep there for some days. Even the cabins that are left standing will be so water-soaked that it would never do for children to sleep in them until they are dried out by fires.”

And so, in this labor of love, even Sandy was enabled to forget, for a time at least, his troubles and anxieties.

The river, while at a stand, had not as yet started to go down, though by night, the older and more experienced among the settlers declared, they might expect to see some difference in the height of the waters.

Many anxious eyes were cast upward toward the heavens during the morning; and hardly a fleecy cloud that came sailing into sight but was viewed with more or less fear, lest it turn into a vapory billow that would quickly overspread the blue arch, and let down another torrential rain.

But the air was clear and crisp, and in truth it had apparently cleared up for good, as if Nature were satisfied with the damage already wrought.

The big blockhouse had been built with the thought that, in case of an Indian attack, it would be called on to hold all in the little settlement. Around it a high stockade or palisade had been erected, behind the shelter of which the defenders might hold their own against the crafty foe, shooting through loopholes that had been made for guns.

It was a two-story affair, the upper projecting a foot or more beyond the lower, as was the ease with most blockhouses built in those dark days, when enemies were apt to spring up in a night, surrounding the fort, and striving by every device known to savage ingenuity to encompass its destruction.

There were small openings in the floor of this second story where it overlapped the lower walls, and through these the defenders might protect the log foundations from being set on fire by the red fiends who had besieged the occupants, and were bent on their destruction.

After all, it could be made fairly comfortable, and, as there is more or less consolation in having companions in misery, the women were beginning to pluck up a little heart, looking to the coming of better times.

Those whose homes had been carried away were promised the assistance of every strong arm in the community, in the effort to provide them with new cabins, for, being so utterly aloof from contact with civilization, the pioneers were dependent on one another for everything that went to make up life.

Of course the boys could not long keep away from the bank, where they might look out toward the upper part of their submerged cabin and speculate on its ability to hold out to the end.

As the day wore on their hopes kept rising and falling. Sandy, in particular, changed his mind about every ten minutes. Now he was certain that the good old cabin was bound to defy the power of the flood to move it from its foundations; then again he would call out that he feared it must be about to give up the fight, because he had seen its walls shake in a way that told they were near collapse.

But noon came and went, and found things just about the same as when dawn broke over the cheerless scene. True, another cabin had succumbed to the rush of swirling water, so that six in all had been destroyed; but that circumstance alone need not fill them with dismay, since new abodes could be erected, before many weeks had passed, that would in all probability be an improvement on the old.

Around the fires the men gathered in clusters to talk over the situation, and exchange opinions. And every time Bob chanced to draw near one of these groups he discovered, to his surprise, that much of the talk was about the chances of a venturesome party reaching the fertile prairie land away off to the west, by following the course of the Ohio.

Apparently, then, Sandy had spoken truly when he declared that the seed had taken root in the hearts of several of the heads of families; and Bob found that even his own father seemed to be as deeply interested in the project as any of the others.

The very idea gave Bob a thrill. To the bold pioneer, be he boy or man, there is always something very fascinating about heading into the unknown land. Somewhere ahead there always exists a wonderful country where marvellous things may be done. Just as the lure of gold led men to cross the wide plains to California so this feverish desire to possess the land appealed to our forefathers, and tempted them to brave the perils that lay in wait along unknown trails, all leading westward.

Some of the men who had lost their hard-earned homes were especially bitter concerning the location which had been picked out for them by Daniel Boone; just as though the frontiersman could ever have foreseen such an astonishing rise of the river as this flood had been, greater, the Indians declared, than had ever been known before, as far back as their traditions went.

But these grumblers declared that the place must have some sort of curse resting upon it. They had met with troubles without end ever since coming across the mountains to the new country on the Ohio.

To continue to bear up under the oppressive yoke was asking too much of them; and, as they scorned the very idea of returning to Virginia, there seemed but one alternative, which was to move on further into the wilderness, found a new home there, and profit by being the first English families to penetrate that hitherto unsettled region.

After they had eaten some lunch, which made things appear a bit more cheerful, as a meal always does, the boys again wandered down to the edge of the river, to look out over the flowing tide, and speculate on its fast subsidence; for they had made marks themselves, and knew by these that the flood was losing its grip.

Sandy was feeling much more cheerful now. He even expressed the opinion that they were sure to find the little treasure box floating around inside the cabin, once they could get out to see. And certainly the precious wampum belt, that spelled safety for the Armstrong family, no matter what tribe of Indians they happened to meet, could not be much injured by a mere soaking.

Bob had heard the changes rung upon this subject half a dozen times during that half of a day; and he fully anticipated finding his brother breaking out into another lament before half an hour had passed, as the whim seized him.

Nor was he mistaken about this, though the cause came from a quarter least expected. It was while the boys were standing there, watching the flow of the flood, and commenting on the fine stand taken by the Armstrong cabin, which must always reflect credit on its builders, themselves included, that Sandy gave a sudden exclamation that seemed to sound an alarm.

“After all,” he cried out, in a distressed tone, “we have been building our hopes on a sandy foundation. The dear old cabin has stood up against all the pull of the river; but, see yonder, there comes a great tree floating down, as if it was in a mill race; and as sure as anything it’s headed straight for our poor home. Once that strikes against the wall, we can say good-bye to the Armstrong cabin. Oh! it’s hard to have to stand here, and not be able to lift a hand to save mother’s home!”

CHAPTER X
THE CABIN THAT BRAVED THE FLOOD

There was nothing that mortal hand could do to ward off the impending peril that threatened to take the Armstrong cabin down the river, after those of the other settlers that had gone before.

That huge forest monarch was coming along with majestic power, borne on the swift current, and apparently headed straight for the half-submerged cabin that had made such a gallant fight against heavy odds.

“If it hits the cabin, there can be but one end!” Bob was forced to say aloud.

“But is there any chance at all that it may pass by without striking?” demanded Sandy, unconsciously gripping the sleeve of his brother’s fringed hunting coat in his excitement, while his eyes were glued to the fearful object that was causing this new alarm in his heart.

“A small one; hardly enough to build on,” replied Bob, soberly. “It all depends on the current right here. I noticed some time ago that it seems to make a sharp swerve away from the shore. Perhaps that may be just enough to send the tree on a new tack, and spare our cabin.”

“Oh! I hope so; I hope so!” murmured Sandy.

“But we shall know the worst in another minute,” declared Bob; “for it is coming along pretty fast now.”

The two boys stood there, almost holding their breath in suspense, their eyes fixed on the object that held so much terror for them. Of course they would hate to see the dear old cabin go; but, after all, that was not what gave them the most concern. There was that little treasure box, that held the few valuables of their mother; and, besides, that precious belt, which meant more to the pioneer family than untold gold, as it spelled protection from Indian perils.

“There, it is at the point where the outward sweep begins; but will such a big object be influenced by so small a change in the current?” Bob was saying.

“I can begin to see a shaking of the branches that stand up, as if they felt a new hand at the helm!” declared Sandy.

“Yes, yes, that is so!” cried Bob, almost as keenly aroused as the excitable Sandy.

“It moves, Bob, it moves! I can see it begin to swerve! Oh! if the cabin were only fifty yards further down-stream, I do believe it would escape!”

“And it may yet. Wait and see!” answered Bob, watching the course of the tree with a critical eye.

“It is swinging around, so that the branches begin to turn toward the cabin. If anything strikes, it will not be the heavy butt, but the lighter end. Perhaps our home may be able to stand out against that sort of a blow.”

“There! it’s coming now!” cried Bob.

The scraping of the branches, as the tree swung around, was plainly heard. Sandy gave a gasp. He imagined that he saw the log structure start after the floating tree; but in this his fears magnified things, for it did not happen.

Instead, the cabin remained just where it had always stood, while the floating derelict of the flood passed on to its destiny.

“Hurrah!” exclaimed Bob, waving his cap enthusiastically.

For the moment poor Sandy was incapable of making a single sound. He trembled violently, gasping for breath, and could only give his brother a wan smile in exchange for his warm greeting; such was the nervous effect the crisis had upon the excitable lad.

But presently Sandy became himself, and was bubbling over with joy because fortune had been so kind to them.

“Oh! look!” he shouted a little later, “what can that be on the big log out yonder? It seems to me like a black bear.”

“And that is just what it is,” replied his brother, after a careful survey.

“Yes, as sure as anything, it must be, for I saw him move his head then,” Sandy went on. “It makes me think of that panther in the tree that was floating down the river once, when we had our adventure with him. But how in the wide world do you suppose he came there; and why doesn’t he swim ashore? Bears can swim, all right, Bob; isn’t that so?”

“To be sure they can,” replied the other; “but I imagine that bear must have been in a treetop, and changed his location to the log, as being better to his liking. He is pretty far out, you see, and perhaps the swift current scares the poor old fellow; so that he thinks he had better hug close to his craft, and let it carry him along where it will.”

“Just to think how he takes that voyage into the unknown world without a single care,” remarked Sandy; “and why should pioneers be afraid to accept the dangers of the wilderness boldly, when they are in force? Think of him getting ashore, hundreds of miles it may be from his starting place, which he will never see again. I suppose that is one of the ways different kinds of wild animals are given a start in new sections of the country.”

“I have been told that by Daniel Boone, who has looked upon so many strange things in his day,” Bob went on. “See, the bear is looking toward us now, as if he wonders what sort of creatures these two-legged things can be. But he is safe from our guns out there, and can keep on his ride in peace.”

“Where is Mr. Armstrong?”

This question was asked by a neighbor, who had his small son by the arm; and Bob could not but notice that Mr. Wayne looked somewhat concerned.

“Over this way, sir, you will find him; I will show you where,” Bob answered; and Sandy trailed along, too, as if he believed that the settler had some particular reason for wanting to see their father.

As Mr. Wayne was one of those who had been talking most vehemently about emigrating further west, Sandy chose to think that his mission now might have some bearing on that issue.

But it did not. On the contrary, both boys were astounded to hear what Mr. Wayne had to say, when presently he came upon their father.

“It was the boy who saw them,” the settler started to say, as he glanced down at his son, about eight years of age, and rather a manly little fellow. “It was at the time we were all so excited last night that we missed him. I hunted wildly around, as perhaps you may remember; and when I began to fear he had been carried off in the river, I finally discovered him, standing there on the bank, watching the water by the light of the fires.”

“Yes, I remember,” remarked Mr. Armstrong, as the other paused for breath; “but you have something more to tell, because I do not see how this has any connection with my affairs, neighbor.”

“Wait,” the other went on, “and you will see whether it has or not. Only a little while ago my good wife called me to her, and said that Rufus had been making certain remarks about two strange men he saw, and that she thought he ought to repeat in my hearing. So I questioned the lad, and learned this. While he was standing by the water’s edge last night, after you and your family had gone up to the blockhouse with all your possessions, Rufus saw two burly men, who were dressed like Kenton and Boone, he says, pass out to your cabin, Mr. Armstrong, and enter by the door!”

“Oh!” exclaimed Sandy, with his usual impulsiveness.

“Those terrible French trappers!” murmured Bob; “what could they want there?”

“They did not stay inside very long,” the settler continued; “and then, after looking out in a queer way, as if they did not wish to be seen, he says they hastened to the bank, and went sneaking off, down-river way.”

“But why did he not tell this before?” asked Mr. Armstrong, plainly disturbed by the news.

“Well, you see, he is only a child,” the other went on; “and, in the excitement of the hour, it passed from his mind; or else he thought they might have been some of the men of the settlement whom he did not know. But it came back to him a little while ago, and he started talking about it in a way to attract the attention of his mother, who listened long enough to make sure that I should know. And so I have brought him here, that you might question him further if it so pleased you.”

“I am afraid they must have been those scoundrels,” said Mr. Armstrong; “but what could have induced them to take the chances they did in entering my cabin? I can only account for it in one way. They wanted that wampum belt which it is known my sons possess, and which entitles its possessor to the good-will of nearly every tribe of Indians between the Alleghanies and the Mississippi. That is why they have been hovering around here so long, waiting for a chance to search our home. And it came in a way they had perhaps never dreamed of.”

“But surely the precious belt is safe with all your things in the blockhouse?” remarked Mr. Wayne.

“That is the worst of it,” replied the other settler; “in our excitement we came away and forgot the little treasure box, which the good wife kept on a shelf above one of the windows. Besides a few valuables, which she would grieve to lose, it also holds that wampum belt of the great chief, Pontiac.”

“In which case, the chances are that those rogues have discovered it, and carried it off with them,” suggested Mr. Wayne.

“I am afraid so,” answered Bob’s father, disconsolately.

The two boys were chilled by the thought. After all, was the cabin to stand through the flood, and then a bitter disappointment await them when they entered the familiar room, in the hope that they would find safe the object of their solicitude?

They hurried back again to the bank, and looked out to where their half-submerged home still stood. Until they were able to reach the door, and pass within, neither of them could know peace again.

“Oh! will the old river ever go down again, so that we can reach the door and know the worst?” Sandy groaned as the afternoon wore slowly away, and the glowing sun sank toward the west that constantly lured his thoughts away from the region of the Ohio.

“But it is falling, and very fast now!” declared his brother, who had been examining the marks closely and eagerly.

“But what are a few inches, when we will have to wait until it goes down six or more feet?” grumbled Sandy; but nothing was to be gained by complaining, and finally the boys concluded to camp right there on the bank, where they could keep watch through the night, so that no one might pass out to the cabin without being seen in the light of the fire they would keep burning.

And this was what they did. One slept while the other stood sentry, always keeping an eye on the cabin.

The river went down very fast during the hours of darkness; and there came no fresh alarm to stir the tired souls from slumber. So another morning found them; and the first thing Sandy noticed was that the cabin stood free from the flood at last, though in the midst of a wrecked garden.

“We can enter now!” he exclaimed to his brother.

They took off their moccasins, and waded through the pools of mud that lay in place of the garden spot of a few days before.

It required considerable force to push open the door, because the water had swollen the wood; but by putting their shoulders to the task in unison the boys finally managed to swing it inward.

Then they entered, and looked around, holding their very breath in an agony of suspense. The cabin had several inches of mud on the floor, and its appearance would have struck dismay to the heart of the neat housewife, had she seen it just then. But Bob and Sandy were not thinking of this. They let their eyes roam all around the room, seeking a sign of the well-remembered little box in which their mother kept those small articles she prized; and which had also been the receptacle in which the wampum belt had last reposed.

But only blankness met their view.

The little box was surely gone; and if, as they suspected, those bold intruders had been the French trappers, Jacques and Henri, then it was apparent that finally the fortunes of war had placed them in possession of the article which they would prize more highly than almost anything else that could be found—the belt decorated with the little shells, and known as wampum, which was marked with the signet of the great war chief and sachem, Pontiac, and would protect its possessor against the fury of the confederated red men of the wilderness.

CHAPTER XI
DANIEL BOONE, THE PILOT OF THE SETTLERS

“Well, that settles it!” said Sandy, disconsolately, as he looked at his brother.

“The box is certainly gone,” replied Bob, trying not to show his feelings more than he could help, because he felt sure Sandy must be close to the breaking-down point.

“And we’ll never see our fine belt again,” continued the other. “I wonder if the chief would feel like giving us another, in case he learned of our losing this one?”

“I’m afraid that’s out of the question,” Bob returned, with a shake of his head. “In the first place, how could we hope to see Pontiac, when by now he may be many hundreds of miles away from here, for he belongs up near the lakes, where the Pottawottomies have their lodges, along with the Sacs and the Chippewas? Then again, even if we dared take that adventurous journey, and escaped all the perils of the wilderness, perhaps Pontiac would believe he had done all he should for us, and refuse to hand over another belt. I’m afraid we’ll never set eyes on that wampum again.”

“Unless,” remarked Sandy, with the sanguine nature of youth, “those trappers should strike out for the trading posts along the Mississippi, and we’d happen to run across them, some time or other. And I can tell you this, Bob, if ever I do meet with either of those rascals, I’m bound to make him hand over our property.”

“I believe you would,” declared Bob, his own eyes snapping as he saw the look of determination on the face of his brother.

It was a hard task for Bob to inform his parents of their loss. Sandy shirked the unpleasant duty, and remained away while his brother went to find the others. He was moody and silent the rest of the day, a most unusual circumstance for one possessed of so bright and sunny a disposition. In the course of time this feeling would wear off in a measure, but the loss of that valued wampum belt was going to worry Sandy more than a little.

The river continued to fall very rapidly, and, in the course of a few days, might be expected to get back into its natural channel. But there was no great eagerness shown by the settlers to rebuild the wrecked cabins.

Truth to tell, the more they talked about making a bold push further westward, the stronger the idea began to appeal to them; until it was now almost an assured fact that several families would throw their fortunes in together, build a staunch flatboat, with a large log cabin on it, upon which they could embark, with their few household necessities, and trust to fortune to carry them safely through what perils might lie in wait further down the Ohio.

It was just two days after the flood went down, that a council of war was called among the families most directly interested in the new venture. These were, besides the Armstrongs, the Harkness, Bancroft and Wayne people, and several others who were as yet uncertain what course to pursue.

It was in a serious frame of mind that they gathered there in the open, to talk over what plans they had better arrange, looking to a migration from the settlement on the bank of the Ohio to new fields.

Every scrap of information that could be unearthed was made to do duty over again. Mr. Armstrong had become very much in earnest now, and he was held in such respect by the others that his change of front had considerable influence in causing the Waynes to decide.

Of course the younger element had nothing to say in this meeting; but that did not prevent them from listening with the deepest interest as the question was debated from all sides.

Sandy, especially, was filled with enthusiasm. His pet project, over which he had spent many a sleepless hour, now seemed in a fair way of being realized. Long had that mysterious West held out tempting hands toward the pioneer boy. Just as Daniel Boone had come to believe that it was his destiny to open up the wilderness to settlers, and plant new colonies in the midst of fertile lands; so this lad, apparently, had for some time felt that it was to be his fortune some day to look upon that grand river, discovered by De Soto, which but few whites had ever set eyes on, save the French traders and trappers, and they did not count for much,—in Sandy’s estimation, anyhow.

In the end there were just the four families who bound themselves together in a little league, resolved to attempt to better their conditions in this bold manner.

Some there were, among the others, who disliked exceedingly to see them make preparations for leaving, and threw all manner of trifling obstacles in the way. Whenever they had the chance they would work upon the fears of the women belonging to the four households, by narrating all manner of harrowing tales of the terror that lay in wait for unfortunate voyagers down that mysterious lower Ohio.

But women were made of pretty good stuff in those early days, and especially the wives of the pioneers. They had always faced trials that would easily daunt their weaker sisters of to-day; and believed that their place was beside the loyal men who were their only protectors, and who stood ready to lay down their lives for those they loved.

There were others who, while they disliked to see their friends leaving them, were ready and willing to do everything in their power to assist the enterprise. These loyal ones gave many a hard day’s work, helping to fetch in the timber for the flatboat, and hew the straight logs that were so necessary for its construction. Their good wives sacrificed some of their treasured stores in order that those who were following the beckoning finger of adventure might have an abundance with which to start their new life.

Bob and Sandy worked hard, too, bringing in game that could be cured after the Indian method, so that there need be no lack of food aboard the flatboat, when once they started on their long journey.

The trapping season being over, the boys collected their traps, and oiled them before storing them away, ready to be packed with their other belongings. Sandy loved to picture the glorious time they would have in their new surroundings, with not a white man, possibly, within hundreds of miles, and the whole wilderness to draw upon for furs and game and fish.

“I hope you may never be disappointed,” Bob used to say to him, after listening with a smile to one of these periodical outbursts. “But you know things are not always what they seem. There may be plenty of game away out there, and lots of fur-bearing animals; but what do we know about the new dangers that we are apt to face? I do not speak in this way before our mother and sister; but, between us, I do not like the idea of being closer to those French than can be helped. They are a villainous lot, as father says, and hold all English as their mortal enemies.”

“But, on the other hand,” Sandy would reply, shrewdly, “there is a change of heart coming to these same French. Have we not heard it said that, should the Colonies break away from the Mother Country, and rebel, France, being at war with England, would be on our side? That might make some of these rascally French trappers our so-called friends. I should not like that, and especially in the case of that precious pair, Jacques Larue and Henri Lacroix, whom I hope to meet face to face, at the muzzle of my gun, some happy day.”

The Indians were beginning to show their teeth again, in a manner that was not at all reassuring to the settlers who would make up the reduced colony, after the flatboat had started down the Ohio.

Judge of the delight of the settlers, when one fine day, who should appear at the colony that he had helped to found, but the backwoodsman, Daniel Boone. He was on his way to Boonesborough, and in haste at that, for the attitude of the Shawanees had become so threatening that there was danger of the struggling little settlement falling into the hands of the savages. (Note 8.)

He was keenly interested in all that had gone on since his last visit, and was pleased when told that the bold adventurers had decided to take their fate in their hands, and proceed far into the land of the setting sun. Such a move his spirit could easily sympathize with, for most of his life had been taken up with just such splendid and hazardous enterprises.

“If only I had the time,” he said to Mr. Armstrong, “dearly would I love to accompany you in this venture, for I myself have long wished to set eyes on that wonderful Mississippi of which you speak. My best wishes will go with you; and, if a written word of mine may do you any good by the way, you shall have it for the asking. Even among the Indians I have a few good friends; for they know me as an honorable enemy in time of war, and one whose word once given is never broken.”

Sandy was of course anxious to know about the young hunter whom he admired so much, often the companion of Boone; and, when he had a chance, he made inquiries. The frontiersman had by no means forgotten Bob and Sandy, and, indeed, one of his first questions when he met Mr. Armstrong had been of them, and what new adventures they had been having of late.

“I have not seen the young man for some time,” Boone had answered, when Sandy made his inquiry. “The last I heard of him, he had gone to the Ohio, and was at Fort Washington, I believe. So that there is always a slight chance that you may run across him during your voyage.”

Of course Boone was able to give them a great deal of information, as well as warn them against the tricks of the sly Indians, who would be likely to resort to all manner of devices in order to overpower the travellers.

“Above all things,” he urged upon the men of the party before taking his departure that same afternoon, to rejoin his companions, camped not many miles away, “beware of the white man who appeals to you from the shore, and tells a pitiful story of having been captured by the Indians, from whom he has but recently escaped. The chances are as ten to one that he is but one of those villainous renegades like Girty, McKee or Butler, who act as decoys for their swarthy brothers; and that he only means to lure you close to the shore, so that they can pour a deadly volley into your midst, and board the boat in the confusion.”

“But what if his story should be true?” objected Mr. Harkness. “We should feel like murderers if we abandoned a poor wretch of our own color. And surely success could not come to an expedition founded on cruelty.”

“Your first duty is toward your own families,” spoke up Boone, sternly. “If, then, his story is true, demand that he enter the river, and swim out to you, while you hold the boat stationary by the anchor, but at a safe distance away. If he refuse to do this, and suddenly disappear, see to it that you lay low, for there will immediately rain a tempest of bullets and deadly arrows from the bushes, behind which his red allies lie hidden.”

In this strain, then, did the great pioneer warn those who were about to trust themselves and their precious families to the waters of the lower Ohio. Hearing all he said, both Sandy and Bob were greatly impressed, and secretly resolved to profit by the advice.

Boone admitted that it was a great misfortune to have lost that magic wampum belt of Pontiac’s, which he had seen on a former visit.

“I know Pontiac, and how far his influence goes with nearly every tribe between here and the Mississippi,” he said; “and there will be many times, I fear, when you will deeply regret that you did not hold tighter to his gift, as it would save you from troubles that ever beset the pioneer’s life.”

When Boone shook hands with every soul in the settlement, kissed the babies, and hurried away, to head for his own little settlement, there was not one among them but felt that the mere presence of such a man was a tower of strength to any struggling community on the border of civilization.

CHAPTER XII
STARTING FOR THE NEW WEST

“The great day has come at last!” said Sandy, early one morning, as they started down toward the river from the blockhouse, where they had been quartered ever since the flood, their cabin having been occupied by a family with a numerous brood of young children, whose shelter had been carried away by the ruthless waters.

“Yes,” Bob replied, stretching himself; “days and weeks have crept along, and this has been a busy hamlet, what with the rebuilding of cabins, planting crops for those who expect to stay, and the fashioning of our flatboat, with its strong cabin on deck. A busy time, everybody says.”

“But our boat is done at last!” Sandy declared, joyfully; “and most of our things are packed aboard, for to-day we make a start, headed for the Mississippi!”

Bob looked at his brother a little uneasily. He himself was feeling more or less sad, because there were friendships that must be severed; and the chances seemed to be that they would never again shake the hands of some of those who had come out from Virginia with them.

But Sandy seemed to have no thought of this. His father, mother, sister and brother were going along; and what need then to feel distressed? That was the way the light-hearted lad felt about it; and the one great dream of his young life seemed about to be realized. For many months he had yearned to set eyes on that mysterious and mighty river, that rolled toward the far-off gulf; and whose source was as yet a sealed book to the world.

Sandy had hardly slept a wink all through the preceding night. Instead, he tossed on his pillow, and kept picturing what the future would have in store for them in that beautiful land toward the setting sun.

No doubt the little mother also lay awake; but for different reasons. Brave wife of a pioneer that she was, surely Mrs. Armstrong must have looked into the future with something of uneasiness. Many wild stories had she listened to from the lips of Pat O’Mara and other valiant souls, who had penetrated part of the distance toward the Mississippi; and doubtless these all came to haunt her now, magnified by the fact that they themselves were about to go forth into that wilderness to build a new home, under conditions that no one could faithfully picture.

She managed, however, to conceal much of her womanly fears from the eyes of her loved ones. There were dangers everywhere, and as they supped with them each day that they lived, it was no wonder that by degrees even the women learned to hold peril in contempt.

“Looks like it might be a fine morning for a start,” Sandy remarked, as they drew near the edge of the flowing current, at a place where a ledge afforded an excellent foothold, when they wished to bend over and wash their faces.

“Yes, the spring is here in truth,” replied Bob, “and the birds are singing in every tree. After all, this is a beautiful spot, and I fear our mother is not one-half so anxious to leave it as the rest may be.”

“But just wait till she sees what a glorious country we are going to,” declared the ever-sanguine Sandy. “The birds may sing here, but it’s nothing to what they will do out there, where the land is so rich that it grows everything they want to eat. And as for game, why, just think of seeing a whole herd of buffaloes that no man could count! Oh! I do wish we were there right now. It has been a long time since we shot a buffalo.”

“That’s so, Sandy,” replied Bob, just a little enthusiastic himself; “and if things are half as fine as we’ve been told, we ought to soon have a splendid little settlement, with a stockade, and gardens, and cabins that will make it home to us.”

Sandy bent over, and splashed for a minute. He thoroughly enjoyed the cooling water, and, indeed, the boy was never so happy as when swimming, having taken to it when a mere lad.

Then he broke out again, showing that, try as he might, he could not keep his thoughts away from the one great subject that held them like a magnet.

“We’ve got all our traps oiled, and stowed away on board the flatboat, you know, Bob; and won’t we have the time of our lives, once we get settled in our new home, with the snow beginning to fly next autumn? I’m glad now that I traded for those five traps Adam Shell had. It gives us nearly double as many as we had before.”

So they chatted as they finished their cleaning up. Meanwhile the women were busily engaged in getting the last meal that they expected to take among those whom they had known so long.

There were not many tears shed, for these hardy souls were accustomed to meeting all sorts of happenings with the fortitude that makes heroines. Indeed, Mrs. Armstrong admitted to herself that this parting did not cause one-half the wrench that came when they pulled up stakes, away off in Virginia, and first set out on the trail over the mountains, headed into the great West. Then they knew nothing of the Indian country, and a thousand fears assailed them; but now, the yell of the savage foe had become familiar in their ears, and surely little that was new in the form of peril could be awaiting them on their further journey. It was but the turning over of the page and beginning a second chapter in a tale that had already been started.

After breakfast had been disposed of, there was a great confusion all through the little settlement. Work of all kinds was at a standstill for that morning, as all wished to add their mite to giving the adventurous families a hearty send-off.

“AT LAST THEY WERE AFLOAT ON THE OHIO, BOUND INTO THE UNKNOWN COUNTRY THAT LAY FAR AWAY TO THE WESTWARD.”

Before the sun had mounted three hours high in the eastern heavens the last word had been spoken; and amid the cheers of the assembled people, old and young, the ropes that held the large flatboat to the shore were cast off.

At last they were afloat on the Ohio, bound into the unknown country that lay far away to the westward. Day after day, and week after week, they expected to continue to float ever onward, spending the daylight in making such progress as lay in their power, and either anchoring at night in the stream, or else, if it were deemed safe, tying up to the shore.

Again and again had they listened to the sober warnings from those who expected to stick to the old settlement. And now the current had taken hold of their clumsy, but staunch, craft, and was commencing to hurry it along, as though anxious to sever the last ties binding them to these good friends.

By degrees the shouts died out in the ever-increasing distance, and the bold pioneers began to pay more attention to their duties.

Then a bend of the river shut out the last glimpse of the waving hats and kerchiefs, and a great silence came upon the scene, broken only by the creak of the big steering oar, or the gurgle of the river against the planking below.

The start had been made, and all seemed well. They were headed into a wilderness that was next to unknown, and it had required almost as much courage for these valiant souls to thus break away from the settlement, and start upon this voyage of discovery, looking for a new homestead in the wilds, as was shown by Christopher Columbus, when, braving the traditions that declared the world to be flat, he set sail into the western seas, under the firm conviction that in this manner he could reach the East Indies.

On board the flatboat things soon began to assume a settled condition. Mr. Armstrong had been unanimously elected the leader of the expedition, and every member was bound to yield him obedience.

System had been early established, and each one knew just what was to be expected of him or her, so that there was no confusion.

The household goods, save what might be needed in the way of coverings for the night, or additional clothing, had been stowed away in as compact shape as their ingenuity could devise; and in the hold of the boat a place had been found for the accommodation of this material. It consisted chiefly of a few household treasures, handed down from ancestors across the seas. The pioneers did not possess much in the way of furniture. Tables, beds and chairs they expected to make afresh when they had reached the Promised Land. A few strong oaken or cedar chests, bound in brass it might be, contained their belongings for the most part; with what few cooking utensils that were needed, these latter also in brass or copper, which was much used in those early days.

Besides the Armstrongs, the passengers and crew of the flatboat consisted of three families. First there was Mr. Harkness and his wife, a fourteen-year-old daughter named Susan, and also a nephew, one Amos Terry, from New England, and with some of the peculiarities of speech that even at this early day marked the difference between those whose ancestors came over on the Mayflower, and the descendants of those settling in Virginia or Carolina.

Then there were the Bancrofts, father, mother, and three children, all of the latter rather small; and the Waynes, who had a boy, Rufus, about eight years of age, and a small baby.

Two more persons there were aboard the boat at the time of leaving. Pat O’Mara, the good-natured Irish trapper, meant to stick to his friend, Mr. Armstrong, through thick and thin, in this new venture, feeling partly responsible through having told the wonderful tales that had so stirred the ambitions of these voyagers. Blue Jacket, also, was with them, though he only expected to go a few days’ journey into the west, when he would say good-bye, and return to his people, never expecting to see these white friends again.

Seven men and two boys capable of bearing arms constituted their full fighting force; a pitiful company when one considers the nature of the dangers that were always awaiting the hardy pioneers whenever they cut adrift and pierced the wilderness. But such a thing as fear was next to unknown to any of them; and, as they turned successive bends of the river, always unfolding some new and beautiful feature of the remarkable scenery, both men and women felt that surely good fortune must await them in the favored land beyond.

They were not much given to sentiment. The hardships of that time made people very practical; and yet no nature could withstand the magnificent sunset that greeted their eyes, hours later, when many miles had been left behind.

It must have seemed to some of those who stood and drank in the glorious picture with a feeling almost of awe, as though the sun had never before gone down in the midst of such splendor and that he was beckoning them onward to where their new homes were to be founded.

And yet, no doubt, as some of the women glanced at the grim forest-lined shore so near by, they must have shuddered, remembering how somewhere in the dark recesses of that wood, savage foes lurked, hating the venturesome paleface who threatened to steal away their lands, and only too eager to pounce down upon the little expedition, could they find the means.

Blue Jacket went ashore as soon as the boat was tied up for the night, in order to scout around, and ascertain whether there might be any signs of hostile Indians in the vicinity. Pat O’Mara also took a little turn, and both reported that the coast appeared to be clear, so the voyagers took heart of grace, and supper was cooked in comfort.

There was no loud talking or laughter. Even the children had been admonished to keep quiet, leaving their boisterous play until the morrow, when, safe on the bosom of the broad stream, they might give vent to their exuberant spirits.

All through the night a watch would be kept. Much of that duty was to be undertaken by Blue Jacket and Pat, who had no family cares to attend to; but every man slept on his arms, as it were, ready to leap to his feet at the first alarm, with a clear idea as to the duties devolving upon him in case of an attack.

The ropes were arranged so that they could be instantly cast off, and the boat swung out into the stream, which, being quite deep just there, would prevent the enemy from wading out after them.

While part of the force performed this duty, the others would send a hot fire in among the Indians; and it must be remembered that in pioneer days every woman had learned to handle a gun almost as well as the male members of the family.

The first night passed, fortunately, without any alarm; which was a good thing, since it gave them all a chance to get accustomed to their strange surroundings. Later on, after they had fallen into the new ways, if trouble came, as they fully anticipated, it would find them better prepared to meet the situation.

All were early astir on the following morning, except that Pat and Blue Jacket still lay under their blankets, since they had been ashore part of the night, and secured scarce any sleep at all until an hour before dawn. The men were busy, getting wood aboard with which to make a small fire if necessary, a stone hearth having been constructed for this purpose, when, suddenly, Sandy made a startling discovery.

“Oh! look! Bob, look, up there on the roof of the cabin!” he exclaimed; and Bob, turning his eyes toward the boat, quickly saw the object that had thus excited the other.

“Another arrow, with a birch-bark message, just as sure as anything,” he cried, turning a puzzled face toward Sandy.

“Let me climb up and get it!” cried the younger lad; and, with the words, he immediately started to clamber up the rough side wall of the cabin, which had been made as near bullet-proof as possible, so as to afford protection in case of an Indian attack; for the French traders were selling the savages hundreds of firearms, and even teaching the warriors how to use them in place of the more primitive bow and arrows.

Presently Sandy came back, bearing the arrow in his hand.

“It is exactly like the other, which Blue Jacket told us was surely made by the hands of a Delaware brave,” he said, holding the object up before his brother.

Bob, just as he had expected, found a small piece of thin birch bark rolled about the arrow, near the head, and secured there by means of fibres taken from some plant.

Opening this, he discovered a series of crude, but plain pictures, made after the fashion of the Indians.

“This time there are many figures, and, as they have scalplocks, they must be Indians,” Bob remarked, as he and Sandy eagerly examined the message that had come from their unknown friend.

“Yes,” the other boy went on, “and see how they are lying flat behind bushes; while this must be the river flowing along. Some have guns, and others bows. And, if you please, Bob, this must be meant for our fine flatboat, though it looks more like an old ark than anything else. What do you make of that part of the message!”

“Oh! it stands but for one thing, a warning to beware of the foes who lurk on the shore, waiting to take us by surprise. But we already have been told all about such dangers, though this kind friend may not know that.”

“But see, Bob, there is more to it this time,” Sandy continued, eagerly. “Here is our proud boat again on the river, and on the shore stands a man, holding both his hands out. He is surely a white man, because he has a hat on. And I think he must be begging us to come to the shore and take him aboard.”

“That is just it,” Bob remarked, “and you remember what Daniel Boone warned us against. This must be that terrible Simon Girty, or his companion, McKee, for if you look once again, you will see those forms concealed behind the grass and bushes, just as the panther lies in wait for a deer at the salt lick. Is that all plain to you, Sandy?”

“Yes, and I would have seen through it, even if you hadn’t spoken. But here, for the third time, we have received a message from this friend, who keeps his face hidden, so that we do not know who he is. What does it mean, do you think, and who can he be?”

“He must have some object,” replied Bob, his brow marked by a line of perplexing thought; “and he certainly has a reason for not letting us know who he is. If it is that young Delaware you helped, he has a queer way of paying back his debt. But, after all, he is only an Indian, and how can a white man understand his ways? We must show this to father, even if it doesn’t seem to tell us anything new.”

“Yes,” said Sandy, drawing a long breath, and glancing at the forest so close at hand; “anyhow, it’s nice to know we’ve got a friend who watches over us all the time. There may come a day when his warning will save us from a terrible danger. Delaware brave or not, I am going to thank him for it, if ever I meet him face to face.”

As they had already been told all about these perils, the men did not experience any fresh alarm from seeing the message of the arrow. Mr. Armstrong, thinking it wise to keep all such causes for uneasiness away from the women as much as possible, bade the boys not to mention finding it on the roof. Plainly the unknown Indian must have shot it from some point close at hand, though how he had managed to approach the boat, unheard by the keen, listening ears of Blue Jacket or Pat O’Mara, was a mystery to both Bob and Sandy.

If he could do this, what was to prevent a dozen, or fifty, of his kind from accomplishing the same thing? It was a thought calculated to cause a timid person considerable uneasiness; and possibly this was what had influenced Mr. Armstrong in his desire to keep the women from hearing about the arrow that bore the new warning.

Again they were floating on the current, that bore the adventurers along at the rate of some four miles an hour. While the river changed its course from time to time, so that they headed now southwest, and again toward the northwest, still their constant progress was such that they had the morning sun behind them; and, when the orb of day passed the zenith, it beckoned them onward until, nearing the horizon, its slanting rays warned them that another night lay ahead, with the dangers that darkness must ever bring in its train.

And so it would go, as the days slipped by, many miles being covered between daybreak and darkness, and each span taking them further into the unknown country.

CHAPTER XIII
BLUE JACKET GIVES WARNING

Three days had now passed.

All this time the flatboat had made good progress down the river, which continually opened up new and most beautiful pictures to the eyes of the voyagers. It was very slow travelling, to be sure; but then the early pioneers had never ridden on a lightning express train, nor sat in an automobile that was flying along country roads at the rate of a mile a minute; so such tedious progress was not irksome to them.

One night only had they anchored out from the shore, when Blue Jacket and the Irish trapper did not like the idea of tying up to the trees on the bank, having discovered some signs of Indians about.

As yet there had been no attack upon the people on the flatboat, and perhaps a feeling of renewed confidence was beginning to steal into their hearts. But the men knew better than to allow such immunity from danger to render them a particle less cautious. And each evening they kept up the same programme that had been first instituted.

One man was to be on guard aboard the boat, constantly watching the shore for signs of anything moving. He had his orders to shoot, if an approaching figure, upon being challenged, failed to give the correct password. And then every one of the others knew just what his part of the defence was to be, so that they would leap to their stations as one man.

After supper on this night, when they were tied up again to the shore, Blue Jacket went away to scour the immediate vicinity, and keep on the alert for the first signs of an impending attack.

It was to be the very last night of the young Shawanee among them; for he had announced that, since they were now far away from the lodges of his people, he must on the morrow shake the hands of his white friends in farewell, and turn his face toward the rising sun.

The boys would be sorry. They had come to think most highly of Blue Jacket; and Bob predicted that, in time to come, the young brave would make a name for himself among his people. (Note 9.)

The young moon was now getting of a size to give considerable light for much of the night, and this fact afforded every one much satisfaction, since it took away from the gloom of the dense forest, that was peopled with unknown evil things.

Sandy and Bob sat on deck, after supper had been eaten, and the younger members of the expedition were being put to sleep in the cabin. Some of the men were smoking their long pipes, and talking in low tones near by. Doubtless they felt well pleased over the way things were going, and their conversation may have been along about the same lines as marked that of the two lads.

“Three good days, and all is well,” remarked Sandy, who had a fishing line over the side, with which he expected to take in a number of fine prizes before thinking of sleep.

“Yes, and if this sort of thing would only keep up right along, nobody would complain, that I know of,” Bob added; for he was feeling very comfortable after the good supper he had enjoyed a short time before.

“Oh! that was a fierce bite, all right!” exclaimed Sandy, giving a jerk to his stout line; “and I’ve got him, too, I do believe! My goodness! how he pulls, Bob! Now, I hope he doesn’t break loose! This must be the biggest fish I’ve had hold of yet.”

Bob, of course, offered to lend a hand in order to get the prize in; but Sandy, with all a fisherman’s ardor, would not think of allowing such a thing.

And presently, after a deal of pulling, and expressing fears that he might lose his hard-fighting prize, Sandy managed to drag the fish aboard. It proved to be a very large specimen of what has since become known as the buffalo fish, found along the whole length of the Ohio, and which is considered fairly good for the table.

To these people of the early days such a feast was always eagerly welcomed; and, of course, all the women had to come out to see the noble proportions of Sandy’s capture, even the children following, filled with delight because it meant a feast for all.

Although the persistent fisherman kept up the good work, and landed several more of the same species of fish, none approached in size his first capture; but, then, by the time Sandy was ready to take in his line, for he was yawning sadly, the moon had crept along to top the trees toward the southwest, and he had secured an abundance for their temporary wants.

Sandy had just completed winding up his line on the piece of smooth wood he had prepared for this especial purpose, when suddenly the voice of the sentry was heard calling out:

“Who goes there? Speak, and give the countersign!” for Mr. Armstrong had organized his little company very much on a military basis.

Of course every one started up, and many a hand reached out for the gun that was always kept within reach, day and night. Sandy and Bob were no exception to the rule, and they scrambled to their feet, as, from the tree-lined shore, came the word that had been selected for the night:

“Washington!”

It was Blue Jacket, coming hastily aboard. His actions told that he must be bringing important news; and a thrill swept through the hearts of the two lads at the prospect of immediate danger.

Mr. Armstrong was the first one to meet the Indian as he came crawling over the side of the flatboat, which stood rather high out of the water, despite the load it carried, thanks to the splendid construction of the craft.

“Get away—quick—many Indians, like the leaves of the forest—come creep up through trees. No say what, but slip loose, and run!” was the way Blue Jacket expressed himself.

Upon hearing these significant words, every one started to carry out his special part of the duty of freeing the boat. There was no noise—no confusion; and this spoke well, not only for the brave hearts that were aboard the boat, but for the rules of discipline instituted by the commander.

Two men jumped ashore, and proceeded to unfasten the ropes; though really this could have been done from aboard, as the painters had been so fastened that all it required was a strong pull. Others stooped to grasp the long, stout push poles, with which to urge the unwieldy craft ahead. Once in the clutch of the current, of course that part of the business would be ended; though they might continue to drop the poles over, and strain their backs, as long as they were able to touch bottom.

Others, still, crouched, guns in hand, ready to commence shooting at the first indication of the presence of the fierce enemy.

Everything worked smoothly. The ropes were unfastened, and brought aboard, without any trouble. Already a load was lifted from the hearts of the voyagers; and this lightened still more when they could feel the heavy craft beginning to move in response to the muscular efforts of those who were straining at the poles.

Soon the sweeps could be brought into play, when their movement would become more rapid. Eager eyes scanned the line of trees from which two dozen feet of sand and water now separated them. At any second they expected to see dusky figures leap into view, followed by the crash of many guns. Looking to such a contingency, Mr. Armstrong had sent around a whispered caution that at the very first appearance of the wily foe everybody should shelter themselves as best they could behind the rampart afforded by the gunwale of the flatboat, expressly built up for this purpose.

“Do you think they are really coming?” whispered Sandy, as he and Bob crouched there, sheltered by the heavy bulwark, and keeping their eyes fastened on the edge of the forest.

“Some of the men are already beginning to say that Blue Jacket must have heard a buffalo passing, or deer hunting for new feeding grounds; and that, after all, it may be only a false alarm; but I do not believe that can be. You know, Sandy, how wonderfully he can tell just what every sound means, when they seem alike to us. If Blue Jacket says there are Indians afoot in the forest this night, I feel sure it must be so.”

“Oh! I thought I saw what looked like a feathered head thrust out of the bushes up yonder!” exclaimed Sandy.

Hardly had he spoken than a single shrill yell rang out. It seemed to be some sort of signal, and it must have conveyed the information that the boat was slipping away; for Bob felt sure he could detect both rage and disappointment in the loud cry.

“There, that tells the story!” he exclaimed, as he nervously handled his musket, and made ready to give a good account of the bullet it contained, if called up. “Blue Jacket knew what he was saying, just as I told you.”

“But we are far enough from the shore to be safe from an attack,” declared the other lad, joyfully; “and moving further out in the stream every second, now that they’ve got the big sweeps to working. Let the Indians come, for all I care. They will be sorry if they try to swim out to us, with that fine moon shining. Why, we could see their heads easily, and hit them every time.”

Sandy might have gone on talking in this boastful strain, only that his words were deadened by a chorus of angry yells that broke out all along the shore. It was as though the savage enemy had been creeping forward in a long semi-circle, meaning to close in on the tied-up flatboat, and render escape impossible. And now, on discovering that those they had expected to make their victims were really beyond their reach, they gave vent to this expression of their furious rage.

And women shuddered, while children held their very breath in fear, when they, for the first time on the voyage, heard the savage outburst that told of red-skinned foes lurking within the depths of the primitive forest, eager to wipe out every member of that brave little expedition.

CHAPTER XIV
A TARGET FOR ARROWS AND BULLETS

“Lie down, everybody!”

It was the voice of Mr. Armstrong that uttered these words; and hardly had the men who manned the sweeps and poles thrown themselves flat, than there came flashes of flame from the border of the trees, accompanied by the crash of firearms and the thud of striking bullets in the stout bulwark, behind which they had sought shelter.

Other missiles splashed in the water, falling short, or passing beyond the boat. Arrows also struck the cabin, to remain imbedded there as evidence of the muscular arms that sent them aboard.

But there was a way of working the sweeps from behind shelter; and so, by slow degrees, the imperilled pioneers were carried further and further from the shore.

No one fired back. In the first place, they saw but little of the Indians, who held the marksmanship of the borderers in too high respect to risk showing themselves needlessly. And then, besides, ammunition was too precious and costly a commodity to waste, unless the necessity seemed great.

Gradually the firing from the shore slackened, and finally died away altogether, as did also the cries of bitter rage and disappointment. Only for the warning of Blue Jacket the little company might have met with disaster thus early in their adventurous voyage. There were no longer heard murmurings because they had been compelled to make this hasty departure from so comfortable a resting-place. Indeed, every one was grateful to the young Shawanee, because of what he had done.

Blue Jacket wanted not their thanks. He had no love for the white men, who were coming to drive his race away from the lands where they had lived for many generations, carrying on their wars with neighboring tribes, hunting the buffalo and the deer, and worshipping the Great Manitou after the fashion of the red men.

He sat by himself, moody and silent. Perhaps he was thinking how sorry he would be to part forever from the two paleface lads whom he had grown to care for so much in this year he had known them. And then there was the kind, motherly woman who had helped nurse him back to life long ago, when he suffered from a severe bullet wound, received in a battle with the whites, and which would have caused his death had he not been found by Sandy, and taken into the care of the Armstrongs.

Then again, it might be that the young Shawanee brave was feeling the bitterness of his situation, placed as he was in a position where, for the time, he felt compelled by gratitude to warn these palefaces against the coming of his own people. Perhaps it was well that no shot had been fired from the flatboat; had a single Indian been killed as a result of his warning, Blue Jacket would have cause for feeling more moody than was now the case.

The boys must have guessed something of his feelings, for they did not attempt to break in upon his solitude, as he sat with bowed head.

For several hours the voyage down the river was continued by moonlight; and then Mr. Armstrong gave orders that they head in toward the shore, and put out the anchor that had been brought along for the purpose.

A strict watch was kept until dawn; then Blue Jacket, going on shore, soon signalled that there was no longer any danger; accordingly the boat was pushed in, and, some of them landing, started a fire, at which the breakfast of fresh fish was cooked.

So the waters and the woods were all made to pay tribute to the demands of the sturdy early settlers. The rivers were teeming with fish, and the forests contained innumerable deer, buffalo, and much smaller game, so that it was easy as a rule to supply the table, if a hunter dared venture abroad. Fear of an Indian surprise was the only thing that deterred them. There was ever this dread possibility hovering over their heads in the disputed land.

When the meal was over, Blue Jacket, with the same grave face that always marked his character, came up, and held out his hand to Mrs. Armstrong.

“Good-bye!” he said simply, with not a muscle quivering, such was the splendid control he had over his feelings.

To Bob and Sandy he also gave his hand, and looked at them long and earnestly, but said only that same one word:

“Good-bye!”

Then he turned and strode away, never giving any of the others so much as a single look, for they were nothing to the young Shawanee warrior, and, if ever he met any of them again, it would probably be with weapons in his hands, and hatred for the mortal enemies of his race in his Indian heart.

Neither of the boys ever saw Blue Jacket again, since their life trails parted there on the flowery bank of the beautiful Ohio. Destiny led them into the wilderness, to help clear a path for advancing civilization; while the same power took Blue Jacket back into the villages of his people, to carry out the scheme in life to which he was appointed.

For a full hour after he had gone Sandy sat there, looking out upon the river as the heavy craft glided steadily on its way, saying not a word to any one.

Then all at once he called aloud:

“Oh! there’s a man down on that point below, and a white man, too! He seems to be in trouble, for he beckons to us all the while, and yet seems afraid to shout out. Perhaps he’s escaped from the Indians who tried to catch us napping last night. It looks to me as if he wanted us to push in, and take him aboard.”

Instantly every one rushed to that side of the boat to look. And, sure enough, there stood a white man, waving his hands to them in a most beseeching manner. His whole appearance would indicate that he had suffered all sorts of recent privations and was both hungry and desperate.

“Shall we push in closer?” asked Mr. Wayne, who knew less about Indian trickery than any one of the other men of the party.

“Not a foot!” declared Mr. Armstrong; “and every one keep low behind the shelter of the sides; for, by my faith, I fancy, even now, that I can see dusky figures gliding along back there among those trees.”

The man, as they came opposite, commenced to run along the edge of the shore, and make more urgent gestures than before.

“Don’t desert me, if you be men with hearts!” he cried out, in seeming agony.

“Who are you, and what ails you?” demanded Mr. Armstrong.

“My name is Elijah Fish, and with my mate I was taken prisoner by the bloodthirsty Shawanees a moon ago. They have tortured us both, and my comrade finally fell a victim to their savage hatred. I managed to escape four days ago, and they have been hunting for me ever since. If you leave me here, they will surely find me, and take my life. I beg of you to pull in at least part way, and let me come aboard!”

“He talks straight, seems to me,” declared young Amos Terry. “I don’t see no sign of any Indians, and for one I’d hate to think I left a poor white man to be put to death. Ain’t there some way he might be saved, Mr. Armstrong?”

For answer the leader of the expedition put his hands to his mouth, using them for a trumpet, and called aloud:

“We cannot come in any closer, because we must not risk chances of being beset by the Indians; but, if you wish to come aboard, why not enter the water, and swim out after us? That is your only chance, Elijah Fish, which, for one, I do not believe to be your name.”

“Why, who do you take me for?” asked the man, still running along the sandy strip of shore between the edge of the water and the forest.

“Well, you might be the renegade, Simon Girty, or perhaps McKee. And so we must refuse to risk the lives of all on board in order to do you a good turn. If you can swim, enter the water. We will immediately anchor the boat, and wait for you to come aboard. But that is as far as we dare go!”

The man ceased running at hearing this.

“Yew must have broken his heart with that, Mr. Armstrong,” said the Yankee, Amos Terry.

“Look again!” exclaimed Sandy, quickly.

The man was shaking his clenched fist after them, and, even as they looked, he uttered all sorts of horrible threats. Some one on board fired a shot, and the bullet threw up the sand close to the feet of the fellow, who, taking the hint, made haste to disappear in the bushes.

“Keep down!” called Mr. Armstrong; and hardly had he spoken than there was heard a crackling of guns here, there and everywhere among the trees, showing that the red foe had been cunningly concealed, in the hope that the defenders of the flatboat might be lured into approaching the shore.

This time those on board answered the fire, as they caught glimpses of dusky figures dodging from tree to tree.

The duel of guns was kept up for some little time. Many a bullet, as well as dozens of feathered barbs, struck the bulwarks or cabin of the flatboat; but, since the white defenders were wise enough to keep themselves well hidden, little damage resulted from the furious bombardment, one man alone receiving a slight wound from a bullet, that must have glanced off the side of the cabin wall.

On their part the pioneers believed that they had struck a number of the enemy, although they could not be positive about this, since they had not seen any actually fall. The Indians, however, found that they were getting more than they bargained for, and when another half-hour had passed the firing ceased.

“I hope they’ve given it up as a bad job,” remarked Sandy, who had sent several shots during the exciting time. “I wonder if I really did wound that brave who was lying in that clump of bushes.”

“I think you must have hit him,” Bob replied; “because, as soon as you fired, he came tumbling out, and plunged into that hole behind the three trees, and I’m sure he acted as if something bothered him.”

“That’s so, Bob, he did make me think of the way I got around when that hornets’ nest upset, and they all came out to get at me. It felt pretty warm for me just then; and I guess it did for that brave. But, do you think they have drawn off, and mean to let us alone?”

“I’m afraid that in some way, perhaps by means of the smoke signals, we know about, they may send word down the river of our coming; and that would mean, you know, Sandy, a continual war all along the line to the Mississippi. I’m afraid we’ll have only too many just such fights on our hands, before we get to where we want to settle down.”

But even such a prospect did not daunt the spirit of Sandy, which was not easily crushed.

“We have shown how easy it is to keep the Indians off, and we can do it again and again, as long as our powder and ball hold out,” he declared, with the sanguine nature of youth, that borrows no trouble when the skies seem clear. “I’m sure Pat O’Mara must have laid more than one of those yelling rascals low, for every time he fired I saw him nod his head and look pleased.”

All the rest of that day they floated on, undisturbed by any signs of an enemy. Once Sandy discovered a stately stag standing knee deep in the water, surveying the approaching craft as if in wonder, and, eager to land a shot that might give them a bountiful supply of fresh venison, the boy made a hasty jump for his gun.

But perhaps it was this sudden movement on the part of the impetuous Sandy that alarmed the deer, for, whirling like a flash, it vanished amidst the brush that at this particular spot lined the bank.

“Too bad!” said Pat, who had witnessed all this; “but, take me worrd for it, Sandy, av yees had been more deliberate like in your movements, chances are ye might ’a’ had a shot. ’Tis the same ould story av too much haste, me bye. Next toime r’ach out yer hand, slow like, and pick up the gun widout takin’ yer eyes off the game.”

Sandy thought he might do even better, and keep his musket in his grasp; but, though he sat there faithfully for nearly two hours, the chance did not come again. It seldom does, once we allow it to slip past.

Of course, on that evening they decided that it was too risky to think of going ashore to make their fire; and so supper was prepared on board, after they had anchored.

So anxious were they to get as far as possible below the scene of their encounter with the treacherous renegade and his red allies, that they would have continued the voyage by moonlight, only that it had clouded up with the coming of late afternoon, and there was every prospect of a bad night ahead.

The weather had been very fair ever since the spring rains ceased; but, warmer weather having now arrived, Mr. Armstrong warned them that a storm was liable to swoop down upon them at any time, and they must be prepared for it.

So, on this night they tried the best they could to have the anchor well laid, for, if ever the wind came sweeping down the river, there was a chance that the cabin of the flatboat would offer such a resistance that, sooner or later, they must be swept away, to find themselves at the mercy of the storm. And that was a possibility none of them fancied very much.

CHAPTER XV
A HUNT FOR FRESH MEAT

“I feel just wild for fresh meat, and I mean to ask father if we can take a little hunt this very afternoon,” said Sandy, two days later, while the flatboat was speeding quite merrily down the current.

“Well,” remarked his brother, “I would like a chance to get ashore and stretch my legs, just as much as you do. And I hope he says yes, when you ask him. Fish is pretty good, but a fellow gets tired of it as a regular thing, and I don’t think that is the finest kind of fish either, that we get. Why, when you took in that slippery mudcat, and we had it for dinner, it tasted better to me.”

“We haven’t seen a solitary sign of Indians since they tried to get us to come in to the shore,” Sandy went on. “And that must have been Girty, himself, who rumpled up his hair, and tried to look so hard pushed. You remember we saw him that time after we got ashore, when our boat was smashed, and when Blue Jacket told that Miami chief, Little Turtle, why he stood up for the Armstrong boys. But I’ll come back and let you know what father says.”

Ten minutes later he approached Bob again.

“You needn’t say a single word,” remarked the other, “for I can tell by the look on your face that it’s all right.”

“Yes, he says that we have been making such good time we can afford to lose an afternoon, or part of one, in order to try to get some fresh meat, because we all feel the need of it. So, before the sun is more than half-way down the sky, he will give orders for the boat to be tied up, if everything looks safe, just like it is right now.”

“I’m glad of that,” declared Bob; “because, after being used to walking nearly every day, for miles and miles, it comes pretty hard to just sit here, push a sweep, or tramp up and down around the cabin.”

“Oh! I just couldn’t stand it much longer!” cried Sandy. “I was really thinking that I’d have to jump overboard, and swim ashore, to try my luck, if father didn’t want to stop the boat, hoping to catch up with you all below, when you hauled in for the night camp.”

Bob looked uneasily at his impulsive younger brother.

“I don’t know whether you are joking when you say that, or not, Sandy,” he remarked; “but it would be a foolish move to make, and would bring more worry to the heart of mother. I hope you won’t think of such a thing at any time. You are getting too big now to let these things have hold of you so much. There are enough troubles to bother our parents without you adding to the burden.”

Sandy turned red, and then burst out into a confused laugh.

“Oh! I only said I was thinking of doing something like that, you know,” he declared; “but that is as far as it would go, I give you my word, Bob. Whenever I catch myself wanting to jump at things so, I remember what Pat said that day we saw the big stag standing knee deep in the water. Too much hurry, too sudden a move, spoils many a good game. And I guess it’s so. I’m trying as hard as I know how to think twice, now, before doing anything.”

“That sounds more like you, Sandy, and I’m glad to hear you talk so,” continued Bob; “but did father say anything about how we were to hunt this afternoon?”

“There is only one thing he insisted on,” the other started to reply, when Bob interrupted him by saying:

“I think I can guess what that was; we must take some one along with us; and of course we’ll be only too glad to do it, since it will be Pat O’Mara, who knows more about hunting, and Indian fighting, and taking all fur-bearing animals in traps and snares, than any three others on board.”

“Just what he said, I declare! Seems like you must have been close enough to hear it all!” exclaimed Sandy, as if surprised; “and yet that couldn’t be, either, for I saw you sitting here all the time I was speaking with father. But I’m glad it’s settled. And I do hope we run across plenty of excitement. It is getting what I call dull, with so little happening.”

To Bob there was so much to see in the new pictures presented with every bend of the winding river, that he never found the time drag on his hands; but then Sandy was made up along different lines, and could not remain quiet any length, of time without getting nervous.

The time passed slowly, indeed, until they heard the order given to edge the boat in toward the southern shore of the river, so that they could observe it more closely, in order to make sure that enemies were not lurking in the undergrowth.

Pat O’Mara gave it as his opinion that there seemed to be no evidence that the Indians were near by; and, as he, too, wanted to stretch his legs by a little side hunt, it was finally determined to land.

Of course, there must be more or less danger in leaving the protection of the strong cabin of the flatboat, and venturing into the depths of the forest; but, as has been said before, the life of a pioneer is so made up of taking risks that he assumes chances without much thought or anxiety. When the danger came along they would trust to their ability to take care of themselves. And every one of the party felt pretty much the same way.

Mr. Armstrong had a crude chart of the river, but it was founded on almost guesswork, so little was the region to the westward known at the time. The place where Cincinnati now stands was called Fort Washington; and, an indefinite distance further down, another mark on the map showed where Harrodsburg stood, about where the city of Louisville can be found to-day, marking the falls of the Ohio during low water times.

So, apparently, the early settlers had a pretty good eye for the most advantageous natural sites, upon which to found the white man’s cities of the future.

What lay beyond Harrodsburg no one really knew. Somewhere, in some manner, the Ohio joined forces with the mighty Mississippi; and this bold little company of men and women were on the way to learn the truth, taking their lives in their hands in so doing.

When the boat had been tied up, Pat and the two boys started into the woods, bent upon bringing back fresh meat if it could be procured by any means in their power.

“Sure,” remarked the trapper, when they found themselves out of sight of the river, and surrounded by the primeval forest, “we must be afther kapin’ clost enough till each ither to hear a signal whistle. If wees do be afther catchin’ that same, it wull mane to come tegither as quickly as yees can. But only a cooie stands for ‘all’s well, kape on a-huntin’ right along wid yees, an’ may the bist man win.’”

When they divided their forces, so as to cover more territory, Pat was wise enough to station himself midway between the brothers. Here he could keep in touch with either Sandy or Bob, a different sort of call meaning that he wanted a response from the one it designated, and about whom he might be getting a trifle anxious.

Pat had hunted many a time with such old frontiersmen as Jo Davies, John Hardin and Silas Hardin. He knew pretty much all there was to be learned about the ways of the cunning woods folks, from the little mink up to the great buffalo that, if angered or wounded, would come charging full at the hunter, ready to use his wicked short horns in hurling him many feet into the air, or grinding him into the earth, if he were so unlucky as to be caught napping.

No small game would do for them now. Birds might flush from the thickets and offer splendid pot shots; but they had agreed not to think of taking advantage of anything in the feathered line short of a big wild turkey. And, with so many mouths to feed, Sandy was more inclined to wish they might rout a buffalo out of some thicket, than anything else.

They advanced for some time, without seeing anything that offered a chance for a shot, and Sandy, of course, always impatient, began to think they might, after all, be compelled to return to the boat without any fresh meat, which would be a great pity, since every one yearned so for a feast.

The afternoon was now waning, and they found themselves some distance away from the place where the camp had been made. About this time Pat called the boys to him for a little consultation. He believed that, by altering their course, so as to come upon the river about two miles below the spot where their friends were tied up, the prospects for game would be vastly improved, because the country looked better to his eyes in that quarter.

So the change in direction was made. Bob was just as well satisfied, because he did not much like the idea of keeping on heading deeper and deeper into the great hills that lay back from the river, and which doubtless held more than one village of the hostile red men.

He noticed with some concern that it was even now beginning to grow a little dusk under the tall trees that lifted their lofty heads almost a full hundred feet in the air. And then, just when Bob was wondering if they were to arrive at the river, which could not be more than a quarter of a mile distant, without one single sign of game, he heard the well-known crash of Sandy’s gun away over to the left; because Pat carried one of those long-barrelled rifles, with the small bore, that took a patched bullet—one that was enclosed in a greased piece of linen—and made a sharp report entirely different from that of a musket.

Hurrying that way, he found Pat and Sandy bending over a noble young two-pronged buck that had jumped from a thicket where he had been lying, and fallen when the young Nimrod hastily let fly; for Sandy was a clever all-around shot.

Pat set to work, assisted by both the boys, to skin the game, and secure all the edible portions. These parts were made up into three packs, so that each might carry a share of the burden to camp, which was at least two miles distant.

Wondering whether the shot had reached the ears of their friends, and picturing their delight when they sighted all that fine fresh meat, the three were trudging along through the gathering darkness, when, without warning, Pat stumbled, having evidently caught his foot in some trailing vine which he had not seen.

Bob hastened to drop his own burden, and bend over to assist Pat to rise, for he saw that the other seemed to be having some difficulty about doing so. When he heard the trapper groan, Bob’s alarm increased.

“What has happened to you, Pat?” asked Sandy, who did not yet understand the cause of the delay, save that their companion had tripped.

“Bad cess to the thing; but I’m afther belavin’ that I’ve gone an’ twisted me ankle so bad that ’tis mesilf that can’t put the same to the ground; and that manes a long time before we say camp agin, so it do,” grumbled the trapper.

Somehow Bob began to feel a little anxiety, as though he scented new difficulties looming up ahead.

CHAPTER XVI
THE FIGURES AGAINST THE SKY

“This is what I call hard luck,” remarked Sandy, as he dropped his bundle of deer meat close to where the trapper sat upon the ground, rubbing his ankle.

“It is that same, by the token,” grumbled Pat. “Av yees give me a hand, byes, it’s mesilf will thry to sthand up, and say how well I can walk.”

Willingly each of the lads took hold of an arm, and assisted him to gain an upright position; but, when Pat started bravely to walk, he made a sorry mess of it. He was a game fellow, however, and would not be dismayed.

“Sure, it may pass away afther I’ve given the ould thing a little exercise, like, and av yees say the worrd we’ll pick up our packs and do be goin’ on our way, rejoicin’ becase it’s no worrse. What if I’d broke me nick—that would have been a nice pickle for a man to be in!”

He even insisted on carrying his share of the venison, though Bob protested; but Pat was a stubborn man.

“Think av all the mouths to be fed, would ye; and why should I lit it lay here, where it wull do no good at all, at all, save to fill the stomach av a wolf, or make a wildcat feel happy? Sure it goes along wid me if I can limp.”

And it did,—that is, for some little time, though Pat had to call for a stop, and rest, every hundred yards. Once he proposed that the two boys desert him, and make for the place where the boat was tied up above.

“’Tis only a matter av a mile or so, me lads,” he said, “an’ I’m dead sure ye’d be able to find the same widout much throuble. In good time Pat would come limpin’ into camp. Kape the river on your lift, that do be all yees have to do.”

“Well, that’s something we’ll never do, Pat, desert a comrade in trouble,” was the vehement reply of Bob; and Sandy was even more emphatic; so the pleased Irish trapper had to be content with the way things were going.

“We’ve got the whole night before us,” Bob remarked, in a low voice, for Pat had warned them to be careful, because there was no telling what might be abroad in the big timber bordering the river.

“And once we get aboard the flatboat,” continued Sandy, in the same vein, “Pat can have his sprain looked after by mother; and there’s no need of him setting his weight on that foot again till it’s well.”

It was at one of the resting spells that something occurred to Bob.

“I was thinking,” he remarked in a whisper, “that, if we looked around, we might find some good stuff here.”

“Stuff for what?” asked Sandy.

“To make a litter out of,” replied Bob.

“Oh! you mean so that we could carry Pat between us, and the venison, too,” Sandy whispered back.

“Yes, what do you think of it, Sandy?”

“Seems like a good idea to me; and, if you say the word, I’ll begin to look about here right now, Bob,” the other answered.

He was about to make the first move when Pat, who had been listening, broke in upon the conversation of the brothers.

“A litter is it that yees would be afther makin’,” he remarked, quickly; “and to kerry me to camp like I was a dead soldier, so it be? Wull, I’ve no objections to ye makin’ wan av the same to kerry the mate; but, by me faith, ye’ll niver get Pat O’Mara to rist his bones on that litter unless he is out av his mind. An’ av ye be falin’ like another spell, lit’s be away.”

Of course, after that Bob could not insist, for only too well did he know the independent spirit of the Irish trapper. As long as Pat could put one foot to the ground he would persist in moving along; nor could Bob prevail on him to either throw his burden away, or divide it up between the other two.

“I’ll do me share av the worrk, or know the rason why,” Pat would answer back, every time the idea was mentioned; and, as long as he showed this obstinate streak, they could do nothing but let him have his way.

Bob was keeping his wits about him all this while. He noticed the direction they were taking, and could even give a pretty fair guess as to the distance yet to be traversed before they could hope to reach the tied-up boat.

“I don’t believe we are more than a single mile away from them now; is that so, Pat?” he asked, as they sat there, resting again.

“Sure, ye do be a smart lad, Bob,” replied the other, in his usual whisper, which the boys had come to imitate, though it gave a very mysterious air to their surroundings; “and, av I do know annything at all, that’s about the distance we sthill have to cover. But don’t be worryin’ about me; for I tell yees I can make it by hook or by crook. It ain’t often as Pat O’Mara—whist, he sthill now, both av yees!”

Bob felt a sudden thrill as the Irish trapper finished his sentence in this surprising manner. He knew what it must mean only too well. Pat had keen ears, even as he also possessed the eyes of a hawk. His long life in the woods had made him the equal of a redskin in these respects, as well as many others pertaining to following a faint trail, reading signs from the track of a wild animal, big or small, and such tricks as Indians know from boyhood.

It was plainly evident from his manner that he had either seen or heard something suspicious, and, under the circumstances, this could only mean hostile Indians.

Bob saw that the other was looking away toward the left, which was where the river must lie, for it had been their intention, after striking the water, to try to follow up the shore, hoping to take advantage of the shallow strip of open that often lay between the margin of the river and the dense woods.

At the moment they happened to be down in a sort of shallow gully. A low ridge arose between the spot where they rested and the river. The moon was very nearly half full and, where the great trees did not shut out the light, it was easy to see the top of this small ridge, for it happened to be bald in places.

Pat was staring straight upward toward one of these open spots; and Bob naturally allowed his eyes to travel in the same quarter. He heard Sandy give a low gasp; nor did Bob blame his brother in the least for thus allowing an indication of his astonishment and dismay to escape him.

For against the clear sky, plainly outlined in the moonlight, there was a figure, walking swiftly along the ridge, and heading up the river. There was no need for any one to explain what those feathers stuck in the scalplock meant, for Bob knew he was looking upon an Indian in his war dress. Doubtless, had he been closer, the paint that was daubed upon his cheeks and forehead could have been seen. Even the gun he carried, undoubtedly purchased by a bundle of rich furs from the French traders of the Mississippi posts, could be seen, as he picked his way across the little gap in the dark intervening forest, and then vanished beyond.

But already a second warrior had come into view, following closely in the footsteps of the leading brave, it seemed. He, too, was decked out for war, if those feathers that stood upright signified all the boys believed they did, and a gun was clasped in his hand, just as with the first dark spectre.

A third was in view even before the second had passed beyond the limits of the watchers’ vision. A fourth came trailing along, then a fifth; and the grim procession continued to move along like a column of nightmare ghosts, until Bob had unconsciously counted twenty-two of the savages.

What a narrow escape they had had! Suppose either he or Sandy had been unwise enough to talk beyond the whisper which cautious Pat instituted as the margin of safety, what chance would they have had against such a host of cruel foes?

They waited for a minute or so, fearful lest there might be a straggler who had fallen a little distance behind the rest; but, when none appeared, Bob felt safe in speaking in the guarded tone used before.

“That was a close shave, now, I’m telling you,” he said, drawing a long breath. “If we’d been moving at the time, I’m afraid they’d have discovered us long before we did them.”

“Yis,” grumbled Pat, “wid me makin’ all the noise av a granehorn in the woods, a-draggin’ me lift lig afther me. But sure, that’s not the worrst av it, byes. Did ye not notice the direction the bog trotters do be goin’?”

“Up the river!” said Sandy, quickly.

“And the flatboat lies there, not more than a mile away!” gasped Bob, feeling suddenly cold all over, as a spasm of dread took possession of him.

“Oh! how can we warn them?” asked Sandy, getting to his feet, as though sorely tempted to start on a run for the river, so that he could try to make the camp before the murderous Indians reached it.

“Whist! be aisy now, and we’ll thry and find some way to do the same,” remarked Pat, as he painfully arose, and made ready to clutch hold of the impetuous lad, if there was any sign that Sandy really contemplated giving them the slip.

“But something ought to be done at once,” remonstrated the other, his voice filled with emotion, as he thought of the loved ones who might be caught unawares by the savages and fall victims to their cruel tomahawks and knives. “Don’t you think either Bob or myself might get there ahead of them, if we went along the edge of the river? Please, Pat, think quick now, if ever you did in all your life.”

“’Tis that same I’m doin’, me bye,” the trapper replied. “Ye must pull up, and howld yer horses. ’Tis a time to do the right thing, or be the same token ye’re apt to ruin the whole business. Just stop and remimber that afore we lift camp I arranged all that wid yer father.”

“The signals, you mean, Pat?” asked Sandy, while Bob gulped down the lump in his throat that had threatened to choke him, for a sudden sense of relief had come to him.

“The same, Sandy,” the trapper replied, laying a kindly hand on the arm of the excited boy. “Rist aisy now, would ye, for we have it in our power to sind warmin’ to lit thim know danger hangs over the camp; and that they must git aboord, and cut loose down the strame widout delay. But, befoore we sind that warrnin’, ’tis only the parrt av wisdom, do ye say, to lit the inimy cover more ground, so that we do be havin’ a chanct to make our iscape, in case they sind back a parrt av their number to look us up.”

Sandy, after all, could be reasonable, once he grasped the breadth of a plan, and he hastened to declare his reliance on the shrewdness of the Irish trapper.

“You’re right, Pat,” he said, huskily; “but oh! don’t wait too long; make it soon!”

CHAPTER XVII
SIGNAL SHOTS

How those seconds dragged, to the two impatient boys! They seemed, each one, to be hours in length, so eager were the lads to send the warning.

But Pat, who kept quite cool, knew what he was doing. He was also well aware of the fact that, in their eagerness to save the others, the boys would not take any precaution with reference to themselves; and, as a consequence, must fall victims to the fury of the baffled savages.

Pat’s idea was to save both parties; and this was why he meant to allow a certain amount of time to elapse before informing those at the boat of the impending peril, which they could only avoid by immediate flight.

“Come, lit us be thryin’ to cross the ridge, me byes,” said Pat, picking up his bundle of meat with the old-time obstinacy that would not give in.

“The ridge!” echoed Sandy, in dismay, as he fell in behind, when they had started.

“Sure, we have to git beyant the same, av we hope to make the river,” the Irish trapper went on to say.

“Then do you hope to follow up the water, and get there ahead of them?” gasped the boy, in sore distress, as he contemplated the slow progress the limping man was making at the time.

“I do not, be the same token,” answered Pat; “but the closer we are to the river, the better for us, when we do be thryin’ to work down strame, afther warrnin’ the camp, d’ye mind.”

“Oh! I see now what you mean,” Sandy whispered, keeping close behind the other. “After we’ve sent the signal, we must hurry as fast as we can down the river, so as to put a lot of distance between us. Then, when the boat comes along, we have to hail them, and wade out to get aboard. Is that what you figure on, Pat?”

“Yees have hit the tarrget in the bull’s-eye, Sandy; and now, arrah, please close up shop; it do be harrd climbin’ the ridge, and we nade ivery bit av breath to kerry us over the same.”

Under ordinary conditions the task would not have given them much trouble; but bearing such heavy burdens, and with Pat able to make such poor headway, it took them some little time to gain the top of the ridge.

Bob fancied that they must be about in the same spot as where they had seen the grim line of fighting men outlined against the sky. He hoped there would be no one below to notice their passage at the time.

“Do we fire the shots from here!” asked Sandy.

“Not yit,” replied the trapper; “we must git down near the river first. Depind on it, there do be plenty av time yit. The hathen wud crape along, afther gettin’ above, and I’m thinkin’ it might be all av half an hour afore they could rach the camp. Long afore thin we’ll have our frinds a-sailin’ down the river as nice as pie. Lave it to me, byes, and I do promise ye all will be well.”

And so Sandy had to repress his desire to yell, or fire his gun, or do something rash, in the hope of sending the alarm all the way over that mile of territory, so as to start the people on the flatboat down the river.

They had less trouble in descending, though Pat grunted considerably as he frequently wrenched that lame ankle, in his efforts to walk. They could see the river shining in the light of the moon, when openings occurred in the trees. It seemed to have the appearance of an old friend. And how glad they would be when they glimpsed the boat moving along with the current, and a safe distance from the dangerous shore.

“Now, I think it be time,” said Pat, presently, when they had gained a spot at least half-way down the side of the bluff.

“Tell us what we are to do, Pat,” remarked Bob, as he deposited his share of the venison on the ground, and took his gun in both hands.

Sandy was already prepared to carry out his share of the programme; for he always did things with great rapidity.

“The arrangemint was this,” said the trapper, impressively. “Three shots, aich about five seconds afther the wan afoore. Thin wait a minute or so, till we could reload our guns, whin the same thing was to be done agin. That winds up the performance. Are yees riddy?”

Both boys answered in the affirmative.

“Thin, Sandy, do ye fire first; and Bob, whin I say the worrd, lit fly. As for mesilf, I’ll wind up the first relay in great style. Go it, Sandy!”

Instantly the boy raised his gun, and pulled the trigger. There was a loud report, for those old-fashioned flint-lock muskets held a large charge of powder, and the wad was usually well rammed before the bullet followed it home.

“Now, Bob!” and hardly had the words been spoken by the trapper than the second report rang out.

Sandy was already feverishly reloading, when Pat followed with a third shot.

“I wonder what the Indians will think when they hear that volley?” Bob remarked.

“It’s going to puzzle them a lot to make it out,” Sandy declared. “But what if those at the boat shouldn’t hear our signal, Pat?”

“There do be no danger at all av that, son,” replied the trapper, readily. “Becase we did not turrn up be darrk, they are likely listenin’ for signs. And, av yees notice, the night wind is crapin’ up the river, comin’ from the west; so that the sound av the guns was kerried straight away to the camp. Ready, Sandy? Thin let fly!”

Once again was the programme carried out as before, the three shots punctuating the stillness of the night.

“And now ’tis away we go, headin’ for the idge av the river,” said Pat, again shouldering that prized venison, which, if once taken safely on board the boat, would be well earned, indeed.

They soon came to the bank of the river, and just as had been expected, found that the walking was better if they kept close to the water’s edge. In places they might have to push through some dense copse that persisted in growing to the water’s edge; but, on the whole, it proved to be a wise move.

Of course they headed down-stream. This was done in order to put as great a distance as possible between the Indians and themselves; for later on they hoped to have an opportunity to get aboard the flatboat; and it meant a good deal to them all if the enemy at that time happened to be some distance away.

All the while the boys were anxiously listening for sounds from the rear. Naturally they were picturing all sorts of terrible things as happening to the crew and passengers of the floating home on the water.

And, when suddenly a series of fierce yells broke out, Sandy and Bob stopped in their tracks, shivering with fear.

Pat, however, only chuckled. He could read between the lines, and hence knew the true meaning of those loud cries.

“Sure they do be as mad as a wit hin,” he remarked, as a number of gunshots came to their ears, still accompanied by those shouts.

“Then you think our friends have escaped, do you, Pat?” inquired Sandy, eagerly.

“I do be sure av the same,” was the prompt answer.

“But listen to the firing that is going on!” Sandy continued.

“It is all on the wan side, I warrant ye, lad,” the trapper declared, with firm conviction in his manner.

“Yes, for I know the sound of those hateful French guns. They do not make the same kind of report as our own weapons,” Bob ventured to say. “And that means the Indians are just firing away at the floating boat, to give vent to their fury because their prey has escaped.”

“What if they follow the boat down the river, and come on us when we are trying to get aboard?” his brother asked, still seeing trouble ahead.

“To be sure, there might be a chanct av the same happenin’,” Pat admitted; “but we’ll have to risk it, I fear, lads. Av we can only get to that point av land ye say below there, it would be a great place to step aboord, becase the boat must pass close by it.”

“And for the same reason the Indians are likely to think of it, and hurry here, in hopes of getting the same chance,” remarked Bob.

But all the same, he knew that Pat had planned wisely. There was really nothing else for them to do, unless they wished to allow the boat to pass on down-stream, and wait for them far below. That would necessitate the making of a temporary raft out of some big log, and floating down to rejoin their friends.

The lame trapper hurried as much as he could, utterly regardless of the pain the effort caused him, and in this way they presently reached the point of land that thrust out into the river.

“Perhaps they’ve already gone by?” suggested Sandy, when they failed to see anything of the floating house above their hiding-place.

“I hardly think there’s been time for that,” Bob replied. “The current is only about four miles an hour, Pat told us; and, unless my figuring is wrong, it would take them nearly half an hour to get past here. And we have been no such time making this point; have we, Pat?”

“’Tis right yees are, me bye,” replied the trapper; and he did not say more, for he was scanning the surface of the river as well as he was able.

“But it seems to me there’s a river fog coming up from below,” declared Sandy.

“Yes, that’s a fact,” admitted Bob; “I noticed that myself; but it isn’t going to be so thick we couldn’t see the flatboat passing anywhere this side of the middle of the stream.”

All relapsed into silence. The deepest anxiety prevailed, for it meant a tremendous lot to the three wanderers if they should be so unfortunate as to miss the boat, and be thrown on their own resources, with a lame comrade on their hands in the bargain.

“Do you see anything, Bob?” whispered Sandy, presently, when the silence began to seem unbearable.

“I believe I do,” came the reply. “There, Pat has caught it, too; for I can tell from his actions. Yes, it’s a moving object away up yonder; and I do believe, Sandy, it is the boat, coming at last!”

CHAPTER XVIII
THE MAN WITH THE CHARMED LIFE

“How can we let them know we’re here, so they’ll push in close enough, and anchor, while some one comes for us in the dugout?” Sandy inquired.

Pat had prepared for that, too, it seemed.

“I’m to flash a bit av powder to till them we’re waitin’ beyant the p’int av land,” he remarked; “and ’tis mesilf as had better be gettin’ ready to do the same in a hurry, for they do be comin’ along right fast.”

He placed a small amount of the precious powder on a stone, and then held his flint and steel in readiness until such time as the boat came close enough to suit his purpose.

Then it was no effort for the experienced trapper to send a spark into the little pile of powder, which went off instantly, giving a brief but vivid flash.

All eyes were on the advancing flatboat, for it was a matter of importance to them to know whether the signal had been seen or not.

“There, they know we are here, and want to get aboard!” exclaimed Sandy, as a single shot came from the deck of the boat.

“If any of the Indians were on the watch, and saw the flash of powder, as well as the gunshot, they might give a guess what we were up to,” Bob remarked.

“We’ll hope, then, they gave up chasing after the boat, when they saw it was no use,” Sandy added.

The flatboat was now close by, and they could even see moving figures on the deck. The two boys felt positive that among them were their anxious parents; and the fact made them all the more eager to get safely aboard.

“Now they’re going to anchor!” declared Sandy; “and I can see somebody dropping back into the dugout that trails astern. Let’s get ready to put our meat aboard, and follow with ourselves.”

Immediately the small boat started straight for the end of the tongue of land, as though the paddler knew that those he sought were apt to be close by that point. Still grunting with his painful ankle, Pat insisted on picking up his share of the venison, with which he limped forward.

It was Mr. Armstrong himself who came in the dugout. So eager was he to make sure that both his boys were safe, that he would not let any one else attempt this part of the rescue work.

Sandy started to tell what had happened, but Bob stopped all talk, and urged him to get in the boat without a second’s delay, after all the venison, together with the lame trapper, had been deposited there.

There would be plenty of time for explanations later on, when danger did not hang so heavily over their heads.

With all his might Mr. Armstrong urged the little craft, now really overloaded, out toward the anchored flatboat. At any second Bob expected to hear the shout of a coming brave, and perhaps have the report of a gun break upon his ear. Until they had clambered aboard the larger craft, he did not feel that they could call themselves safe.

But when finally every one of them had climbed over the side, both Sandy and Bob felt like giving a shout of thanksgiving.

They were met by the fond arms of their mother, and pressed to her heart; for no one knew all that she must have suffered after hearing those terribly significant six shots, telling them cruel foes were abroad, and that they must apparently abandon the three who were ashore.

The anchor had hardly been raised than one of the men reported seeing shadowy figures flitting along the tongue of land; but as the unwieldy craft again commenced to pass down with the current, and they knew that once more the foe had been left in the lurch, those on board gave free rein to their joy in loud cheers.

A few disappointed yells announced that they had not passed on any too soon; and the boys decided that they had great reason to be thankful over their narrow escape.

And later on, when the dearly-won venison was lifted out of the dugout that trailed astern, the thought of having fresh meat gave them all much satisfaction.

Of course the boys had to tell their story over and over again, while many questions were asked regarding the coming of the Indians.

“How do you think they knew we were there?” asked Mr. Harkness.

“Pat says a brave must have sighted the boat, and followed it until we came to land,” remarked Bob. “Then he hastened to his village, which may be back here a few miles, and a war party was hurriedly made up. Only for our discovering them as they passed along that ridge, the end might not be so nice as it is.”

It was determined that their best course would be to put boldly across the river, and pass down the northern shore. This could be accomplished by means of the big sweeps; and already several of the men were working them.

An hour or two later they were in touch with the northern side of the stream; and, as the moon began to show signs of setting, they determined to anchor, as the recent scare had taken away all desire to tie up to the shore.

There was no further trouble that night, and another morning found them in high spirits. Pat’s sprain still bothered him, more or less, and would for some days to come; but Mrs. Armstrong had bound some of her wonderful healing salve upon the swollen ankle, and the trapper declared he was doing much better than he had even hoped would be the case.

A day of peace followed. They drifted along not a great distance from the shore, and yet keeping away from any dangerous points, where enemies might be in hiding, bent on getting a shot at the white voyagers.

Sandy did more or less fishing as they went, and had some success, though he found it better to delay his best efforts until they were tied up for the night. As for Bob, he noticed that there were still flocks of wild fowl on the river at various points, and, longing to bag a few, he awaited his time, when a shot was apt to count, and then showed what a good marksman he was.

Altogether they were doing splendidly, and had little cause for complaint when night closed in around them. They tied up this time, for there had been no sign of Indians the livelong day, and, as Pat was in no condition to scout around, one of the men volunteered to take his place. When he came in later, he declared that, so far as he could discover, there was not an enemy within ten miles of them.

That night passed without any alarm, for which all of them felt very thankful, since they had lost considerable sleep the night before; and it seemed like old times to be able to repose in comfort, only arousing to take a turn at sentry duty, according to the routine arranged.

The next day was really a repetition of that peaceful one. Sandy declared that he thought all the bad Indians must be on the Kentucky side of the Ohio, and that, if they were wise, they would remain on the northern shore from that time on; but Pat gave him to understand that it was six of one and half a dozen of the other, since marauding bands were constantly on the move, visiting between villages, or joining forces for a raid against the settlements of the hated palefaces.

It was about the middle of the afternoon when one of the men declared that he felt sure he had heard the distant report of firearms, and what seemed to be faint yells, from some point down the river.

Of course this excited everybody aboard the flatboat, from the oldest man down to the children, who were of an age to appreciate the perils by which they were constantly surrounded.

Some little time afterwards there was a cry raised that a man had been seen running over an elevation on the shore, and hotly pursued, it seemed, by the Indians.

Mr. Armstrong, realizing that perhaps another crisis was impending, ordered that the women and children should remain in the shelter of the cabin, while the rest crouched on deck, awaiting the turn of events.

“I see him now!” cried Sandy; “and, sure enough, he’s pushing for the river as fast as his legs will carry him.”

“And there come the savages chasing after him,” declared Bob. “There, now one stops, and sends an arrow, while another fires his gun; but he still runs on, and I do not think they could have hit him, because he keeps dodging this way and that all the time, to make them miss.”

“Begorra, now, p’raps they don’t be afther wantin’ to hit him,” suggested Pat, who was with the others, watching the stirring scene.

“Oh! he means that this may only be another trick of the Indians, meant to get us to draw in closer, so that the rest, who are hidden among the bushes, can pour in a volley, and then rush the boat,” Sandy burst out.

“And this time, make yer mind up,” said Pat, grimly, “av I have rason to belave the omadhaun is only a turncoat a-tryin’ to lure us in to be kilt, I’ve a good mind to knock him over, as he desarves.”

“I’d go very slow about that, Pat,” advised Mr. Armstrong.

“For what would ye be sayin’ the likes av that, sor?” asked the trapper, moving his long-barrelled rifle up a little further, as though eager to begin operations right away.

“You can see that he’s jumped into the water now, and is wading boldly out, as though he meant to swim out to us when we come along. There, he stands up to his middle in the river, and levels his rifle. Did you see that savage fall when he fired? Does that look as if he was a renegade, Pat?”

“Arrah! if we only knew that the hathan were kilt, I’d belave ye, sor; but they do be sindin’ in a hape of shots in return; and look at the water splash around his head as he swims away. Some of the balls do be strikin’ mighty clost, it sames to me.”

“Yes, too close to be fired at a friend and ally,” Mr. Armstrong went on; “and I am positive they were meant to bring him down. There, he shakes his fist at them now, and laughs, as though he did not know the meaning of the word fear.”

“It seems to me I have heard that laugh before,” exclaimed Sandy, eagerly.

“Right ye are, laddy,” said Pat, suddenly rousing himself, and lowering his gun.

Mr. Armstrong was leaning forward, and surveying the swimmer closely, as though he, too, had detected certain familiar features in connection with the party.

“You’ll always be glad you didn’t fire so hastily, Pat,” he declared; “for upon my word I do believe yonder man who acts as though he were determined to come aboard our craft is none other than our friend, Simon Kenton, the borderer, who mocks the efforts of the Indians to finish him, and has been held a prisoner, doomed to the stake, more times than any man along the Ohio!”

CHAPTER XIX
KENTON, THE RECKLESS BORDERER

The swimmer had timed himself so as to reach the side of the flatboat as it swung past; and, in order to create a diversion in his favor, Pat called on his friends to send in a hot fire among the charging Indians.

This had the effect of making them scamper for shelter; and meanwhile Kenton managed to get on the other side of the floating craft. Eager hands were outstretched to assist him over the side. He was still laughing, as though he considered the whole thing a joke. And the very first thing he did upon reaching the deck of the boat was to shake his fist in the direction of the hidden foes, and shout some derisive words in the Shawanee tongue toward them. (Note 10.)

They were soon far below the dangerous spot; and, after Kenton had regained his breath, he proceeded to explain how it all happened.

He had learned, while hunting with a party of friends, that the Indians over in Kentucky were once more on the war-path, and that Boonesborough itself was threatened with extinction.

Faithful to his best friend, Daniel Boone, Kenton, after trying in vain to coax the other hunters to join him, had alone started for the Ohio, meaning to cross over, and make his way to the scene of action by fast stages.

He had had the misfortune to fall upon a party of Shawanees, and, after a fierce battle, was taken prisoner, and carried to their village.

“But, as usual, they could not hold you,” remarked Mr. Armstrong.

“Oh! I knew that was what would happen,” replied the woodsman, lightly. “And I managed to escape in good season, for time was worth something to me, since my rifle is needed for the defence of Boonesborough. After I am refreshed I will only ask you to put me ashore over yonder,” and he pointed across the rolling river, to where lay the hilly shore of the “Dark and Bloody Ground,” as Kentucky was well called in those early days.

“Then we must start without delay, and you shall have a bite to eat before you leave us,” said Mr. Armstrong; after which he gave orders to have the course of the flatboat changed, heading once more across the river.

The women were soon engaged in preparing supper, so that Kenton might not be detained longer than was absolutely necessary, and, some of the venison having been held over, it came in very handy for that purpose.

Meantime there was an exchange of stories between them, Kenton being desirous of learning why they were here, so far away from the home in which he had last met them. Thus he heard about the flood, and the determination of the settlers making up the party to head into the west, and seek a new home on the bank of the wonderful Mississippi.

Of course this sort of pluck appealed to such a bold nature as that of Simon Kenton. He told them they were doing the right thing, and related many facts connected with the Promised Land, some gleaned from others, and a few through personal observation on some of his wanderings, that quite naturally further strengthened their resolution, which may have been becoming a little weak in a few of the party, after their recent trials on the river.

By the time the boat drew near the Kentucky shore supper was ready; so the anchor was thrown overboard, and the entire company sat down to enjoy the feast the good wives had prepared.

If the variety of food was not so extensive, there was at least enough in quantity and to spare; and, with the appetites that went with their life in the open, this was usually the main thing.

Kenton begged a little more powder and ball from Mr. Armstrong, and it was only too willingly given, for they knew that he had a difficult trail to follow, and they could in imagination see the dangers that peopled it.

Just as darkness was settling over the land and water Bob and Sandy took the young borderer ashore in the dugout, only too proud of the chance to do him a favor. And Kenton, having shaken hands with them at parting, Sandy sighed upon looking after him when he disappeared among the great trees that lined the shore.

“Come, get aboard here, Sandy,” urged his brother, who knew well what vague thoughts and ambitions must he flitting through the other’s mind just then, because he was aware of Sandy’s desire to follow in the footsteps of Simon Kenton, who had ever been the hero the boy admired.

And all the way back to the anchored flatboat Sandy maintained a grim silence, though Bob knew it would wear off after a bit, and the boy become his usual merry self. The truth of the matter was, Sandy possessed an adventurous spirit, and chafed under restraint. He admired the free nature of Kenton, who came and went as the whim urged him, being under contract to no man. And then, too, the very recklessness of the young borderer appealed to Sandy, who was inclined in that direction himself.

Another quiet night followed, and once more the voyagers were on their way. It would not be a great while now before they reached the small post on the Ohio bank called by the name of Fort Washington, in honor of the American soldier who was attracting general attention at the time, and seemed to be the only Continental who might lead the armies of the colonists in case the threatened rupture with the Mother Country came about.

Again did they cross the river, for knowing that they would at any time come in sight of the post, they wanted to be in a position to make a landing. Here, safe for a time, they could rest, having completed the first stage of their long and hazardous journey to the Mississippi.

It was Sandy who first discovered a flag floating from a staff, and, although, at the time, the banner of England was beginning to lose some of its attractiveness for the colonists, still, when seen under those conditions, after having been beset by the savage foe for many days and nights, they gave it a cheer.

The post had only been recently established, and, while visited by all wandering hunters and trappers who roamed the country in search of game and adventure, there were only a few families staying there. The arrival of a flatboat was an event calculated to greatly excite the garrison of the post, and consequently our friends received a warm welcome.

It was nice to feel that for a short time at least they could lie down to sleep without dreading lest they be aroused by the savage war-whoops of the cruel foe, always ready to overpower any daring settler or trapper of the hated palefaces.

Bob and Sandy were glad to get ashore again. The latter wished very much for a chance to take a hunt into the forests that at this time completely flanked the little station in the cup between the several hills, and facing the river; but to this Mr. Armstrong would not give his consent.

They had learned that the various Indian tribes were in something of a ferment, with such leaders as the notorious Pontiac urging them on to a confederation, the object of which was to drive out the encroaching white man from their hunting grounds. And several times, of late, those who ventured out beyond the stockade of the new post had been fired on, showing that crafty enemies lurked near by all the while, ready to take advantage of any opportunity to secure a scalp.

Several days passed while they lingered here, for it was very pleasant, and the adventurous settlers knew that they would not have a chance to see their kind again for a long while.

Coming upon Bob one afternoon, after they had heard that the start was to be made on the following morning, Sandy found his brother looking at some small object which he immediately recognized.

It was the last piece of curled birch bark, on which their unknown friend had written his message of warning, using the picture language of the Indian, so universally known throughout all the tribes.

“Oh! I had forgotten all about that,” Sandy burst out; “and, now that we’ve come so far away from our home up on the Ohio, I suppose we’ll never know who sent these friendly warnings, and just why.”

“That’s something I was wondering about,” replied Bob. “Now, here’s the arrow to which this message was fastened; and wouldn’t you say this one had been made by just the same cunning hand?”

He reached behind him, and placed a second shaft beside the first arrow. Sandy bent his head to examine them more closely. Then he looked up again.

“What do you mean, Bob, and where did you get that second Delaware arrow?” he demanded, quickly.

“Where but in the roof of our flatboat cabin,” returned the other. “It had been fired from up on the hills back yonder, I do believe; though the marksman must have been a rare one to hit a target so far away. But it bore no birch-bark message, though I can well believe it was sent just to tell us our strange friend, who has watched over us so many times, is still following us down the river, and means to keep up with us to the end. That Indian, Sandy, must believe he owes us a heavy debt of gratitude, and he means to pay it back, some way or other.”

And Sandy, handling the feathered shaft, had a feeling almost of awe steal over him, as he reflected what gratitude must stand for in the eyes of an Indian brave. Hundreds of miles this unknown friend had already travelled, trying to stand between the boys and harm; and the end was not yet.

“Oh! I do hope we know who he is some of these days,” the boy said, soberly.

CHAPTER XX
THE TWO-LEGGED WOLF

“I’m glad to be afloat once more!”

Of course that could be no one but Sandy making such a remark, under the circumstances. He was leaning over the side of the bulwark of the flatboat, and looking back up the river toward Fort Washington.

It was all very nice, stopping with friends who were interested in their welfare, as all pioneers must be; but for Sandy delay became monotonous. He liked action, and plenty of it.

Besides, his ambition to set eyes on that wonderful river of the west grew in volume, the further they advanced along their journey. It was now in the nature of a passion with the lad. And of course, his father and mother would never be happy again until they had selected a location for the new homestead in the wilderness bordering the Mississippi; so the sooner they reached their destination the better Sandy—yes, and Bob also—would be pleased.

Their plans had been talked over so often at the frontier post that several others manifested a desire to accompany the four families to the country they had heard so much about; but, although Mr. Armstrong declared he would be only too well pleased to have such a noble addition to their number, the capacity of the flatboat had already been reached, so that there was really no opportunity to stow even one more family on board.

It was settled, however, that they would leave some sign of their location, if the opportunity came about; or, failing that, get word back to these new friends, so that they too might build an ark, and float down to the Mississippi in turn, to join their fortunes with those of the first adventurous party.

Bob was not far away from his brother when Sandy made the remark with which this chapter opens, and he smiled to hear what the younger lad said.

“Well, I can understand what you mean, Sandy,” he replied, “for I feel a little that way myself. But just now I was wondering where he can be, and how he makes his way across from one side of the river to the other?”

“Oh! now you’re speaking of the mysterious Indian who sends those Delaware arrows every little while, and seems to mean to keep along with us, just like he was a shadow?” the other returned.

“Hardly that, Sandy,” said Bob, “because you can see a shadow; but never once up to now have either of us set eyes on this queer friend who likes to work in secret. Think of how far away from his village he must have wandered; and it begins to look as if we might have him around to protect us even after we get to our new home down below.”

“I heard father speaking about another difficulty we have ahead of us, which is the falls of the Ohio, down about where Harrodsburg lies,” Bob went on presently.

“Oh! will we have to abandon our fine flatboat there, and take up the journey on foot?” cried Sandy, to whom the thought of a falls meant some grand cataract, like the famous one at Niagara, of which he had heard many times.

“Well, if there is water enough in the river, we expect to pass right through; but, if there seems to be any danger, father says he will anchor the boat above, and either investigate the conditions himself, or find some man who knows the channel. Hunters and trappers are used to passing down that way, and shoot through without bothering themselves about danger. And we’ll get along all right, I guess, Sandy.”

“Then the falls aren’t so very high, after all?” asked the other, heaving a sigh of genuine relief.

“Oh! no,” laughed Bob; “they are what some hunters call rapids. At high water you’d never know they were there, Pat says. He has seen the place only once, and never shot them, so father could hardly depend on him for a pilot. But you wait and see. We are in too great luck to get wrecked on the rocks like that. There will be a way for us to get through.”

Several days later they saw smoke ashore, and discovered a party of hunters in camp. They were a hardy lot, ready to fight Indians as cheerfully as they were willing to shoot deer or buffalo.

The flatboat was anchored as close to the shore as seemed wise, and Mr. Armstrong invited the others to come out and visit; but they said they had no boat. One of them Pat immediately recognized.

“Sure that looks like me ould frind, Jo Davies,” he remarked; and the man hearing what he said, called back:

“Just who it is, Pat O’Mara, and glad to see you again.”

Thereupon Pat became wild to take the boat and go ashore after the hunter who had more than once been in his company when on the trail, or a trapping expedition.

Of course, by this time Pat’s lame ankle had mended so that he could walk about as well as ever, though for perhaps a whole year he would have to favor the left foot a little, when he could.

He brought the four men out with him, and they spent a couple of hours aboard, asking for the latest news from the distant sea-coast.

In this far away country news travelled very slowly; yet evidently these pioneers understood the conditions existing between the Crown and the rebellious colonies; for their first question was whether there had been an open break as yet.

The moon had come and gone, so that there was no longer a chance to float down the river after nightfall, since it would be too dangerous in the darkness. Accordingly they determined to spend the night where they were, supper being cooked ashore, after the boat had been urged in by means of the stout poles.

The four hunters remained to partake with them, and Jo Davies even promised to stay with the party to see them safely over the falls, which he said were just below a few miles, and would be reached early on the morrow. Afterwards, he would rejoin his companions at a certain rendezvous; when the bold quartette, already on their way back from the Mississippi, where they had been annoying the French trappers exceedingly, intended setting out for that region where the settlements founded by Boone were struggling hard to hold their own against the savage foe.

Thus they found the needed pilot; for Jo Davies had been over the ground many times, so that he knew well the channel that was safest, between the rocks that might destroy the boat if an inexperienced hand sought to show the way.

This undertaking was successfully accomplished on the next day. The boys were of course particularly fascinated by the passage of the falls of the Ohio. Sandy was sorry when it had been accomplished, and they were safely moored to the bank below the dangerous zone. But as for Bob, he breathed much easier; for at one time he had feared that they were bound to strike heavily against a snag that looked wicked enough to do them considerable damage, and perhaps bring about a wreck.

But now all was well; and presently, after they had put their kind friend ashore again, so that he might rejoin the other three hunters and hasten to the assistance of their old comrade, Boone, they could resume the voyage with no further obstacle in the way worth mentioning.

And now began glorious days for the boys. They could see the wooded hills of Kentucky on the left, and the prairie lands of what is now Indiana and Illinois off to the right, across the widening river. Crossing over, they even went ashore at a place where there seemed to be no danger of an Indian ambush, and here spent one whole day.

During that time Mr. Armstrong and the other heads of families showed a keen interest in the nature of the soil, and the wonderful growth of flowers and grass that it seemed to support, all of which pleased them immensely.

Of course Sandy and Bob, being wild for another hunt after fresh meat, easily persuaded their father to let them go forth; and, as before, Pat accompanied them.

As they had discovered many signs that showed that buffalo roamed over these prairie lands, the young hunters were of course eager to get a chance to shoot one of these animals. Such splendid quarry would yield a good supply of fresh meat, and be a change besides from the jerked venison, of which they were growing heartily tired.

In this particular Pat’s previous acquaintance with the country came into good service. He knew just where the buffalo were apt to be found at that time of day, and at the season of the year, for it was now not far from early summer.

“We’ll be afther takin’ up our way among thim bunches av trees beyant the knoll yonder,” he remarked, leading them forth; “and the chances be tin to wan we’ll say somethin’ worth while before we come back. Be aisy now, and walk in Injun file, bendin’ low, an’ saying niver so much as a single worrd.”

They went in this way for a mile or more, and then Pat declared he knew they were near the game. Sure enough, peeping up over the top of the tall grass in which they were hidden, the boys discovered that a number of buffalo were either eating lazily, or else lying down; for the sun seemed rather hot at this noonday hour, and the shade cast by the foliage of the trees felt grateful.

How to crawl close enough to pour in a hot fire was the question Pat had to decide; but it did not give him any great amount of trouble to settle that. He noted which way the wind, what little there chanced to be at the time, was blowing; for, in a case like the one now confronting them, that was a prime factor. Then they began to glide along like so many snakes.

From time to time they would cautiously raise their heads, in order to take an observation, and, so far as they could see, the buffalo did not appear to be alarmed.

“We ought soon to be close enough to shoot,” whispered Sandy, after he had raised his head for one of these inspections. “They don’t seem to be afraid of anything right now. Why, would you believe it, there’s a sneaking old gray wolf prowling around there; and none of them pay any attention to him. Looks like they only have fear of wolves when they come in packs.”

“What’s that ye say; a wolf, is it?” whispered Pat; “whist! now, till I be afther takin’ a peep at the same.”

Ten seconds later, and he drew back his head; and Bob could see that there was a black frown on the face of the jovial Irish trapper.

“Bad cess to the luck, it do be surely irritatin’,” he whispered again, as they put their heads close to his. “Be careful now, lads, an’ take another look, to say what that blissed wolf do be afther.”

And as Bob and Sandy did so, they saw the big gray wolf raising up until he almost stood on his hind legs, while the twang of a bow-string came to their astonished ears.

CHAPTER XXI
BAGGING A BUFFALO

“There was an arrow shot; I saw it sticking in the side of that buffalo before it fell over, after running off a little way!” whispered Sandy, excitedly, when both he and his brother dropped back again beside the Irish trapper.

“And I saw that wolf holding a short bow!” gasped Bob.

“Oh! how could that be?” Sandy exclaimed.

“Whist! don’t spake so loud on yees life, me byes,” broke in Pat, holding up a warning finger. “There do be danger to us all, right here.”

“Danger!” echoed Sandy; “from the buffalo?”

“From the Injuns, be the powers,” added the trapper. “Not a worrd now, above the faintest whisper, do ye mind, till we lay our plans. ’Tis a ticklish job Pat has on his hands, so it is.”

“Indians!” breathed the startled Sandy; and then, like a flash, a look of comprehension passed over his face. “Oh! now I understand what you mean. That old wolf isn’t what he pretends to be; but an Indian brave, covered with a wolfskin.”

“Glory be! the bye has guessed it!” chuckled Pat, who could be amused even when facing imminent peril.

“Can we peep again, Pat?” asked Bob, really eager to see how the cunning red hunter managed to accomplish the slaughter of the great buffalo.

“Av ye be mighty careful, and do not make any quick move to atthract attention; becase the chances are, the hathen do be havin’ frinds clost by, ready to cut up the game whin he secures the same. Aisy now, Sandy, and take it slow. Just the tip av yer nose, do ye mind.”

Accordingly both boys elevated their heads until they could just barely see above the top of the moving grass. The fact that Bob wore a cap made from the skin of a coon, with several striped tails hanging behind, while that perched on the head of his younger brother was fashioned out of gray squirrel skins, added much to their security, as they were less likely to be noticed by watchful eyes.

“THEY COULD NOW PLAINLY DISCERN THE FIGURE UNDER THE WOLFSKIN.”

The strange wolf was moving now in the direction of a buffalo cow, that seemed to be a little suspicious, since she shook her head several times, and looked toward the gray animal as though not wholly convinced that a single wolf might not mean harm to the herd.

Presently the chance for which the red hunter waited seemed to come. The watching boys saw him suddenly rise up, as though on his knees; and they could now plainly discern the figure under the wolfskin. He carried a short bow, and undoubtedly one of great power, that was calculated to send a barbed shaft half way through even so great an animal as a buffalo.

Bob was touching the arm of his brother at the time. He plainly felt Sandy start when they caught the peculiar “twang” of a bow-string, telling them that the red hunter had fired his shaft. The buffalo cow started to run away; but, after going a dozen feet or so, fell to her knees, tried to rise, gave a low bellow, and then rolled over on her side.

Some of the remaining animals raised their heads, and looked in mild surprise; then went on cropping the grass again, as though their alarm had been short-lived.

The two boys dropped back to the side of Pat, who had possibly also been watching this strange panorama, to be seen nowhere else on the broad earth.

Bob looked at Sandy, and the other returned his amazed gaze with interest.

“Did you see him do that job, and ain’t he able to use that short bow better’n any Indian you ever met?” whispered Sandy.

“That’s why so many of the buffalo look like they’re sleeping,” Bob went on to say. “That Indian hunter has been killing them off. I guess he’s shot six or seven by now.”

“But what will he do with all that meat; just eat the tongues?” Sandy asked.

Bob turned to Pat, a question in his eye, and the trapper, holding up that warning finger to make sure that they kept their voices toned down, so that they could not be heard above the rustle of the long grass in the breeze, answered him.

“Jerk it for winter use; d’ye mind?” was all he said, but the boys understood.

They had been in an Indian village, and seen how the surplus venison or buffalo meat was dried in strips. This jerked meat was stored away for the time when game might be scarce, or the red hunters felt indisposed to leave their comfortable wigwams to look for it. And, whenever a runner was sent on a long journey, this tough meat formed his sole stay while on the way. It required no cooking, and a piece put in the mouth could be masticated by degrees, serving the useful purpose of keeping the jaws working, and at the same time affording sustenance to the body.

“But this upsets all our plans,” complained Sandy, who did not see how they were to make any attempt at getting a buffalo, when possibly a dozen red hunters were close by, waiting until their comrade with the short bow and the killing arrows had completed his bloody butcher business.

“Oh! I doan’t know,” remarked Pat, rubbing his chin with his hand, as though considering some idea that had crept into his active mind.

Of course both lads turned eagerly on their companion. They seemed to view his few words, and his manner, as suggesting hope.

“You’ve thought of something, Pat; please tell us what it is, for I do hope we can find a way to get our share of all this meat,” Sandy asked, anxiously.

“Arrah, now, listen to me, wud yees?” whispered the trapper. “And mebbe afther all we can sacure what we came out to kerry home, a pack av juicy mate. D’ye mind that the first young bull I saw a-runnin’ off had an arrow stickin’ in his side; but he managed to go some distance afore droppin’ to the ground? Whin I saw him last he was just passin’ beyant the bunch av timber that stands to the lift, it might be a quarrter av a mile. An’, saing as he niver showed up agin, the chances are he fell there. Me ijee is to worrk around in that quarrter, and whin the hunt is over, and the reds do be busy skinnin’ an’ cuttin’ up the game, what is to hinder the three av us from securin’ all we want from the carcase av the young bull as lies out yonder? Sure the trees wull be afther consalin’ us from the eyes av the Injun hunters; an’, by the same token, it may be they niver noticed that animal at all, at all!”

The proposition struck both boys as a splendid one. They nodded their heads, and their eyes sparkled; and Pat needed nothing more to tell him that his plan met with their unqualified approbation.

“Hadn’t we better be backing out of this then, right away?” suggested Sandy, always ready to act.

“Yis, but be mighty careful,” advised the trapper. “Av we have not been sane up till now, we doan’t want to spile the broth by anny undue haste. Aisy it is, byes.”

So they retreated in the same track by which they had advanced, and there came no sound or sign to tell them that their presence in the vicinity had been noticed by the other red hunters, doubtless crouching likewise in the grass, and waiting for the time to come when they might burst into view, to take a last shot at the remnant of the buffalo herd, by that time alarmed and in full flight.

It stood to reason that these eager hunters would have eyes only for the game, and this accounted for the fact that the palefaces had not been discovered.

Pat would take no unnecessary chances, however, daring though he was by nature. He felt a weight upon his shoulders, since he had been trusted with the responsibility of Mr. Armstrong’s two sons; and wished to account for them both when they came to the boat again.

By degrees, after going back to the timber belt, they managed to move around until they had reached a point directly behind the patch of trees to which Pat had called their attention a while previously.

“I saw something there that looked like a buffalo on the ground,” whispered Sandy, after they had been crawling forward again for several minutes.

“It’s all right!” declared Pat. “The young bull niver pulled out at all. And ’twas his carcase ye saw, sure. We’re in great luck, so we be, lads.”

“Oh! listen to that!” exclaimed Sandy, as a series of wild yells broke out.

“The game is ended, and the balance of the herd has taken off,” declared Bob.

They raised their heads to watch, and it was a sight well worth seeing, with the lumbering buffalo dashing away in a compact mass, and here and there an Indian brave popping up from the long grass, to discharge his arrow at the fleeing animals.

But they did not seem to drop any, as the distance was too great; so presently they could be seen hurrying back toward the spot where quite a number of slain animals awaited their attention.

“There must be one to every brave,” declared Bob.

“So much the better,” remarked Pat; “av it kapes thim busy for the nixt hour or so, while we sacure our mate. This way, lads, and kape quiet on yer lives.”

They made their way to the side of the fallen young bull, and Sandy’s eyes glistened when he realized what a piece of good luck had come their way; when it might just as well have been a tough old fellow they were given the chance to carve.

Pat posted each of the boys at a certain spot to keep watch. They were to give him a signal if any of the red hunters approached to look up the animal which had fallen behind the patch of trees, and which had undoubtedly been marked by their keen, all-seeing eyes.

There were only about nine of the Indians, Sandy had said as he left his companions; and his tone told Bob how he must be figuring on their chances, should the adventure wind up in a fight; for Sandy would never consent to abandon such a fine store of buffalo meat, if it could possibly be avoided.

From the spot where he was posted Bob could easily see the Indians working over the slain animals that had fallen before the deadly arrows of the hunter who had made use of the skin of a wolf, and kept to the leeward of the herd, in order that they might not catch his scent, and take the alarm.

He could not but feel a certain thrill as he watched them work, knowing that, if they dreamed of the presence of the hated palefaces near by, they would only too quickly drop their operations, and go on the war-path, looking for scalps.

And yet Bob would have been glad to have had an opportunity to watch how the whole process of curing the meat was carried out, because he always felt a great interest in such things.

He lay there for a very long time, it seemed to him. At least on three separate occasions he feared the time had come when discovery could not be avoided, and that one of the busy braves meant to look for the bull that had fallen further off than any of the rest. But, on each occasion, it proved to be a false alarm, and Bob found no need of whistling like a quail to warn Pat, so that the trapper might be on his guard.

And then, when Bob was beginning to be very nervous, under the belief that discovery could not now be long delayed, he caught the whistle of a gopher, thrice repeated. This had been the signal by means of which Pat would let the boys know he had completed his task, and that they were to join him without delay.

So Bob quickly crawled back, at times taking to his heels, and bending low, so as to keep under the curtain of long grass.

He arrived at just the same time as Sandy; and they were delighted to find that the expert Pat had not only succeeded in cutting up the young bull, but had three packs of the best portions of the meat ready to be transported.

Making use of the trees as a means to hide their retreat, the three whites succeeded in getting away without attracting the notice of the Indian buffalo hunters. Pat had purposely blinded the trail, as he came along last of all. He hoped that, when one of the Indians approached the spot, and saw that the bull had already been attended to, he would turn around without making an examination, under the belief that another of the band had been ahead of him.

Something of the sort must really have happened, for, though the boys kept on the alert for half an hour, listening, and expecting to catch shrill yells of anger from the back trail, nothing of the kind came to pass. And more than once Bob saw Sandy start when he heard a bird rustle the grass near by, as though he half expected to see a feathered head thrust up, and come face to face with an enraged Indian warrior.

They reached in safety the spot where the flatboat was tied up, and great was the rejoicing of the entire company at sight of the toothsome burdens the three hunters carried on their backs. Around the little fire that afternoon the story was told of the wolf that handled a bow with such deadly accuracy; and the Yankee boy, Amos Terry, who was something of a greenhorn concerning all woodcraft, sat there with his eyes “as big as saucers,” as Sandy expressed it, hardly knowing whether to believe the tale or not.

But Pat was a little uneasy concerning the possible coming of the Indians, and made up his mind to keep an extra careful watch that night.

Taken all in all, the members of the company were delighted with things as they found them. Mr. Armstrong had discovered that the soil was of wonderful fertility, entirely different from that of the Ohio hills where their first home had been located; the women were pleased with the countless wild flowers that dotted the long grass of the level prairie; while Sandy and Bob already believed that the region near the Mississippi must be like the Indian “Happy Hunting Grounds,” and that game would be three times as abundant as they had ever known in the past.

CHAPTER XXII
AT THE SETTING OF THE EVENING STAR

The daring voyagers on the beamy flatboat knew that no matter how their adventure might turn out in the end, whether for good or evil, at least they were now on the home stretch. It was only a question of a few days before they would be able to feast their eager eyes on that great stream of which they had heard so much.

Their caution did not decrease, however. They realized that enemies might lurk in the trees that bordered the river, and even amid the beds of waving green reeds in marshy places, which were capable of concealing treacherous foes, ready to let slip the swift arrow, or discharge the French guns with which the unscrupulous traders at the numerous posts were supplying the various tribes.

Nor was this all they had to fear. The closer they came to the valley of the Mississippi the more peril they faced. Indians were had enough; but, deep down in their hearts, the pioneers dreaded an encounter with the outlaw trappers who, belonging to the old-time foe of England, had ever been a thorn in the flesh of those who would people the vast wilderness beyond the Alleghanies. (Note 11.)

Mr. Armstrong fully expected to have to fight for his new possession. He believed, however, that, if they could only manage to hold out until the second detachment arrived, to augment their force, all might be well.

As for Sandy, he was daily showing more and more signs of excitement. The dearest dream of his life was coming true; and, when presently he could feast his eyes on the rolling flood of the greatest of all rivers, he would feel contented—for a little while, at least.

They were hardly a day without some new thrill.

Now it was the sight of an Indian village in full view on the shore, with the smoke curling up from several fires, where the squaws seemed to be curing meat by some primitive process. Mr. Armstrong imagined that most of the warriors must be off on another grand hunt; for, while many old men, squaws and papooses crowded to the edge of the water, and loud derisive shouts floated to the ears of the voyagers, there was no effort made to man the canoes and attack the drifting flatboat.

Occasionally they discovered some lone brave in a small craft, hunting the wild water birds that still remained in quantities at certain favored places, while their feathered companions had swept away by millions to far northern breeding-grounds, to return again in the autumn months.

Mr. Armstrong made it a point to have one of the men aboard the flatboat call out something in French whenever the chance arose. His object was to make the red hunters believe that the passengers and crew belonged to the nation with which the western tribes had long been at peace. He believed that all such devices were fair in war times; and that such an impression, if scattered broadcast among the Indians, was apt to save the little party from many hazards.

But they were not always free from sudden perils that seemed to come like bolts from a clear sky.

One night they had tied up to the southern shore, as usual. So far as Pat O’Mara had been able to decide, there need be no fear of Indians, although of course they meant to keep up a constant watch, so as to guard against a surprise.

Supper had been cooked ashore, since they had become so tired of their confined quarters aboard the boat that every chance to stretch their limbs was eagerly seized upon, even though they realized that the greatest element of safety lay in remaining back of that stout bulwark formed by the sides of their floating home.

The good mothers were busily engaged putting the smaller children to sleep, while the men sat around the small fire, smoking and comparing notes as to how long they would be in reaching their destination.

It was a subject that they never wearied of talking about, since all their hopes were bound up now in building those new homes that they kept picturing in their family councils. The men did not mind this roving existence so much, for they had become reconciled to discomforts; but the wives and mothers yearned for the conclusion of the long and wearisome voyage. They missed all the conveniences of the cabins to which they were accustomed. In these later days a housekeeper would be apt to smile upon learning what little constituted the full assortment of “comforts” which made up the life of one of those pioneer women; but it was all they had ever known, and a spinning-wheel, with the flax that went with it, meant a supply of clothing for the family that could be procured in no other way.

One of the men had been posted at a certain point where it was believed he would be able to discover the slightest sign of an approaching enemy, and the balance rested in full confidence of their safety.

Bob and Sandy had taken a notion to look over some of their highly-prized traps which might need oiling; for they wanted them to be in the best of condition when they started their fall campaign in the new country.

They sat so that they might receive the benefit of the blaze that still kept up, as new fuel was occasionally added to the little fire, the evening being rather chilly, considering how far the season was advanced.

And as they polished, or rubbed some bear’s grease on the traps that had seen long service through rain, snow and fair weather, the boys talked, as they nearly always did, about the prospects that were so soon to be realized.

“Father thinks two more days ought to bring us to where the Ohio empties into the Mississippi,” remarked Sandy, rubbing vigorously the while.

“I only hope he is right, and that two nights from now we’ll be camped on the shore of that wonderful river,” Bob replied, stopping his work to critically examine it, so as to see whether anything more could be done to keep that particular trap from being eaten by rust.

“What was that dropped down just beside you, Bob?” suddenly asked the younger boy, staring hard as he spoke.

“I heard something fall, but I supposed it was a nut dropped by a squirrel,” replied Bob, at the same time placing the trap on the ground while he leaned over to examine. “I never saw the squirrels and raccoons so tame as they are along here. Really now, I believe they would almost take a piece of mother’s hoe-cake right out of my hand. Where was it you saw the nut fall, Sandy? Am I near it now? Tell me when I get warmer or colder, like we do in that game the girls liked to play back in Virginia.”

“There, it must have been about where your hand is now; and—why, what is that?” and Sandy stared with all his might at the object Bob was holding up in his hand. “An arrow! An Indian arrow! Oh! some prowling red wolf has been trying to shoot us down as we sit here. What a narrow escape you had!”

“Wait, Sandy!” exclaimed Bob, quickly, and with that vein of authority in his voice which he at times almost unconsciously assumed when endeavoring to check the hasty actions of his younger brother. “Look again, and perhaps you may remember seeing just such an arrow as this before.”

Sandy sank back in his seat, as though his sudden fright had passed away.

“Oh! it is the same Delaware arrow!” he cried. “Our good, but unknown friend has once more sent us a warning that danger hangs over our heads! Pull the message off, Bob, and let us see what it says! How splendid of this strange protector to follow us all the way from our old home, away up the Ohio, to this new land. What could we have done to deserve such kindness, such faithfulness?”

Bob had not been idle all the time Sandy was talking. As before, there was a strip of birch bark fastened to the stout reed that constituted the shaft of the feathered arrow, bearing the Delaware flint barb.

Again were crude but easily understood figures scratched upon the light brown side of the bark; this time they were very numerous, and told a story as plain as though it had been printed with types.

There was a campfire, and a tied-up flatboat, which must belong to them. About that fire a number of people seemed to be leisurely taking their ease. Stars dotted what was intended for the sky overhead; and one large one in particular was just above the horizon, indicated by a straight line. Many recumbent figures, with feathers, different in arrangement from any seen before, adorning their scalplocks, were evidently crawling up through the long grass, coming from both sides. They carried bows and arrows, and a few of them guns.

Sandy looked at the drawing, holding his very breath meanwhile.

“It means that we will be attacked by a tribe of Indians we’ve never met before, doesn’t it?” he demanded. “Because, I remember how the Shawanees, the Delawares, the Pottawottomies, the Senecas, the Miamis and the Hurons wear feathers in their hair when on the war-path, and these are different.”

“Yes, I think you are right, Sandy,” replied the other; “but an Indian must always be an Indian to us, if he is hostile. Do you notice how he has drawn this big star close down to the level of the horizon? That must be meant for the evening star up yonder; and the attack is planned for the time of its setting.”

“Which will come in another hour, Bob,” Sandy went on, feverishly. “Come, let us gather all our traps together, and get them aboard. I’ll look after that; and do you show our father what our kind friend has done for the Armstrongs for the third time.”

“Just what I was going to say to you, Sandy,” remarked Bob. “But remember, you must not look so excited, for many reasons. Why, right now, at this very minute, how do we know but that a number of savage Indians may be watching us, ready to send in a shower of arrows if they understand that we have guessed their game? Go about your work just as if we didn’t have the least suspicion of danger.”

“I will, Bob, you can depend on me; and what you say is good, hard sense, every word of it. I only wish I could keep myself held down, and cool, as you do. But it just seems as though something inside of me is always ready to jump at the very first sign of excitement. But there’s father looking this way now. Perhaps he has discovered that you are holding an arrow in your hands, and wonders where you got it. Please go over and beg of him to get aboard with mother and Kate right away. And hold on to your gun—hold on to your gun!”

This last piece of advice was wholly unnecessary, for Bob was determined to be in a condition to help defend the boat, should a sudden emergency arise before the time set for the attack.

While Sandy hurried to get the bunch of traps aboard, and return to the shore again, Bob sauntered over to where his father stood, and as quietly as possible explained what had happened.

“You have a long head, for a boy, son,” was what Mr. Armstrong remarked, as his hand fell affectionately on Bob’s shoulder; and such few words of praise always made the boy’s heart thrill with pride, for his greatest ambition was to deserve the commendation of those who were nearest and dearest to him. “We will try to let the men know, without showing any undue alarm. The sentry, too, must be informed, so that he may come in, and be ready to spring for the boat at the signal.”

This was soon accomplished. Then, at the given word, everybody leaped for the side of the boat. Instantly a scene of great excitement followed. A gun sounded, and a number of arrows came hurtling through the air, to strike the side of the cabin; while blood-curdling yells arose from a point near by, showing where the enemy had been crawling up all the while the voyagers rested under the belief that they were safely guarded.

Fortunately no one was severely hurt by these feathered shafts, fired so hastily, and without proper aim, though Mr. Bancroft, who had been on guard, and had further to run than any of the rest, received one through the fleshy part of his left arm as he climbed up the side of the boat.

But by now the guns of the whites began to answer back, and the Indians, who were coming headlong through the brush, evidently meaning to follow them aboard, met with such a hot reception that they were glad to drop flat, and creep behind trees or rocks.

“Cut the cable free!” shouted Mr. Armstrong. “Keep the women under shelter, and let every gun be ready to repel boarders, if they come on again!”

He himself boldly seized one of the push poles, and threw his whole weight upon it, the instant the cable had been released that held the upper end of the boat to a tree.

Arrows hurtled around him in a cloud, and it seemed as though he must surely be struck down at any second; but Mr. Armstrong appeared to bear a charmed life, for he did not receive even a trivial wound.

The boat was already moving with the sluggish current close to the shore. It was fortunate that all these things had been prepared for at the time they tied up there. In the time of necessity a second might mean safety or disaster to those hardy souls who had entrusted their all to a slender chance.

Seeing that their expected quarry was leaving them in the lurch, the Indians increased their fire; and then some of the more rash among them rushed into full view, as though meaning to board the craft.

But they counted without their host. Those frontiersmen knew how to defend their craft desperately. They never pulled trigger without lessening the number of their assailants. Bob and Sandy were on the firing line, and had no sooner discharged their muskets than they set to work with feverish haste to get another load rammed home again.

Several of the Indians managed to dash through the water up to the waist, and started to make their way aboard; but clubbed guns smote those feathered heads with such unerring skill that not a single bronzed warrior ever set foot on deck.

Now the boat was leaving the shore, influenced by the sweep, which two of the voyagers managed to work fairly well. The danger seemed over, and lusty shouts broke from the lips of the defenders of the craft as they noted that the scene of the late battle was being left far behind, with the baffled Indians giving short, sharp yelps, like wolves that have been cheated out of their prey.

“Well done!” exclaimed Mr. Armstrong, breathing freely for the first time since he had heard Bob tell how the warning arrow had fallen close at his side. “And now, Neighbor Bancroft, let us look at that wound you’ve received. I can pull the arrow through easier than break or withdraw it. A painful but not a dangerous wound; you must let my wife bathe it, and put on some of her magic salve.”

“I only hope the heathen have not taken to poisoning their arrows,” remarked Mr. Bancroft; and Bob and Sandy exchanged glances.

It happened that, many months before, one of them had watched an Iroquois brave irritate a rattle-snake with a pole until he had the reptile in a furious mood, and then allow it to strike a piece of fresh meat many times, filling it with the green venom from his poison sack. After this meat had become impregnated with the virus, arrow points were dipped in it and allowed to dry until each had been thoroughly infected. But it was seldom the Indians used such terrible weapons; somehow they seemed to be bound by some code of honor that influenced them to refrain from adding to the seriousness of an arrow wound.

Pat came up, and by the light of a lantern, held by one of the boys, helped Mr. Armstrong draw the arrow through the wound, for it was nearly half-way out, and could not be broken without additional pain to the victim.

Then Bob’s mother, who was a splendid nurse, came to dress the wound, and apply some of her salve, upon which every one relied so completely.

Bob had been keeping an eye on Pat, who he saw was examining the arrow closely. As Pat was well acquainted with the peculiarities of the many separate Indian tribes, as connected with their arrows and head-dress of feathers, Bob felt positive that he could tell him what he wanted to know.

“That is no Shawanee arrow, Pat, I take it?” he remarked.

“That’s jist it, Bob, me bye,” the trapper declared, nodding as he looked up. “No Shawanee brave iver made his arrow afther the likes av that. Sac, I says till mesilf, as soon as I set me eyes on it, an’ Sac I says shtill. They do be the manest rids av the whole bunch, I’m thinkin’; though, belave me, I’d hisitate to say that same in the prisince av Mrs. Armstrong, bliss her swate heart for an angel, wid her healin’ salve an’ her coolin’ lotions, becase she has been thryin’ to belave that all the bad Injuns has been lift behint entirely; whin the thruth be, there’s jist as many out along the ould Mississippi as we knew afore.”

After passing down several miles in the semi-darkness they anchored the boat off a bar, and kept close watch until dawn brought safety; when the voyage was resumed, with grateful hearts that another peril had been safely passed, thanks to that unknown red friend who had a debt to settle with the Armstrong boys.

Still another night passed, and again they slept on board, for the women were averse to taking any more chances. This brought them to the day when, according to all the figuring done by Mr. Armstrong, assisted by what knowledge Pat O’Mara had on the subject, they should be close to the place of the joining of the two great rivers.

All morning long they kept a vigil. Eager eyes looked ahead, in the hope of discovering the mighty stream which had lured them all the way from their old home far up the picturesque Ohio.

The afternoon was pretty well advanced when Sandy gave a whoop that was characteristic of the lad. No need to ask what made him leap about so boisterously, waving his coonskin cap around his head. Every eye turned in the direction of the expected vision; and, when they saw the great sweep of water that lay ahead, with its further shore but dimly marked against the western horizon, a silence fell upon them.

It was indeed the Mississippi that spread before the eyes of that brave little company, up to then almost a sealed book to English colonists, though well known to the French trappers and traders, whose cordon of posts from north to south united Canada with the warm regions of the gulf.

They had finally come to the region where their new home was to be built—on the bank of the Mississippi.

CHAPTER XXIII
WHAT THE DEAD ASHES OF A FIRE TOLD

“Pull hard, Sandy; father wants to land at that spot where the big crooked tree hangs over the water. Pat has told him that it was there he spent the night a year ago, when he was here spying out the land and learning what the Frenchmen were doing in the trapping line. And he also says it is the finest place for our new home he knows about.”

While saying all this Bob was himself throwing his strength upon the sweep he and his younger brother were managing, while some of the men rested, or frolicked with their children inside the cabin of the flatboat.

They were afloat on the Mississippi, and had been descending the mighty stream most of the day. To cross it with only a clumsy flatboat was next to impossible. It would have been exceedingly dangerous to have risked the diverse currents that lay in wait for the incautious voyager, far out from shore.

Some of the men had even proposed that they try to make one of the islands that they had passed, and where it would seem they might be free from an attack on the part of the Indians; but to this Mr. Armstrong would not agree.

“Look back, friends,” he had said when this bold scheme was proposed, “and try to imagine what would have become of us and our families, had we been on such an island when the flood came. It was bad enough on the main land, watching our cabins being undermined, and carried off; but how much worse had we been watching the waters slowly but surely covering the very land on which all we loved stood, with the raging torrent on every side, and no means of reaching the shore? For my part, after what I have passed through, nothing can tempt me to leave this firm foundation. True, the Indians and French trappers may get at us the easier; but we know where we are, and in the other case we would not.”

And his words were of such a nature that even those who had been loudest in exploiting the benefits to be obtained by resorting to an island, changed their minds, and would have none of it.

The boat was brought in without a great amount of trouble, for they had been keeping only a short distance away from the bank while allowing themselves to be carried along at the will of the strong current.

Pat was, as always, the first to spring ashore. While the rest were busy securing the boat, the trapper was circling around up the bank, looking for recent signs of enemies near the spot.

He had claimed it was a well-known stopping-place for all those passing up or down-stream. Boats loaded with French trappers might possibly come along at some time or other; but already time was bringing about a change in the relations of the colonists and the sons of France; and if, as seemed very likely, a break did occur between King George and his American colonies, the French would be found taking the part of the latter.

Indeed, Mr. Armstrong had taken this into consideration when arranging to carry his family into the heart of the country controlled and claimed by the French. He expected to have some little trouble with them at first; but, after a little time, they would hear great news from the sea-coast that would lift the scales from their eyes, these rough and daring trappers, so that they would hold out their hands to make peace with the newcomers, as common allies against England.

“How does this suit you, Sandy?” asked Bob, when they, too, had clambered over the side of the boat, and stood on the bank.

“It is a fine place for a camp, and for a cabin, too,” replied the other, looking about him with kindling eyes. “Plenty of big trees to cut down, or leave standing, just as we think best; and it looks as if there ought to be a heap of rich furs to be taken along that ridge back yonder, and the valley that must lie further on. Yes, I like this place. It is even better than what I could see, whenever I shut my eyes, and tried to picture our new homestead by the Mississippi.”

They looked out upon the great river, where rested the bones of the discoverer, De Soto, and the copper plates he had sunk beneath its waters when he claimed the whole region for his royal master; and tears came into the eyes of Sandy, whose emotions were easily stirred.

“Higher up there, and a little way back, we would build our cabins, I think,” Bob went on to remark, in his usual thoughtful way. “One bout with a flood will be more than enough for father. Think of what it meant to us, the destruction of our garden; the uprooting of the supports of our cabin; and then the loss of mother’s little strong-box in which she kept her few precious remembrances of the past, as well as that wampum belt given to us by Pontiac, when we saved his life. Yes, it answers all the needs of our little company; and, once it is decided that we stay here, watch how soon the axes begin to ring, and the trees to fall. Inside of three days, we could have a roof over our heads again.”

“I should be glad of that,” ventured Sandy, heaving a little sigh as his eye roved toward their mother, just climbing down from the side of the boat, assisted by the steady hand of her husband; “for mother has grown weary of this wandering. She wants to have her own fire to work over, and cook meals for her family, instead of the whole company.”

“Suppose we look around a little,” suggested Bob.

“Count me in with you on that,” agreed the other, quickly, for it was just what Sandy was about to propose himself, being fairly wild to do a little exploring on his own hook.

Of course they carried their guns as they left the vicinity of the flatboat, for the pioneer of that day never knew at what moment he would have urgent need of his weapons.

Pat was no longer in sight. He had started to circle rapidly around, and had already covered so much territory that it seemed as if there certainly could be nothing near by that might be dangerous.

A rabbit jumped out from almost under their feet; squirrels frisked among the oaks that grew in abundance in the woods; plump partridges whirred when they happened to stir the brush, and inside of five minutes these evidences of the abundance of small game had Sandy laughing in great glee.

“Oh! I guess none of those stories could have been untrue, brother,” he declared, as they glimpsed a deer that had evidently been lying down near by, and was only disturbed by their approach; “why, I came near getting a shot at that doe; but, when that branch closed in behind her flank, I thought it would be silly to fire, with only a chance of wounding the poor thing. Mother has taught us not to be cruel when we take our toll of meat, and I am glad now I did not fire.”

“I believe you will have plenty of chances to shoot all you want, if father decides to stay right around here,” remarked Bob. “As for myself, I fancy that fine ridge just back there. If our cabin topped that, we could see up and down the river, just as we used to do, before, up on the Ohio; but what a different thing the Mississippi is from its tributary!”

“But,” broke in Sandy, just then, “didn’t you hear Pat tell about that other big river that comes down from the unknown country away off to the northwest, and empties its volume of water into the Mississippi not two hundred miles north of the mouth of the Ohio? He said it was the real Mississippi, and that the Indians so regarded it, because it comes from so far away, hundreds and hundreds of miles, so that no man knows the beginning, up in the country of the Crows; and the strange Indians with the white skin, called the Mandans; and the Sioux, who, the French say, are the most savage fighters of all the red race.”

Bob looked at his brother doubtfully. He knew something was working on the mind of the boy, for he was used to reading the signs.

“You listen too much to these idle tales Pat tells, Sandy,” he remarked. “First thing I know, you’ll be wanting to go off and explore that other river, where no English settler has yet built his cabin, and only savage foes lurk.”

Sandy made no reply, but a flush crept over his face; and Bob sighed; for he knew that his brother had even then been indulging in dreams of some day seeing that other great river, lying still deeper in the wilderness that lay toward the land of the setting sun.

“Pat was telling us that trappers call this the most favored place for many miles along the river,” Bob remarked, as he glanced around him.

“Yes,” added the other, quickly, “and he said he had camped here once himself, when he came to the country of the Mississippi to see what the Frenchmen were doing, and find out if it was really as fine a place as others had reported. Why, even now that looks like the ashes of a campfire over yonder.”

“You are right, Sandy,” declared Bob; “some one has been in camp here, and not so long ago, too; for the ashes have never been rained on; and you remember that just three days ago we had a long siege of it.”

Bob had touched the flaky ashes with the toe of his moccasin when saying this. Versed in the knowledge of woodcraft, this was only a natural thing for the boy to remark. It fell from his lips just as readily as a lad of the present day might read a printed message that had been left in the crotch of a stick, after the departure of late campers.

“I wonder who they could have been, Indians, or French trappers heading for the nearest trading post with their winter’s catch of pelts?” mused Sandy, looking thoughtfully around him while speaking.

“The chances are the last,” Bob replied. “If Indians had been here we would see some signs to tell us of that fact. Chances are they would leave a broken arrow behind, or some feathers that were cast aside; and I do not see any such, do you?”

“No, not here,” replied Sandy, and then added: “It seems to me there is something lying there, in that clump of grass, that has been thrown aside. Wait until I get it, Bob; perhaps it may give us a clue concerning the men who made this fire.”

Carelessly he stepped aside, and, bending, picked up the object that had caught his attention. As Sandy stood staring, Bob advanced to his side with quick strides. Then he, too, seemed to have been turned into stone, for his eyes were glued upon what Sandy held in his shaking hand.

The eyes of the two boys met in a startled look; and it could be plainly seen that they were deeply moved by the discovery Sandy had made, close to the dead ashes of the abandoned fire.

CHAPTER XXIV
A NEW HOME ON THE MISSISSIPPI

“The little box in which mother kept her few treasures!” exclaimed Bob.

“And our wampum belt, which Pontiac presented to us with his own hands!” echoed Sandy, as he once more let his gaze rest on the object he had discovered, thrown aside in the grass near the ashes of the deserted fire.

“Those rascally French traders have been right here on this spot, brother,” remarked Bob, glancing around, and unconsciously half-raising his gun, as though he partly expected to see the vicious faces of Jacques Larue and Henri Lacroix peering at them out of the undergrowth.

“And only a day or two ago, just think of that!” exclaimed Sandy, a sudden glow coming into his face. “Oh! what if, after all, we should have the great good luck to meet the robbers some fine day; wouldn’t we demand that they return our property, though? And if so much as one single thing belonging to our dear mother were missing, they would have to account for it!”

But Bob shook his head. He did not possess the same sanguine spirit as his younger brother, and consequently could not see things in the same light.

“It is true they have been here, and lately, too,” he remarked, seriously; “but you must not allow yourself to hope too much that there is any chance for our meeting them. We are far below the mouth of the Ohio River now; and the fact of their having been here seems to say that even now these Frenchmen may be on their way down to the town their countrymen have started on the lower waters of the Mississippi, and which they call New Orleans.”

“But we could follow them!” exclaimed Sandy.

“As well look for a needle in a haystack,” observed the far-seeing Bob.

“Just to think, if only we could have come upon them while they were seated here, eating their supper, and never dreaming that those they had robbed were at their elbows! Wouldn’t we have given the wretches a scare, though, Bob?” and Sandy gritted his white teeth savagely, as he stared at the dumb ashes, just as if they might be to blame for the misfortune that had befallen the brothers in arriving too late.

“Of course there is one little hope that we will yet run across them,” Bob said, as though he, himself, wanted to cling to such a shred. “Perhaps they may be lingering around this part of the country, meaning to rest and hunt, after the long trip they have just made from away up the Ohio. And if they do, Sandy—”

“Yes, if they do!” echoed the impulsive lad, shaking his gun impressively, so that further words were unnecessary.

“Let us go and show father what we’ve found,” remarked Bob. “Poor mother will feel so sad when she sees this little box, for it held a number of pretty trinkets which she valued more because they were connected with the past, when her children were small, than on account of their worth in a money sense. To think of those big thieves carrying them around in their pockets or medicine bags; it will make father furious.”

“But how does it come, do you think,” Sandy went on, “that, after carrying the box all this distance, they threw it away here?”

“That is hard to say, Sandy; and I can only guess at it. Perhaps, now, they liked the looks of this pretty little casket, which a cabinetmaker once fashioned for our mother when she lived in Jamestown, back in Virginia. But, in the end, it began to get in the way; and, tired of carrying it, the men took out the contents while sitting here by this fire, and threw the box into the bushes.”

“Never dreaming that the Armstrong boys would come along a day or two later, and find their property again,” mused Sandy. “Finding this box seems to tell me that next we will be fortunate enough to run across our wampum belt.”

“I hope so,” was all Bob said, as he turned around, to return to where the rest of the party were busily employed.

Great indeed was the surprise of Mr. Armstrong when he saw what the boys had discovered on the very spot where they meant to build their new home. As for the little mother, she took the quaint casket in her hands again with a look that told of renewed hope in her heart. It was all so very remarkable that the final recovery of the lost articles now seemed to lie within the bounds of possibility.

The balance of that day was given up to settling themselves as comfortably as they could. Already, the pioneers liked the situation so much that they were unanimously agreed upon staying there permanently. Nowhere could they hope to find a location uniting more natural advantages than here. Long years ago the wandering Indians and white trappers had discovered this fact, as witness their stopping to pitch their camps in the vicinity. It was noted as a country teeming with game, and offering the adventurous settler the finest soil possible.

Then there was the great river close at hand, from which considerable of their needed stock of food might be procured—fish the live long year, and ducks and geese during the colder months.

Everybody seemed fully satisfied that they could not possibly fare better by continuing on down the river; while there were many chances that they would never run across so splendid a site for a settlement.

That night passed peacefully, and, with the advent of another day, operations immediately commenced. They were so wearied of the close confinement aboard the cumbersome flatboat, which had really been overcrowded, that all of them longed to possess their own homes. Humble though these log cabins might be, at least they would prize them highly, with their few possessions giving the interiors the air of home, so dear to the hearts of women the world over.

The merry sound of axe blades biting eagerly into the trees could soon be heard. Every head of a family selected the site where he wished to build his cabin. These were so arranged that, while the structures themselves were close together, each had a gradually increasing strip of land running back, which could be quickly cleared, so that a small crop of corn and some vegetables might yet be planted, for the season was not late.

As they worked, the men always kept their guns within easy reach. They had been brought up to know how trouble often springs out of a clear sky, and did not mean to be taken unawares.

Until the separate homes were completely done, the women and children lived aboard the boat, secure within that stout log cabin which had sheltered them all so long during the cruise down the Ohio.

Several days passed, and the four cabins were fast nearing completion. Indeed, another twenty-four hours would see the finishing touches given to a couple of the rough log buildings; and that of the Armstrongs was one of the most advanced, since the two boys assisted their father considerably in the work.

The chimney was partly built, out of slabs and mud that would harden with the heat and smoke until it became like granite. That generous fireplace they anticipated would ere long take on the “homey” look that had always marked the gathering place of the little family after the candle or the crude lamp was lighted for the evening; though, as a rule, they depended altogether upon the glow of the blaze itself for illumination, since the candles, made mostly from bear fat, were too precious to waste.

Kate had been greatly pleased with the situation of the new home in the western wilderness. Often she had heard her father talking about what Washington advocated in connection with giving every survivor of the French and Indian wars a large tract of fine land in the bountiful west, and thus start a movement that sooner or later would oust the French from that debatable territory. And, when she saw the charming nature of the land, Kate felt in full sympathy with all her father had said upon that subject.

She spent half her time wandering around, picking the most wonderful wild flowers she had ever seen, listening to the birds singing in the trees, or paddling in the little dugout upon the sluggish current of the river; for, owing to a point of land that extended out some distance above, the eddies had formed what was almost a great pond in front of, and below, their camp.

Of course she had been warned many times to be exceedingly careful, and not go far away; but, as Pat O’Mara kept circulating around the vicinity, and reported seeing absolutely no signs of Indians, Kate soon lost all fear.

On the fourth day, which was near the end of the week, the girl had allowed the boat to drift a little way down the river, as she watched the shore for a good spot where she might land and find new treasures in the form of curious flowers. She knew that the boys had gone off on a hunt that morning, as there was need of fresh meat in the camp; and, besides, the cabin was by this time so far advanced that Mr. Armstrong declared himself able to complete it, and move in their few possessions; so that, when they came back, Bob and Sandy might expect to be invited to take their first meal in their own home.

The afternoon was half spent, and the sun well on his journey toward the horizon that Sandy so often viewed with yearning, because it held so much of mystery that appealed to his adventurous nature.

Kate had drawn the dugout up on the sandy beach, and, landing, strolled into the edge of the great woods. She had promised her mother never to go out of hearing of the busy axes; and even now she could catch their steady fall, as the men hewed the logs they had secured from the fallen trees and adapted them for the walls of their cabin homes.

In a short time the girl had her arms filled with the most beautiful flowers she could remember ever having come across. Each new treasure excited her afresh, and she almost forgot her promise not to wander too deeply into the forest, where there was always a chance that some savage wildcat might be lurking.

Kate had just turned around, meaning to head back toward her boat again, which could just be seen through the forest aisles, when she thought she heard a stick snap. Turning around with a half-laugh, under the impression that it might be her two brothers stealing up with the intention of surprising her, the poor girl was amazed and horrified to see a rough man, whom she immediately knew must be a French trapper, standing within five feet of her. Before she could think of screaming a second man arose from the bushes, and clapped a hand over her mouth.

CHAPTER XXV
THE PERIL OF KATE

“What have we here, Henri?” exclaimed the man Kate had seen. She was struggling in the rude grasp of the other fellow, but was like a baby in the clutch of his powerful hands.

“I am surprised, Jacques, at what I have here,” was the reply, in French. “This girl, she surely must be the same we know lives in the cabin, up on the Ohio, belonging to our enemy, Armstrong. Yes, I am not mistaken. But what brings her down in this country of the Mississippi?”

Evidently both French trappers were astounded to see Kate there. Many hundreds of miles stood between the little settlement far up the Ohio and this region; and in those primitive days this represented an almost insurmountable obstacle.

“Look again and make sure, Henri,” said the other fellow, himself striding forward to leer into the face of the terrified girl, who by now understood that these men were the rascals who had given them so much trouble, trying to injure both Sandy and Bob, and finally robbing their cabin home when it was in the grip of the flood.

Why, one of them was even then wearing the wonderful wampum belt which Pontiac himself had bestowed upon the boys as an emblem of his friendship, and as a protection to their home against the savage fury of any Indians who belonged to the great confederation of which he was the leader.

“Well, what do you say now, Jacques?” demanded the first trapper, with a chuckle.

“Sacre! it is as you say; hard to believe as it is, she must be the same girl. Ha! I have an idea! It may explain the sound of the axes which we heard such long time on the trail now, as we come back once more to our old campground. See, there is the little boat she paddle down the river in. I begin to scent the truth now, Henri.”

“Then supposing you inform me as to the same, since I am groping in the dark,” demanded the other Frenchman.

“It may be that, if we but come closer to the old camp, we shall find it occupied by some of the hateful English settlers. I would not put it past them to descend the Ohio in a flatboat, till they come here. They have the nerve to face all the French along the Mississippi. And, Henri, among the rest is our old enemy, Armstrong. So you see now how the girl comes to be here.”

They stared at each other as though hardly able to believe the facts thus presented by the shrewd statement made by Jacques Larue.

Meanwhile Kate had almost ceased her struggles, because she could only with difficulty breathe, having that broad palm thrust over her mouth, and gripped, as she was, in the strong arm of the trapper.

Oh! how she wished that her brave brothers would only appear just then, and take these two ruffians to task for all they had done. How like savages they looked, in her eyes, with their brutal faces. And Henri Lacroix was not a bit careful as he held her, so that she might not scream, and thus give the alarm. What would they do with her? The very thought brought a cold chill to the poor girl.

Once Kate had been taken prisoner by a young Indian chief belonging to the Iroquois nation, and carried far away to the country of the Great Lakes. Eventually she had been rescued by her two brothers, assisted by others, and brought back safely home. But she would never forget what she had suffered in mind during the time of her captivity.

And yet she really feared these two rough men more than she had the Indians. As she looked into their snapping black eyes, she seemed to see lurking there passions that would stop at nothing, even murder, in order to carry out any mad scheme to which they had turned their attention. Even the girl could realize how Henri Lacroix longed to avenge the death of his brother, Armand, at the hands of Simon Kenton, the friend of the Armstrong family.

If she could only manage to give one loud cry, surely some one would hear; and at any rate these cowardly French trappers, becoming alarmed for their safety, would drop her, and take to their heels, fearing lest the settlers shoot them down like wolves. But Henri Lacroix evidently did not mean to give her the slightest chance to make any outcry, judging from the way in which he kept his hand over her mouth.

“This is no place for us, Jacques,” he was saying now, nodding his head in the direction whence came the steady plod of the axes.

“But I hate to go away, and leave them no token of our good wishes,” remarked the second trapper, with a wide grin that somehow made poor Kate tremble again.

If only they would let her speak, how gladly would she have promised not to whisper a single word about their having been near by, until hours had elapsed, and they had a chance to get clear away; but Henri Lacroix would not give her that chance, in fear lest she bring vengeful foes down about their ears.

“Ve haf a long bill to settle wif zem boys,” remarked Lacroix, in his broken English.

“It took us some time to strike von blow, when we lay hold upon zis belt; and when we come away to ze country of ze Mississippi we do not expect evaire to set eyes again on zem. But, parbleu! ze fools follow us here; zey even dare build zere hateful Eenglish cabins on zis river zat belongs to ze French alone. Zat is too much for us to stand. For ze lilies of France we must strike a blow zat vill tell zem zey nevaire can remain here.”

“I am of ze same opinion,” declared the other Frenchman, gritting his strong white teeth in a way that renewed all the fears of the captive girl.

Were these men even more savage than the redskins, and would they actually kill her, as she had heard of others being treated by whites who had joined forces with the Indians in the cruel wars that were always in progress?

“It is plain, when we leave here, we cannot be trouble with the girl,” observed Jacques Larue, in French. Then, as he seemed to allow his roving eyes to glance toward the river, just seen through openings in the trees, a grim smile broke over his swarthy face, while he went on speaking: “Ha! I have deescovered a plan that promises well. It will not only get rid of the ma’m’selle in a fine way, but at the same time strike a blow at our old enemy, Armstrong. The boys perhaps may not feel so proud because they once get the better of your dead brother, Armand Lacroix, and Jacques Larue.”

“Tell me your plan, then; and, since we are now in a place of much danger, the quicker we put it into operation the better, it may be,” said Henri.

“Listen,” the other went on, quickly. “Let us bind this girl so she cannot run away. Also we will fasten over her mouth a bandage, and that will prevent any outcry and call for help.”

“Yes, and then?” asked Henri Lacroix.

“We can lay her in the boat she has down here,” continued Jacques. “Then, after we have tucked her in, pouf! the little boat sails from the shore, and is carried down the current of the mighty Mississippi! Day and night it floats on, the sport of wind and waves. And the Armstrongs will never know what became of the girl!”

Even the cruel Henri seemed to be a little disturbed at the inhumanity exhibited in this plan of revenge; but, as he remembered the fate of his brother, he crushed any objections he might have advanced, and nodded his head, as though agreeing with his mate.

“You are right, it is a beautiful idea,” he declared. “The only thing that I like not is the fact that we cannot ourselves see how they feel when they not be able to find the daughter. Ah! it is a noble scheme! Let us then begin the good work by fastening the hands of our captive.”

He took out some stout buckskin thongs, of which every borderer carried a supply, as they were useful in many ways. Kate tried the best she knew how to interfere with his brutal designs, but in the power of those two men she was as weak as a babe, and before three minutes had passed her hands had been tightly lashed together behind her back.

After that the trapper proceeded to secure her ankles in the same way, so that she felt herself absolutely helpless.

“Now for the beautiful gag,” said Jacques, when this part of the undertaking had been completed.

He took out of the pack he carried a piece of cloth, which he managed to fasten across the mouth of the girl in such a fashion that, while she could still breathe with some effort, speech was impossible.

At any rate, they apparently did not mean to bring about her immediate death. Perhaps they feared lest, in such a case, some of those hardy English rangers might set out on their trail, with the determination never to leave it until they had avenged the fate of Armstrong’s daughter.

“How will that do, Henri, mon cher?” asked Jacques, gaily, stepping back to admire his own handwork, with the air of an expert.

“Capital! I congratulate you, Jacques, on being such a good hand at such work,” the other answered. “Perhaps Armstrong will follow the boat down the river, and rescue the girl; but it will put them to great trouble, and perhaps they will regret raising a hand to injure Jacques Larue and Henri Lacroix.”

“You carry her to the boat, while I go ahead to make sure nobody may see us do the work,” and, speaking in this strain, the burly trapper led off, with Henri coming along in the rear, bearing the form of Kate as easily as though she were a sack of feathers intended for a pillow.

It was found that a little bend of the shore intervened above, so that the spot where the settlers must have landed could not be seen. They caught a glimpse of the extreme outer edge of the tied-up flatboat, which fact told the trappers they had guessed truly as to the means taken by the Ohio settlers in descending to the region of the Mississippi.

Henri deposited the helpless form of the girl in the bottom of the dugout. Then, with a heartlessness that seemed to be a part of their half-savage natures, the two French trappers shoved the boat away from the shore.

It was immediately caught by the current that flowed more swiftly at this point than above, and began to drift down-stream. The Frenchmen dared not wait, lest, in exposing themselves they be discovered by hostile eyes; but, with more or less laughter that, reaching the ears of the alarmed girl, must have added to her tortures, they turned and plunged again into the woods.

And the little boat, passing on into swifter waters, was soon swirling and dancing gaily on the bosom of the broad Mississippi, bearing Kate Armstrong further and further away from all those she held dear.

CHAPTER XXVI
THE DRIFTING DUGOUT

“I think we had better stop and take a little breathing spell, Sandy.”

“Nothing would please me better, Bob. This meat pack is very heavy, and it seems to me as if the air had grown much warmer. Summer has come, down here, surely. Oh! how good it feels to throw that burden down, and be able to stretch my arms, which ache as if they had a cramp.”

“But all the same, Sandy, we ought to be glad that we have been able to knock over that fine buck, from which all this fresh venison comes. And we are not greedy in carrying such big loads, for there are many hungry mouths to fill, with four families to think of. Let us rest here, then, and be refreshed for another spell of walking.”

It was well on in the afternoon when Bob and Sandy, on the way home from their hunt, exchanged these remarks. Each had a large pack on his back, for, shortly after noon, they had come across a deer, and succeeded in killing the animal at the first shot.

“How far below the camp do you think we are?” Sandy presently asked, as he lay there taking his ease, with his hands under his head.

“I hardly know,” replied Bob, “but it must be several miles. My idea was to do the same as we used to up on the Ohio—strike for the river first of all, and try to make our way back by keeping to the open stretch of shore.”

“Well, we are already close to the river, though perhaps you didn’t know it when you said we had better take a rest. See, you can look out on the water right here,” and Sandy pointed as he spoke.

“Sure enough, it is as you say, and that makes it easier,” Bob replied. “I thought that I had my bearings all right; but, then, we know so little of this country, and none at all about the river; so there is always a chance we might miss seeing it for a long time. So you understand I’m glad enough to look out and see that running water.”

“This is a fine big buck we got,” remarked Sandy, reflectively.

“Yes, and as large as any I’ve ever seen,” Bob added.

“I don’t know how it is,” Sandy continued, with a faint smile; “but something in me just seems to take a savage pleasure in getting after big game. Somehow I don’t care for shooting partridges or ducks any more. Even a deer seems tame to me. If it is a big bear, a panther or a buffalo I think I’m in great luck. Some day—” and there he came to a sudden stop.

“Well, what about some day?” demanded the other, turning to look at him.

Sandy gave a reckless little chuckle, and then went on:

“Oh! I suppose you’ll just laugh at me, and say that I’m foolish to let myself dream in that way; but it’s another of Pat’s stories that has been setting me to thinking, and wondering whether I’ll ever have the chance to shoot one of those tremendous beasts.”

“What is it now, a tiger, a lion or an elephant?” asked Bob, scornfully.

“Oh! no,” replied Sandy, promptly; “nothing that can be found outside of this country and Canada. Pat has seen them many times, and even been gored by a great bull moose. You can see the scar on his cheek even now, where he had a bad wound, by which he almost bled to death.”

“‘YES, YOU ARE RIGHT, SANDY, IT IS A BOAT.’”

“And you mean to go away up into Canada to hunt for one of these moose, as they call them?” demanded the older brother, incredulously.

“Well, hardly that,” answered Sandy, with a little hesitation. “You see, Pat, he says he believes moose can be found up that other big river that flows into the Mississippi above the Ohio. And some day, it may not be for years though, I hope to see with my own eyes whether that is true.”

“We have taken some long journeys, but that would exceed them all,” remarked Bob, thoughtfully; and Sandy chuckled as he realized that, after all, his prudent brother had determined that, if ever that trip were undertaken, he would never allow Sandy to go alone.

“I feel rested already,” remarked Sandy, sitting up; “and besides, I’m anxious to get back to see how things look, with mother sitting there beside a fire in our new cabin. It will feel so good to have our own roof over our heads again. Oh! Bob, what is that floating past yonder? I do declare, it looks like a boat!”

The two sprang to their feet and stared.

“Yes, you are right, Sandy, it is a boat; and yet, for the life of me, I fail to see a living soul in it. There is no paddle flashing in the sunlight. It seems to be deserted. Come, let us leave our meat here, and run to the shore, so we can see better.”

Nothing loath, Sandy trotted along at the heels of his brother, and in the course of a minute or so they had gained the bank of the river. It happened that, when Sandy first discovered the drifting object, it had caught in an eddy that kept holding it back, so that although some little time had elapsed, the object of their scrutiny was still opposite to them.

To discover an empty dugout on the river was a strange event, indeed. The Armstrong boys could not remember ever having such a thing happen before in all their experience; and it was no wonder then that they stared and rubbed their eyes as if they could hardly believe what they saw.

“Can it be a sly trick on the part of Indians to keep our attention fastened on that boat while they slip up behind us?” Sandy asked, turning his head to look around him at the grim forest.

“But they would not know we were coming along here,” interposed Bob; “and so, you see, how could they think to lay a plan like that? No, we need feel no fears on that score. And then again, you know, Sandy, our own people are only a short two miles or so above here. If the river were straight I believe we could see them even now.”

“But, Bob, where could that boat have come from? I’ve a good notion to strip and swim out after it. We could make good use of another dugout like ours. And it is just the same kind of a boat, too, don’t you think?”

“I was thinking something even more than that, Sandy,” returned Bob.

“What?” demanded the other, still eying the strange craft that bobbed and danced in the eddying currents of the river, as though tantalizing them, before once more starting on down the great stream.

“It might be our own boat!” suggested Bob.

“Oh! how could that be?” asked the other, catching his breath, and turning a troubled face toward his brother. “They are always so particular to keep it tied fast to the flatboat, you remember. Why, no one thinks of using it these days, for we have all been too busy working, to think of fishing, or trying for a few ducks.”

“You forget that Kate has paddled around in it a good deal of late!” said Bob, slowly.

Sandy became excited at once, just as his brother had expected would be the case.

“Oh! do you mean to say that something might have happened to Kate?” he asked, a tremor in his voice, for the boys were very fond of their little sister.

“I do not know; I hope not, surely,” muttered Bob, looking again out toward the drifting boat; “but, if that is our boat, you can see, Sandy, how strange that it should be afloat there, and no one in it to use the paddle.”

Sandy laid his gun quietly on the ground.

“Don’t say another word against it, Bob,” he remarked grimly, as he started to remove some of his garments.

“Be careful, is all I ask you, Sandy,” Bob replied. “They tell us the currents of the Mississippi are treacherous, and that they often clutch a swimmer as if they had many hands. If the boat starts down-stream again, as I fancy may be the case, I will follow along the shore, bearing both guns.”

Sandy hastened to divest himself of all superfluous clothing, at the same time keeping one eye on the strange boat.

He was a splendid swimmer; indeed, the boy had ever been like a duck in the water, so that Bob felt little fear about his ability to reach the boat, and tow it ashore, unless some unexpected development occurred.

“Keep out of range as you draw closer, Sandy,” he remarked.

“What makes you say that, Bob?” demanded the other. “It sounds as if you expected to have to use your gun. Come, do you think Indians might be lying in the bottom of the boat, ready to rise up and seize a swimmer, if he came close; or fill him full of arrows?”

“Here is a tree that I can easily climb,” remarked Bob. “Wait a minute while I get up among the branches. Perhaps I can tell then if enemies are crouching in that boat. Don’t start till I come back, Sandy.”

He climbed like a monkey, and was quickly in a position where he could take a partial view of the strange craft’s interior.

But Bob did not stay there long. Whatever it was he saw, he dropped down again to the ground much faster than he had climbed aloft.

“Did you see any Indians?” asked Sandy, now ready to plunge into the water.

“No, I cannot say that I did,” came the reply, in a perplexed tone. “But there is something lying in the bottom of that boat. It is not a bundle, either, for I plainly saw it move.”

Sandy waited for no more.

“Then I’m going out and see for myself!” he declared, as though some half-formed fear had commenced to assail him.

Stepping into the water, he hurried to reach a point where it arose to his waist. Then he threw himself forward, and began to strike out with overhand strokes that had many times carried him ahead of all competitors in the water races the boys of the settlement used to have, away back in Virginia, before the Armstrongs had even thought of emigrating across the mountains to the new country along the Ohio.

Bob picked up Sandy’s gun, and such parts of his clothing as he had discarded. Then he started to walk down the shore, because he saw that the boat had finally succeeded in extricating itself from the clutch of the cross eddies, and was once more moving southward with the steady current of the river.

And meanwhile Sandy was breasting the stream with powerful strokes, headed so as to intercept the floating boat when it came along; and with a new and terrible fear clutching at his heart.

CHAPTER XXVII
ON THE TRAIL

As he followed along the strip of open shore, Bob saw his impetuous brother drawing nearer and nearer to the floating dugout. He half expected to see some grim figure start suddenly into view, threatening Sandy with a deadly weapon, either gun or bow and arrow.

Now Sandy had reached up a hand and clutched the side of the boat. He exhibited not a sign of fear, from which fact Bob understood that, on getting close, he had recognized the craft as the one they had brought with them from their old home.

He saw the other pull himself up, and look within the boat. What would not Bob have given to see all that met the gaze of his brother just then.

Sandy’s actions rather puzzled him, for the latter, turning half-way around, waved a hand toward him, as if to say all was well; after which he dropped back into the water, and started to tow the boat in the direction of the shore.

Eagerly did Bob keep abreast of the swimmer. Sandy did not try to fight the current, but was evidently desirous of getting to land as quickly as possible, regardless of all else.

And when he finally stood up where the water was shallow, and dragged the boat along, Bob, in his eagerness, waded half-way to his knees. What he saw when he looked over the edge of the boat thrilled him. At first he thought Kate must have met with some serious accident and was lying dead. Then he saw her eyes were open, and that a bandage covered her mouth.

Bob snatched his sister up in his arms without a second’s delay, for Sandy was too exhausted after his swim to do much.

The cloth was hastily torn away, and then the sharp edge of Bob’s hunting knife cut the leather thongs that bound the girl.

“What does all this mean, Kate?” cried Bob, in a voice that quivered with anxiety. “Oh! has anything terrible happened to father and mother, that we find you like this?”

She shook her head in the negative.

“No, no, nothing has happened to them. It was the Frenchmen who did it!” she explained, though with some difficulty, since the tight bandage had hurt her jaws.

Bob and his brother stared at each other.

“Do you mean Jacques Larue?” demanded Bob, furiously.

“And that other rascal, Henri Lacroix—the brother of the dead Armand?” Sandy added, equally enraged.

“Yes,” replied the girl, looking as though, now that rescue had come, she would not be sorry to see punished the men who had treated her so badly.

“This is a wonderful thing,” Bob went on; “tell us how it happened. Where were you when they caught you; and how is it you did not call out?”

So Kate explained how she had been taken by surprise, and, before she could say a single word, the hand of Henri Lacroix had stifled all speech.

“And they had your fine wampum belt with them, Sandy,” she went on, eagerly. “He was wearing it as proudly as if he had saved the life of Pontiac, himself,—Jacques Larue, I mean. And they said that they wanted to pay the Armstrongs back for much that they had suffered.”

“And, like the base cowards they are,” Bob grated between his teeth, “they set a poor helpless girl adrift on the river in a little dugout that might be upset in some cross current, where the fierce eddies swirl!”

“And wouldn’t I like a chance to draw a bead on either of them right now,” said Sandy, looking all around him, as he fondled his faithful old gun, with which he had done so much execution among the game of the forests.

“But we should be on the way home!” declared Bob. “Father and Pat must know of this new outrage that we have suffered at the hands of these miserable trappers, who would rather spend their time stealing game that others have caught than to attend to a line of their own traps. If father lets us, Sandy, make sure we will take Pat with us, and start on the trail at once.”

“To regain those little treasures mother mourns as lost forever; that is just fine,” said Kate, eagerly, for she was a backwoods girl, and could recover quickly, after even such a shocking experience.

“Not to speak of our wonderful belt,” added Sandy, who was slipping on some of the clothes he had discarded.

In a few minutes they were hurrying back along the shore. The boat had been pulled up on the beach and the painter fastened to a convenient tree, so that the chances were they would find the craft there, when some one came back after it.

Neither of the boys felt like paddling two miles against the current of the Mississippi just then. Besides, they were anxious to get back to their father. Perhaps the absence of Kate might have been discovered by this time, and considerable anxiety have been aroused.

But, when they came to the spot where their packs of venison had been left, the boys could not resist the temptation to obtain them again. Meat was needed too badly in the settlement to think of taking chances of the wolves running off before morning with the entire stock.

They had apparently entirely forgotten about having been tired before this new and surprising thing came about. At least, to see the nimble way in which the two boys advanced along the river shore, no one would think they exhibited the least sign of weariness.

In due time they approached the bustling scene where the men were chopping so industriously. Toward one cabin that seemed to be about finished they hastened. Mrs. Armstrong, chancing to come to the open door, saw them, and something seemed to tell her the boys were bringing bad news, for she waited for them there, and her face did not seem so filled with sunshine as it had been when they first sighted her.

When the story of Kate’s second abduction had been told, Mr. Armstrong was furious. He readily agreed to the proposition advanced by Sandy, that he and his brother be allowed to take up the trail of the rascally Frenchmen as soon as Pat came home, as it happened unfortunately that the Irish trapper was somewhere out in the woods just then.

The other men were called in, and Kate told her little story again. Black looks told plainly what they thought; and for either Larue or Lacroix to have been seen by any one of those English settlers just then, would have undoubtedly meant his death warrant.

Of course they understood that news of their coming would now be carried to the nearest French trading post; but then they had not anticipated being able to keep this a secret long, it being the hope of Mr. Armstrong that the French would recognize in them allies against England, and thus condone their coming—perhaps extend to them the right hand of fellowship.

Several times Sandy would rush outside to ascertain whether Pat had shown up as yet. He had no eyes just then for the cosy interior of the new cabin. Later on, when this load had been taken off Sandy’s mind, he would think just as highly as any one of the delightful comforts to be enjoyed beside the family hearth. Just now he could think of nothing but the miserable deed of those French trappers, and the fact that one of them was even at that moment wearing the valuable belt of wampum. The great Pontiac had bestowed this upon Sandy, because it had been a bullet from his gun that had pierced the arm of a madman who was about to bring down a war-club on the sachem’s head.

The afternoon was going all too fast to suit Sandy. It would be dark before three hours, and then how could they overtake the Frenchmen, who, given such a long start, would get beyond their reach?

More than ever did he long to once again lay his hands, as the rightful owner, on that beautiful belt of sacred shells, which bore the well-known totem of the big chief under whom the various tribes had united against the palefaces.

Almost a full hour was lost in this way. Then Pat came sauntering in, never dreaming how his absence had fretted the boys.

Quickly he was made acquainted with the situation; and, no sooner had he heard about the two Frenchmen, and how they had treated Kate Armstrong, than Pat was on fire to take to the war-path.

So he and the two boys left the settlement. They headed directly for the spot described by Kate as the place where she had been surprised by Jacques and his equally bold companion.

Once there, the trained vision of Pat O’Mara quickly found the tracks made by the moccasins of the men. They followed them to the edge of the water, where according to the mark made by the prow of the dugout, it was plainly seen that the boat had been shoved out into the river.

Pat took up the trail from that point, and followed it very much as a trained hound might have done; only the sense of sight had to serve him rather than that of scent.

Close at his heels came the two boys, each with his rifle held in readiness for instant use, in case the enemy were sighted. They could not tell but that the reckless Frenchmen might have concluded to hover around, and wait to see if any of the hated English settlers tried to follow them.

But, as the afternoon wore on, and they kept making steady progress away from the river, they came to the conclusion that Jacques and Henri must have had some scheme in mind of cutting off a great bend in the river, the existence of which was well known to them. By making this straight cut across country, perhaps they were saving themselves many miles’ tramp.

All of this was of course based upon the supposition that they meant to keep on heading into the south, and perhaps reaching the lower country at New Orleans.

As they walked steadily along, from time to time Sandy, of course, felt compelled to air his grievances, and he was always sure of a sympathetic auditor in his brother.

CHAPTER XXVIII
CREEPING UP ON THE QUARRY

“Isn’t it a shame that we won’t be able to catch up with them before dark comes?” Sandy began.

“Well, how do we know that yet?” returned Bob.

“Do you really think there’s any chance, then?” asked the other, feverishly.

“About one in ten,” answered Bob. “Something might cause them to stop, and go into camp. Then, as evening came on we would sight their fire, and be able to steal up close to them. Or it might be one of them could twist his ankle in a creeper, and have a tumble that would bruise him so badly he would want to lie over to rest up. There’s always a slender chance of such things happening, you know, Sandy.”

“Oh! to be sure, I understand all that,” return the other; “but, altogether it’s less than one chance in ten of its happening; I think you might have said twenty, while you were about it. But, see, Pat has halted. I hope he hasn’t lost the trail. That would finish us, I’m afraid.”

Pat turned to the boys, and they could see a quizzical gleam in his blue eyes. Bob felt sure the genial Irish trapper must have heard the complaining words of Sandy, and was in the humor to take them with at least a grain of allowance. He understood the nature of the lad.

“Sure, they arre thryin’ their level best to pull the wool over the eyes av anny wan that undertakes to follow,” Pat was saying.

“In what way, Pat?” asked Bob, immediately understanding that the trapper had been reading the signs closely.

“By some av the oldest thricks a sly fox iver practised. Av ye look here ye may say where they jumped on this same fallen tree, and walked along the trunk a good ways. Go as ye plaze, I defy yees to diskiver where the sarpints lift that same tree trunk. But bliss ye, ’tis as plain as the nose on me face; and nobody’d have the laste throuble about saing that. Come wid me, now, and be afther lookin’ at the way they jumped from the log into the bush beyant. Notice how the same is crushed down in the wan spot. ’Tis there they landed, troth; and from that point we must now take up the thrail afresh.”

It proved to be just as Pat said. Among the bushes they easily detected the now well-known tracks of the two French trappers. They had undoubtedly run along the tree trunk, and, at the most favorable part, made a flying leap so as to land at some little distance away, and in the midst of a thicket, hoping to thus throw any possible pursuer off the trail. But the trick was so palpable and so ancient, that it is doubtful whether even Sandy himself would have long been held in check.

Frontier lads early learned a multitude of things connected with trailing that had to be known in order to give them equal advantages with the cunning Indian, or the wise four-footed denizens of the woods. They understood the nature of the animal that made certain tracks, whither he was bound at the time, whether toward home or in search of his prey; just how he limped with one of his legs that had likely been injured at some time; how he crouched in the snow, perhaps waiting until his intended quarry came within reach, and then sprang—to fall short, because the imprint of his paws lay in plain view and those made by the feet of the escaping creature were just beyond. In many ways they could read the story by means of the telltale tracks. An education may not always mean ability to talk in Latin, or read scientific works; both of which would be very poor accomplishments when out in the great wilderness.

So Pat was able to follow the Frenchmen, no matter how many times they resorted to tricks of this sort. In the first place he had done similar things himself on many occasions, and was therefore familiar with them all; and then again, Pat was on the constant lookout for trickery, and the instant he lost sight of the trail, his first act was to look around and decide what he would probably have done, had he been seeking to escape under the same circumstances.

“It’s already getting a little dim; don’t you think, Bob?” asked Sandy, after they had been moving along in this fashion for considerably more than an hour.

“I’m afraid that’s so, Sandy,” returned the other.

“And pretty soon Pat will be telling us that he can follow the trail no longer,” pursued the disconsolate one. “Then here we’ll have to settle down for the night, and wait for it to get light enough to see, when we’ll be off in a big hurry. I wish I could do what Joshua did, you know, Bob.”

“Make the sun stand still, you mean, Sandy?”

“Yes, because that would give us more time to keep chasing after these rascally Frenchmen,” replied the other, with vehemence.

“Oh! yes, but you forget that, if the daylight remained, and they kept on moving all the time, they would be holding their own against us, and continuing to play those tricks that so far have failed to hoodwink Pat.”

“But I hope he will never think of giving up the pursuit as long as we can find a single trace of where they have gone. This is the last chance we’re ever going to have to get back that belt; and something tells me that, if we keep after them, just like the wolf does the wounded stag, day and night, without ever quitting, why, we’re just bound to catch up with Jacques and Henri—some time or other.”

“Wait and see what happens,” was all Bob would say; but Sandy knew that his elder brother had considerable persistency in his nature; and on this account he hugged a hope that Bob would want to keep on the track of the thieves until in the end they were overhauled.

But it certainly was growing dusk rapidly. Pat had to bend over more and more to see what he wanted. At any minute Bob expected to hear the trapper declare that it would be folly to try to track the Frenchmen any longer, unless they chose to make use of a torch, which would be a dangerous proceeding, since they were apt to attract the notice of any roving Indian who might happen to be in the vicinity.

And sure enough, Pat presently came to a full stop, calmly proceeding to charge his little pipe, at which he puffed with evident relish.

“The game is up for the night, me byes,” he said, calmly. “We do be havin’ to settle down here, and wait for the day to come, whin I’ll again sthart away. I doubt that the rogues will thry to throw the dust in our eyes again; and so we kin make better time, wance we get stharted. It’s harrd, I do be understandin’; but what’s the use thryin’ to smash your head ag’inst a stone wall? Bitter far, jist take it aisy-like, and belave it’s all a-goin’ to come out right in the ind.”

They went into camp. Bob had been wise enough to bring along a portion of the fresh venison, so there was no need of any one going hungry; and Pat took it upon himself to build the cleverest little cooking fire they ever saw, so fashioned that, even in the darkness that came upon them presently, it could not have been seen twenty feet away.

After partaking of their supper, the three settled down to spend a long and tiresome night under the trees of that forest bordering the bank of the Mississippi.

Sandy slept very little, Bob felt sure, because every time the latter woke up he could see the other sitting there, hugging his knees with his arms, and with an anxious face turned squarely toward the east, as though desirous of knowing when the first faint peep of daybreak arrived.

And really it was one of the longest nights Bob himself could ever remember passing through. It seemed as though dawn would never come.

But finally Pat stirred, and, sitting up, announced that they had better be making a fire, if they hoped to have a bite before starting off. How he knew what the time was might seem a deep mystery to those unacquainted with the ways of a woodsman. The chances were that Pat, who used the heavens for his clock, had decided that a certain star would be just at a particular point an hour before daylight, and this was plenty of time for their needs.

So once more they were on the move, as soon as the light was strong enough for Pat to take up the trail.

The two Frenchmen evidently believed that they had long since baffled any possible pursuer. Indeed, they could hardly dream that they would be followed at all. The little band of English, that had thus boldly invaded the territory so long claimed by the French, must be only a weak branch of the rival race; and surely would never dare venture far away from their base, lest they be overwhelmed by hostile Indians.

Consequently, Pat was enabled to make very good time along the trail, now that he had the light of day to assist him.

They came upon the ashes of a fire after a while, showing that the men they were chasing must have camped not a great distance away from their own resting place, certainly no more than three miles.

Pat could tell by placing his hand among the still warm ashes just how long before the place had been deserted; just as he was able to discover from the tracks what space of time had elapsed since the men passed along.

Their caution increased as the morning advanced, for they realized that they were rapidly overhauling the two Frenchmen; and, as these worthies had been spending the better part of their lives among the Indians and wild animals of the frontier, it was to be expected that they were well versed in all the ways of the borderman.

Noon found them stealing along like shadows. Pat had announced in a whisper that he believed they would come upon their men resting in the heat of the day; and he had hopes that they might thus take them by surprise.

Ten minutes later he made gestures that told the two pioneer boys the pleasing news of discovery. The Frenchmen had indeed halted to build a small fire, and, having eaten, were now lying flat on their backs, enjoying a noon nap, little dreaming that enemies could be creeping upon them, just as the sly panther crawls, inch by inch, upon his prey.

And when Bob and Sandy presently caught sight of the two recumbent figures they felt a thrill of eagerness and satisfaction, such as always accompanies successful attainment.

CHAPTER XXIX
THE MISSING WAMPUM BELT

Creeping along, with their guns held in readiness for instant use, the three gradually approached the sleepers. Pat frequently paused to observe closely. Bob knew what he was keeping in mind; for the trapper had only lately been telling a story of how once he had been followed by a pair of hardened border renegades, who hoped to catch him asleep and wind up his career. Pat had managed, before they came up, to divest himself of certain of his garments, which he stuffed with dead leaves and arranged so that it looked as though he might be sleeping near his flickering fire. And, when the intended murderers crept near, he was conveniently placed for opening fire upon them.

In that case the border had been well rid of a pair of rascals, and many a settler’s home rendered the more secure because of Pat’s ruse.

But the shrewd Irish trapper did not mean to be caught by any similar trick; and that was why he was making positive, as he advanced, that the two figures were real flesh and blood, and no make-believe forms. And, when he saw each of them move an arm or leg, as a fly or mosquito bothered them, this fact was soon so apparent that Pat lost all fear.

It had already been fully arranged what the programme should be, under such conditions. Pat was to throw himself upon one recumbent figure, while the two boys covered the other with their guns, and threatened him with immediate death unless he held up his hands.

When all was ready, and Pat just about to carry out his part of the arrangement, Henri, who, it happened, had been selected for the victim of the boys, suddenly sat up, and started to stretch, as he yawned sleepily.

Imagine his amazement at seeing three crouching figures within a few feet of him, while two muskets were levelled at his head. Stricken dumb with surprise he could only stare and gasp.

Meanwhile Pat was not idle. With a leap that a panther might have envied he was upon the second figure. Jacques Larue had not the faintest chance. Taken utterly unawares, and at a complete disadvantage, he was as putty in the hands of the stalwart Irish trapper, even though himself a man of sinew.

“Don’t so much as move a hand except to raise them above your head, Henri Lacroix, or you are a dead man!” exclaimed Bob, sternly.

True, these two were only boys, but the Frenchman knew to his sorrow that they were to be feared just as much as men. And it was almost ludicrous to see how quickly he elevated his hands, and made motions with his head to indicate that he gave in.

After that it was no hard task to bind the trappers, though first of all their weapons were taken. They looked alarmed, as indeed they had good cause for being, since they had long been a thorn in the flesh of these English settlers, and might expect to be treated harshly. And doubtless they both remembered with regret how they had just lately done a rascally deed, for which these three might well demand their lives as a recompense.

Had they not known that Pat O’Mara must have trailed them from the place where they set the dugout adrift, containing Mr. Armstrong’s daughter, Jacques Larue and Henri Lacroix might have stoutly denied all knowledge of the crime. As it was they kept their lips sealed, and remained mute.

When, however, Bob and Sandy, astonished and chagrined at not finding the wampum belt upon either of the Frenchmen, although they recovered most of the little keepsakes lost by their mother, demanded to know where it had been hidden, Jacques took it upon himself to explain, with many extravagant shrugs of his broad shoulders; for even in those days his countrymen, even as now, do considerable of their talking with gestures.

“I haf not seen ze belt since last night!” he declared. “Ven I allow myself to go to sleep she is here about my vaist as before; yet, sacré! it amaze me to find ven I am open my eyes dis same morning zat ze belt no longer adorn my person. So it seem zat while I sleep some unknown von, he crawl into ze camp, and take avay ze belt, and me not any ze wiser. I feel nossings, know nossings, only ze belt she be disappear.”

“Did you not suspect that your friend, Henri here, might have taken a notion to take the belt and hide it?” asked Bob, as soon as he could recover from the shock which this declaration gave him.

“Zat is exact vat pass through my mind!” exclaimed Jacques, eagerly. “He, himself, tell you ze same, because him I accuse. But hold on, he say, let us then examine ze ground, and know ze truth. So zat is vat ve do, accordingly. Great is our amazement to learn zat an Indian, he crawl into our camp as ve sleep. I know ze tracks only too vell to believe zat it can be a white man. And I gif you my vord, Monsieur O’Mara, zat ees ze truth, ze whole truth, and nossings but ze truth.”

Bob and Sandy were grievously disappointed. Whether, as Larue declared, some unknown Indian had really crept upon them while they slept, and were wholly off their guard, taking only the sacred wampum belt, as though that were the single object of his mission; or whether, on the other hand, Larue had secreted the belt for reasons of his own, the result was all the same so far as they were concerned, since the belt was gone.

After talking it over, they decided that the two prisoners should be taken to the new settlement. They hardly felt in a condition to declare what measure of punishment should be meted out to such scoundrels; and would much rather a council of the elder men decided this question.

Jacques and Henri seemed very much cast down. They belonged to a class of bordermen who believed in the old adage, “an eye for an eye; a tooth for a tooth;” and under the circumstances had reason to expect nothing in the way of mercy from Mr. Armstrong, whom they had attempted to injure many times.

So the return march was taken up, it being the desire of the boys to reach their destination that day, even though the journey continued into the hours of darkness.

Pat knew that, by taking a bee-line route across country, they could cut off a considerable distance. When a bee is loaded with honey it always rises up, as if to take an observation, and then makes a direct line for its hive, even though a full mile away from it at the time. Many claim that it is a peculiar “homing instinct” that guides the little insect at such times; but this, on the other hand, seems far from being the case; since, if the hive be moved in the night time, the bees, starting out in the morning, will not return to the old position, but fly straight to the new.

To lose Pat O’Mara in any woods would be next to impossible, because he was perfectly at home there, and, although they were now passing over ground which he saw for the first time that afternoon, the accuracy of his deduction was made manifest just about dusk, when Sandy declared that he certainly heard the well-known sound of an axe being used upon firewood, somewhere ahead.

Half an hour later, they walked in on the sentry who stood guard, and whose quick hearing, detecting their advance, caused a peremptory challenge.

Great was the rejoicing among the settlers when they saw how successful had been the chase after the rascally trappers belonging to that league of French Canadians who were employed all along the great river in catching the rich pelt-bearing animals inhabiting that region, or else trading with the Indians for their furs.

When Mrs. Armstrong found almost all of her little belongings returned to her, she was of course delighted; though this circumstance was of small value in her fond eyes as compared with the safe home-coming of her brave boys.

When the story of the missing belt was told, few believed what the Frenchman had advanced as the truth.

The general opinion seemed to be that, for some unknown reason, the pair had secreted the wampum belt somewhere, meaning to get it again at a later time. And some of the settlers were loud in their demand that the men be forced to confess what had been done with the belt, which, if only possessed again, was certain to be a great source of security to the new settlement. They believed it would be a talisman calculated to act as a bar upon the passions of the Indians, as long as the name of Pontiac was held in reverence by the confederated tribes of the middle West.

So the two men were tightly bound and thrust into a cabin that was nearly completed, being told that their fate would be decided at a council later on. They acted in a sullen manner, declaring they had told only the truth; and that, even though the English put them to the stake, they could say nothing different. At the same time Larue took occasion to say that, should their fate ever become known to the commandant of the nearest trading post, an expedition would assuredly be fitted out against the new settlement that would wipe it from the face of the earth.

Mr. Armstrong was uneasy. He knew that the men deserved death, according to the law of the border; and yet, for many reasons, he was personally averse to meting out such judgment upon them.

He was far from being a bloodthirsty man to begin with. Then Kate had really not been injured when in their hands, and he had that to be thankful for; though their method of annoying the English settlers by setting the girl adrift on the river was a cowardly proceeding that surely merited severe punishment.

Last of all, Mr. Armstrong was really desirous of making a truce with the French traders in charge of the posts along the Mississippi. He could see far enough ahead to realize that, when the Colonies split with the Mother Country, the natural allies of the rebels would be the French. And, as far as possible, he did not wish to do anything calculated to defer this adjustment of past differences between the two nations.

And so it was decided to keep the two men shut up for a few days, in order that they would suffer the tortures of uncertainty concerning their fate. Then, if they did not confess concerning the disposal of the precious wampum belt, the English settlers could hold back their weapons, and cast them adrift, to make their way back to the nearest post as best they could; perhaps with a message to the commandant pertaining to the news from the seacoast, and the threatening rupture that was surely coming between England and her rebellious child in America.

Accordingly, three days later, the two men were released, with a stern warning to keep away from this settlement, if they valued their lives.

CHAPTER XXX
THE MYSTERY SOLVED CONCLUSION

Bob, despite his long tramp, as well as the excitement that had been his portion during that day, felt little like sleeping. It seemed to him as though something weighed upon his mind, preventing him from enjoying his customary slumber. He did not know just what to make of it, and wondered whether it might mean that danger again hung over the cabin of his parents.

When the others had settled down, Bob wandered forth. It was not his turn to act as sentry, and so, instead of passing around to converse in low tones with Mr. Bancroft, who was serving at the time, he found a place where he could be comfortable, and there remained, with his back against the cabin wall.

The night was warm, so that it was no task to remain out of doors. Besides, Bob was accustomed to looking upon the star-decked sky as his roof. Many a time had he and Sandy slept in the open, with no other covering. They were hardy, as indeed all pioneer boys had to be, in order to encounter successfully the privations that seemed to be their birthright.

Bob, himself, hardly knew just why he had chosen to settle down there, where he could observe the door of his father’s new cabin in the flickering light of the dying fire. He seemed to take solid satisfaction in just sitting where he could keep his eyes upon it, while thinking about that other home, many hundred miles away, which they had left forever.

Bob was just becoming conscious of the fact that his eyes were feeling a trifle heavy, and wondering whether, after all, he would not be wise in entering the cabin, so as to seek rest upon the furs that constituted his couch, when he suddenly became aware that there was something moving between him and the almost dead fire.

Now thoroughly aroused, he bent over until upon his knees, and eagerly watched. In this fashion he presently became aware that it was a human figure, and not a prowling wolf, that had attracted his attention. It was surely advancing, slowly yet positively, toward the cabin occupied by the Armstrongs.

Bob felt his pulses thrill. Was this some friend of the prisoners, and did he mean to try to effect their release? Then why pick out the cabin where Sandy, Kate, Mr. Armstrong and the little mother slept, in total ignorance of the peril that seemed to hover above their heads; unless, as seemed possible, he knew not where the captive Frenchmen were confined. And it added to Bob’s anxiety when presently he made the alarming discovery that the silent creeper was a painted and feathered Indian!

Waiting until the creeper had bent low near the door of the cabin, Bob launched himself forward. He landed full upon the other’s back. There was an involuntary grunt from the Indian, and a twisting of the lithe figure; but either the savage did not wish to resist violently, or else he realized the folly of trying to get away from the strong clutch of the young pioneer, for he almost immediately relaxed his muscles, and remained there, limp enough.

Meanwhile Bob’s cries had brought forth, not only his father and the rest of the family, but everybody in the settlement. They came crowding around, the men with guns, ready to defend their families against a possible attack of the treacherous red foe.

Great, therefore, was the surprise of the men when they learned how Bob had captured the creeping Indian, whose actions would indicate that he must have had some base designs upon the Armstrong cabin. His arms had been hastily secured by one of the men; but he now stood calmly before them, apparently scorning to show any desire to flee.

Pat took one look at the prisoner, and uttered an exclamation of amazement.

“By the powers, now!” he cried, “and who would be afther expectin’ to say a Delaware brave as far away from his home country as this wan?”

“A Delaware!” echoed Sandy, in his turn pushing forward, to stare in the face of the prisoner; and then he, too, gave a cry.

“Bob, look here, and tell me if this isn’t that same young brave we found with his foot caught in a crevice of the rock, and nearly starved to death?”

And the astonished Bob, after coming closer to the prisoner, agreed with his younger brother.

“Yes, as sure as you live, it is the young brave who said at the time when we set him free and gave him meat, that his name was Buckongahelas, and his father a chief of the Delawares. Oh! now we know who sent those warning letters written on birch bark. Just as we guessed more than once, it was he. That was the Indian way of showing gratitude; and he has even followed us all the way to the Mississippi, in order to again help us. It is the strangest thing I ever knew.”

“But, if he is your friend, what was he creeping up to the door of your cabin for?” demanded Mr. Wayne, who did not trust the Indian nature any too well, and found it difficult to believe that any redskin could feel gratitude.

Sandy was already unfastening the thongs that held the arms of the Delaware behind his back; and he answered indignantly:

“I’m sure that, if you take the trouble to look, Mr. Wayne, you will find that he was placing another of his friendly birch-bark messages under the door of our cabin.”

It was Bob, however, inspired by a sudden thrilling hope, who turned to look; and, hardly had Sandy spoken, than the other gave a shout of delight, as he snatched some object up from the ground, where it had been pushed from the stoop by the hasty exit of the Armstrong family.

“The precious wampum belt, Sandy!” he cried in glee; “see, Buckongahelas has brought it back to us, and was about to leave it at our doorstep when I jumped on his back!”

“Oh! where do you think he could have found it?” gasped Sandy, as he took the gift of the great Pontiac from the hand of his brother, and even pressed it to his lips, because he considered it the greatest blessing the little colony could own.

“Stop and think, Sandy,” said Bob, trying to control his voice; “and you will surely remember what Jacques said about some one creeping upon them while they slept last night, taking only the belt, and nothing more. Buckongahelas did that; and to complete his splendid showing of Indian gratitude.”

They all now turned upon the young Delaware, as though expecting that he should explain the mystery; which he did not seem averse to doing, though he evidently knew so little of English that he spoke to Pat in his native tongue, and the trapper translated the same to the colonists.

“Buckongahelas owes his life to the young white hunters. When he would have died like the old wolf that has lost its teeth, and can no longer hold fast to its prey, they came and saved him. More than that, they gave him meat to take him on his journey to the lodges of his people.

“It is not well that a Delaware, and the son of a chief, should be in the debt of a white man. Buckongahelas made a vow to the Great Manitou that he would repay it all. So he hovered about the home of the palefaces. Many times he saw them and they knew it not. He had reason to hate the two French trappers who came from far away in the land of the setting sun. He watched, and saw that they meant harm to the family of the white friends of Buckongahelas. Again, and yet again, did the Delaware send messages with warning. Yet did the bad palefaces steal the belt of Pontiac away, and flee for the land of the Great Water.

“That was bad. Buckongahelas could not bear to see the grief of his white friends, and go back to his own lodge. A Delaware knows no fear. So, when they journeyed down the beautiful river on their new boat the Delaware was always near by. Day and night Buckongahelas kept with the palefaces; sometimes on a log floating along, and passing their camp, but always watching for the two bad men who would wrong their own kind by keeping the belt of Pontiac, that did not belong to them.

“And when the sun went down last night, the Delaware crept into the camp of the French trappers, and took away the belt that belonged to another. Now Buckongahelas feels that he can go back on the long journey to his own people. The debt has been paid, and he may look in the face of his father again. It is well.”

And so was the mystery lifted from the strange friendly warnings that, from time to time, had been received, when some particular peril hovered over the Armstrongs. After all, it was very simple. Both Bob and Sandy understood Indian nature well enough to know what a strong hold the question of honor had upon a brave like the highly-strung young Delaware. Proud of his own strength and courage, it galled him to think that he was under so great an obligation to those two half-grown white boys; and he could never rest content until he had succeeded in cancelling the debt after the manner of his people.

He would not remain even over the night with them, for, truth to tell, Buckongahelas had no particular love for the whites, no matter whether they were English or French; and what history tells about his future exploits amply proves that what he did for the Armstrongs was a purely personal matter, and not because he wished to be friendly toward the people who were slowly but surely driving his tribe toward the setting sun. The Delawares had once inhabited the land near Chesapeake and Delaware bays, though at that time they had moved so as to be further away from the encroaching whites. They now found that the latter were following on their track in constantly increasing numbers.

With the recovery of the wonderful wampum belt the boys no longer feared an Indian attack, unless something happened to Pontiac that would remove the famous sachem from the leadership of the confederated tribes. And we, who have read the history of our country in the early days, know that this did not occur for several years.

The new settlement progressed wonderfully. It was not very long before they had an accession, as the several families who had manifested a desire to follow them to the land of the Mississippi joined fortunes with those who had already built cabins, and were engaged in clearing and planting the land.

It soon became known to the Indians roundabout that the all-powerful Pontiac had spread his protecting mantle over this struggling little settlement on the bank of the Big Water; and from that hour they gave the colonists no trouble.

And the commandant at the nearest French trading post must have received the message that Mr. Armstrong forwarded in care of Jacques Larue, for he sent back word that there would be peace between his trappers and the little English settlement on the bank of the Mississippi.

The two rascally trappers had been greatly surprised at being let off without punishment. Perhaps their rough natures were not capable of comprehending the real meaning of the act; but they were glad to get away without paying for their evil deeds; and expressed the intention of fighting shy of the English settlement after that. As to whether they would keep their word or not may be made apparent later on, when many of the characters who have figured in this volume may be met again in the pages of a new book, to be called, “The Pioneer Boys of the Missouri.”

Bob and Sandy had good reason to feel satisfied with the outcome of their little act of kindness. Of course, it did not amount to much to them, when they released that young Delaware from his rocky trap, by means of which his foot had been held secure for several days; but, to the mind of the Indian, it was a debt that must be sacredly paid several fold. And, whenever they looked upon the magic wampum belt that stood as a signet of the all-powerful protecting arm of Pontiac, the boys were wont to exchange a significant glance, as though to say that “bread cast upon the waters will return ere many days.” And surely this saying had been amply justified in their case.

THE END.

NOTES

Note 1 (page 5)

What Sandy said about the extensive boundaries of Virginia was not surprising; for at this early day, just before the breaking out of the Revolutionary War, the colonists had only a vague idea of the next-to-unknown land that lay to the west. Beyond the Alleghanies, extending to the far-away Mississippi, the country was considered to be a part of Fincastle County, Virginia. Beyond that lay the Northwest Territory, a practically unexplored country, still awaiting the coming of the bold adventurer.

Note 2 (page 7)

While the flood which the young pioneers witnessed may well have been the greatest that the Indians had ever known, it was probably slight compared with the annual floods of the present day. Every spring the Ohio and its tributaries receive a huge volume of water from the melting snows, and from the torrential rains which occur at that season, and these spring freshets are looked upon as a matter of course, and only commented on when they cause unusual loss of property or of human life. One of the greatest floods that the Valley of the Ohio has ever experienced was that in the latter part of March, 1913, when property valued at hundreds of millions of dollars was destroyed and many hundreds of people were drowned.

As far as possible, disaster is guarded against by an elaborate system of reservoirs and levees, but a year seldom passes in which the river does not break through at some point and flood many miles of the Valley. The increased volume of the annual floods is ascribed to the fact that the forests which originally lined the banks of the Ohio and its tributaries have been cut down, with the result that the excess of water is not absorbed by the soil, but comes pouring down from the hills.

Note 3 (page 9)

Pontiac, a powerful chief of the Ottawa Indians, is famous as the one Indian who succeeded in uniting the numerous tribes along the frontier in a well-organized confederacy for the purpose of driving the English from the country. The uprising took place in 1763 and the war continued for three years, during which period the Indians captured practically every frontier fort except Detroit, which was besieged by them for many months, but succeeded in holding out against them. The war is one unending succession of massacres and Indian outrages, but the Indians were finally overcome, chiefly through their inability to persist in an enterprise unless immediately successful, joined to the jealousies among the tribes themselves. Throughout the war Pontiac was a most romantic figure, brave and able, and with all those characteristics which go to make up “the noble Red Man.” Pontiac was assassinated in 1769 by a Delaware brave who had been bribed to do the deed by an English trader who had a personal grudge against the great Chief.

Note 4 (page 55)

Every one has heard of Boone and Kenton; but history has but little to tell of James Harrod, surveyor, pioneer and scout. It is known that, even before Boone penetrated into Kentucky, Harrod had built himself a cabin on the site of the present city of Harrodsburg. Under a gentle and mild exterior, he seems to have been one of the bravest and most resourceful of the group of pioneers who contributed so much to the settling of Kentucky and the Valley of the Ohio. About the only anecdote of him which has come down to us is of the time when, single-handed, he tracked five Indian braves who had destroyed a frontiersman’s home and carried off two of his daughters. It seems almost incredible; but, without aid, he killed four and wounded the fifth Indian, and returned the girls to their father. His fate is shrouded in mystery. While in the prime of life he one day disappeared into the forest, and never returned, and just how he met his end will never be known.

Note 5 (page 62)

Whatever feeling the frontiersmen had against the hostile Indians, it was as nothing compared with their hatred and loathing for the renegade white men who joined with the Indians against the settlers. These men, fortunately few in number, were usually either desperate criminals whose lives were unsafe in the colonies, or else degenerate brutes who found life among the Indians more to their liking than that in civilized surroundings. The Indians, as a whole, had many noble qualities, such as loyalty to friendship and a strong regard for their word of honor, but the renegades lacked every good quality, being more cruel, more treacherous, more brutalized than the Indians with whom they cast in their lots.

The history of the frontier is full of accounts of these men, and prominent among them was Simon Girty, concerning whom many stories are told. McKee is less well known, but is mentioned occasionally as the companion of the more famous, or, rather, more infamous Girty.

Note 6 (page 64)

History tells us that Little Turtle lived and died as the enemy of the settlers who came out from Virginia to people the wilderness. Many years later, when he was sachem of his tribe, and said to be the shrewdest foe the whites had ever known, it was under his leadership that the associated tribes—Wyandots or Hurons, Iroquois, Ottawas, Pottawottomies, Chippewas, Sacs, Delawares, Miamis and Shawanees—came down upon General St. Clair and his army before daylight, and won a most decisive victory over the forces he was leading against their towns of Old Chillicothe, Pecaway, and others.

Note 7 (page 81)

The Shawanee invariably shaped his flints after the custom of his people; the Huron, the Wyandot, the Delaware, the Pottawottomie did his in an altogether different way. One arrowhead was long; another rather broad; a third had a small shank that fitted in the crotch made by splitting the end of the shaft; while a fourth needed no such appendage, but was inserted direct, and the two sides of the arrow securely bound, until the whole was as rigid as though forming one piece.

Note 8 (page 127)

Boone at this time was held to be the finest borderman west of the Alleghanies. With his calm, resolute bearing he impressed every one he met as few men have the faculty for doing.

Even the hostile Indians felt that he was a real man; and when, several years later, Boone had the misfortune to fall into their hands, instead of putting him to the torture post, or making him run the gauntlet, as ordinary prisoners were treated, they took him a prisoner to one of their villages far away in Ohio, where he was finally adopted into the tribe, and treated with great respect as a brother. Indeed, he had considerable difficulty in escaping later on, when he learned that hundreds of the Shawanee warriors were assembling, with the purpose of surprising his favorite settlement, which he managed to reach in time to prepare it for the defence that has become historic.

Note 9 (page 149)

This prophecy of Bob Armstrong really came true, since the name of Blue Jacket figures on many pages of border history. He never loved the whites as a class; it was only the Armstrongs whom he had come to care for; and this explains why, at a later stage of his life, Blue Jacket even led his warriors against the settlements that were encroaching on the hunting grounds of the red men. Those who would know more about this brilliant young brave, who afterwards became so noted a chief, must study the accounts of border warfare, in which his exploits are written.

Note 10 (page 209)

This wonderful man of the border, Simon Kenton, seemed to bear a charmed life. Many times was he captured; and on three occasions, at least, made to run the gauntlet of his foes, while the brush was piled up around the stake at which they fully intended to burn him; but he always escaped. He had come to believe that he was never fated to die at the hands of the red foe of the pioneers; and this made him the more rash. Even so valued a friend as Boone was unable to hold him in check, once he allowed this spirit of recklessness to have dominion over him.

Once, it is recorded that, just after his funeral pile of brush had been lighted, there came a furious thunder storm, the rain putting out the fire, and the crash of the elements sending fear to the hearts of the Indians. Then the medicine-man hastened to warn them that the Great Spirit was angry with his red children because they had attempted to put to death a paleface whom the spirits especially favored; and so Kenton had been put back in the prison lodge again, from which in time he made his escape, as usual.

Note 11 (page 242)

France and England both claimed this country as their own; but for a long time those who owed allegiance to the lilies of France had held sway here, undisturbed, bargaining with the many Indian tribes, and assuming all the airs of real owners of these woods and waters, which fairly teemed with game or fish.

When they learned that the first bold band of English had braved all the perils that lay in wait for them, and had even established new homesteads on the shore of the mighty Mississippi, they were first amazed, and then furious.

FOOTNOTES:

[1] See “The Pioneer Boys of the Ohio.”

[2] Now known as Pittsburg.

[3] The notes will be found at the end of the book.

[4] See “The Pioneer Boys on the Great Lakes.”

[5] See “The Pioneer Boys on the Great Lakes.”

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“Mrs. Johnston’s ... are of the character that cause the mind to grow gravely meditative, the eyes to shine with tender mist, and the heart strings to stir to strange, sweet music of human sympathy.”—Los Angeles Graphic.

THE RIVAL CAMPERS; Or, The Adventures of Henry Burns. By Ruel Perley Smith.

Square 12mo, cloth decorative, illustrated       $1.50

A story of a party of typical American lads, courageous, alert, and athletic, who spend a summer camping on an island off the Maine coast.

THE RIVAL CAMPERS AFLOAT; Or, The Prize Yacht Viking. By Ruel Perley Smith.

Square 12mo, cloth decorative, illustrated       $1.50

This book is a continuation of the adventures of “The Rival Campers” on their prize yacht Viking.

THE RIVAL CAMPERS ASHORE

By Ruel Perley Smith.

Square 12mo, cloth decorative, illustrated       $1.50

“As interesting ashore as when afloat.”—The Interior.

THE RIVAL CAMPERS AMONG THE OYSTER PIRATES; Or, Jack Harvey’s Adventures.

By Ruel Perley Smith.

Illustrated       $1.50

“Just the type of book which is most popular with lads who are in their early teens.”—The Philadelphia Item.

A TEXAS BLUE BONNET

By Caroline Emilia Jacobs (Emilia Elliott).

12mo, illustrated       $1.50

“The book’s heroine Blue Bonnet has the very finest kind of wholesome, honest lively girlishness and cannot but make friends with every one who meets her through the book as medium.”—Chicago Inter-Ocean.

BLUE BONNET’S RANCH PARTY

A Sequel to “A Texas Blue Bonnet.” By Caroline Elliott Jacobs and Edyth Ellerbeck Read.

12mo, illustrated       $1.50

The new story begins where the first volume leaves off and takes Blue Bonnet and the “We Are Seven Club” to the ranch in Texas. The tables are completely turned: Blue Bonnet is here in her natural element, while her friends from Woodford have to learn the customs and traditions of another world.

THE GIRLS OF FRIENDLY TERRACE

Or, Peggy Raymond’s Success. By Harriet Lummis Smith.

12mo, illustrated       $1.50

This is a book that will gladden the hearts of many girl readers because of its charming air of comradeship and reality. It is a very interesting group of girls who live on Friendly Terrace and their good times and other times are graphically related by the author, who shows a sympathetic knowledge of girl character.

PEGGY RAYMOND’S VACATION; Or, Friendly Terrace Transplanted.

A Sequel to “The Girls of Friendly Terrace.” By Harriet Lummis Smith.

Library 12mo, cloth decorative, illustrated       $1.50

Readers who made the acquaintance of Peggy Raymond and her bevy of girl chums in “The Girls of Friendly Terrace” will be glad to continue the acquaintance of these attractive young folks.

Several new characters are introduced, and one at least will prove a not unworthy rival of the favorites among the Terrace girls.

THE HADLEY HALL SERIES

By LOUISE M. BREITENBACH

Each, library 12mo, cloth decorative, illustrated       $1.50

ALMA AT HADLEY HALL

“Miss Breitenbach is to be congratulated on having written such an appealing book for girls, and the girls are to be congratulated on having the privilege of reading it.”—The Detroit Free Press.

ALMA’S SOPHOMORE YEAR

“The characters are strongly drawn with a life-like realism, the incidents are well and progressively sequenced, and the action is so well timed that the interest never slackens.”—Boston Ideas.

———————

THE SUNBRIDGE GIRLS AT SIX STAR RANCH. By Eleanor Stuart.

Library 12mo, cloth decorative, illustrated       $1.50

Any girl of any age who is fond of outdoor life will appreciate this fascinating tale of Genevieve Hartley’s summer vacation house-party on a Texas ranch. Genevieve and her friends are real girls, the kind that one would like to have in one’s own home, and there are a couple of manly boys introduced.

BEAUTIFUL JOE’S PARADISE; Or, The Island of Brotherly Love. A Sequel to “Beautiful Joe.” By Marshall Saunders, author of “Beautiful Joe.”

One vol., library 12mo, cloth illustrated       $1.50

“This book revives the spirit of ‘Beautiful Joe’ capitally. It is fairly riotous with fun, and is about as unusual as anything in the animal book line that has seen the light.”—Philadelphia Item.

’TILDA JANE. By Marshall Saunders.

One vol., 12mo, fully illustrated, cloth decorative,       $1.50

“It is one of those exquisitely simple and truthful books that win and charm the reader, and I did not put it down until I had finished it—honest! And I am sure that every one, young or old, who reads will be proud and happy to make the acquaintance of the delicious waif.

“I cannot think of any better book for children than this. I commend it unreservedly.”—Cyrus T. Brady.

’TILDA JANE’S ORPHANS. A Sequel to “’Tilda Jane.” By Marshall Saunders.

One vol., 12mo, fully illustrated, cloth decorative,       $1.50

’Tilda Jane is the same original, delightful girl, and as fond of her animal pets as ever.

“There is so much to this story that it is almost a novel—in fact it is better than many novels, although written for only young people. Compared with much of to-day’s juveniles it is quite a superior book.”—Chicago Tribune.

THE STORY OF THE GRAVELYS. By Marshall Saunders, author of “Beautiful Joe’s Paradise,” “’Tilda Jane,” etc.

Library 12mo, cloth decorative. Illustrated by E. B. Barry       $1.50

Here we have the haps and mishaps, the trials and triumphs, of a delightful New England family.

PUSSY BLACK-FACE. By Marshall Saunders, author of “’Tilda Jane,” “’Tilda Jane’s Orphans,” etc.

Library 12mo, cloth decorative, illustrated       $1.50

This is a delightful little story of animal life, written in this author’s best vein, dealing especially with Pussy Black-Face, a little Beacon Street (Boston) kitten, who is the narrator.

FAMOUS LEADERS SERIES

By CHARLES H. L. JOHNSTON

Each, large 12mo, cloth decorative, illustrated       $1.50

FAMOUS CAVALRY LEADERS

Biographical sketches, with anecdotes and reminiscences, of the heroes of history who were leaders of cavalry.

“More of such books should be written, books that acquaint young readers with historical personages in a pleasant informal way.”—N. Y. Sun.

FAMOUS INDIAN CHIEFS

In this book Mr. Johnston gives interesting sketches of the Indian braves who have figured with prominence in the history of our own land.

FAMOUS PRIVATEERSMEN AND ADVENTURERS OF THE SEA

In this volume Mr. Johnston tells interesting stories about the famous sailors of fortune.

FAMOUS SCOUTS

“It is the kind of a book that will have a great fascination for boys and young men and while it entertains them it will also present valuable information in regard to those who have left their impress upon the history of the country.”—The New London Day.

FAMOUS FRONTIERSMEN AND HEROES OF THE BORDER

This book is devoted to a description of the adventurous lives and stirring experiences of many pioneer heroes who were prominently identified with the opening of the great west.

———————

RALPH SOMERBY AT PANAMA

By Forbes Lindsay.

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Real buccaneers who overran the Spanish main, and adventurers who figured prominently in the sack of Panama, all enter into the life of Ralph Somerby, a young English lad, on his way to the colony in Jamaica. After a year of wandering and adventure he covers the route of the present Panama Canal.

THE DOCTOR’S LITTLE GIRL

By Marion Ames Taggart.

One vol., library 12mo, illustrated       $1.50

A thoroughly enjoyable tale of a little girl and her comrade father, written in a delightful vein of sympathetic comprehension of the child’s point of view.

“The characters are strongly drawn with a life-like realism, the incidents are well and progressively sequenced, and the action is so well timed that the interest never slackens.”—Boston Ideas.

SWEET NANCY

The Further Adventures of the Doctor’s Little Girl. By Marion Ames Taggart.

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In the new book, the author tells how Nancy becomes in fact “the doctor’s assistant,” and continues to shed happiness around her.

NANCY, THE DOCTOR’S LITTLE PARTNER

By Marion Ames Taggart.

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In Nancy Porter, Miss Taggart has created one of the most lovable child characters in recent years. In the new story she is the same bright and cheerful little maid.

NANCY PORTER’S OPPORTUNITY

By Marion Ames Taggart.

One vol., library 12mo, illustrated       $1.50

Already as the “doctor’s partner” Nancy Porter has won the affection of her readers, and in the same lovable manner she continues in the new book to press the keynotes of optimism and good-will.

BORN TO THE BLUE

By Florence Kimball Russel.

12mo, cloth decorative, illustrated       $1.25

The atmosphere of army life on the plains breathes on every page of this delightful tale. The boy is the son of a captain of U. S. cavalry stationed at a frontier post in the days when our regulars earned the gratitude of a nation.

IN WEST POINT GRAY

By Florence Kimball Russel.

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“Singularly enough one of the best books of the year for boys is written by a woman and deals with life at West Point. The presentment of life in the famous military academy whence so many heroes have graduated is realistic and enjoyable.”—New York Sun.

THE SANDMAN: HIS FARM STORIES

By William J. Hopkins. With fifty illustrations by Ada Clendenin Williamson.

Large 12mo, decorative cover       $1.50

“An amusing, original book, written for the benefit of very small children. It should be one of the most popular of the year’s books for reading to small children.”—Buffalo Express.

THE SANDMAN: MORE FARM STORIES

By William J. Hopkins.

Large 12mo, decorative cover, fully illustrated       $1.50

Mr. Hopkins’s first essay at bedtime stories met with such approval that this second book of “Sandman” tales was issued for scores of eager children. Life on the farm, and out-of-doors, is portrayed in his inimitable manner.

THE SANDMAN: HIS SHIP STORIES

By William J. Hopkins, author of “The Sandman: His Farm Stories,” etc.

Large 12mo, decorative cover, fully illustrated       $1.50

“Children call for these stories over and over again.”—Chicago Evening Post.

THE SANDMAN: HIS SEA STORIES

By William J. Hopkins.

Large 12mo, decorative cover, fully illustrated       $1.50

Each year adds to the popularity of this unique series of stories to be read to the little ones at bed time and at other times.

THE YOUNG PIONEER SERIES

By HARRISON ADAMS

Each, 12mo, cloth decorative, illustrated       $1.25

THE PIONEER BOYS OF THE OHIO; Or, Clearing the Wilderness.

Boys will follow with ever increasing interest the fortunes of Bob and Sandy Armstrong in their hunting and trapping expeditions, and in their adventures with the Indians.

THE PIONEER BOYS ON THE GREAT LAKES; Or, On the Trail of the Iroquois.

In this story are introduced all of the principal characters of the first volume, and Bob and Sandy learn much of life in the open from the French trappers and coureurs du bois.

THE PIONEER BOYS OF THE MISSISSIPPI; Or, The Homestead in the Wilderness.

Telling of how the Armstrong family decides to move farther west after an awful flood on the Ohio, and how they travelled to the great “Father of Waters” and settled on its banks, and of how the pioneer boys had many adventures both with wild animals and with the crafty Indians.

———————

HAWK: THE YOUNG OSAGE

By C. H. Robinson.

One vol., cloth decorative, illustrated       $1.50

A fine story of North American Indians. The story begins when Hawk is a papoose and follows him until he is finally made chief of his tribe.

THE YOUNG APPRENTICE; Or, Allan West’s Chum.

By Burton E. Stevenson.

Square 12mo, cloth decorative, illustrated       $1.50

In this book Mr. Stevenson takes up a new branch of railroading, namely, the work of the “Shops.”

THE YOUNG SECTION-HAND; Or, The Adventures of Allan West. By Burton E. Stevenson.

Square 12mo, cloth decorative, illustrated       $1.50

Mr. Stevenson’s hero is a manly lad of sixteen, who is given a chance as a section-hand on a big Western railroad, and whose experiences are as real as they are thrilling.

THE YOUNG TRAIN DISPATCHER. By Burton E. Stevenson.

Square 12mo, cloth decorative, illustrated       $1.50

“A better book for boys has never left an American press.”—Springfield Union.

THE YOUNG TRAIN MASTER. By Burton E. Stevenson.

Square 12mo, cloth decorative, illustrated       $1.50

“Nothing better in the way of a book of adventure for boys.”—Boston Herald.

CAPTAIN JACK LORIMER; By Winn Standish.

Square 12mo, cloth decorative, illustrated       $1.50

Jack is a fine example of the American high-school boy.

JACK LORIMER’S CHAMPIONS; Or, Sports on Land and Lake. By Winn Standish.

Square 12mo, cloth decorative, illustrated       $1.50

“It is exactly the sort of book to give a boy interested in athletics.”—Chicago Tribune.

JACK LORIMER’S HOLIDAYS; Or, Millvale High in Camp. By Winn Standish.

Square 12mo, cloth decorative, illustrated       $1.50

Full of just the kind of fun, sports and adventure to excite the healthy minded youngster to emulation.

JACK LORIMER’S SUBSTITUTE: Or, The Acting Captain of the Team. By Winn Standish.

Square 12mo, cloth decorative, illustrated       $1.50

On the sporting side, this book takes up football, wrestling, and tobogganing.

JACK LORIMER, FRESHMAN. By Winn Standish.

Square 12mo, cloth decorative, illustrated       $1.50

This book is typical of the American college boys’ life and is a lively story.

Transcriber’s Notes:

Text uses both war-path and warpath, sea-coast and seacoast.

Page 58, “woodsrangers” changed to “woodrangers” (took them to be woodrangers)

Page 247, “Dalaware” changed “Delaware” (Delaware flint barb)

Page A-7, “reminiscenses” changed to “reminiscences” (with anecdotes and reminiscences)

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Table of Contents

- THE PIONEER BOYS OF THE MISSISSIPPI
- PREFACE
- CONTENTS
- LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS
- CHAPTER I CAUGHT IN HIS OWN TRAP
- CHAPTER II THE BIRCH-BARK MESSAGE
- CHAPTER III FROM ONE PERIL TO ANOTHER
- CHAPTER IV AT THE MERCY OF THE FLOOD
- CHAPTER V FRIENDS IN TIME OF NEED
- CHAPTER VI SIMON GIRTY, THE RENEGADE

- CHAPTER VII THE FLINT-TIPPED ARROW ON THE ROOF

- CHAPTER VIII THE TREASURE BOX THAT WAS FORGOTTEN

- CHAPTER IX THE SPIRIT OF THE PIONEER

- CHAPTER X THE CABIN THAT BRAVED THE FLOOD

- CHAPTER XI DANIEL BOONE, THE PILOT OF THE SETTLERS

- CHAPTER XII STARTING FOR THE NEW WEST
- CHAPTER XIII BLUE JACKET GIVES WARNING
- CHAPTER XIV A TARGET FOR ARROWS AND BULLETS
- CHAPTER XV A HUNT FOR FRESH MEAT
- CHAPTER XVI THE FIGURES AGAINST THE SKY
- CHAPTER XVII SIGNAL SHOTS
- CHAPTER XVIII THE MAN WITH THE CHARMED LIFE
- CHAPTER XIX KENTON, THE RECKLESS BORDERER
- CHAPTER XX THE TWO-LEGGED WOLF
- CHAPTER XXI BAGGING A BUFFALO

- CHAPTER XXII AT THE SETTING OF THE EVENING STAR

- CHAPTER XXIII WHAT THE DEAD ASHES OF A FIRE TOLD

- CHAPTER XXIV A NEW HOME ON THE MISSISSIPPI
- CHAPTER XXV THE PERIL OF KATE
- CHAPTER XXVI THE DRIFTING DUGOUT
- CHAPTER XXVII ON THE TRAIL
- CHAPTER XXVIII CREEPING UP ON THE QUARRY
- CHAPTER XXIX THE MISSING WAMPUM BELT
- CHAPTER XXX THE MYSTERY SOLVED CONCLUSION

- NOTES

- Note 1 (page 5)
- Note 2 (page 7)
- Note 3 (page 9)
- Note 4 (page 55)
- Note 5 (page 62)
- Note 6 (page 64)
- Note 7 (page 81)
- Note 8 (page 127)
- Note 9 (page 149)
- Note 10 (page 209)
- Note 11 (page 242)
- FOOTNOTES:

- THE FULL PROJECT GUTENBERG LICENSE