Kenton makes a reconnoissance from a tree-top—He stalks a young brave and captures him—The Indian guides the scouts to Micmacto—Where they watch the dances and sports from a point of vantage—The discovery and the alarm—“I am a white woman! For God’s sake take me with you!”—Three against hundreds—The attackers cannot pass the “dead line”—The white squaw proves her marksmanship—The escape over the precipice by night—The boldest course proves to be the wisest—A three days’ race through the forest—The Ohio is passed in safety—Boonesborough again.

As the sun sank below the horizon, the scouts began cautiously approaching the town. They made a dÉtour of a mile or so, in order to get to windward and avoid discovery by the Indian dogs. A thick grove of trees on the edge of the woods, and less than a hundred yards from the village, was the point at which Kenton aimed. They reached it without mishap, and selecting a large oak clambered into its lower branches. From this elevation, which was increased by the lay of the ground, the spies commanded a good view of the square and surrounding buildings of Chillicothe.

Hardy was very eager to see the town so closely associated with the adventures of his two heroes. Here was the place in which Boone had been held prisoner for several weeks, and whence he had made his wonderful journey to Boonesborough in less than five days. It was here that Kenton had run the gauntlet, and there upon a mound stood the council-house into which he had fled. Here, too, in all probability, Hardy himself would now have been a prisoner, suffering torture and perhaps bound to the stake, but for his rescue by Kenton a few nights previous.

To Kenton the condition of the village was an open book. He could tell from the character of the crowd about the square, from the state of the wigwams, from the number of the fires and the extent of the cooking, and from a hundred details which would have seemed trivial to the ordinary observer, whether the town contained its usual population or any considerable number of warriors were absent. A short scrutiny satisfied him that a large proportion of the men were absent, as he had expected to find them at this time of the year, and that nothing out of the ordinary was on foot.

There did not seem to be anything further to be learned from their post of observation, and Kenton was preparing to descend when they observed a young brave leaving the village and sauntering in their direction. The scouts crouched, still and watchful, in their leafy hiding place, whilst the Indian passed almost under their tree and continued his stroll into the forest. Kenton, whispering to Hardy to follow after an interval of a few minutes, slipped noiselessly to the earth and followed the redskin.

Hardy allowed five minutes to elapse before he started after his companion. He had hardly reached the ground when he heard a rustling which he rightly inferred to be the sound of a struggle. He hurried forward and in a few minutes came upon Kenton, calmly sitting upon his captive, whose mouth was stopped with the scout’s fur cap. Hardy quickly tied the Indian’s arms to his side and loosely hobbled his feet. He was then hurried forward, after being made to understand that at the first outcry, or attempt to escape, he would be shot dead.

The party went on for six or seven miles, during which Kenton used his best endeavors to confuse the trail. They had struck away from the beaten paths and were in an unfrequented locality when they came upon a small stream in the midst of woods. Here Kenton decided to camp. He had noticed the spoor of deer upon the bank and proposed to get one of the animals at a later hour of the night when they should come down to drink in the moonlight. He and Hardy were beginning to feel the need of substantial food, and would require a supply for future use. He might discharge his gun and light a fire with less risk at a late hour and, moreover, it was not at all likely that any Indians would be encamped so close to the town.

Having selected a resting place about half a mile from the rivulet, where he left Hardy to guard the prisoner, Kenton went down to the bank and lay in waiting for the deer. The moon had not been risen more than half an hour when Hardy heard the crack of a rifle and shortly afterwards the tall figure of Kenton appeared bending under the burden of a large buck. The animal was soon skinned and some choice portions were broiled. The scouts ate heartily and gave their captive all that he desired. Before lying down to sleep, they set some steaks to smoke. These were for future provision.

But before seeking repose Kenton pursued the object with which he had captured the Indian. He gave the redskin to understand that his future treatment depended upon the truth with which he should answer the questions that would be put to him. He then demanded to know the whereabouts of the warriors of Chillicothe, and what designs they entertained against the settlers. The prisoner replied, with apparent frankness, that the chief men of his town were at Micmacto, where a general council of the Shawnees was in progress. The purpose of the meeting was to consider the advisability of a concerted attack upon the Kentucky settlements.

Kenton instantly realized the importance of learning, if possible, the outcome of this council. He determined to go on to Micmacto, which the captive declared was about sixteen miles to the north of Chillicothe, or less than a good day’s march from the camp.

Under the guidance of the young brave, who appeared to be quite tractable, the scouts set out at daybreak and before sunset reached their destination. Leaving Hardy and the prisoner under cover at a distance of a mile or more, Kenton went forward to reconnoitre the place. As at Chillicothe, from the vantage point of a tree on the outskirts of the village, he secured a good survey.

Micmacto was built in much the same form as Chillicothe. It was not so large a town as the latter, but a number of abandoned cabins indicated that it had once contained a larger population than at present. The village lay in an open plain, upon the bank of a small river. On the north side of the place stood a group of high, pointed rocks, which quickly attracted the eye of the observant scout. These needle-like projections rose abruptly out of the plain, and from the summit of one in particular it was evident that a clear view of the town and the adjoining plain could be had. Kenton decided that no better post of observation could be wished.

Kenton having rejoined Hardy and the prisoner, the party circled round the town and reached the rocky eminence upon which it was proposed to take up their station. It was found that whilst three sides of this elevation were precipitous, the summit might be easily gained by a sloping approach on the north. The top proved to be a flat space, less than an acre in extent, and six or seven hundred feet above the level of the plain. It was broken by crevices and strewn with bowlders, making it an ideal hiding place.

The shades of night were closing over the scene when the scouts turned their gaze upon the village lying at their feet. The square was filled with dusky figures evidently agitated by some unusual occurrence. The shrill gabble of the squaws and the barking of dogs reached the ears of the watchers with startling distinctness. In front of the wigwams burned domestic fires, throwing a fitful light upon the scene.

Presently a huge fire was ignited in the centre of the square and at the same time the women and children retired to the line of buildings. Now a score of painted and befeathered warriors advanced to the blaze in single file and formed a circle round it. They began to move slowly to the time of a low, solemn chant. Gradually their pace quickened as their voices rose in faster measure. Louder and louder grew the song. They brandished their weapons and broke into the wildest antics. Meanwhile the spectators shouted applause and beat with clubs upon the walls of the cabins, whilst the dogs added their long-drawn howls to the din.

At the end of perhaps half an hour a fresh party of braves relieved the first performers, who retired exhausted. In due course a third relay took up the dance, and so it was continued far into the night, finishing in a wild disorderly reel, in which many of the younger women took part.

“Well, at any rate it isn’t the war dance,” remarked Kenton, as they composed themselves to sleep. “But when they get to cutting up those capers, it isn’t long before they work themselves into a crazy fit and paint the war-post. I’m afraid there’s trouble brewing.”

The next day was spent by the people of Micmacto and their guests in the usual Indian sports. There were pony races upon the plain. There were shooting matches, and a sham attack upon the village. Several parties of young braves contested in the game from which we get lacrosse. Dances again enlivened the early hours of the night, preceded by feasting.

Kenton was anxious to remain until the council should reach a decision and break up. Their conclusion would, he knew, be easily inferable from the character of the closing festivities. By husbanding their jerked venison, the scouts and their prisoner could contrive to subsist for two more days, but an immediate supply of water was needed. As a matter of fact, it should have been secured the night before, but so intent had they been upon watching the Indians that the canteens had been allowed to run dry unnoticed.

As the entire population of Micmacto appeared to be engrossed in the pastimes taking place at the village, Kenton thought that he could succeed in reaching the river and returning without detection in daylight. Accordingly he started for the stream, taking advantage of all the cover available on the way. He arrived at the bank without mishap and was in the act of filling the canteens when a piercing shriek broke upon his ears. He looked up to see two squaws a short distance from him. One, still screaming, dived into the bushes and disappeared. The other ran towards Kenton and to his amazement addressed him in English:

“I am a white woman,” she cried, holding up her hands pleadingly. “For the love of God, take me with you.”

“Come along,” replied Kenton. “Don’t talk! You can tell me about it afterwards.”

The white squaw was young and active. She bounded along beside the fair-haired giant, declining his proffered aid. In a few minutes they had gained the post upon the rocky summit where Hardy, who had witnessed the incident, anxiously awaited them. It was at once made evident that the woman was not going to be an encumbrance. She cast a surprised glance at the bound Indian but did not waste time with enquiry about him.

“Will you let me have his rifle?” she asked. “I can make good use of it.”

When the weapon was handed to her she loaded it deftly, examined the flint, and then turned her gaze with the others towards the village. A party of warriors was already on the way to the spot where the scouts and their new ally awaited them. In answer to an enquiry by Kenton, the young woman said that the place where they were could only be reached by the northern approach. By dropping about fourteen feet from a nearby spot it was possible to gain a difficult pathway down to the plain, but no one could come up by the same route, and she fancied that few of the townspeople knew of it.

The Indians were soon at the bottom of the slope. The ascent afforded no cover, and at a place about midway, and a hundred yards from the top, the path was so narrow that not more than two men could pass along it together. It was the passage of this restricted place that Kenton determined to contest. He instructed Hardy and the woman not to fire until one or more of the attackers should have reached that point. It was also agreed that they should shoot in turn so that one, at least, of the rifles might be always loaded.

Despite the enormous disparity in numbers, the task of the defence was not such a difficult one as it might seem. The Indians had a rooted reluctance to facing rifle fire in the open. They could not see their adversaries, who were safely ensconced behind rocks, and had no idea of their numbers. Some half dozen braves advanced uncertainly up the slope. They reached the “dead line” set by Kenton. Crack! Crack! Kenton and Hardy had fired, and the two foremost dropped in their tracks. The others checked. Then a third came forward. The white squaw fired and he fell with a bullet through his brain.

This was too much for the redskins. Three shots and three dead! What if there were twenty rifles behind the rocks waiting to do similar execution? By this time a hundred or more warriors were assembled in a group at the foot of the slope. The distance was well-nigh two hundred yards, but Kenton decided to give them a reminder that the white man’s rifle carried far. He aimed at an Indian whose headdress marked him as a chief, and fired. The savage was seen to stagger and fall into the arms of the men about him.

The Indians now withdrew to a greater distance. Small parties were detached to make an examination of the position from different points of view, but they evidently reported that the summit was accessible only from the north. As no further attack was made, the defenders concluded that the chiefs had decided to besiege them and starve them out, or else to assault under cover of night. In order to frustrate the latter design, Kenton, taking advantage of the cover of the rocks and crawling upon his belly, contrived to collect a pile of sticks and grass at a spot not much farther up the slope than his “dead line.” When darkness set in, he lit this fire, intimating to the Indians that they had little better chance of rushing the position than in daylight.

But long before this time Kenton had decided upon the future course of the little party. The white squaw had declared her willingness to guide them, and the scout readily placed himself in her hands. There was one brief hour of darkness before the rising of the moon, and although this increased the difficulty of descent, it was necessary that they should avail themselves of it. As soon as their fire was lit, the white squaw led them to the place at the edge of the plateau of which she had spoken, leaving their bound captive upon the summit. She dropped first, and alighted safely upon the ledge below. Kenton followed and then helped Hardy down. The woman leading, they made the slow descent of the precipitous rock with joined hands. At length they were upon the plain and at the outskirts of the village.

All was quiet in Micmacto. The men were at the camp of the besiegers, where many of the women had joined them out of curiosity and for the purpose of cooking the evening meal. Two or three fires burned before wigwams in the village, but the square was steeped in darkness. Kenton admired the boldness and wisdom with which the woman led the way directly into Micmacto. The move was calculated to avoid exciting the dogs and it would most effectually hide their traces. A squaw accosted them from the doorway of her cabin, but the reply of the white woman satisfied her and they passed on through the village without further incident.

Once beyond Micmacto, the party sped away; nor did they halt before the sun was high in the heavens next day. The woman, who had been ten years a captive, during which time she had not seen a white man until encountering Kenton, was strong and active. Furthermore, her dread of recapture lent her unnatural strength and she urged Kenton to push on without consideration for her.

Kenton knew that they could not hope for more than six or seven hours’ start, for they had neglected to gag the Indian prisoner, and when he should find himself alone at daybreak he would surely shout the intelligence to the besiegers. The party, therefore, made all the haste possible.

At the close of the third day they found themselves upon the bank of the Ohio, and by good fortune at a spot which they recognized as not far from the place where the canoe had been hidden. This was recovered without difficulty, and before midnight they were in Kentucky. The journey to Boonesborough was accomplished without mishap, and the delighted white woman found herself once more in the company of her own sex and race.